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shesjustanothergeek · 3 months ago

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The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Eight: The Lord of the Tides

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Hello, everyone! I'm posting a chapter within two weeks and not a month? What sorcery is this? Anyway, thank you for staying with me through these chapters. We're getting to the juicy stuff here soon, which will be very angsty. I also want to remind everyone that this is a dark fic that deals with suicide, SA, and severe mental illness. You'll hate some of these characters and their actions and have questions about them as the story progresses, but everything has a reason, and it'll all tie together eventually. Just have faith, babes.

Chapter Warnings: misogyny, eugenics, mentions of and trauma related to COCSA, suicidal ideations, severe mental illness, self-deprecating thoughts, and sexual harassment.

The Great Hall echoed with the clamor of anxious voices. The petition summoned all the court members, seemingly attempting to embarrass your family publicly. Although hearings like these did not necessitate the presence of all the Lords and Ladies, they were all there, rendering the open space oppressively stuffy and cramped. The Iron Throne commanded attention with its imposing presence. Fashioned from the melted swords of Aegon the Conqueror’s enemies, it formed a seat that threatened anyone who ventured too close to its pointed metal surface.

Daemon was conversing with your mother, and his strong fists clasped over his stomach as he leaned in to speak into her ear. Luke stood by her side, picking at his slender fingers while cowering beneath his cloak. You felt sorry for your younger brother. He didn’t want to be the Lord of the Tides and despised the idea so much that it became a fear of the sea. Part of you believed that Jace should inherit the Driftwood Throne since he was the second-born, but your mother’s advisors pressured that if Jacaerys married you, he wouldn’t be able to rule the Seven Kingdoms and High Tide, so Luke was next in line.

Your stepsister Rhaena was seated on the other side of you and Jace. You glanced at her slender form, noticing her white hair knotted into thick, cylindrical locs piled atop her head. She nodded toward your brother, who looked at his shoes with an undignified pout. You stepped forward, wrapping an arm around Jace’s body. He tried not to show how your gentle actions comforted him in front of the onlookers, subtly leaning into your side.

The hairs on your neck prickled as if someone was watching you closely. You caught a glimpse of your eldest uncle’s sullen face meeting yours. Aegon’s looming stare was fixed on you and your connection with your brother, his lips curving into a frown. Some of you wanted to return his stare with mockery for his audacity, but you held your decorum, fearing what his anger could entail if you went too far. Years ago, you experienced his kindness, leaving an irreparable scar on your soul.

You sensed the anxiety rising at the mere thought of having to confront your eldest uncle once more. Despite six years having passed, the wounds still feel fresh. Clutching Jace tightly to your side, you battle the overwhelming temptation to seek solace within his luxurious robes as a torrent of memories came rushing back as the petition commences.

“Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survives his wounds,” Otto Hightower spoke, his voice booming across the Great Hall, “we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark. As the Hand, I speak with the King’s voice on this and all other matters.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“The Crown will now hear the petitions.”

Aegon felt a surge of frustration as he watched you avoid making eye contact, unable to bear the sight of you being affectionate with someone else. You had been his closest ally until Aemond’s actions shattered everything. With a scowl, he directed his gaze toward the ground and decided to converse with you about the years past. The eldest Prince was resolute in his determination to make you see that he was not the one at fault.

“Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon,” the Hand spoke, announcing the challenger to the room.

The individual accountable for this incident stepped up, adorned in an opulent doublet of rich velvet in a deep navy shade, almost black. He briefly acknowledged the presence of Lord Corlys’s wife. As he drew nearer, you found yourself in the presence of Ser Vaemond for the second time in your life. His facial hair displayed a striking blend of salt and pepper, evidence of the many decades of life experience that distinguished him from you.

“My Queen,” he greeted with a nod, “my Lord Hand.” Luke visibly bristled at his Great Uncle’s voice, retreating further into his cloak and your mother’s comforting presence.

If the Gods were fair beings, they would strike Lord Vaemond down where he stood for daring to spout treasonous lies before the Court. The mere petition was a ploy to publicly embarrass and cast doubt upon your mother’s claim as heir to the Iron Throne. This was why he chose to pounce like a lion in wait for its prey onto the opportunity of his older brother getting injured. It was as if Lord Vaemond had already declared his brother dead before he returned to his bed. You were raised by a second son and understood too well of their lusts for what the eldest sibling had.

As you tightly gripped Jace’s hand, you made a solemn vow to take the necessary action, not just to protect your family but also for the greater good of your kingdom. This would be the first time you would employ your extensive knowledge of herbs and medicinal practices for a malevolent purpose, but you were willing to do whatever it took for their sake. Throughout history, many distinguished individuals have fallen victim to choking on wine or food, which has proven fatal for even those of lesser stature.

“The history of our noble houses extends past the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas. When the Doom fell on Old Valyria, our House became the last of their kind.” You glanced at your mother while Vaemond droned eloquently, her regard downcast with a disapproving smirk. “Our forebears came to this land, knowing they would fail; it would be the end of their bloodlines and name. I have spent my entire life defending my brother’s seat. I am Lord Corlys’ closest kin, his blood,” the second son petitioned.

Out of the corner of your vision, you spotted Princess Rhaenys, her stare boring holes into the back of her good brother’s skull. Your worries that the Queen Who Never Was would not side with Luke and his claim lessened as you noted the irritation on her face, the fury at Vaemond’s claim that he had the right to be Lord of the Tides and not her, as if her rule during Corlys’ absence meant that the Driftwood Throne was not in safe hands until Luke was ready.

Otto stared at the man with a neutral expression, but his eyes betrayed his genuine emotions. Arrogance and pride shine through, revealing his bias. “It’s a true, unimpeachable blood of the House of Velaryon that runs through my veins.”

“As it does in my son’s, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon,” your mother interrupted, causing everyone in the room to direct their attention to her. “If you cared so much about your House’s blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and your own ambition-”

You sucked in a nervous breath, your gaze flickering to your mother as you scratched at your scalp. She knew better than to interrupt during a petition to the Crown. She would have scolded you for such an act. Perhaps since it wasn’t her father, she felt the ability to speak out of turn was appropriate. Even the daughter of the King wasn’t allowed such liberties.

“You will have a chance to make your petition, Princess Rhaenyra,” the Queen interrupted, causing your simmering vexation to spike into a rolling boil. “Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing him to be heard.”

You understood Queen Alicent’s opinion but couldn’t quell the rise of frustrated tears at her words. It was not her place to order your mother. She was a wife to the King, a consort, and whatever jurisdiction she had was given to her by a man. She held no real power, and remembering that would do her well.

As if Alicent heard your thoughts, her amber eyes flicked to you. You felt your stomach lurch as the bread you had earlier threatened to decorate the stone floor. You did not like the Queen after what she did to your mother and her obsession with you. Her possessiveness was something you never understood, nor did you want to. Whatever the Queen had twisted and distorted you to be inside her mind was not something you desired to give fruit to, disregarding her pleading looks as you focused on the Lord before you.

Ser Vaemond turned to stare smugly at Rhaenyra, continuing with his rant of blood purity and superiority. “What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you, but you still wouldn’t recognize it.”

A tugging at your bell sleeve brought your attention to Jace, noting how you unconsciously scratched at your scalp. Suddenly, you realized that in the moment’s intensity with Aemond, you had dropped your headpiece in the hall. Swiftly nodding that you were all right, Jace began to stroke the back of your clenched knuckles in a silent gesture of support. Your hand had long forgotten its comforting touch as it blanched from ire.

“This is about the future and survival of my House, not yours,” Vaemond finished, staring hard at your Luke as you cringed.

Jace did not let the Lord or the three people frighten you for long, subtly shifting to block him and all other stares from view like the moat of iron spikes surrounding Maegor’s Holdfast. Why were they all looking at you? The Lords and Ladies. Alicent, Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena. You silently willed them to stop, but it was for naught.

The Lord turned from Luke, his prideful grin duller as he addressed the Queen and Hand. “This is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my House and line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother’s successor,” Vaemond finally concluded, taking a few steps back, “the Lord of Driftmark, the Lord of the Tides.”

“Thank you, Ser Vaemond,” Otto concluded atop a throne that was not his as the second son gave one last grimace toward your family.

With the retreating of the Lord, you were given the perfect view of the Green children, the eldest still very much disinterested in what was happening around him, shifting on his feet as if he was itching to leave the room, which you supposed was true. The second child was attempting to dissociate from the world around her, uncomfortable with the animosity between the two houses, her golden dress the opposite of her appearance. The third and final member seemed to match his Mother and Grandsire, an air of superiority radiating from his toned body that sent shivers to your core.

“Princess Rhaenyra,” the Hand called, “you may now speak for your son, Prince Lucerys Velaryon.”

Your mother approached before the steps of the Iron Throne, her body language openly depicting her ire at the whole matter. Her complete disregard for the seriousness of the situation caused you to crack a smile, looking at Jace in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“If I am forced to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding this court that nearly twenty years ago in this very room-”

Your mother’s remarks were cut short by the creaking of hinges, the grand doors to the Great Hall opening to reveal the rhythmic tapping of a cane.

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of The Andals, the Roynar, The First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.”

Gasps echoed through the expansive room as all eyes turned to your mother. She gazed in astonishment as her father appeared in public for the first time in years. The King of the Seven Kingdoms, half his face concealed by a golden mask, made his way across the grand throne room, causing a stir among the onlookers.

You recalled that six years ago, there was only a tiny sore on his cheek, such a minuscule gash that festered and grew to eat away at his flesh until you could see the rotting teeth within his skull. Tears pricked at your eyes as you listened to the steady tapping of your Grandsire, your heart unable to watch the hunched figure.

The Hand seemed more shocked than any. His stoic face of pride morphed into one of stunned surprise as your Grandsire made his way to the bottom steps of the Iron Throne.

“I will sit on the throne today,” the King rasped, his entire weight resting on the dragon head of his walking stick.

“Your Grace,” Otto reluctantly acknowledged, gaping wide as he took his place next to his daughter and her children.

A kingsguard quickly rushed to the side of his ruler, briefly assisting before Viserys weakly shoved him away. You couldn’t watch this—watch someone once so full of joy and love for his kin struggle to walk the stairs of his ancestors as you nestled your face into Jace’s shoulder. The sound of fallen metal echoed in the room, bringing your attention upward. Your Grandsire’s crown had fallen onto the stairs before the throne as a quiet grunt of discontent puffed past his chapped lips. Daemon was behind his brother before anyone was the wiser, assisting the last remnants of his late parents’ love to his ruling seat and placing the golden Crown of Jaehaerys on the remaining tatters of silver hair.

While you indulged in a lavish meal of quail and lamb on the breathtaking island of Dragonstone, you could aid him, but unfortunately, you were unaware of his plight. Overcome with remorse for not setting aside your troubles to support your Grandsire, you shed tears uncontrollably.

“Sister, you’re crying,” he whispered below the shell of your ear. You nodded silently, whipping away the stray water that collected on your warm cheek.

Jace knew your strong aversion to displaying any hint of vulnerability through tears. He recognized that you viewed it as a manifestation of a perceived girlish weakness that you deemed incompatible with your role as heir to the Seven Kingdoms. He felt helpless as he witnessed you, unable to offer the solace he longed to provide.

Staring at both of you with a fierce scowl across his narrow pink lips, Aemond believed you deserved to experience pain. However, he struggled with his emotions, attempting to quash the pang piercing his dark heart. Aemond envisioned himself as the unyielding pillar, braving the tumultuous waves during a tempest at sea. He saw himself as your shelter from the salty waters, ready to wipe away any tears that adorned your skin. Jacaerys was far from being a man deserving of a princess, unlike…

The Prince’s chest rumbled with a grunt of discontent as he resisted completing his thought despite knowing the truth in his heart. Upon hearing the sound, Aegon glanced at his brother with a perplexed expression and followed his line of sight with a mix of understanding and bitterness, forming a frown on his face.

“I must admit my confusion,” your Grandsire spoke, his frail voice reverberating through the high walls of the hall. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession.” You did not need to look at Vaemond to see his outrage. You could sense it from where you stood twenty paces away, your tears slowly drying as you gazed at the disappointed Queen. “The only one present who might offer keener insights into Lord Corlys’ wishes is the Princess Rhaenys.”

Everyone turned to the woman as she processed her cousin’s words. “Indeed, your grace,” she nodded, taking a moment to look at her brother-in-law.

Eyes followed the Queen Who Never Was as she spoke, her voice so smooth and elegant you felt envy for it at the back of your mind. “It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark passes through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son, Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed.”

The atmosphere in the room was charged with a tumult of emotions. Anger, betrayal, shock, and relief swirled around the Great Hall like a powerful storm. Ser Vaemond was furious, deeply hurt by his good sister’s words. To him, being a true Velaryon meant everything, and he couldn’t bear the thought of his bastard nephew, born from a woman pretending to be virtuous, tarnishing his family’s name and the honor of the realm. He was resolute in his refusal to accept this situation. Vaemond’s bloodline was solid and pure, unyielding like the sea.

“Princess Rhaenyra has informed me of her desire to marry her son Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys’ granddaughters, Princess Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.”

The speed at which your head whipped towards Jace was almost otherworldly, nearly causing you to stumble. His face reflected your shock, his mouth hanging open like a fish before he turned to glance at your mother. A serene smile graced her pink lips, and she quickly lowered her gaze while placing a protective hand over her swollen stomach.

Apart from your mother, no one else seemed to share the same sense of pride. The Queen’s expression soured even more than you thought possible, and the Hand remained stunned by the sudden turn of events as you withdrew your hand from Jace’s.

Aegon had suddenly perked up at the revelation, uncharacteristically grinning as he watched the drama unfold while Aemond observed your misfortune with barely concealed satisfaction. You couldn’t pinpoint why he had an abrupt interest in the conversation. He no doubt enjoyed the misfortune of others, even if it was his kin.

“Well,” the King spoke, his breathing now calmed, “the matter is settled. Again. I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.”

The entire family breathed a sigh of relief, their shared sense of burden and responsibility slowly dissipating as they watched the weight of the future shift onto the Greens. In that moment, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of guilt for not shouldering the load yourself. Princess Rhaenys, with an almost irritated yet dignified stride, stood beside her eldest granddaughter, her presence exuding a complex mix of annoyance and pride.

Though you hadn’t moved from your spot beside your twin, you felt like a league away from him, gaping blankly at the glistening steel swords running over the steps like a river. The longer you studied them, the more they began to contort, seeing viscous crimson liquid melt down the blades. The future you had planned with your brother was impaled to the hilt.

A scoff cut through the moment of joy, your head directed to the sound. “You break the law, centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir,” Vaemond spoke, venom laced within every syllable. “But you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will not allow it.”

Your brown orbs flickered from the man to the King. “Allow it?” Viserys echoed, testing the word on his dry tongue. “Do not forget yourself, Vaemond.”

The thick, oppressive silence enveloped the scene, defying even the sharpness of Darksister’s blade. Every individual present held their breath, their anticipation palpable as they waited to witness the outcome.

“That is no true Velaryon and certainly no nephew of mine!” the second son shouted, causing everyone to jump in fright.

“Go to your chambers,” Rhaenyra ordered you and your brothers before swiftly turning her attention to Vaemond. “You have said enough.”

None of you obeyed.

“Lucerys is my true-born grandson,” your Grandsire declared. “And you are no more than the second son of Driftmark.”

“You,” Vaemond stated, taking menacing steps forward, “may run your House as you see fit, but you will not decide my future. My House survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides.”

He turned to your family, feet firmly planted with the grip on his longsword. Your look stared fire at his, jaw clenched as he spat his vitriol. “And Gods be damned, I will not see it end on account of this…”

You arched your head to the side, eyes widening in defiance as you silently urged him to speak the words that yearned to escape his lips. However, he disregarded you, considering you nothing more than a mere girl in a world dominated by men, a lost cause. You resolved to shed any lingering guilt about your intentions at that moment.

“Say it,” Daemon’s soft and menacing timbre whispered.

Onlookers scrutinized with bated breath as Vaemond considered his words, his gaze flickering from your father to you, Jace, your mother, and Luke. A sneer slowly pulled his lips, righting his posture as he bellowed.

“Her children are bastards!”

You inhaled a near-inaudible growl from your throat as you took a charged step forward, only to be yanked back by Jace before you could do something you would regret. Soft murmurs sounded, the Greens all sharing the same look of begrudging disappointment. Jace seemed just as furious as you, his lips curling into a snarl.

“And they,” he glared at you, then at your mother, his jaw tensing, “are whores.”

Your gaze immediately flicked to Aegon and then Aemond, your body independently moving as the crowd gasped. Aemond’s eye was no longer bright purple but a near black, shining like dragonglass shards. Despite this window into his soul, his outward appearance reached an unusual sereness. Thin lips parted as you noticed the faintest twitch, a tic you realized indicated his rage.

“You have said your piece, Lord Vaemond,” Queen Alicent declared, fists humbly clasped over her clothed emerald green stomach. “The king has affirmed his decision, and you will do well to respect it without saying lies about the young princess.”

Did people know of what happened between you and Aegon and that of your brother?

They couldn’t have. You took steps to ensure your image to the public aligned with their ideals. You studied in the Citadel, for Seven’s sake! Your mind raced with the possibility of your secrets being discovered, the chance that the realm would know of your sins before marriage. At the time, it did not seem to be a mistake as you and Jace believed you would be married, but now, just as it seemed like all things did, it slipped through your fingers like the sand that lined the shores of Blackwater Bay.

Aemond watched as you mindlessly attempted to run toward Vaemond like a combat-trained man. He thought it would be entertaining to watch you claw the Velaryon Lord’s eyes out and contemplated in admired silence how reckless you could become when enraged, wondering how far that wrath would take you.

You were unable to hear the sound of raised voices expressing articles of treason, threats of violence, and the unsheathing of a sword until you felt blood splatter on your cheekbone, seeing the sliced head of Vaemond Velaryon laying a few paces from your feet. Jace pulled your face to his chest as you gasped in shock, clutching his arms like he was the only thing keeping you grounded in this moment of grotesque insanity.

“He can keep his tongue,” Daemon declared, looking at the limp corpse below.

Studying his uncle in brief awe, Aemond’s violet eye flickered from the decapitated corpse to that of the assailant. He moved to see Jace’s feeble attempt at protecting you from the gore that lay leaking into the stones, mouth curling in disdain as he scoffed. Your brother was to be the one to protect you from harm, physical or emotional, yet he was incapable of doing that.

Momentarily, Aemond thought of coming to your side, knowing that he was a worthy enough man to be what you needed, and if not that, then only to spite Jacaerys. He shook the fleeting thought away with a grunt, scorn filling his heart.

“Disarm him!” The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard yelled, his fellow members drawing their weapons.

You chose who you thought worthy that night on Driftmark when you stood by idly as Luke ripped his eye from the socket.

“No need,” your stepfather cooly protested, wiping the blood of his kin from his blade and exiting the room.

Your eyes could not leave the bleeding form of Vaemond Velaryon, the top half of his dreaded white hair discarded as the crimson liquid pooled around him. Viserys groaned above, collapsing onto the Iron Throne like a sack of bones from the effort of living. Alicent and your mother ran to his aide.

“Niece.”

You expected to see Aemond come and continue his taunts from before, but instead, you saw Aegon standing before you, his square face etched with worry. You would have thought him handsome had he not done what he did and become the man he had become as you merely stared at him, your mind blank and body numb.

How could he show you such concern, knowing how much pain he caused you? What could you say to him after everything that transpired? After he effectively distorted the pure view of your world into betrayal and anguish. He most likely wanted to use you as he did to the maids of the Keep. You thought you might as well let him. That was how you felt now that the one man you willingly gave your body to with the expected outcome of marriage was bound to another. That same disgusting sensation you had the following days after your assault came rushing back as if you were that scared little girl again.

You did not want to feel that weak again and parted your lips to speak the venom he deserved to hear. Suddenly, you found your throat too dry as you swallowed the air instead. Aegon extended a hand to yours in what you believed to be a comforting gesture, fingers brushing each other as terror surged through your limbs.

Your sights glanced at the corpse as the hilt of Vaemond’s sword glinted in the light. You could end this here and now. End the torment. End the constant uncertainty that would be your mother’s secession. Your demise would be of no consequence.

“Sister,” Jace called, his tone clipped and brown eyes wide. The same eyes you had looking back at you. “Mother wants us in our chambers to prepare for supper.”

You recoiled as if your limb was scorched when you swiftly pulled it away from Aegon. With a curt nod to your twin, you allowed him to take you. Walking out of the Great Hall, you made a conscious effort not to glance back, keenly aware of the intensity of Aegon’s piercing stare as it followed the contours of your womanly form. You were sure that this encounter wouldn’t be the last, and the prospect of it propelled you to seek solace in the comforting embrace of your twin.

The twilight had descended upon King’s Landing, casting the city in a hazy glow. Despite the late hour, the flagstone streets teemed with activity as revelers roamed for company, their laughter mingling with the clinking of coins. Meanwhile, you found yourself clutching a goblet of fiery spirits, hoping to steady your frayed nerves as you sat between your imposing eldest uncle and your sweet twin.

The dining hall exuded an air of palpable tension, with hushed conversations among family members punctuating the room as servants bustled about, preparing for the day’s last meal. Everyone waited in quiet anticipation for the arrival of the King, their faces adorned with joyous and restrained smiles, marking the festivities of new beginnings. However, amidst this atmosphere of hopeful anticipation, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of disquiet. In mere hours, it seemed as though everything you had worked for was unraveling before your eyes.

You were intended to enter into matrimony with Jace just as Visenya married her younger brother Aegon. As twins, you shared an unbreakable bond, with one heart and one soul inhabiting two bodies. No other individual in existence was as ideally suited for you.

As you watched your brothers’ interactions with their betrothed, you couldn’t help but notice the sour expression on your face. Each brother was dutiful and respectful, engaging in hushed conversations with their betrothed about the future and what it might hold. You felt a mix of confusion and offense as you pondered why Jace had swiftly embraced being bound to another after spending years with you as his unspoken wife.

Your eyes locked with Aemond’s from across the opulent room as he conversed with his brother, a sly smirk on his lips. He seemed to revel in your displeasure at taking your brother from you. With an exasperated sigh, you leaned back in your ornate high chair, surveying the sumptuous spread of food before you, each dish tempting you with its rich aromas and vibrant colors.

Growing increasingly impatient for your Grandsire’s arrival, you couldn’t resist the allure of a plump, purple grape sitting on the nearby platter. As you reached for it, your mother reprimanded you.

The air was heavy with the scent of wine as you had already consumed three cups before the arrival of the King, his face wearing a grim expression. Your Grandsire was brought into the grand hall, seated on a makeshift throne, and everyone in the room rose in respect for his position. His crown, a symbol of his authority, had been long forgotten as he was placed between the Queen and your mother. You noticed sores on him that you hadn’t seen before, standing out more prominently in the grandeur of the dining hall. The sight made your eyes prickle with the threat of tears, and your stomach churned with unease.

Despite being seated, he leaned heavily onto his cane, the weight of his extravagant Targaryen robes bearing down on his frail body. You fought back tears, refusing to show any vulnerability in front of those who held little respect for you.

“This is an occasion of celebration, it seems. My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our Houses,” your grandfather began, a thick rasp to his voice. “A toast to the young Princes and their betrothed. May you find yours yet, granddaughter.”

You sat there, forcing back your tears and lifting your glass as the joyful cheers filled the room. The dreams you had shared with Jace seemed to shatter with each sip of wine. Despite the celebratory atmosphere, Jace’s fleeting smile towards Baela deepened your sense of loss. It wasn’t their engagement that bothered you, but rather the uncontrollable circumstances that had brought it about. Still, some of you couldn’t help but resent the pair.

A sudden rancid sweetness wafted into your nose as you saw Aegon lean over you, wrapping his hand around the back of your chair and whispering to your twin.

“Well done, Jace. You’ll finally get to lie with a woman,” he teased with a lopsided grin. You observed him with wide eyes that danced from your uncle to your twin, hyper-aware of every breath and twitch of his limbs.

Jace stiffened beside you as he clenched his fist atop the table, barely containing his ire. It was only a matter of time before he lost his patience. You saw his hand move to connect with yours like always when he was stressed, but you moved to place it on your lap, instinctively turning your face away from his.

“It seems your twin doesn’t share the same sentiment,” Aegon softly declared so only the two of you could hear, lips moving into a downward smirk as he watched the silent dispute between siblings, victoriously sitting upright in his seat.

“Let us toast Prince Lucerys as well. The future Lord of the Tides,” your Grandsire continued as you felt the touch of another. Your posture became stiff as Aegon’s fingers wrapped around yours in a vice-like grip, no doubt only to spite Jace as you struggled to break free without causing attention.

Taking advantage of the momentary quiet, your eldest uncle mocked Jace again, moving your hand so he could see it. “You do know how the act is done, I assume? At least in principle. Where to put your cock and all that?”

Rage welled inside your chest at Aegon’s words, and you feared as you looked into your brother’s eyes that he would spill your affairs in anger. Without thinking of appearances, you dug your nails into Aegon’s hand, causing him to yelp as he released you.

“You can play the jester as you wish, but hold your tongue before my betrothed,” Jace noiselessly snapped in return as your uncle hummed in acquiescence, cradling his injured hand and wounded pride.

Aemond’s eye was trained on the scene before him as he intently observed the three of you. His face remained a practiced impassivity; the only sign of his inner emotions was his finger wrapping on the table. Aemond took a sip of his wine to disguise his chuckle. His brother should know better than to test you. Even as children, you were not one to take things idly.

“It both gladdens my heart,” the King spoke, his voice straining without much effort, “and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table, the faces most dear to me in all the world.” Viserys looked toward his left, your mother, stepfather, and brothers in his sight. Your hand gripped the stem of your glass, ignoring the heated glares from across the table. “We’ve grown so distant from each other in years past.”

You forced yourself to hide the scoff at his words, taking another long drink. And why would that be? Perhaps it was because of the Queen’s unwavering grudge against your mother that festered into a hatred of her mere existence, his son raping you at such a young age you didn’t understand what it was, or the permanent injury of a young boy that never received the justice he deserved.

Viserys paused his speech, wheezing and supporting his weight on the table as a hand came to remove his mask. The sight was nothing you could have imagined. The space where his bright purple eye should be was a hollow hole of partially healed and rotting flesh. The wound on his cheek had eaten away at the skin and muscle, revealing his decaying grey teeth.

“My face is no longer handsome if it ever was.” Phlegm was stuck within your Grandsire’s throat, creating an almost repulsive noise as he spoke. “Tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king, but your father...”

Aegon met the regards of a man who was his father only in name. His glare was dark, filled with anger you had never seen before, yet Aemond couldn’t bear to look at what he became—his father’s desperation, his mouth curling into a sneer.

Pain radiated suddenly from your lap, stare snapping to see your eldest uncle’s hand unexpectedly gripping your thigh, his digits digging into the flesh. It was in retaliation as you attempted to pry him off, but it was useless as Aegon secured his grip, no doubt leaving bruises in his wake. You bit your lip, concealing the painful scowl that curled your lips and arched your brows. It was hard to focus on anything other than your skin aching to be free of your body, not wanting to cause a scene.

“...who may not walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold your feelings in your hearts. The Crown cannot stand strong as long as the House of The Dragon remains divided.”

Aemond’s single violet eye turned to you, your stares locking with thousands of unsaid emotions, unsaid truths as you fidgeted, trying in vain to remove Aegon.

“Set aside your grievances!” Viserys declared passionately, startling those at the table and causing you to break your revere momentarily. “If not for the sake of the Crown, then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly.”

Silence fell across the table as the King stumbled into his seat, the metal of his mask and cutlery clanging as Alicent dutifully came to his aid. Your mother stood abruptly, not giving the room to process the King’s words as her chair scraped against the stone floor. With a goblet in her hand, all eyes turned to her.

“I wish to raise my cup to her grace, the Queen,” she started, her eyes downcast. You watched your mother skeptically, brown orbs flickering from her to Alicent. “I love my father, but I must admit no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife.”

The Queen stared at her old friend, so full of emotions. Years of harbored pain and resentment from events you did not know, bleeding from her chest and onto her finely tailored green dress.

“She has tended to him with unwavering devotion, love, and honor; for that, she has my gratitude. And my apology,” your mother concluded, returning to her seat.

You felt like you were intruding on an intimate moment between lost lovers, the happy moments of their history flashing before each of their minds’ eyes. Turning to Aemond again, you realized he did not remove his stare from you. His ametrine eye was a glassy pool, yet his face was stoic to everyone. You were sure you mirrored him, though you were not as skilled at hiding emotions, your chin slightly quivering.

“Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We’re both mothers, and we love our children. We have more in common than we allow,” Alicent confessed, her voice barely stuttering. “I raise my cup to you and your House. You’ll make a fine Queen.”

Otto’s disapproving stare did not go unnoticed by you, and Aemond reflected on his expression. Each person raised their goblets individually, taking sips in honor of their current and future Queen.

Aegon threw his drink back twice, going for a third time, but stopped once he caught sight of you. Droplets of Arbor Gold slipped past your lips, and you lurched forward to see the liquid before it ran down to the aperture of your chest. The Prince swallowed audibly, his throat clicking as his trousers grew tight.

Memories from your childhood of meals spent with your eldest uncle where he would wipe whatever remnants you had on your mouth came flooding to mind. You realized then that these gestures were not ones of kindness but a sick, disgusting act that he used to groom you and take pleasure from. Gripping the pristine knife that rested atop the fine mahogany table, you dreamed of having his blood spewing from between his lips as you plunged it into his neck.

Taking another swig of your wine, you felt nothing but dry air hit your moist tongue. Aegon noticed it, smiling in an almost feline nature as he took the glass from you.

“Worry not, niece. May your mouth never run dry in my presence,” he declared and went to the pitcher between Baela and Jace. “I regret the disappointment you will soon suffer,” you heard him whisper into your cousin’s ear. “But if you wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.”

The clatter of cutlery sliced through the air as your brother stood, all eyes turning to him. You tried to placate Jace as he clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white and ignoring your kind touches. Everyone watched with keen eyes as on the other end of the table, Aemond stood, seeming to size up with your brother like a cat arching its spine. Placing your cup of wine in front of you, Aegon sat, dragging his fingertips across your neck and making you shudder in disgust.

Realizing that Jace had captured the attention of everyone surrounding the table, he cleared his throat, stalling for time. You glanced at him with an uneasy feeling, looking back to Aemond as he refused to sit.

“To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth,” Jace began, and you struggled to keep your incredulous expression at bay. “And as men, I hope we may be friends and allies. To you and your families, good health, dear uncles.”

He concluded the toast as he and the rest raised their cups to their worried lips. Playfully, albeit awkwardly, Jace punched your eldest uncle in the shoulder as you struggled to keep your laughter at bay, sinking your teeth into your lip.

“To you as well,” Aegon begrudgingly replied, and you flicked a mocking look at him. He refused to meet you.

The screech of a chair sounded in the dining hall, and you turned your head to see your sweet Aunt Helaena abruptly standing with her cup in hand. “I would like to make a toast to Baela and Rhaena. They will be married soon. It isn’t so bad. He mostly ignores you, except sometimes when he’s drunk.”

Daemon’s chuckle pierced through the unease, the three full goblets of wine gone to your head as you stifled one of your own, hiding it behind your digits. Aegon refused to meet anyone’s gaze, finding his half-eaten plate much more interesting than the people before him. Helaena looked to you for support, ensuring that what she said was good as you smiled. You forgot how much you cared for your aunt and admired her thinly veiled jab at Aegon’s lack of duties.

Supper commenced, and you wasted no time feasting, eating the savory vegetables cooked in butter and smothered in rich spices. Smoked cheeses, both hard and soft, found their way to your plate, nearly moaning at their hearty combination with slices of meat. The frigid environment from before left and was replaced with the warmth of laughter and music. Even the old King himself wore a smile on his cracked grey lips.

You ignored the piercing regard burning your face, focusing on your mother and stepfather. Daemon whispered something into your mother’s ear, gently grasping her lithe fingers as she giggled, and a blush bloomed. The sight caused an ache to rise in your chest. The hollowness of your heart knocked on your ribs. You longingly desired to find a love like theirs. Your brother was stolen from you to secure all your inheritances, and while you understood it, nothing could make the hurt lessen.

Ignoring the fist cinching around your lungs, you downed your half-empty goblet of Arbor Gold, summoning a servant to refill it. You did not want to feel like this anymore—the ache, the throbbing in your head and heart. It was too much to bear. In the times of your melancholia, days were spent with a swirling storm of thoughts and memories of your childhood in the Keep—the bullying, your rape, to that of Driftmark filled with blood and boyish screams. They plagued your mind like a disease, culturing into an amalgamation of sadness, rage, guilt, self-mutilation, and isolation until you no longer wanted to live.

Jace rose from his seat with a groan from the wood and excused himself from his betrothed. You thought he might offer you a dance; he knew how much you loved to do so, but the idea sank like the food past your lips as he went to Helaena, extending a hand. Aegon stared at the pair as they went to the open space, his face one of surprise as you brought your cup to your lips, swallowing a smirk. It served him right. His treatment of Helaena, or lack thereof, was appalling. Though he may not be in a marriage of love, she was still his sister and the dreamy-eyed Princess deserved more.

A glimmer of gold suddenly drew your gaze, jolting you from contemplation. Viserys' magnificent mask gleamed in the flickering candlelight, his head tilting to one side as he visibly battled a wave of pain. Without hesitation, Queen Alicent signaled for the guards to accompany him back to his chambers. You observed with a concerned expression trailing behind as they carefully took the ornate wooden throne out of the grand dining hall.

You caught Aemond’s gaze. It was impossible not to as it flicked from Helaena dancing to you. He looked like a barely concealed storm about the burst, as if he debated whether to slit your throat because of your existence or continue what he had started in the corridor. Your uncle had changed so much within six years that you didn’t recognize him, and you supposed it was the same for you. Two people who grew so close were suddenly torn apart by an unfinished tragedy where anger was left to decay until its rot took control.

You worried that things would never be able to be put aside like your Grandsire wished if this wall of silence and grudges was not destroyed. Hate between your families would stay the same and cause the successful usurpation of your mother’s rightful throne. Deciding to swallow your pride and hurt, you stood, wanting to extend the broken branch of goodwill to Aemond, but Aegon refused to let you move. His arm pushed you back down into your seat with a look that sent tears of shocked terror into your eyes. You felt helpless under his gaze as a thinly veiled look of madness replaced a toothy grin gleaming in the candlelight.

“Won’t you give the courtesy of a dance, niece?” he asked with a dangerous lilt that hinted at something more. There was no room for refusal as he hoisted you from your chair. This was undoubtedly a jab at Jace for inviting Helaena as you watched your twin halt his movements.

Ever since Aegon was a boy, he has been awful when sharing what he thinks is his. You recalled the many times you would ask to play with his wooden toys only to get smacked in the head with it or worse. It was as comforting as it was unnerving that parts of him were still the same.

Eyes flicking at Aemond, you pleaded for him to stand and make good on his promise to protect you from your eldest uncle, but he remained still, unmoving like the statues you compared him to. You were right here, mere steps away and by his side. He could insert himself and put an end to Aegon’s torture. After all, you would be indebted to him if he did, and what more could Aemond possibly desire than to have his bastard niece that he so despises at his mercy?

“Aemond still hates you for what Luke did,” Aegon softly declared as you moved your attention to him. “I’m not. My ire is directed at those who caused this hatred to fester between us. You and I were friends once.”

“Indeed, once. ‘Twas long ago now,” you quipped with venom like the pit vipers in Dorne.

Your uncle was a skilled dancer despite the plethora of alcohol he drank, twirling you with a grace you did not possess as you stumbled from nerves and firewater. Aemond did not know where to focus, gaze flicking from Helaena and Jace to you and Aegon so fast that he felt disoriented. He didn’t understand why he was so concerned. It wasn’t like he could do anything to separate you and his brother without acquiring Aegon’s jests hours later, yet he couldn’t control his anxiety as his finger nervously tapped the wooden table.

Bringing you close as you tripped, Aegon pressed your body against his as you felt the real reason behind his words, swaying to the music that made you want to scream and pull your hair from its roots.

“Things could return to how they were before. We could ride our dragons together, visit far-off lands, and spend our days in the Godswood eating those orange cakes you like. We’d be friends and even more so. Would that not be splendid?” the eldest Prince suggested with a grin.

There was nothing for you to do but endure this for the sake of appearances as you caught sight of a pair of amber eyes watching you, a slight upturn to her plump lips. Queen Alicent knew what her son did to you yet observed with a smile that you could interpret as one of maternal love. It enraged you. She was no better than her son. You hated her beyond words for the times you ever thought of her more than another Lord who cared not for the struggles of women.

Aemond no longer held his attention on you but that of Jace and Helaena, seeming to be unbothered by your childhood rapist and bully putting his hands in places that would be a sin. He would not save you now. It was up to you to defend yourself once more.

“You ended whatever smidge of camaraderie we had when you debased me at the top of Maegor’s battlements,” you spat as you moved away from him, only for Aegon to bring you back into another elegant dance. The Prince rolled his purple eyes, the indigo circles underneath them becoming prominent.

“We seem to have different recollections of that night,” he exasperatedly sighed as if you were nothing more than a child bothering their parents with unfounded fears. “I recall how we as children laughed and drank beside each other and how you said, yes, as I slipped my hand betwixt your thighs.”

Gasping, you shoved Aegon away as his hands traveled past your navel, suddenly hearing a chair screech in response. Aemond stood with his body squared toward the two of you as the room went silent. All twelve faces turned to him. You stared with bated breath as Aegon slipped his hand across your back, returning to his chair and taking a nonchalant sip of his drink.

Would Aemond finally stand against Aegon for all the wrong he committed to the both of you?

Pleading wordlessly, your body flushed as he stared unabashedly, tears of intensity pricking your eyes. The light of hope inside your chest was snuffed out as the servants brought a roasted pig onto the table. Luke could not contain his immature giggles as it was placed before Aemond, reminding him of the cruel jape he, Aegon, and Jace did. Whatever anger Aemond felt at his older brother soon turned into one of injustice for what Luke did all these years ago. You thought your younger brother knew better than this and sighed in defeat, all prospects of an amiable future between the Greens and Blacks disintegrating.

“Final tribute,” Aemond began, a lethal sway to his words. “To the health of my niece and nephews. Jace, Luke, Joffrey, and the Gods’ Light.” Your uncle’s single eye traveled to each of you, a stare so severe you felt yourself recoil inside of your being as you ran an unconscious hand through your scalp. “Each of them is handsome, wise, virtuous, and…”

Aemond stuttered as he came to you, making the fatal mistake of losing himself within the depths of your comforting irises. He could see the water collecting at your lashes as your eyes turned into murky pools, threatening to drown him if he stared for a moment longer. He directed his attention at Luke, his ire becoming apparent as memories of your brothers and Aegon’s laughs bounced off the Dragonpit walls, soon turning into screams and red covering his vision. He felt the pain of losing an eye as if it was happening again and tightened his fist around his goblet, forcing the pain to fuel his rage.

“And strong,” Aemond concluded as you released a disappointed sigh, focusing on anything but your uncle. “Come! Let us drain our cups to these four strong children.”

You understood what he was trying to do without speaking. His hurt was so fierce that it blinded all sense, leading him to react rashly. Aemond was forcing you to choose between your family and your affection for him, a situation that the Prince knew would play out as before. You knew what was expected of you; it was the same as last time. You would always choose your family over him. Duty was a sacrifice; you must sacrifice the memories of a bright-eyed boy with freckled cheeks and a love for reading and stolen kisses. The Aemond was no longer there, and you needed to accept that.

“I dare you to say that again,” Jace proclaimed, his chin held high and shoulders back. Your brother was ever the picture of a strong king, sending a warmth to your heart that was crushed with reality.

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?” Aemond jabbed back as your head snapped to him. He could make whatever cruel taunts he desired at you but would not bring your brother into this.

“A man lies dead for spouting such lies. What do you think will happen to you?” you snapped a vicious clip to your words. Before Aemond could respond, your brother stormed to him without a second thought, chest to chest, as his fist slammed across Aemond’s cheek.

Gasping in surprise, you went to the two of them as you saw Luke’s face become one with a plate of food, hesitating for a moment until your twin was shoved to the ground. You marched toward Aemond with fire in your veins and an intent to harm as shouts erupted from your mother and Queen Alicent for everyone to stop. You all ignored them, Aegon swiftly coming behind you, lifting and swinging you by the waist as if you were no more than a doll. Jace tried to reach for you, but your uncle spun around, giggling in your ear at your attempts to break free as you became nauseous.

You realized this was all a joke to Aegon. He truly did not understand that what he did to you as children was wrong.

Aegon couldn’t hide the excitement in his stomach at having you so close once more as you squirmed in his hold, burying his nose into your neck with a grin. He wondered if you would writhe like this if he had you naked between his bedsheets.

Soon, the guards draped in metal armor and red robes pulled Jace and Luke away from their uncles as Aegon came face to face with Daemon. Unlike Aemond, your eldest uncle was not one to challenge others to fisticuffs as his laughter ceased. Your stepfather need only to flash your uncle a look for him to let you go, raising his arms in surrender as Daemon observed you to ensure you weren’t hurt.

“Why would you say such a thing before these people?” you heard Queen Alicent hotly scold Aemond, looking behind his lithe shoulder to where your mother held your body close to hers.

Scoffing, your uncle cocked his head, staring down at his mother with a challenging look. “I was merely expressing my pride in my family, mother. Though it seems my niece and nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs,” he enunciated pointedly, glancing to where the three of you were restrained.

“I’ll cut out your tongue!” you shouted as Jace broke free from the guards, coming behind you in support. Daemon halted you in your tracks, his touch gentle yet firm as he placed a hand on your arm. As you paused to regain your composure, you couldn’t help but notice the deep creases on his forehead, a sign of his genuine concern. You shrugged off his touch, refusing to succumb to paternal overtures because he intervened when Aegon was rough with you.

Your mother looked to the floor, a dejected expression on her porcelain features you couldn’t understand before she spoke to the three of you. “Go to your quarters. All of you, now.”

As you and Jace made your way out, you couldn’t help but notice the tense standoff between Daemon and Aemond. Your stepfather, casually leaning on his hips with one hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister, exuded an air of calculated confidence.

Standing in the doorway, you felt a flutter of anxiety in your heart, wondering what would unfold between the two men. You were curious to know if the two Targaryen men decided to brawl and whether you would go to your uncle or stepfather. There was a palpable sense of anticipation as Daemon glanced at where you stood, expressing a knowing look deep within his lilac eyes. He had already sent one person’s loved one to the Stranger. What was one more?

Sharing a look of frustration from you to your stepfather, Aemond grunted in displeasure, following your steps out of the dining hall. Jace checked himself into your shoulder as he forced you forward, refusing to let you dwell on the scene behind you.

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I know we're upset with Aemond's behavior, but it'll make that character arch much sweeter. We can only have the enemies-to-lovers trope with them being enemies first! I feel bad for the poor MC. First, she's forced to return to the scene of a traumatic experience, forced to see her rapist, and then finds out the man she thought she was going to marry her whole life is engaged to someone else! Baby girl is going through it. Let's get this girl some therapy. (⁠｡⁠•́⁠︿⁠•̀⁠｡⁠)

We're starting to see how Aegon and Alicent might have begun to harbor some unhealthy traits regarding our reader. Don't worry. It'll get much worse from here on out! Thank you so much for reading!

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp , @britt-mf , @marvelescvpe , @haikyuusboringassmanager , @discofairysworld , @lottiemsgf , @nessjo , @fiction-fanfic-reader , @qvnthesia , @hotvillianapologist , @p45510n4f4shi0n , @theendlessvoidofdarkest , @readerselegance , @gothamgurl2024 , @aleemendoza2425-blog , @vaylint , @ln8118 , @prettyduckling22 , @primroseluna , @baybaybear1

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claymoresword · 6 months ago

Text

The Queen And Her Knight | Chp: 8

Alicent Hightower x Knight Fem!Reader

Summary: Alicent Hightower against her better judgement, falls in love with her sworn protector. Can she bear to fight her feelings or will she finally just give in?

Pairing: Alicent x Reader

Wordcount: 2.5k

Disclaimer: angst, masc/butch coded reader, alicent is a mess, aemond & y/n, otto is a scheming little prick

Note: honestly idk if it's writers block or just a general lack of motivation but i could not for the life of me convince myself to sit down and write this story lol i'm very sorry for the delay

this chapter doesn't move around too much as it focuses on the events directly after Storm's End. sorry if it's boring... but I really hope it isn't! ok that's it, love y'all

Taglist: @blackbirdv98 @flaiire1805 @alicentfangirl @memarrymilf @thegayassbit-ch @vantestark @hauntedfictionland @livinginafantasysposts @baddie-on-a-mission-xx @evolutionsglory @darthtargnister @dxrewclf @rozmrazaradelfinow @wlwfanfictionss @karsonromanoff

You are jolted out of your slumber with the feeling of Criston's rough hand on your shoulder. "Council meeting, Lord Commander. you have been summoned."

In your half asleep state, you open your eyes just enough to squint at him, a grimace covers your features.

"What? Why can't you take the watch, Cole?" You question, rubbing your face in frustration as you sit up in bed.

You feel a breeze through the open window, it is still noticeably dark out. Nowhere near first light; your expression twists further in confusion. "What hour is it?"

Criston doesn't respond to your inquiry, his jaw is set in a way that always makes him appear mad at the world. "The dowager queen has sent for you, specifically."

At the mention of Alicent, you quickly tug the blanket off your frame, rising from your bed. "Very well, Ser. I will be out in a moment, just let me dress."

═══════════════════════════════════════════

You observed as Otto Hightower paced the length of the small council chambers, his hands firmly clasped behind his back. His stare is pensive, but he is anxious– despite his meager attempt to conceal it.

Alicent wears a similar look on her face, although instead of pacing she repeatedly brings her fingers up to her lips, gnawing at the skin around her nails.

The sight makes you grimace. Every time you allow yourself to believe she has abandoned the horrid habit, it resurfaces ten fold.

Alicent would manage to chew her fingers until raw and bloody unless you put a stop to it.

Infuriatingly, now you can only afford to rest both hands on the hilt of your sword. You cannot reach out; too many eyes.

The last thing you want is to be seen touching the dowager queen without her leave.

"Your Grace." You chide instead, your voice only loud enough for Alicent to hear.

The dowager queen looks your way, her gaze distant before her eyes finally settle upon your own.

Your narrowed gaze was enough for her to remove her hand from her mouth, clasping both of them over her belly instead, stifling the impulse.

Something has happened. But what, exactly?

You want to ask, but the words soon die in your throat as the doors to the chambers open.

Prince Aemond enters, dressed in his riding attire. His hand propped on the pommel of his longsword, his head held high.

You manage to catch the way Alicent stiffens at the sight of him.

Something is wrong, very wrong.

"Prince Aemond, I am certain we are all eager to find out what matter is so pressing that it requires our immediate audience at this time of night." Ser Tyland is first to address the obvious issue that's been left unspoken.

The Lannister's annoyance represents that of the other men in the room. It is thinly veiled if not entirely unconcealed.

Though to his luck, it somehow evades Aemond entirely. The prince decides to speak plainly.

"Lucerys Velaryon is dead."

The room falls silent, safe from the crackling of firewood in the hearth nearby– the air so still you can hear the beating of your heart in your ears.

"How–" Ser Tyland tries but Aemond interjects.

"He died on dragonback. Vhagar and I happened upon him in the Stormlands." The Targaryen explains and your eyes widen.

You glance at Alicent on instinct, the dowager queen appears ready to faint, or wretch– you could not say. You remain standing beside her just in case.

Once again there is only silence, even from the Hand of the king himself. Otto Hightower's expression betrays nothing, and it confounds you.

There is certainly no hope for peace now, not when Aemond has just openly declared a war by killing the princess’ own son.

"I do not.. understand–" The words tumble out before you even fully realize you were speaking.

Aemond turns to you then, his expression betrays even less than his grandsire.

"His dragon provoked mine, there was not much I could do.” Aemond delivers the statement with such certainty and indifference, it sends a chill down your spine, destabilizing enough that you have to look elsewhere.

“My Prince, forgive me– As I understand it dragons do not attack others of their kind unless they feel threatened, much less one six times it's own size.” Maester Orwyle verbalizes your own thoughts exactly.

Aemond provoked the boy first.

“It does not matter. The bastard got what was coming to him.” Aemond snaps in return, you observe as Alicent rubs her own forearm, an effort to soothe herself. You notice, whilst the men around her remain oblivious.

The room is flooded with a sudden sense of trepidation and despair.

“The princess will want blood for this.” Orwyle states grimly.

“That she will. and when she comes for it we will be ready.” Otto finally speaks, he steps forward, bracing his hands firmly on the wood-carved table.

“We can no longer expect the princess or her lord husband to bend their knees willingly. They will attempt to take my grandson’s rightful seat by force. We must strengthen our defenses.” He bellows, glancing at every man in the room.

Eventually Otto looks to you, but pays his own daughter no mind.

“I have the largest dragon.” Aemond remarks proudly, like the green boy that he is.

Having a dragon does not make you invincible, lad. You would have warned him, if you had been alone. Afterall, he did listen to you.. most times.

You let out a quiet sigh. The young prince knows nothing of warfare, so naturally he is giddy at the prospect.

His grandsire remains the only one with authority to openly address his statement, and his next words to Aemond are a risk. “Yes, and they are not to forget that.”

“We must first secure the castle, no one unauthorized goes in or out without my leave.”

“Lord Commander, double the amount of guards in the royal quarters. The king and queen's chambers especially.” Otto orders, his gaze now fixed on you.

With what men? You find yourself wondering.

More than half the kingsguard has since fled to join Rhaenyra's cause while your own men grow restless and uncooperative the longer your father took to declare his support for Aegon.

You don't dare utter your grievances out loud, simply nodding at the command.

“Very well, M'lord.”

Otto turns away from you to continue discussing future strategies with the rest of the council members.

It all comes easily to him, as though he had been planning them for some time. As if this was all a part of a larger scheme.

You foolishly mistook Otto's excitement for anxiety. This realization feels so macabre, you could laugh.

The men of the council continue to listen whether they want to or not, whilst you remain standing by the dowager queen. Alicent grows more uneasy by the minute as she listens to her father openly laying out strategies and tactics.

It is all happening so quickly.

Alicent fiddles with her seven pointed star necklace again before rubbing her neck anxiously. She goes to gnaw at her finger but stops herself.

The queen is unraveling right before your eyes, and the sight makes you ache.

Like a pot of steaming water just about to boil over; your lover's next move is sudden.

Alicent takes large strides towards the exit, the men of the council rise from their seats abruptly to see her off, and you fall in next to her dutifully.

“Mother–” Aemond calls out to her, but Alicent does not look back.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

Alicent doesn't allow herself to pause until she reaches her bedchambers, Ser Criston inclines his head at the sight of the queen, stepping aside to let her through.

“Return to your quarters, Cole, I will guard Her Grace.” You command, and Ser Criston nods without much reproach.

Most likely eager for the opportunity to return to his bedchambers and resume his slumber.

You replace his spot by the door as he went on his way, soon the knight turns a corner and out of sight. The clanging of his armor grew faint, eventually dimming into nothing.

“Y/n.” Your name echoes through the walkway.

It is Alicent calling for you before the door to her chambers gets the chance to shut fully. Her sweet voice, frail and weary with tears unshed.

You swiftly step inside at the invitation, habitually bolting the door behind you. As you turn, the dowager queen practically throws herself into your arms. It doesn't take you long to return her embrace, your chest constricts as you hear her sob against your shoulder.

“Oh, my love–” You coax, caressing her hair with a much needed tenderness, but you don't get to do it for long as Alicent soon breaks away from you to speak.

“Aemond, he came to me first– woke me to admit what he'd done.” She starts, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, only for more tears to fall.

“But it seemed as though he expected me to celebrate him for it. He looked so proud of himself.” Alicent recounts, her hand now shifts over her belly, as though actively suppressing the urge to be sick.

You watched as she began to pace the floors.

“The indignities of his childhood.. his want for revenge, it has blinded him–”

“It has blackened his heart, twisted him into someone I don't even recognize.” Alicent declares bitterly.

She gnaws at her cuticle again before turning to look at you. Your silence only makes her grow expectant, as though hoping you'll dispute her words. Perhaps even agree with them, but you find yourself incapable of doing either.

Aemond no longer appears the same boy you grew to care for. The boy you have trained and looked out for since he was not much taller than your knee.

A solemn fact, but one that is true.

Even so, you can hardly believe the young prince is capable of cold blooded murder– surely, it must have been an accident, a terrible lapse in judgment.

Dragons have never been so easily tamed, least of all the large and ancient beast Aemond commands.

Vhagar must have acted on her own.

Yes, in the presence of the council Aemond has to pretend. He pretends so his dignity is spared.

Alicent mistakes your silence for agreement, frustration and helplessness quickly overwhelm her.

“What is to become of my sons, y/n? The rotten fruits of my womb.. They are both monsters.” Alicent sobs, placing the blame entirely on herself– a thing she does often and mercilessly.

Another unjust habit.

You feel inclined to disagree. It is not fair that Alicent bears the burden all on her own, it does no good to anyone for her to believe these things.

You realize that your kindness will most likely not be of much use to her now– but you vow to try anyway. “Most men are, Your Grace.. You mustn't– you cannot blame yourself.”

You allow yourself a deep breath as Alicent meets your gaze; she is listening.

“We are a product of our parents, our mothers, that much is true. Still, we are our own person, we make our choices and we live with them.” You approach Alicent steadily, as though not to startle her.

“Aemond made a choice, my love.” You affirm, cupping her face with both hands, silently relishing at the feeling of her seeking out your embrace once more.

Alicent remains silent for a prolonged moment, she welcomes the feeling of your hand smoothing down her back.

“He should have never gone to Storm's End without an escort. Death and destruction awaits anyone who dares mount those feral beasts.” Alicent maintains her revulsion for dragons, now more than ever, vitriol laces her every word.

“This could have all been avoided.” She decides, forlorn.

“Now that poor boy is dead– and Rhaenyra, she– I gave her my word, peace in the realm if she accepted my terms, and I have betrayed that.” Alicent hugs you tighter, and you lift her head off your shoulder calmly as to guide her face towards your own.

“Alicent, what has happened cannot be undone. I dread the consequences as much as you do, but no good can come from blaming yourself.” You render, still you decide to continue even as the older woman averts her gaze.

“There was no way to anticipate this. I am certain prince Aemond himself did not plan on meeting Lucerys with his dragon.”

“Sometimes things simply happen. For better or worse.” You finish, in truth, unsatisfied with yourself.

Words are wind, there is only so much you can say in a situation as dire as this, in the face of impending war.

“It is not your fault. Do you hear me?” You insist, the pad of your thumb caressing Alicent's cheek as you catch a glimpse of her warm brown eyes.

At last, she hears your words and she accepts them. Alicent nods.

“Not my fault.” The dowager queen finally utters in return, uncharacteristically withdrawn and almost docile in your arms.

You continue to handle her carefully, as though she were made of glass. “That's right.” Relieved, you place a lingering kiss upon Alicent's forehead.

A welcomed stillness fills the air as you hold each other, in the quiet of the night, but as with most good things as of late– it is short lived.

A knock on the door startles you both, a familiar voice can be heard from the other side.

“Mother?” Aemond says as he attempts to enter, but the bolt you had placed on the handle prevents the door from budging.

Alicent escapes your touch, she threads her fingers through her auburn locks in visible distress. She makes the effort to step even further away from the door as Aemond knocks again.

“Tell him to leave me, please. I cannot bear to look at him just now.” Alicent pleads in a frantic whisper, and you nod, gesturing with your hand, at an attempt to remind her to calm herself.

As Alicent moves to her bed, you straighten out your doublet, approaching the door. Subsequently, you retract the long wooden panel barring it shut.

Aemond's features are twisted in visible confusion as your eyes meet. You school your own expression in turn, ignoring the way in which your shoulders tense at the sight of him.

“The dowager queen is abed, my prince. She is not to be disturbed.” You explain with an intended air of indifference and Aemond simply grimaces. He stubbornly tries to peek into the room as you remain blocking his view; to no avail.

“I don't understand, why does my mother not wish to see me?” He asks, his growing frustration evident.

“She is abed, the hour is late.” You repeat, not unkindly, though your hand rests on the pommel of your sword on instinct.

Aemond searches your face, and soon his own expression twists abruptly, bristling when he finds nothing within your gaze that would work in his favor.

The young prince just as quickly dons a look that fills you with a familiar sense of unease.

He turns on his heels, his cape flourishes as he storms through the dimly lit gallery, eventually disappearing into the shadows.

Aemond Targaryen left for Storm's End a brilliant and obliging boy, and he returned a Kinslayer.

#alicent hightower #alicent hightower x reader #rhaenicent #alicent x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen

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vintagecandy · 2 years ago

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My personal reimagining of Jervis Tetch, AKA: The Mad Hatter.

So I noticed that it is really common for Gotham rogues-- but almost especially Jervis Tetch-- to get redrawn and redesigned! Which I just thought was such a fun exercise, so because I'm me and predictable my brain immediately leaped at the chance to imagine my own Jervis.... set in the 1920s. Now, the drastically different time period causes a lot of interesting dynamics. For one, I'm fairly certain Jervis Tetch's character originates from a time period of comics where people wore a lot more hats, so setting him in the past is very fitting for him. It makes a lot more sense for him to literally be an artisan hat manufacturer, as in a real hatter. BUT what's interesting is that hand made "hatter" style hats were actually beginning to fade out of favor, and one of the reasons is actually partially because there was a growing moralizing around the hatting industry's overhunting of birds for their decorative feathers, and so Jervis ( as you can see ) having this big, real peacock bird feather on his hat is sort of a defiance, a subtle expression of his bad intent. And I imagine his introduction to crime will be marked with the sudden unprompted rise of vintage style hats "regaining popularity". He's very much still a hypnotist, a master illusionist, and a scientific genius, and I was thinking- to shake things up- the hat is actually what drove him insane. Originally the hat band was created to counteract nerve damage he developed from mercury poisoning some years ago, but ended up also giving him heightened focus and an incurable bout of severe insanity. Then he later repurposed it for mind control. What insanity? Ok, look at the face I drew for him. This was on accident, but I've been looking at his face...... and I cannot shake the feeling he's a dad. Like, he has peak "wacky inventor father" energy in his face, but more sickly and evil. So I was thinking.... what if for this Jervis instead of his usual romantic Alice fixation... Alice was instead his daughter. And he loved having pretend tea parties with her, acting as the hatter. Some point after he put on the hat, his behavior was a little off but not worrying yet, but he lets his daughter wander off too far in this dangerous city and he just... never sees her again. He calls the police, they're kinda apathetic- probably corrupt tbh, he puts up posters-- nothing, she's just gone. Probably dead the more time passes. A senseless tragedy in a nonsense world. This breaks his brain! And so he decides he's going to take over all of Gotham and turn it into a game of Wonderland, part out of spite, and mostly out of total denial that his daughter is gone no matter how many years pass, in hopes that the little lost girl will find her way back to him or even that more puppets means more help finding her. But with time his insanity becomes so severe he doesn't even remember Alice was his daughter and not literally the book Alice, but he is slightly more lucid when without the hat. However, he feels sick and anxious when without it.

But as it goes in Gotham, by the time they consider you Arkham levels of insane, incurably so-- a 1920s insane asylum mind you! Which practically makes him more ill-- you sort of have no choice but to stay in the crime life forever. Which is where the tommy guns come in.

#( so i have now drawn... 3 variants of an evil mad hatter character? pfft )#Jervis Tetch #vintagecandy's jervis tetch #1920s #1920s jervis tetch #mobsters #vintage #fanart #Batman #DC comics #Gotham rogues #Mad Hatter #Alice in Wonderland #The Mad Hatter #1920s gotham

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just-some-random-blogger · 6 months ago

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Snow Angel

Criston's Version

I'll angel in the snow until I'm worthy but if it kills me, I tried.

Gwyane's Version ❄ Daemon's Version ❄ Aegon's Version ❄ Aemond's Version ❄ Jacaerys' Version ❄ Cregan's Version ❄ Criston's Verision

Cregan Stark x Reader | 900< | cw: fem!reader, dornish!reader, angry mob, angst, violence, death, typos, etc.

A/N: renee rapp my beloved. this was requested by an anon so anon i hope you see this and enjoy it <3

You remember distinctly how his hair bounced as he ran to your window. You remember distinctly the huffs that left his lips as he scaled up to your window. You remember distinctly the smile that blossomed on your lips as he handed you the fresh flower he picked.

Yet, it seemed nothing remained of what you remembered of him, to a point where you questioned if you remembered correctly at all.

Criston Cole strut about the Keep with his short hair and white cloak as though he was born here. There was an air of urgency about him and a sullenness to his expression. He spoke with a man, donned in similar attire as they march closer to you. You push your shoulders back and ready yourself to meet him.

You wait for him to stop, for him to see you and look as though he'd seen a ghost. He does not even look your way or notice you as he passes. You are taken aback, but brush it off; after all, you were kids when you last saw each other.

"Criston."

The man speaking to whom you called is the one that looks back. A beat later, so does he. His brows are furrowed, his jaw is clenched.

You offer him a smile, "duty becomes you... I think."

He tilts his head at your words and watches you link your fingers together. It takes him too many seconds too long to recognize you. Your smile chips by the time he says your name. He dismisses the man beside him and moves closer to you. Now that you are face to face, you find it a wonder to have recognized him at all.

How high he has soared from being some lowly boy who offered you flowers. For a moment, you swear his brown eyes soften the way it used once.

"I heard they have made you the Hand," you eye the necklace on him, "I think my father would rise from the dead if I told his grave." You chuckle softly, "though, he is more a lord of pride than anything else."

A faint line forms between his brows, "have you come to besmirch me?"

You pull your head back, "what?"

"Do you find Dorne so dull that you leave the peace there to behold the skirmish here in King's Landing?"

Your jaw slacks. You shake your head in disagreement. You reach for his cheek, "I do no such thing, sweetheart."

Criston reels then tenses at your touch. Still, you manage to place your palm upon his face. He looks as though he is fighting to keep the hardness on his face.

"I've come to see you. To wish you well."

His mask slips. You feel him slightly lean into your touch. He sighs, "it is not safe for you here. The city does not take kindly its Crown as of late. They've grown restless," he takes your hand and squeezes it, "you m-"

"Ser Criston."

The speed and harshness in which your hand is released nearly makes you lose your footing.

Criston turns around with the haste of a guilty criminal. You both turn to the red haired woman. He addresses her, "queen mother."

She approaches, hand gripping her emerald skirt. She stops a few feet before the two of you. She turns to you and you find yourself curtsying, "Queen Alicent."

She smiles politely and turns to Cole, "there is a matter I wish to discuss with you."

"I am your servant," he steps forward, bowing in regard.

"We may speak after your-"

"Our conversation is ended," Criston does not spare you a glance.

Alicent does not betray the blank expression on her face. She turns to you, eyes darting to your necklace, "you have come from Dorne, have you not?"

You nod, "indeed, your grace."

She looks back at him. Her lips twitch, "much effort has been taken by your friend-"

"She is not my friend," Criston cuts, deeply and surely. You are rendered frozen in your spot as he glances from over his shoulder, "I have instructed her to take her leave."

You feel as though the heat of your was being pulled out from your face. You lower your gaze and curtsy one last time before leaving without another word.

Criston watches as you retreat. He feels a twinge in his chest but he wills it away with a sigh. It is much harder to do so when Alicent begins to pick a fight over his unfeelingness.

You manage to retreat to your carriage and instruct your coachman to bring you back home. As you ride through the city, your embarrassment and sorrow almost make the cries of the peasants fall deaf to your ears. However, by then time you arrive at the city gates, it is impossible to ignore, especially not when your carriage begins get rocked.

You gasp and press your hands to walls to keep yourself upright. It takes only a few moments for you to realize exit was not being allowed to the town folk and your exemption was reason for their aggression. You begin to panic when you hear a loud cry from your coachmen, then from horses.

You hear guards threatening people, then suddenly, your door was ripped open.

They were upon you. In a second, tens of people had their hands on your body, ripping your dress, your hair, your being into shreds. You could not get away. City guards manage to grab hold of you but it did you more harm than good; they now battled for your helpless form.

The pain was searing; all you could do was scream.

Though the guards were eventually able to retrieve you, though you managed to be brought back to the Keep, though maesters saw to your shredded body, Criston was unable to wish you what you meant to wish him. You had let your final breath before he could visit.

He and Alicent light a candle.

#criston cole fanfic #criston cole #criston cole angst #criston cole x reader #ser criston cole #criston cole imagine #criston angst #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon angst #criston cole fic #ser criston fanfic #criston cole fluff #criston cole smut #ser criston angst #hotd fanfic

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pinkydevil16 · 6 months ago

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hello, I hope your day is going well. I was wondering if you could do (if you haven’t already) Aegon II’s reaction to his sister-wife falling gravely ill after giving birth?? A little dark, but idk I’m kinda into dark themes and how they’d play out. Thank you!!

so i began writing this and then when i went to upload it my phone crashed and deleted it all so i'm sorry this is a bit shorter than i normally write but i almost cried when it happened

Aegon stumbled into the room, his breath stunk of alcohol and his slurred speech wasn't out of the ordinary as he flopped into a seat and looked at his mother. Alicent held the babe in her arms, a healthy baby boy, the first son out of the three children Y/n had birthed and the heir to the iron throne.

"A boy! A son, what a miraculous day." Aegon cheered as he picked up a cup of wine, thrusting his arm in the air as the wine spilt over onto his hands and trousers before he finished the cup and slammed it down. His drunken joy drowned out by the sudden scream, handmaids rushing in and out of the next room, hands covered in blood as they carried pales of water and bloodies bed cloths. Aegon looked at his mother as she gave him what could only be described as motherly disgust, her eyes dropping back to the babe in her arms as she rocked him as he cried out for his mother. Aegon forced himself up, stumbling into the bedchamber where Y/n, his sister and wife laid. Her bottom half covered in blood as Maester's demanded the handmaids retrieve more cloth. Aegon stared at Y/n as she weakly breathed in and out, her body pale and lifeless as a thin coat of sweat covered her body, falling next to the bed suddenly he held her hand. Her fingers twitched as her cold skin made contact with his warmth, her eyes fluttering open to look at Aegon as she gave him a small smile and whispered his name. Aegon could feel his body grow cold as he shouted out demands to save his wife, his own mind not taking in his words as he turned and caressed her face. Her whole body seeming to fall limp as maester's tried to come to a solution, the door opened slowly as Alicent entered. Her eyes fell in Y/n with a heartbroken look as she handed the babe to a handmaid and talked to the maesters. Aegon looked at his mother once before his attention was back on Y/n as she wheezed and coughed, her ribcage sounding almost empty as handmaids rushed to her side as they cleaned the blood from the corner of her lips.

"Aegon. Y/n must rest." Aegon was pulled from the ground as maester's approached with milk of the poppy, assisting her to drink before the doors closed and Aegon slumped against the guards arms.

It had been three days since Y/n had given birth, she had made no improvements as Aegon sat beside her for the third day in a row, the babe in his arms as he told her about their son and daughters. Y/n could not move her hand nor open her eyes as a handmaid came and collected the young prince. Aegon took Y/n's hand and pleaded with her to awaken, to just look at him once more, to see her son but nothing worked. He had demanded the greatest maester's in the realm to be brought to the kingdom, but all had the same answer, one which Aegon refused to listen to

On the fifth day Aegon awoke the same as he had previous days, Y/n's hand in his as he barely opened his eyes and stared at her, but this time he could not see the rise and fall of her chest. Could not see the parting of her lips or the slight colour to her skin, instead she lay completely still, lips parted and chapped, eyes closed and skin sunken in. He could feel the cold skin against his own as he held her hand, could feel how her body seemed to have frozen as he sat up and cried out her name. Maester's walking in slowly as Alicent entered behind them, watching as her son seemed to descend into madness demanding they bring his wife back, his eyes red raw and dark circles around them as he held Y/n's hand tight. The maester's explained they could do nothing before leaving as Alicent insisted, leaving her with her son as he cried and screamed out for Y/n, her body paralysed as she stared at her daughter's body.

She had done what was merciful, she had done what was right. She kept repeating it to herself as Sunfyre burnt Y/n's body, her two granddaughter's clutching her hands without their father present. She hadn't let Y/n suffer any longer, she had done what was right for her daughter. She had to believe it, or else she would fall into a depression like Aegon. She had to believe Y/n needed the poison to be free, that she would not be herself again, just as the maester's had said.

#aegon targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #house targaryen #Sad

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the-writer-ofthe-fandoms · 1 year ago

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Silent Cosmos (Edward Cullen) (Ch. 3)

Pairing: Edward Cullen x GN! Mute!Reader

Words: 2.8k+

Warning(s): Two gross dudes, sexual verbal harassment (not towards reader), swearing,

A/N: omg chapter 3 is finally here. I apologize for the wait. I thought my semester this time around would be forgiving but NOPE. I had so much to do and read, I could hardly write for fun or draw either. I hadn't realized how long it had been since I last posted. I want to try a new method when writing series. I tried with my kpop writing blog, and its where I write a few chapters at a time then periodically post them. Helps keep the flow and motivation going, but that may have been a one off there.

Series Masterlist

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"O star of strength! I see thee stand And smile upon my pain; Thou beckonest with thy mailèd hand, And I am strong again... The Star of the unconquered will, He rises in my breast, Serene, and resolute, and still, And calm, and self-possessed. -- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "The Light of Stars"

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Edward hasn't been in school for the past few days.

You admittedly felt a little lonely without his presence, though Emmett and Alice have made it their mission to become your new best friends. Jasper tried but he still kept his distance from you, which you didn't mind. Rosalie helped when no other Cullen was around, although she kept a lot of conversations at a minimum, which you also didn't mind.

Alice had told you Edward had gotten a bad cold, so he is staying home. You had offered to bring him your notes the first time so he could copy them down, but Alice told you their father has him basically on lock down until he is deemed healthy. So, after you've done your homework, you've been making copies of your notes to give him when he comes back.

It's the start of a new day and once again, Edward wasn't there. You were at your locker with 15 minutes to spare. You placed the spare folder with Edward's notes on the shelf while your mind went back to that moment you two shared at the welcoming party for your uncle. You felt happy telling him all the stars and constellation you could see, and even happier when he seemed thoroughly interested in your rambles. However, you feel an inkling of guilt when you remember he gave you his jacket. Maybe he got sick from that?

"Dude, I got this weird spot on my dick."

Well, there goes your musings of guilt. You glance to your left and see two guys near you, just chilling against the lockers. You've never met them, though you do remember sharing a class or two with them separately.

"Are you really airing your business out when someone is standing right their?" The shorter one, with dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes gestures to you.

"Relax, Mark. That's the deaf student." The taller one with deep brown eyes and brown hair says with a laugh. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes and choose to just focus on the inside of your locker. Maybe you should get more decorations- "Anyways, I have this weird spot on my dick. It almost looks like I have a weird mole there. I'm hoping it's just a new mole and Cindy didn't give me something."

Gross.

"I'd get that shit checked out then. You don't want it to turn into something worse if it is an STD." Mark says with a sigh. "I told you not to sleep with her, Tony. She made my balls itch like crazy. They still fucking itch."

"I think its just a weird mole. You wanna look?" He cackles while his friend fake gags. They both push off the lockers and walk away to who knows where.

You let out a deep sigh and close your locker. At least the ignorance of other allows you to hear some gossip.

"What's with the sigh, Tiny?" Emmett calls out as he and Rosalie approach you. He has very quickly taken to the nickname Tiny for you. You suppose anyone shorter than him would be considered tiny in his eyes. Rosalie simply opened her locker as you and Emmett conversed.

"Oh, just overheard two people talking about something that should have been a private conversation." You respond with a slight shrug.

"Gah, Forks High is full of a bunch of weirdos, huh?" He grins and raises his brows a few times, crossing his arms while leaning on the locker next to you. You silently chuckle and nod, though you wondered if there was an underlying joke there.

"No Edward today?"

"Nope. Carlisle still hasn't cleared him." He sighs with a sympathetic smile. "Between you and me, Tiny, Edward is still shitting his brains out." He signed that last portion to you.

You gave him a scandalized look and playfully slapped his arm with a small chuckle. You were surprised to feel just how hard his muscles were.

"What was that for?" He gripped where you slapped and pretended to be hurt. "It was a private conversation, no one else here except Rosalie knows sign."

You roll your eyes and shake your head with a smile. You could always count on Emmett to get you to smile.

"C'mon, Rose and I will walk you to first period, like always." He grins and gestures you to follow him. Rose simply came along since she and Em were in the class next to yours. You nod and follow, happy to have good company.

---

It was a passing period and it was just you and Rose at your lockers. You grabbed a new pen and pencil since the last two you had broke and ran out of ink. Rosalie was fluffing up her already perfect, blond hair in the mirror of her locker. She and you didn't converse much, but you still liked her presence. Like the rest of the Cullens, she didn't tiptoe around you or treated you differently. She acknowledged your presence and would answer you if you had questions.

You were about finished in your locker when you heard two familiar voices keep up their gross conversations behind you.

"Dude, Rosalie has the hottest ass." Tony practically jeers, his voice intentionally loud. You glance to the blond next to you and she still keeps fixing her hair, though you can see her brows are a little more furrowed and her lips are more in the shape of a frown.

"Her tits, man, her tits are where it's at." Replies Mark and when you shift just enough to see him in the corner of your eyes, you see him make an obscene gesture.

You hear the slight creek of metal and when you look to Rose, you see her grip is so tight on her locker door that her fingers made indents which made your eyes widen for a moment. She closes her locker and you can see by her side profile she is pissed, and rightfully so.

So, you do what you think would make her laugh at the expense of those two guys.

You tap her arm to get her attention and she looks at you with a glare. You don't let it faze you. If those two are going to be gross about your friend, you'll just air out their business that they so willingly aired out by you this morning.

"You know those two jackasses?" You intentionally look to them as you sign and look back at her. "Well the brown haired one has a spot on his penis that he isn't sure if it's a mole or an STD. And his buddy likely doesn't wash right since he's had prolonged itchy balls."

Rosalie looks almost scandalized until her eyes widen for a moment as she looks at the two dudes and then back to you. She covers her mouth as she laughs when she realizes what you're trying to do.

You were about to sign some more when the two dumbasses approach.

"I know you were talking shit. What the fuck did you sign?" Tony glared, pointing an accusatory finger at you. He gets in your face and you swear you hear Rosalie growl.

You swallow thickly and decide to open your mouth. Your aunt always said you got your stubbornness from your mom.

"I said..." You try not to wince at the pain in your throat, your voice sounding hoarse. "You had a weird spot on your dick and your friend... has itchy balls." They looked at you with wide, horrified looks. "Don't talk about someone's body if you don't want yours talked about either."

"You little shit." Mark hisses and Rose steps closer to your side, an arm just barely in front of yours.

"What's going on here?" Emmetts voice grows louder as he approaches, his usual, carefree smile no longer on his face. He looked scarier than you've ever seen him. Mark and Tony looked at each other before slinking off.

Once they were gone you let out a dry, painful cough. You cover your mouth with the back of your hand and quickly grab your water and drink, soothing your throat. You could taste a tiny bit of iron in the back of your throat as you drank.

Rosalie calls your name softly. "Are you okay?"

You nod in response and take another sip of water. You didn't catch the look they gave each other or Rose gesturing for Emmett to speak.

"What happened, Tiny?" He asks in a quiet tone. You close the cap of your bottle and place it back in your bag. Your throat still ached but you knew the pain from using your larynx will linger.

You start to sign to him everything that occurred, from what you overheard in the morning to him approaching. You can see a flash of anger on his face but he goes back to that small smile. Once you explained your words to Rose and why you said them, a huge grin breaks out on his face.

"I didn't know you had it in you, Tiny." He laughs and pats your shoulder a little too firmly.

"Come, I'll walk you to class." Rosalie said with a soft tone. You nod and wave goodbye to Emmett. You both start heading down the hallway, the blond next to you tense.

When you got to your class a pale hand stopped you. You look to Rose with a questioning look while her gold eyes avoid yours.

"I just wanted to say thank you for earlier." Rosalie says, the tense look she had fades into a small smile, her eyes meeting yours. You see some vulnerability in her usually guarded gaze. She gives your shoulder a squeeze before dropping her hand. "You didn't have to do that. I'm... admittedly used to that."

"No need to thank me, Rosalie." You smile back at her.

"I do, because not many would step up like that." She softly sighs and her smile grows a bit. You felt her words had more meaning to them, but you decided to not linger on them for now. "I know I've been slightly avoiding you but I have a hard time trusting hu- new people. But, after today, I think I want to open up a bit and be friends."

"I'd like that too." You beam. "Alice has been begging me to do a shopping trip, maybe the three of us can plan a trip soon."

"I'd... I'd like that." She almost looks like she is relieved and less guarded.

"Is your hand okay?"

"What?"

"Well, I saw you grip your locker and you dented it."

"Oh. Yeah, it's fine. I work on cars and my grip is strong. It's nothing." She holds out her hands and you saw just flawless skin. "Well, I will see you soon. Class is starting."

"Talk to you later." You wave and go to class. You sit down at your usual spot and start preparing. You sigh, irritated at the way those two spoke about Rose so loudly. But you also felt happy you and Rose were close now. Her bending the locker was suspicious... there were many things off with the Cullens that you've picked up, however, you don't linger on it. They have their quirks much like you have your own.

---

Edward lounged on the couch reading, back from his trip up to the Denali clan to clear his head. After witnessing that nightmare from you, he needed a moment alone to sort his thoughts. He wasn't sure what he felt afterwards but once he took some time to sort out his thoughts, he came back to Forks. None of the others knew what happened. He didn't tell them those details of your life, as none of them were privy to it. He wasn't either but that bridge has been crossed thanks to his ability and curiosity of the galaxy protecting your mind.

He felt guilt initially when he realized he deeply invaded your privacy. Then, despair and immense sadness followed when he recalls back to your nightmare, your past. Edward had seen many horrors in his long life, he even committed some when he'd hunt those men. However when he witnessed what you went through, he couldn't help feel a spark of protectiveness. You were nice. He found you a joy to be around despite it not being long since you transferred. He doesn't want anything bad to happen to you.

Edward couldn't help but smile when he thought back to you and him outside the fire station. It was a peaceful moment. He couldn't help but linger on the sight of you in his jacket, pointing out the stars and constellations. It was silent other than your internal thoughts. And when he got to witness your galaxy so at peace? He also felt a sense of tranquility he longs for.

Edward quickly put those thoughts away and resumed his attention his book when he heard his adoptive siblings come in. Alice and Jasper pass without saying to him, which he was slightly thankful for. However, Emmett and Rosalie lingered by him.

"How can I help you both?" Edward sighs, snapping the book closed as he looks at both of them.

Rose crosses her arms. "You need to come back tomorrow."

"Why? Did something happen?"

"Yeah, Tiny happened." Emmett grinned and gestured to Rosalie. The blond sighed and let the memory replay of you standing up for her so Edward can see what happened today. He furrows his brows, setting his book down. He stands up from the couch and looks between the two.

"My guess is those two will probably retaliate against our friend one way or another." Rosalie says softly. Edward chooses not to point out how she said 'our friend.' "You spend the most time with them, they'll need you to stick around them the most."

Edward nods slowly. He recognizes Mark and Tony, and he knows they each have a class with him and you. He's heard the thoughts that spew from them both like garbage and he knows they aren't above getting back at someone.

"I'll come back tomorrow." He confirms. He wanted one more day to himself, but tomorrow is good as ever to face you again. He knows how you lost your voice and how you ended up living with your uncle and aunt now, but you don't know he knows. And he'll have to keep that in mind.

Although, Edward couldn't help but smile at the sound of your voice in Rosalie's memory. It was rough and hoarse, and it caused you pain, pain he doesn't want you feeling again... but it was nice hearing that voice that matches to the one in your head... when that space of yours is dropped.

---

You make your way to your locker first thing in the morning. You get yourself situated, grabbing the things you need for your classes before lunch. You set aside the folder where you kept your copies of notes for Edward down on the small shelf. You huff softly, throat still feeling sore from using your voice.

A familiar voice calling your name has you spinning around quickly, a smile instantly growing on your face. Edward approaches you with a small smile, looking the same as he did the last time you saw him.

"Glad to see you're feeling better." You grin, your mind flashing back to what Emmett signed to you in regards to Edward's health. You catch your friend's eyebrow twitch, a flash of annoyance on his face that he quickly recovered.

A Cullen quirk, you muse to yourself.

"Yeah. I'm doing a lot better now." He replies softly, standing a little closer to you than usual.

"I have something for you." You see his eyebrow quirk as you turn back to your locker. You pull out the black folder and hand him it. "Notes for the classes we share."

Edward stares down at the folder before chuckling. He looks up at you and gives you brilliant smile, one that makes your heart flutter for just a moment. "Thank you, I really appreciate it."

"Of course."

Suddenly, you feel hand on your back. Edward was standing much closer to you with an expression akin to a scowl as he stares off a little. He looks to you and smiles softly, though you can still see the tension on his face.

"We should get to the classroom. I'll probably have questions about what I missed." He says in a low voice. You nod, a little confused by his demeanor. You finish up with your locker and let him guide through the hallway, his cold hand still resting on the middle of your back.

You weren't aware of Tony's and Mark's presences until you both were walking by them to your first period classroom. You paid them no mind, keeping your focus ahead of you. Doing this, however, has you missing the deep and threatening glare from Edward towards the both of them.

As you both walked through the hallway, Edward felt that his non-existent blood boiling at the degrading, violent, and nasty thoughts those two were thinking. He knew they both weren't the best that Forks has to offer, their thoughts sometimes louder than others.

That protective urge he felt after witnessing your nightmare? It's working overtime now and he isn't completely sure why.

What Edward does know that he won't let them try anything towards you.

------

Taglist: @buckybarnes-1917, @trawberry-fire , @dreamy-caramel, @urgirlfriendspage @azazel-nyx @stinkii-boii @vanessalovesonedirection @sunnyisntthere @theatrenerd101601 @awesomebooklover17 @esposadomd @whichwitchisthebitch @bofadeezs @gons-dad-is-gon-e @kathsuhki @aoi-targaryen @srh-006 @onlyheretosimp

#edward cullen #edward cullen x reader #edward cullen x you #edward cullen x y/n #edward cullen imagines #edward cullen imagine #twilight #twilight saga #twilight edward #twilight edward cullen #twilight x reader #twilight x you #twilight x y/n #twilight imagines #twilight imagine #silent cosmos

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alottiegoingon · 7 months ago

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I'M ONLY SEVENTEEN, I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING

alicent hightower x fem!reader

summary: your average homoerotic friendship.

warnings: brief fluff, comphet, princess!reader, short angsty blurb, not proofread.

as you step down from syrax, the first person your eyes find is lady alicent. though the courtyard is filled with guards, maids, helpers, and officials busy with their tasks, it is alicent hightower who holds your gaze.

"syrax is growing quickly," alicent notes as you approach, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she looks down from the carriage. "she'll soon be as large as caraxes."

"that's almost big enough for two riders," you jest, well aware of alicent's hesitation to get anywhere near the golden beast. you can't fault her for fearing such a massive creature, but her denials are always amusing.

"i believe I'm quite content as a spectator, thank you," alicent responds, ending any hopes of her flying with you on syrax. her words, however, still manage to elicit a grin from both of you as you enter the carriage.

in the garden, your head was resting on alicent's lap, your hair cascading over her dress as she held a heavy tome in her hands. you were taking the risk of being crushed right on the face, but honestly didn't care about it.

"are you excited to be wed one day?" you ask out of the blue, fidgeting with your fingers on your stomach, watching alicent's lips purse and her shoulders rise in a slight shrug.

"i suppose i am. it's quite romantic. what about you?"

but she didn't have to ask you that to know your answer. like a mantra you repeated to yourself and everyone else around you, you weren't exactly interested in becoming someone's wife. well, a man's wife.

"you already know my answer," you clear your throat, briefly looking away from alicent to watch how entertained your hands were. it was painful to look up in that position, anyway. you definitely weren't avoiding her while talking about such feelings.

alicent knew you too well, and it wasn't easy to hide from her. she wanted to touch your chin and make you face her again, but she didn't. she contained herself and listened to you, already anticipating your words.

"do you ever think about how wonderful it would be if everyone was allowed to wed their dearest friends? people they truly love instead of marrying for wealth and alliances?" but alicent didn't expect that, and her heartbeat picked up as she heard you. with a meaning behind it or not, her muscles tensed.

"i do think that would be nice," she replied after a few seconds, what felt like hours in complete silence to you. "and a great way to flee from your position as well."

"i assume fleeing on dragonback is always an option," your gaze finally rises, shyly meeting alicent's. "i could wait until syrax is big enough for two."

"oh, and you plan to bring me into this mess with you?" alicent asked, her casual playful tone returning along with her smirk. she tried to sound surprised, but the idea of exploring the world and leaving king's landing wasn't a secret of yours.

"naturally," a faint chuckle escaped your lips. "syrax would be nice. she knows much about you," you tease her, observing her smile widen and eyes dart across your face for a bit too long.

"you talk to your dragon about me?" her eyebrows wriggled and she could not hide a dazzling smile begging to appear, intoxicated with the idea of her name leaving your mouth. "only good things, i hope."

matching her mischievousness, you smile back, slowly getting up from alicent's lap to sit by her side, your hands touching the grass as your back rested against the tree. "not exactly. i told syrax that you are a frightened little girl, and terrible at dancing."

alicent's eyes widened and she gasped, offended at your words. "i am not! you just haven't been blessed with the opportunity to witness my grace!" she raised a hand to her chest and scoffed, trying to hold her serious expression for a moment longer but failed.

"and i am not a frightened little girl."

"i'm sure you wouldn't mind flying with us, then," and she rolls her eyes, silently reprimanding you but never giving up on a sweet casual smirk.

"and i'm sure you wouldn't scare me too much or make me hold onto you for my dear life?" her brow arches and a few strands of hair cover her face as the wind lingers around the two of you.

"i wouldn't bet on that."

you didn't know how or when the topic changed and grew more intense, making even the last inch of your body tense up. perhaps it was when you let it slip that you'd happily run away and leave everything behind in a blink of an eye. all you needed was a dragon and her.

"me?" she asked quietly, hardly believing it. "you don't need anything else? just... me?"

"just you," you affirm, gently nodding. it was as simple as that. scared of where this could possibly lead to, you get up. it was indeed getting late, the sun was starting to set and you should get inside. but your answer wasn't enough for her.

"and what about our duties?" she lifts from the ground, fixing her dress and wiping any dirt from the fabric, following you. "our responsibilities to our homes? our families..."

"i don't need it," you shrug. such an obvious answer to you. "you know how terribly i despise the idea of marriage. especially to a foolish man twice my age who's only interested in the kingdom's wealth. i'm not like you."

alicent felt a pang in her chest at the hidden disappointment in your tone, knowing that the feeling was directed at her. being told what to do and how to act since the day she was born wasn't something she could control.

"it's a part of who i am, whether you like it or not..." she shifted uncomfortably, her expression shifting to sadness.

“if i can’t get my best friend to not marry a stranger then being a princess is useless,” you utter. of course, she didn't care about marrying a complete stranger when her father was always by her side, taking control of her life like a puppet.

alicent stayed silent and avoided your gaze more than ever before, the guilt and shame making her uncomfortable, and the thought of you being upset and disappointed adding to it even more. she could tell you were struggling too, with feelings and words to say, she could feel the tension.

“i can’t just… not marry,” she eventually said softly, keeping her eyes down at the ground. “it’s my duty. it isn’t as easy as you seem to think it is.”

she was right, you were very aware. if it was hard for you to convince your own father of avoiding marriage, it certainly wasn't a choice for her. still, you despised the idea of watching alicent become someone's wife.

“are you marrying because you want to or because your father says it’s your duty?”

her breath caught in her throat at the question, and she remained silent for a moment, her throat going dry.

“i…” she hesitated. “both…?”

“really?” you scoff, eyes hardening, narrowed towards her. “you don’t mind marrying someone just for the benefits of it? someone old enough to be your grandsire? with no love?”

the look on your face, the way you sounded, and your trembling lower lip made it feel like someone was stabbing a knife through her chest. she paused and swallowed, averting her eyes again. “i don’t… mind it."

you couldn't believe alicent's words, frowning at the unexpectedness of them and at how easy it was for her to accept her fate of a future where you weren't directly included. "i'm happy for you, then."

alicent could feel tears slowly building up, the sight of your hurt eyes and the way you whispered those words feeling like a punch straight to her gut. she was filled with guilt again, and a sudden urge to take everything she had just said back. but she didn’t.

“i should get back, it's late," you step backward, hands hiding behind your back. "i hope you have a pleasant rest of the day, lady alicent,” avoiding her eyes, you say, being unusually formal.

the familiar and formal title felt like another stab through her heart, her chest aching even more with shame. she swallowed hard but didn’t look away from you. “you too, your highness….” she said quietly, equally as formal.

#alicent hightower #alicent hightower x reader #house of the dragon

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lainalit · 6 months ago

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Intertwined Hearts | An Elucien Playlist

"I can hear your heart beating through the Stone. Can you hear mine? "

I saw the Golden Hour Playlist from @areyoudreaminof and was inspired by it to also create my own playlist for Day One Fated for @elucienweekofficial on the themes of Tension, Growth & Healing that Sjm mentioned in her old facebook post about Elain & Lucien

The Playlist has 33 Songs with two Sides: Side A which is the Tension & Growth and Side B being the Healing & Coming Together The Genres are mostly folk/Indie, singer-songwriter, pop & new age

>> Click here to listen to it <<

Under the Cut you find the Tracklist & my favorite Lyrics Hope you enjoy listening 💚

Thank you to the commissioners @foreverinelysian & @fiercehildr for allowing me to use the Artwork by @pandyals_art as the cover

Favorite Lyrics

Where have you been hiding? You seem lost within your body and your mind A beam of light can still remind you who you are -The Secret Garden by AURORA

But despite all of my virtue I know that I'm the one who hurts you -The Garden by Flower Face

You're gonna be a strange companion Building his cage with disaster Tangled emotions Sunlit became my bond -Litha by Nadiiife

Flowers in my hair makes me wish that you were here When my mind goes away oh I hope that you’ll be near me -Flowers in My Hair by Wes Reeve

Stop you putting roots in my dreamland My house of stone, your ivy grows And now I'm covered In You -Ivy by Taylor Swift

And I'd give up forever to touch you 'Cause I know that you feel me somehow You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be And I don't wanna go home right now -Iris by goo goo dolls (cover Kina Grannis)

Can we become we No longer known as just you and me Two separate lives now in unity Stuck here together but Will this always be just an arrangement -We Become We by Fiona Palomo & Milo Manheim

I'm an atom in a sea of nothing Looking for another to combine Maybe we could be the start of something Be together at the start of time -Start of Time by Gabrielle Aplin

And in the beginning, when land touched the sea The Earth was created around you and me And we keep on spinning from now on and on Tumbling and turning till all becomes one Becomes one -In the Beginning by Alice Merton, Fahrenhaidt

Seasons may change But we won't change Isn't it strange how different we are from all of our friends? -Yosemite by Lana del Ray

In the morn, I'll be wed to the bonniest boy And I'll bind my hand to his He is blood of my blood And bone of my bone I am bound to the love of him -Bound by Karliene

We only last a moment Our heartbeat's just a life But love can make believers never die So I will be yours if you be mine -Sweeter Place by SVRCINA

Honeybee Could you imagine where our lives would lead? That silly ring, it wasn't meant to be Luckily, you saw in me something I couldn't see -Honeybee by The Head And The Heart

Each day, you'd rise with me Know that I would gladly be The Icarus to your certainty Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight -Sunlight by Hozier

'Cause you are loved, you are loved more than you know I hereby pledge all of my days to prove it so Though your heart is far too young to realize The unimaginable light you hold inside -Light by Sleeping At Last

#elucien #elucienweek2024 #Day 1: Fated #acotar #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elucien playlist #Spotify #songs for acotar

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fbfh · 2 years ago

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curiosity is a wonderful thing - chapter 1

wc: 2k

genre: slice of life, slow burn, best friends to lovers

pairing: slowburn best friend ben! x fem daughter of alice!reader, current audrey x ben

warnings: audrey being a bitch, unnecessary amounts of tea, ben being ben, mildly implied nd reader

summary: after a junior royal council meeting, you hype up your best friend Ben to tell his parents about his plans for his first proclaimation as king.

song recs: main titles 1 2 & 3 - descendants score/david lawrence, cheshire kitten (we're all mad here) - sj tucker

a/n: THE NEW SERIES IS HERE!!!! I am so excited for this, it's been one of my comfort indulgence daydreams for the longest time so I'm really elated to share it with y'all. BIG FAT FANGZ TO CICI FOR BETA READING!!!!!! and fangz to you guys for reading!!!!! I hope you enjoy lol <333 have an optional outfit. as a treat.

tags @dustyinkpages @demirunner @strawberry-cake1 @kiara7777 @yesv01 @magcon7280

Audrey was shocked when Ben had first told her that you and he weren't dating. She knew that you were friends, best friends at that. Everyone in Auradon did. Everyone also knew that what you had between you couldn't possibly be just platonic, not with the way you look at each other, how much time you spend together, or how intimately you speak to each other. It’s like you have your own language.

Everyone in Auradon knows this, with the exception of you and Ben, apparently. Even now, in the middle of a junior royal council meeting, Aziz shares a pitying look with Herkie at the way Audrey holds onto Ben’s arm while he goes over the agenda. Neither of them miss the way her gaze flicks between you two, trying to see if you’re stealing glances. You’re seated at his right hand side, like you usually are, as he goes over the last few items on the agenda for the meeting today and try to pay as much attention as you can. You scribble in your notebook as he does, nibbling at a tea biscuit and trying not to miss any of the important bits.

“...Facing a longstanding struggle to keep up with the increased demand of the textile industry,” Ben says, skimming through his papers. He glances up, and he knows no one is really paying attention except for you. “Looking to open up a- a more collaborative process of dialog with key workers in the textile industry, and unified front between all the major groups who paved the way to textiles as we know them today, while also compensating for the rise in automation.”

Across the table, Chad yawns. Lonnie and Melody pass notes between them, at least attempting to be subtle about it. You listen to Ben continue to update everyone on the ongoing current events in Auradon, and your pen drifts away from taking notes as you do, and begins to scribble little shapes in the margins of your well loved notebook. Your other hand moves down under the table, adjusting your pale blue skirt and tugging at the elastic of your black and white striped stockings. Ben’s gaze flicks over to you as you adjust in your seat, tugging at the puffy sleeves of your white blouse a moment later. He can tell you’re starting to get fidgety, which means it’s about time to wrap all this up. Plus, he has a suit fitting in ten minutes that he can’t be late for, or else Lumier will probably char something by accident.

“Negotiations are still in progress, and of course, we’re looking for any way possible to avoid an embargo. I think that’s the last thing anyone needs…” Ben trails off with a chuckle, only to be met with silence. He looks back at his paper, trying to find his place before the silence gets anymore awkward. Before he can, he hears you let out a puff of air in agreement.

“That’s quite an understatement.” You smile up at him, catching his eye before you each return to your respective papers. Your Wonderlandian accent is comforting, like a familiar friend in a tough crowd. People have described your accent many ways, most concluding it’s somewhere between british and transatlantic, but you don’t think you have much of an accent at all. Ben says you do, and you trust his judgment on the topic. Audrey maintains a tight smile on her face as Ben gently frees his arm from her to look through his papers in more detail. Once he’s sure he’s not missing anything, he goes through the usual motions of wrapping up a junior council meeting.

“All party planning committee members are welcome to hang back, the floor is yours,” He says to Audrey, gathering up all his papers with a smile. “Everyone else, thank you for your time as always, and have a good evening.”

Ben heads to the door as people start to funnel out and make conversation. Audrey waits as the other people on the party planning committee move up the table to sit closer to her, glancing at you as you put your notebook, pens, notes, and teacup back into that teapot shaped bag you always carry. It’s enchanted with Wonderland magic, and it makes her uneasy. She thinks you should just get a tote bag, or backpack, like a normal person.

“Bunny,” Ben calls from the doorway, getting your attention with the nickname he’s had for you for years. Her train of thought quickly turns away from bags as you look over, noticing it’s time to go and scurrying over to him. She watches you both talk quietly and head to wherever you’re going next, trying to ignore the quiet, burning jealousy seeping up into her. It’s nothing new, she reminds herself. She knew you two were best friends when she got together with her Bennyboo, so she knew what she was signing herself up for.

“Are we ready?” She asks curtly, turning towards Jane. She refuses to spend another second worrying about you, and instead, she channels all her energy into sifting through streamer sample colors. Whatever you two are doing can’t be as important as this. She’s sure whatever you’re discussing right now during Ben’s suit fitting is just meaningless small talk. Nothing of any importance.

“I… truly don’t think you could have picked a better, more impactful first proclamation, Ben.” You conclude with a sip of raspberry tea. A wave of relief washes through him as he pulls on the blue suit jacket for Lumier to tailor.

“You think so? Because, I-I’m only going to get to do this once, and-”

He’s cut off by you nodding solemnly.

“What better way to pave the way to the future than mending rifts of the past?” You ask rhetorically.

“Yes!” Ben exclaims, letting his hands fall to his sides with a smile, a gesture you mirror. “You get it…”

“Of course.” You smile at him, and it’s quiet for a moment as you take another sip of your tea. “You know your parents will…” You begin, but Ben is already nodding.

“Oh yeah.” He agrees. “I wrote down everything from the pros column, and ideas for everything in the cons.”

“Good,” you say, encouragingly.

“And I have a great mission statement.” He adds, and you can see him getting fired up. You know how much this means to him, how much of his heart he’s putting into helping as many people as possible and being a good king to everyone, even the citizens on the Isle. If you know Ben - and you’re sure you do by now - you know how he can start to overthink things right before a presentation, even an informal one. He’s as prepared as he’ll ever be, and you have his back. He knows this.

“Oh, I meant to ask,” you say breezily as Lumier enters, “how are things going with Audrey?”

You wiggle your eyebrows at him, sending him a comically scandalous look. He laughs as you wave hello to Lumier, and you think it’s the first time he’s relaxed in the last 30 hours or so. You flip through your journal, selecting a few pictures you took recently of flora in Wonderland, doodling their leaves and stalks on a mostly blank page. He laughs, hanging his head at the unexpected nature of the question, and Lumier pulls out a tape measure to begin the alterations of Ben’s suit.

“You’re really- we’re really going to go there?” He asks through a smile. You look up at him, nodding.

“Mhm.” You confirm. He can’t say no to you, he never can.

“Okay. Uh, yeah things are good. With me and Audrey.”

“Good,” you smile, looking up from your paper. He wonders what you’re working on, and always looks forward to seeing your little drawings. Even the ones you dislike, he finds beautiful. He tries to think of what else is going on with Audrey.

“We, uh… we have a date later this week.”

“Sleeve.” Lumier interjects, moving Ben’s arm.

“Oh, how fun!” You smile.

“Head.” Lumier turns Ben to look out the large windows. He thinks for another moment, struggling to find anything else Audrey related to talk about as you distract yourself with the expression of a pouting mushroom you’d gotten a good picture of last time you were in Wonderland. Before he can think of anything else his eyes land on the Isle. His mind wanders toward how forgotten everyone out there must feel. You look up at him, following his gaze.

“I know.” You say softly. You’ve discussed the Isle and its’ residents at great lengths, both finding a greater deal of compassion for them than most people seem to have.

“How is it possible that you’re going to be crowned king next month?” Comes King Adam’s booming voice as he and Belle enter from the patio doors.

“Hello, dear,” Belle smiles at you, resting a hand on your shoulder as they pass, approaching Ben, and you smile a greeting back up at her, and begin putting away your notebook. As close as you two are, you can’t expect anyone but the royal family to be in the room during discussions of Ben’s first proclamation. Both you and Ben knew this had to be a conversation between him and his parents, and as much as you both might like it to be, it’s not really something he can do with you by his side. You scurry past him, sending him an encouraging look.

“You’ll do great.” You say, your voice just low enough for him to hear it. You touch his arm encouragingly until Lumier shoos you away, not wanting anything to jeopardize the way he finally got Ben’s shoulder to lay on that side. Ben locks eyes with you as you leave. It’s only a moment, but those three words, that one little gesture from you have him more ready than ever. He prepares himself with a breath.

You’ll probably sneak off to Wonderland for a while, like you usually do with any pockets of spare time you find, so you’ll get to update him on the feud going on between the bluebirds and inchworms by the time he’s done. He takes comfort in that, knowing that even in the worst case scenario, even if everything goes horribly wrong, you’ll still have some fascinating Wonderland stories for him, just like you always do. He finds great comfort in the thought as his parents approach, and knows two things; it’s time for him to begin stepping up, and that you have his back all the way.

You close the heavy wooden door behind you, walking a few feet down the hall so you don’t accidentally eavesdrop. You sit down against the wall to wait for Ben, and your mind drifts to Wonderland, as it so often does. There’s a peace there, something you’ve never been able to find overland. It calls to you, like a sailor’s heart calls to the sea. You wonder if you have time for a quick trip, just a few minutes in paradise, but you know it’s never really just a few minutes. Time works differently in Wonderland than it does in overland, and it’s unpredictable. The last thing you want is not to be here when Ben is done talking to his parents.

“I’d better not…” you sigh. Being here for Ben is more important right now. He’s your best friend. So you settle into your little spot in the hallway, smoothing out your blue skirt around you. You reach into your teapot shaped bag, pulling out a small white porcelain teacup with little violets on it, and a matching saucer. You think for a moment about what kind of tea you want right now. Hibiscus, you decide, with a touch of honey. You tilt the spout of your bag, letting the perfectly brewed cup of tea fall from the spout. You take a sip, leafing through your homework to see what you can bore yourself with to pass the time. You don’t know how long Ben will be in there, and you don’t care too much. You’re sure he’ll do wonderfully, and that’s really all you care about right now.

#descendants #descendants fanfiction #descendants x reader #ben florian #ben florian x reader #ben florian fanfiction #daughter of alice!reader #it's gonna get so good #I love me a good canon compliant fic lmao #curiosity is a wonderful thing

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dirtytransmasc · 1 year ago

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[mild tw for marital rape/forced 'consent' its only referenced a little, but it feels necessary to mention it]

imagine Alicent only standing up for herself when Aegon is in the picture. Imagine her talking her son to her chambers cause he's fussy and won't go down for bed and was asking for his mum, and she has him tucked close, blissfully asleep, and Viserys calls for her.

she knows she can't refuse, but she tells the servant he had sent to make him aware of Aegon's state. he still demands that she be brought to his chambers and that the babe go back to his nursemaid. she looks down at her baby, who's now woken due to the disturbance, who is staring up at her with soft tired eyes, a little yawn escaping him.

she doesn't want to go, she doesn't want to be forced to take her husband, to pleasure him at her own discomfort. she doesn't want to leave her son, to have him sent back to bed where he will remain restless and in the care of someone who is not his mother. she had never want to refuse more than she did in that moment.

she hesitates, her facade falters. Aegon is still looking up at her as tears well up in her eyes. he quirks his head at her, fingers reaching for her cheeks as if to comfort her. with a sudden conviction, she takes him in her arms, rising from the bed, requesting a robe and a blanket. when her servant looks at her in question, she clarifies that she will be taking Aegon with her and does not wish to rouse him in attempts to dress him. they look at her with shock, but don't voice the concern written on their faces.

they bring her Viserys's favorite robe. Alicent recognizes it from her time with Rhaenyra and Aemma. she's worn it before, Viserys has made sure the servants bring it to her every time he requests her. she hates the way it feels against her skin, knowing why he makes her wear it. she wraps aegon in his blanket, soft and royal blue, his hands beginning to play with its golden tassles as she tucks him inside her robe, pressed to her chest with care.

even as fear bites at her heels, anxiety churning her stomach, she walks to Viserys's chamber with her held high. she knows she is only asking for her husband's wrath; she knows she should just obey him, but she just can't. her son will not suffer a sleepless night and horrid following day all because her husband feels the need to use her body once more. he will not suffer at his father's hands tonight, even if she has to endure Viserys's anger for it.

she enters her husband's chambers, finding him in bed, in a white night gown, clearly ready to use her; he was never subtle when he asked for her, not even the first time.

she pauses in the doorway, pulling back the robe slightly, making him aware of Aegon's presence. she watches his face fall, barely muted anger. she holds onto Aegon tighter. part of her fears he may hurt her for this disturbance, but more of her fears he will hurt Aegon on her behalf.

"I told the damned servants to take him," his voice is warped and cruel, just an angry scowl of sorts.

"Aegon is not well, dear husband... I could not leave him," she admits before he can say anything else. she puts her foot forward as a mother, hoping to claim mercy from the man who made her one.

he mutters something in response, not quite loud enough for her to hear. she has a feeling she is grateful for that.

"what was it you needed, my dear?" she tries to sound sweet and kind, in attempts to abate his anger, "I'm sure I could still attend to it."

"you know what I wanted," he yelled. it had been the first time he'd truly raised his voice to her. she couldn't help but gasp, stepping back one step, than two, stopping when Aegon began to fuss, curling around him instead.

"Please Viserys, the baby." she ducks her head down to press her against his whispy white hair. her son his huffing, as if about to cry, and she's sure if she could see his face, his little cheeks would be red and his eyes would be crinkled and wet, his lip puckered. she begins to rock him slightly, still afraid to move.

"your'e dismissed," he grunts, but his tone gives it away. she knows he doesn't mean it, the if she leaves she will be in more trouble. she questions staying, calling a servant to take Aegon and giving him what he wants, but decides against it. he would not come before her son, not now, not ever.

"I'm sorry, my dear, another night, when I do not have Aegon to tend to," she forces some cheer into her tone, "he is still so young, so helpless. he needs his mother. I'm sure you understand?"

"he is not the only one in need of you." he had not lost his anger yet. not even for the sake of his son.

"yes, of course. forgive me. only he is not as understanding as you, my love." that wasn't the truth, Aegon was more kind and understanding at a year old, than viserys was in all of his years. "I will leave now. I am sorry for the disturbance."

she pauses for a moment, waiting for her husbands reaction. when he doesn't lash out at her, she breathes a quiet sigh of relief, feeling as though she has evaded a great beast. her heart calms in her chest, slowing from its fluttering and her stomachs stops its dizzing ache. she questions turning and running, fleeing from his presence before he can change his mind, but knows better.

she hurries to his side, eyeing him all the while, each step calculated, avoiding cracking any eggshells, until she is close enough to kiss his cheek. he allows it, and gives Aegon grace when he reaches out for him, letting him play with his finger a moment, before pulling it away, not even turning away fully before sneering. she takes that as her cue to leave, this one being much more genuine than the last.

"goodnight dear husband." he says nothing. she takes Aegon's little hand, waving it slightly, "say goodnight Aegon."

her son tries to imitate her, though unintelligible, as a toddler would. she continues to smile and coo at him even when his father ignores him, not letting him feel his father's scorn, quickly turning towards the door and back to her own chambers.

the second the door is close she feels herself sag, she would have fallen to the floor right then and there had there not been kingsgaurd watching. instead she holds her head high once more, walking calm and steady, like a queen should.

Aegon settles his forehead against her collar, giving a great yawn against her skin. she smiles at him fondly, kissing his brow, earning a tired little giggle from him. it hits her that he is unaware of the trouble he just saved her from. she feels equal parts relief as she does terror; she hopes he never knows, never understands, but is so so thankful for it none the less.

the second she steps into her chambers she pulls of the robe, setting it aside carefully despite the pain it brings her, respecting the memories it carried. she pulls back the covers before smothering her and her son amongst them. he's quick to curl against her, quite tuckered out after their harrowing adventure, even if he was unaware of its true weight. she herself still wanted to cry, but was similarly too tired to keep her eyes open for another moment. tomorrow, she tells herself, tomorrow will be difficult, but tonight you have your son, tonight you have a chance to rest.

so she does, she holds him close, tracing fingers over the gold threaded patterned of his blanket, feeling the shifting of his chest as he breathes and the tickle of his hair against her neck. all is well in that moment. she drifts to sleep at the thought.

#omage to Aemma's robe that we see alicent wearing in episode 3 (I believe. it was when she was helping bathe viserys)#cause I know he made her wear it cause he's a monster #this is set prior to Helaena's conception. aegon is tiny. and alicent is still naive to the true extents of viserys's abuse.#especially to the fact that despite all of the love she holds for her children and how badly she wishes to always pick them first #his abuse and the stockholm syndrom that follow it will turn her against her children. aegon in particular.#maybe not against. but acrid and foul. her pain overtaking her love. she still tries so hard to protect them though. if you get what I mean #its otto's fault too and they should both die #anyway #I'm just in my feels with these two #we didn't get enough scenes of them together especially when they were both young and I wanted to give alicent a moment were she fought bac #she refused to give him what he wanted. she chose her child over him. she stood up for herself and what she wanted.#she earned that moment #I know she was choking through those “my dears” and “my loves” but she had to for formalities sake #angst in the front fluff in the back #even if the fluff is laced with angst #letting alicent be soft and love her son #I needed it #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #alicent hightower #anti viserys i targaryen #pro team green #hotd #house of the dragon #I love them your honor

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reel-fear · 22 days ago

Note

If you want my opinion, I think we should give Lone Wolf the benefit of the doubt, yes it does look a little bit cheap in some areas but the game does look pretty fun and both the art and characters are still on point. Alice and Sammy are also returning so that’s a plus! I think it’s best that we stay optimistic for this game and Bendy’s future.

That's fair and I respect your opinion, I think my thing is I'm worried people are too optimistic about Bendy's future games being better than the ones they've already created because the team behind Bendy is very anti-listening to feedback. Which means it's likely these games won't improve unless fans make a bigger push to be more critical of them and show the devs they won't spend their money unless the team can prove they care about this franchise and aren't gonna let the polish drain just because it makes more money.

I criticize Bendy not because I want it to die or be bad, I only do it because I hope one day either 1. A competitor rises up and gives the fans essentially a better version of Bendy that they deserve and they can use my feedback and others to see where it can be improved. or 2. The bendy team listens to my feedback and the general fandom's to make future games better. Plus generally get their act together.

As it stands the trailer is rushed and cheap, which is bad because a trailer for a game should be the most polished part of the affair. I mean this is what is supposed to convince people to buy the game when it comes out! I had the same problems with The Cage and I'm unhappy to see this becoming a pattern. [I mean that's a game I'm even more confident is going to horribly crash and burn cause I honestly don't know why'd they make a midquel to a game which everyone hated the ending of-]

Look. I understand some people feel a sort of loyalty to the Bendy devs, it's hard not to feel like you're in some sort of friendship when it comes to such a small indie team. But at the end of the day you have to remember defending them when they mess up only gives them more reasons to ignore feedback and most of all you don't know Mike or Meatly as people outside of what they Choose to show in their public image. So when the public image they've crafted is one that's bad and leaves people worried about how the games they're making are gonna turn out. Nobody can be blamed but them. And if you really care about them and/or Bendy it's better to boost feedback even if it's negative.

Like sure Sammy and Malice are returning but look at the treatment they got in Dark Revival! Meatly and Mike have never addressed how poorly done the original characters were in that game and I think it's cause far as they're concerned it was perfectly fine and people are complaining about nothing. [That or enough people didn't seem to care for it to matter to them whether that point was valid or not] Despite the fact Sammy was shot down for a gag after finally speaking up [and was in a ton of Dark Revival marketing material] and Malice was nothing more than a rip off of her chapter 3 self with no interesting changes, we never got to hear her thoughts on how the world is doing, on how she feels now hearing her enemy, the ink demon, was supposedly killed, or on Wilson, the keepers, etc. I mean it was a huge waste and with the promise Sammy will be 'restored to his Chapter 2 glory' I want to call this poor writing out now rather than wait for the cage to come out and pretend I never saw it coming.

Criticism is a good thing for Bendy, we should embrace it rather than shunning or discouraging it. I hope most of us can agree on that. Even if I seem harsh, I would rather lean towards that, than risk going too easy with my words and being ignored by the devs.

#ramblez #feel free to reblog!#batim #batdr #bendy lone wolf #bendy and the ink machine #boris and the dark survival #bendy and the dark revival #I hope this doesnt seem too harsh this person was being fairly polite its just that its a little frustrating when ppl are like #but why cant we just ignore the red flags and its like I understand ur trying to say think positive #but ignoring red flags esp abt a game people are gonna spend money on just feels kinda crappy #like no I dont want to mislead people into thinking I liked this trailer I did not and I wanted to say why and why I think Bendy is getting #worse by also talking abt the trends its following with recent releases and such #if others disagree thats fine but telling me I should be more positive just kinda feels sometimes like Im being told to shut up #esp being told to give the benefit of the doubt to a team who has not earned it at all like Im sorry but no I will not #they are not to be trusted I dont trust them and I dont think anyone else should either #I cant stop those people obviously but like u cant tell me to give them the benefit of the doubt and then have the most mild #defenses of the trailer on how it brought 2 characters back and looks fun #also Im not sure I agree on the art considering the animations look p bad but agree to disagree I suppose #anyways if anyone reads all this um if u check my ramblez tag u can see the og post I made on that trailer the ask is refrencing #okay bye-

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kmomof4 · 4 months ago

Text

To Sir Graham, With Love Ch. 9

We made it, y'all!!! It's the FINAL CHAPTER!!!! Sorry, not sorry for the first several scenes of this chapter... but y'all know me, the happy ending is GUARANTEED, and I have to admit, I'm pretty proud of this one!!!!

Thank you once again to @jrob64 and @whimsicallyenchantedrose for their outstanding beta services and to @motherkatereloyshipper for her BEAUTIFUL artwork above. I really can't stop staring at it!! It's so perfect!!!!

And also happy happy happiest of birthday's @snowbellewells!!!!! I'm BEYOND THRILLED that you loved this fic so much!!!! I hope this last chapter is the proverbial cherry on top of a huge ice cream sundae!!! I'm posting this ch a little early because Marta is home sick today, so I'm hoping this will help her feel better by putting a huge smile on her face!!!

Summary: After a year long secret correspondence, twenty-eight year old spinster Ruby Jones decides to accept Sir Graham Humbert's offer of a visit to see if they might suit for marriage. Unfortunately, he failed to mention that he was the father of twins, and they are not thrilled with Ruby's appearance.

Rating: M (smut and mentions of physical abuse) There is a love scene in this ch, but according to @whimsicallyenchantedrose - who doesn't read or write smut - it's very mild, more smut adjacent than anything, so it is not sectioned off like the scenes in previous chs. If you still want to skip it, stop reading when Graham places Ruby on the bed and pick back up at the next scene change line.

Words: 8k of 68k

Tags: Red Hunter Fic, Birthday Fic, Inspired by Eloise Bridgerton's Story, Smut

On ao3 From Beginning / Current Ch

On Tumblr Prologue Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @jennjenn615

@donteattheappleshook @undercaffinatednightmare @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @qualitycoffeethings

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @superchocovian @motherkatereloyshipper @snowbellewells @djlbg

@lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @anmylica

@laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter

@ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie

@soniccat @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @thisonesatellite

@jonesfandomfanatic @elfiola @zaharadessert @ilovemesomekillianjones @mie779

@kymbersmith-90 @suwya @veryverynotgoodwrites @myfearless-love

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

… I do not tell you often enough, dear Mother, how very grateful I am that I am yours. It is a rare parent who would offer a child such latitude and understanding. It is an even rarer one who calls a daughter friend. I do love you, dear Mama.

– from Ruby Jones to her mother, Alice, upon refusing her sixth offer of marriage

~*~*~*~*~*~

The ride to Killian and Emma’s was anything but comfortable and by the time Ruby arrived, her foul mood was even worse. And then when Graves opened the door and stared at her as if she was a madwoman, she nearly lost her temper completely.

Until she noticed the look upon his face.

“Graves?” she asked, when it became clear that he was beyond speech.

“Are they expecting you?” he asked, finally gathering himself together.

“Uh, no,” she said, drawing out the final word. “But I hardly think…”

Graves stepped aside - belatedly remembering himself - finally allowing her entrance. “It’s Miss Alice,” he said, referring to Killian and Emma’s oldest child, only five years old. “She’s quite ill.”

Ruby gasped, something awful rising in her throat. “What is it?” she asked, not bothering to hide her urgency. “Is she…” She couldn’t get the rest of the question out, just letting the words dangle, her meaning quite clear.

“I’ll get Mrs. Jones,” he said, turning quickly and scurrying up the stairs.

“No, wait!” Ruby called, wanting to ask him more questions, but he was already gone.

She slumped into a chair, feeling positively sick with worry for her small niece but also rather disgusted with herself for coming here to complain to her sister-in-law about something that didn’t even signify when compared to this.

“Ruby!”

It was Killian, not Emma that came down the stairs. He looked awful - his eyes red-rimmed, his hair in complete disarray, his skin pale and pasty. Ruby didn’t bother asking how long it had been since he slept. The answer was blatantly obvious. He hadn’t closed his eyes in days.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I just came for a visit,” she explained. “Just to say hello. I had no idea! What’s wrong with her? She was fine last week!”

Killian took several moments to answer. “She has a fever. She woke up fine on Saturday, but by luncheon…” He sagged against the wall, unable to go on. “I don’t know what to do, Ruby.”

“What did the doctor say?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said, scrubbing his hand down his face. “Nothing useful anyway.”

“May I see her?”

Killian nodded, his eyes closed.

“You need to rest,” Ruby said.

“I can’t.”

“You must,” she insisted. “You’re no good to anyone like this. And I’d wager Emma is the same.”

“I made her sleep an hour ago,” he said. “She looked like death.”

“And you look no better,” Ruby said drily. She purposefully kept her tone no nonsense and business-like. Anything softer and Killian would break down completely. And if Killian broke down, she would break down and no one needed that at the moment. “You must go to bed,” she continued. “Now. I will care for Alice.”

He didn’t respond. He was literally asleep while still on his feet. Ruby took charge, directing Graves to get Killian into bed while she took over the sickroom, trying desperately to contain her gasp of dismay when she entered the room and saw her small niece.

She was so tiny and pale on the bed, but her skin was flushed and her half-lidded eyes were glazed as she thrashed around, mumbling incoherently.

Ruby mopped her brow, turned her, and helped the maids change the sheets when they became drenched with sweat. So focussed was she on her charge, that she didn’t notice when the sun slipped below the horizon. She just thanked God that little Alice didn’t worsen under her care, because according to the servants, Killian and Emma hadn’t left her side for two days straight, and Ruby didn’t think she could survive having to wake them with bad news.

She sat next to the bed, read aloud from her niece's favorite book of Fairy Tales, and told her stories of when her father was a boy. She didn’t think Alice heard a word she said, but it kept her from sitting still and doing nothing. It wasn’t until Emma rose from her stupor around eight that evening and asked about Graham that it occurred to Ruby he might be worried about her. She immediately penned a hastily scribbled note and sent it on to Romney Hall before resuming her vigil. Graham would understand.

~*~*~

By eight o’clock, Graham was forced to the conclusion that one of two things had happened. Either his wife had left him, or she was dead on the side of the road in a carriage accident.

Neither prospect was terribly appealing.

He didn’t think she would leave him. The argument this afternoon notwithstanding, she seemed happy in their marriage and she hadn’t taken a bag with her, but then again, most of her belongings hadn’t yet arrived from London, so she wouldn’t be leaving much behind. Nothing but a husband and two children.

And good God, he’d just told them he thought she was here to stay.

No. She wouldn’t leave him. She didn’t possess a cowardly bone in her body and if she were truly unhappy in their marriage, she’d tell him to his face. Without mincing words and with great vehemence.

Which meant that he’d likely find her on the side of the road. It had been raining steadily all evening and the road between Romney Hall and My Cottage was not well tended to begin with.

Hell, it would be better if she had left him.

But as he strode up the front walk to the door of My Cottage, soaking wet and in a terrible mood, it was looking more like Ruby had decided to abandon him. Abandon them.

“Temper,” he mumbled to himself. Because he’d never been closer to losing his.

Perhaps there was a logical explanation, he thought as he slammed the knocker against the door. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to ride home in the rain. It wasn’t that bad, but it was more than a drizzle.

Maybe her carriage had broken a wheel. No, Killian would have sent her home in his carriage then. He lifted the knocker again and banged it against the door multiple times.

Maybe…

He tried to think of something, anything, that might explain why Ruby was at the home of her brother instead of her own. He couldn’t think of a one. He reached for the knocker again, prepared to wrench it from the door and chuck it into the rain when the door finally opened.

Graves stood there, his mouth hanging open in complete surprise.

“My wife,” Graham growled.

“Sir Graham!” Graves, exclaimed.

Graham didn’t move, simply wiped the rain from his face.

“My wife,” he ground out again.

“She’s here,” Graves informed him. “Come in.”

Graham finally stepped inside. “I want my wife,” he said again. “Now.”

“Let me take your coat.”

“I don’t give a damn about my coat!” Graham roared. “Get me my wife!”

“Did you not receive Lady Humbert’s note?” Graves asked.

“No,” Graham informed him. “I received no note.”

Graves nodded. “I thought you’d arrived rather quickly. You must have passed along the road. Let me take your coat,” he said again. “I believe you’ll be here for some time and you will want to be comfortable,” the man said softly.

A fear he’d never known gripped Graham’s heart. Had something happened to Ruby? He’d just found his children, he couldn’t lose his wife. As he followed Graves up the stairs, his heart and lips murmured silent prayers.

~*~*~

Ruby sat by her niece’s beside, hands clutched in her lap, murmuring, “Please. Please.”

The doctor had left for the second time that day declaring it “in God’s hands.” And if He was the only One Who could do anything about this, then He was the One to Whom she would appeal. When she wasn’t placing cool cloths on Alice’s head, or spooning luke-warm broth between her niece’s lips, that was.

She heard a noise from the doorway and turned to see Graham. Her heart leapt to see him and she flung herself into his arms, heedless that he was soaked to the bone.

“Oh, Graham,” she sobbed, feeling his strong warm arms around her. She was safe and she could finally let go of all the emotions she’d bottled up inside in order to be the rock Killian and Emma needed.

“I thought it was you,” he whispered.

“What?” she asked, drawing back and looking him in the face.

“Graves,” he explained. “He didn’t tell me anything as I was coming up. I thought something had happened to you,” he said, drawing her close again and kissing the crown of her head. “How is she?”

Ruby pulled back and turned toward the sickbed. “Not good,” she murmured.

Graham glanced at Killian and Emma, who’d risen to greet him. They both looked rather not good themselves.

“How long has she been like this?” he asked.

“Since Saturday morning,” Emma replied. Graham approached the bed and placed his large hand on Alice’s forehead.

He shook his head. “I can’t tell. I’m too cold from the rain.”

“She’s feverish,” Killian confirmed.

“What’s been done for her?” Graham asked.

Emma’s eyes widened with a desperate hope. “Do you know something of medicine?” she asked.

“We’ve kept cool cloths on her forehead, fed her broth, and warmed her when she grew too cold. Nothing seems to help,” Killian said hopelessly. Suddenly, Emma collapsed, crumpling to the floor sobbing.

“Emma!” Killian cried, falling down next to her and holding her as she cried. Graham and Ruby both looked away when they realized Killian was crying too.

“Willow bark tea,” Graham whispered to Ruby. “Has she had any?”

“I don’t think so,” she replied. “Why?”

“It’s something I learned at Cambridge,” he said. “It used to be given for pain before laudanum became so popular, but one of my professors insisted that it also reduced fevers.”

Ruby nodded and turned to her brother and sister-in-law. She marched right over and shook Killian’s shoulder.

“Willow bark tea,” she said matter-of-factly. “Do you have any?”

Killian just stared at her blinking for a moment before answering. “I don’t know,” he stammered.

“Mrs. Miner might,” Emma said, referring to one half of the couple that had been caretakers of My Cottage for years. They had all but adopted her when she and Killian were here for nearly a fortnight while he recovered from his own fever after they’d been reunited. “She always has things like that. But they’re visiting their daughter and won’t be home for several more days.”

“Can you get into their house?” Graham asked. “I’ll recognize it if she has any. It won’t be a tea, just the bark. We’ll soak it in hot water. It might help bring down the fever.”

Emma wiped away her tears, her eyes bewildered. “You want to cure my daughter with the bark of a tree?” she asked.

“It certainly can’t hurt anything,” Killian said forcefully. “Come on, Humbert. I have a key to their house. I’ll take you myself.” Before they went out the front door, Killian stopped and looked hard at Graham. “Do you know what you’re about?” he asked quietly.

Graham looked him right in the eyes, and answered as honestly as he could. “I hope so.” He struggled not to squirm under Killian’s scrutiny. It was one thing to allow him to marry his sister, given the circumstances, but it was something altogether different to allow him to pour some concoction down his daughter’s throat.

But Graham understood. He had children, too.

Killian nodded decisively and led him out into the night. As they strode through the rain, Graham could only pray that Killian’s faith in him wasn’t misplaced.

~*~*~

In the end, no one could really tell whether it was Ruby’s prayers, the willow bark tea, or just dumb luck, but by morning, little Alice’s fever had finally broken and while she was still pale and fatigued, she was without a doubt on the mend.

And by noon, it was clear that Ruby and Graham were no longer needed, and were in fact, just getting in the way, so they loaded into the carriage and began the journey home where they planned to fall into bed to simply sleep.

The first ten minutes of the ride was spent in silence. Surprisingly, Ruby found herself too exhausted to sleep and she couldn’t summon the energy to talk, so just looked out the window at the passing countryside.

It had finally stopped raining about the time Alice’s fever had broken, which may have spoken to the Divine intervention Ruby had prayed for, but as she looked at her husband, who sat with his back against the side of the carriage, his legs stretched out across the bench on the other side with his eyes closed - though Ruby was quite sure he wasn’t asleep - she knew without a doubt that it was the willow bark tea.

She didn’t know how she knew. But she did. And when she thought about the circumstances surrounding the entire situation - Ruby’s uneasiness about Nurse Ratched, the fight with Graham, her flight to My Cottage, Graham coming after her - young Alice Jones was quite the luckiest little girl in all of England.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“For what?” Graham said, his eyes remaining firmly closed.

“For Alice.”

Graham opened his eyes then and met hers. He shrugged. “There’s no way to know. It might not have been willow bark.”

“I know,” she said, with certainty. “You were an answer to my prayers.”

Graham’s lips lifted in a tired smile. “You always do know.”

Ruby smiled back and thought to herself how wonderful it was. Just this. The easy comfort and familiarity of being with someone, that one just knew was right. Right where one belonged.

Ruby reached across and placed her hand on his. “It was so awful,” she said, surprised when she realized there were tears in her eyes. “I can’t imagine what Emma and Killian were going through.”

“Nor can I,” Graham whispered, squeezing her hand.

“If it had been one of our children…” Her voice trailed away as she realized. It was the first time she’d referred to Ava and Nicholas as theirs.

Graham was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, he didn’t look at her but continued staring out the window. “The entire time with Alice,” he whispered, “all I could think of was how grateful I was that it wasn’t Nicholas or Ava.” He looked at her then, guilt written all over his face. “But it shouldn’t be any child.”

“There’s nothing wrong with such feelings,” she assured him. “They make you a good father. A very good father, I think.”

He looked at her oddly for a moment and then looked down at where their hands were still clasped. “No, I’m not,” he said gravely. “But I hope to be better.”

Ruby’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You were right,” he said, looking back up at her. “About Nurse Ratched. I didn’t want anything to be wrong, so I paid no attention, but you were right. She was beating them.”

“WHAT?!”

“With a book,” he continued, his voice perfectly level. “I walked in and she was beating Ava across the back with a book. She’d already finished with Nicholas.”

Tears of sorrow and anger filled Ruby’s eyes. “I never dreamed. I should have seen. I should have known.”

Graham scoffed. “If I didn’t see in the months she was living with us, how could you have seen when you’d only been there a fortnight?” he asked.

Ruby was silent for a few moments. “I assume you dismissed her,” she said.

Graham nodded. “I nearly threw her out the door myself when she wasn’t moving fast enough.”

Ruby snorted. “If you hadn’t, I would have,” she said.

“I told the children you’d help find a replacement,” he said.

“Of course!” she exclaimed.

“And I…” His voice trailed away for a moment and he looked out the window before he continued speaking. “I’m going to be a better father,” he whispered. “I’ve spent years pushing them away. Always afraid of becoming like my father.”

“Graham,” Ruby cajoled. “You couldn’t possibly be. You are so different from your father.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But I thought I could. I got a whip once. I went out to the stable, blindingly angry, and got a whip.” He dropped his head in his hands and Ruby’s heart broke for him.

“But you didn’t use it,” she said with certainty.

“But I wanted to,” he confessed.

“But you didn’t,” she repeated.

“I was so angry,” he said again, as if he didn’t even hear her, too lost in his own memory. But then he looked at her and something in his eyes was shattered and Ruby wanted nothing more than to gather him close and heal all those jagged edges inside him. To make him see himself as she saw him - a flawed man, yes, but a good and honorable one, too, who’d never hurt his children the way he had been. “Do you understand what it means to be frightened by your own anger?”

Ruby shook her head.

“I’m not a small man, Ruby,” he said. “I could hurt someone.”

“So could I,” she reasoned with him. He sent her a dry look and she shrugged. “Well, maybe not you, but I’m certainly big enough to hurt a child.”

He snorted and turned back to the window. “You would never do that.”

“And neither would you.”

He was silent and understanding dawned on Ruby. “Graham,” she began. “You said you were angry, but… who were you angry with?”

He stared at her, slightly dazed. “Ruby,” he said. “They glued their governess’ hair to the sheets.”

“Oh, I know,” she assured him, “I’m quite certain I would have throttled them myself had I been around when it happened. But that wasn’t my question.” She stopped and waited for him to respond. When he didn’t, she clarified. “Were you angry with them about the glue? Or were you angry with yourself because you couldn’t make them mind?”

He didn’t say anything, but that silence told her more than any words could.

“Graham, you are nothing like your father.”

“I know that now,” he said softly. “When I discovered what Nurse Ratched had done, you have no idea how much I wanted to rip her limb from limb.”

Ruby snorted. “I can imagine,” she said. “I would have wanted to do the same.”

Graham felt his lips twitch. There was something comforting and almost funny about their similar thoughts and feelings about the matter. It felt quite good.

“She deserved nothing less,” Ruby continued. “But you didn’t touch her, did you?”

“No,” he replied slowly in realization. “And if I could keep control of my temper with her, I could certainly keep control of it with my children.”

“Of course,” Ruby agreed. She patted his hand and then sat back, looking out the window.

She had such belief in him. It was an utterly foreign concept. She truly had faith in his inner goodness, in the quality of his soul, when he’d been wracked with guilt and worry for so many years.

“I’d thought you left me,” he blurted out.

She turned back to him, surprise written all over her face. “What? Why would you think that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he shrugged, “Perhaps it was because you left and didn’t come back.”

Ruby rolled her eyes at him. “It’s perfectly clear now why I was delayed, and besides, I’d never leave you. You should know that.”

He raised a brow at her. “Should I?”

“Of course you should!” she exclaimed, her green eyes beginning to flash. “I made a vow on our wedding day, and I can assure you, I don’t take that lightly.” She was silent for just a moment before she continued, her tone and indignation ramping up with each sentence. “And the children! They’ve already lost one mother, through no fault of their own. Did you really think I’d make them go through all of that a second time? You know me better than that.” She turned to him with a supremely irritated expression on her face. “I cannot believe you thought that of me!”

Graham was beginning to think the same thing himself. How could he have thought that of Ruby? He’d only known her… Dear God. Had it really only been two weeks? In many ways, it felt like a lifetime. Because, he was quite convinced, he did know her. Inside and out. And he should have known better than to think she’d abandon their marriage.

It was the panic. That was all. Panic that she might really have been killed somewhere on the road. If that had truly been the case… He wasn’t prepared for the stab of agony in his heart at the thought.

When had that happened? When had she come to mean so much to him? He’d told himself, and her as well, over and over again that he married her to be a mother to his children. But when she’d mentioned the vow and that her commitment to the children was too strong, he’d felt a stab of jealousy.

Jealous. Of his own children.

He wanted her to want him. Not because she’d made a vow, but because she couldn’t live without him. Perhaps because she loved him.

Somewhere in the passion - in the intoxication of the pleasure of her touch, the sounds of her moans and gasps, in the force of his own pleasure when he exploded inside of her - she’d touched his heart. And changed it.

Changed him.

He loved her.

He hadn’t been looking for love. Hadn’t even given a thought to it, but there it was. And it was the most beautiful and precious thing imaginable.

He was at the dawn of a new day. A new chapter in his life. It was both thrilling and terrifying at the same time. He did not want to fail. He couldn’t. Not when he’d just found everything he needed. Ruby. His children. Himself.

It had been years since he’d felt comfortable in his own skin. When he could trust his own instincts. When he could look at himself in the mirror and not avoid his own gaze.

They were pulling up at Romney Hall. A footman appeared to help Ruby down. She turned to him and smiled gently.

“I’m exhausted, and you look the same,” she observed. “Shall we go up and take a nap?”

Graham looked up to the third floor nursery for a moment before turning back to his bride.

“You go on ahead,” he said. “I’ll be along in a bit. Right now, I think I want to go hug my children.”

Ruby smiled and turned to enter the house.

When she woke, many hours later, she was surprised to see that Graham’s side of the bed was undisturbed. He’d been just as exhausted as she was, but perhaps instead of sleep, he just needed time to himself to think after the difficulties of the last few days.

Just because she didn’t prefer solitude, didn’t mean that everyone agreed with her. It didn’t mean that Graham agreed with her.

They were two very different people, and if she was going to live with him as his wife, she was going to have to make some concessions to his personality and temperament, just as he was doing the same for hers.

She didn’t see him the rest of the day. Not when she took tea in the afternoon, not when she tucked the twins into bed, not when she ate her lonely supper. After her obligatory two bites of pudding, she got up, not wishing to prolong her meal any longer, fully intending to retire to her bed. But as soon as she left the dining room, she knew she wasn’t ready to sleep yet.

She walked, somewhat aimlessly, through the house until her feet carried her to the portrait gallery. She hadn’t been inside it since that first night after she’d arrived at Romney Hall. She opened the door and gasped in surprise to see Graham sitting in the chair, just staring up at the portrait of Jacinda with the children.

He gave no indication that he’d heard her. Just continued staring, the look on his face bleak and so full of sorrow that it nearly broke Ruby’s heart.

Had he lied to her when he said he’d never loved Jacinda? Never felt passion for her? No. He hadn’t lied. She knew it in her marrow.

But what did it really matter? Jacinda was dead. She was in no way in competition for Graham’s affections. And it wasn’t as if Graham loved Ruby anyway. And she certainly didn’t lo…

But in one of those flashes of insight that might as well knock the breath out of one’s lungs, Ruby realized, she did.

She thought back on the last two weeks - had it really only been two weeks? - wondering when it might have happened. Wondering how it happened. But this feeling she had for him, the affection and respect, had grown into something deeper. And oh, how she desperately wanted Graham to feel the same way.

He may need her - of that she was quite sure, both in the physical aspect of their marriage, but also in the caring for the household and the children - but she wanted him to love her the way she loved him.

She loved the way he smiled, the boyish grin that spoke of secrets and mischief, and as if he couldn’t quite believe in his own happiness. She loved the way he looked at her, as if she was the most beautiful woman in the world. She loved the way he actually listened to what she had to say and how he wouldn’t let her cow him. She even loved the way he told her she talked too much. Because he always said it with a smile on his face. And she loved the way he still listened to her after telling her she talked too much.

She loved the way he loved his children. She loved his honor, his honesty, and his sly sense of humor. And she loved the way she fit into his life and the way he fit into hers.

It was comfortable. And it was right.

This was where she belonged.

She loved him. She needed him. Not a dead woman.

As she watched him looking at the portrait, his words from yesterday finally sank in. He’d said he hadn’t laid with a woman in eight years.

Eight years.

Jacinda had only been gone fifteen months. If Graham had gone without a woman for eight years… Ruby did some mental math. They hadn’t shared any physical intimacy since the twins had been conceived. No, that wasn’t right. It would have been shortly after the twins were born. Just a little bit.

It was possible that Graham was mistaken about the dates, but somehow, Ruby didn’t think so. She thought Graham knew exactly when the last time was, and now that she’d pinpointed it as well, she realized it must have been a terrible experience indeed.

But he hadn’t betrayed her. Hadn’t betrayed her or his marriage vows. He’d remained faithful to a woman who’d banned him from her bed. Ruby wasn’t really surprised, given his honesty and integrity, but she wouldn’t have thought less of him for seeking physical comfort elsewhere.

But the fact that he hadn’t… It made her love him all the more.

Ruby stepped forward and cleared her throat. She was surprised when he quickly turned his attention upon her. She’d believed him so lost in thought that he wouldn’t realize he was no longer alone. He held out his hand to her and she stepped toward him and took it, turning with him to face Jacinda’s portrait.

“Did you love her?” she asked quietly.

“No.” And even though she’d asked the question before, and received the same answer, the relief she felt at the simple affirmation was profound.

“Do you miss her?”

“No.” He was silent for a few moments, just continued to stare at her portrait. “She was sad. Always so sad.” Another pause. “It was worse after the twins were born. The midwife said it was normal for women to cry after childbirth, but not to worry. It would disappear in a few weeks.”

“But it didn’t,” Ruby murmured.

“It was like she sank even further into herself,” he said quietly. “Almost like she disappeared.” His throat worked and his eyes blinked rapidly as he tried to formulate the words he wanted - no, needed - to say. “She rarely left her bed. She never smiled. And she cried. A great deal.” He finally turned to Ruby and looked her square in the eyes. “I tried everything to make her happy. Everything in my power. Everything I knew. But it wasn’t enough.” His eyes filled with tears and Ruby cupped his jaw with her other hand. “It wasn’t enough,” he whispered.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ruby said. She may not have known Jacinda as an adult, but she knew Graham and she knew her words were true.

“Eventually I just gave up,” he admitted, a single tear rolling down his cheek. “I was so sick and tired of beating my head against a wall. All I could do was try to keep the children away from her when she was really bad. They loved her so much.”

“I know,” she assured him.

“She was their mother. And she didn’t… she couldn’t…”

“But you were there,” Ruby said fervently.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “And a fat lot of good it did them. How terrible is it to have one bad parent? And my children were born with two…”

“You are not a bad father,” Ruby said, the vehemence in her words surprising even her.

“It hurt so much,” he whispered.

“What did?”

“When she died,” he explained. “To try so damned hard for so many years and never succeed. To never be able to break through to her.” He turned and looked at her again. “I just needed someone who was happy. Who would be there for the children. Someone who wouldn’t…” He cut himself off and turned away.

“Someone who wouldn’t what?” she asked, sensing that his answer was very important, indeed.

“She didn’t fall in the lake by accident,” Graham whispered. Ruby gasped. He’d told her Jacinda had died in the lake, but she assumed it was an accident. She never thought that her cousin might take her own life. “She walked straight into the water. And I didn’t reach her in time.”

“Oh, Graham,” Ruby breathed. “I’m so sorry.” She was truly, even if Jacinda’s death had made her own happiness possible.

“You don’t understand,” Graham snapped. “That’s not what I meant. You don’t know what it’s like to feel trapped. Hopeless. Stuck. To try so hard and never, ever, break through. I tried. Every single day, I tried. I tried for me. I tried for her. I especially tried for Nicholas and Ava. Everything I knew. Everything everyone told me to do. Nothing worked. I’d try, and she’d cry. I’d try again and she’d do nothing but dig herself deeper into her damned bed and pull the covers over her head. She lived in complete darkness with her curtains drawn and then on the first sunny day in weeks,” he turned to her, eyes blazing, “she goes and kills herself.” He laughed, a short bitter thing. “After all of that, she had to ruin sunny days for me too.” He rose from the chair and looked at the portrait again. “I tried so hard,” his voice, filled with resignation and regret, trailed away for a moment. “And still, every day, I wished I was married to someone else. Anyone else.”

He turned to look at her again, and the tears were gone, replaced with a vehement passion that took Ruby’s breath away.

“Yesterday you said we had a problem,” he said, taking her hand.

“No, that’s not what I meant…” she tried to interrupt, but he kept speaking as if he didn’t hear her.

“You said we have a problem,” he repeated. “But until you’ve lived through what I’ve lived through - until you’ve been trapped in a hopeless marriage, with a hopeless spouse, until you’ve gone to bed for years wanting nothing more than the touch of another human being…” He looked down at their joined hands and gently rubbed Ruby’s knuckles with his thumb. “Do not tell me that we have a problem. Because to me,” he choked on his words but kept on going, “to me, what we have, this - us, - is heaven.”

“Oh, Graham,” she breathed and threw herself into his arms, her own tears soaking his shirt.

“I don’t want to fail again,” he choked out, burying his face in her neck. “I can’t. I won’t.”

“No, you won’t,” she assured him. “We won’t.”

“You have to be happy,” he said. “Please tell me…”

“I am. I promise,” she vowed.

He pulled back, cupping her chin with his hands and looked deeply into her eyes. Looking for the truth of her words.

“I am happy, Graham,” she repeated, covering his hands with her own. “More than I ever thought possible. And I am proud to be your wife.”

Graham’s lower lip began to tremble and the tears reappeared in his eyes again before they began streaming down his face.

“I love you, Ruby,” he breathed. “And I don’t even care that you don’t feel the same…”

“Oh, Graham,” she cried, cutting him off, and wiping his tears away, even as her own continued to fall. “I love you, too.”

Graham crushed Ruby to him, his lips meeting hers in a passionate dance of love felt and reciprocated. He picked her up, bridal style, his lips never leaving hers and carried her through the halls to their bedchamber.

He lowered her to the bed and pulled back, pulling off his clothes in haste as Ruby did the same.

“I need you, Ruby,” he said, laying down beside her. “I need you like I need to breathe. Like I need food, water.”

“Yes,” Ruby moaned. “I need you, too.” All she could do was reach for him and give herself to him with all that she was. She couldn’t speak, could barely breathe as he touched her, kissed her, sending her higher and higher until her tears couldn’t be held back any longer.

“Don’t cry,” he soothed, brushing one away.

“I can’t help it,” she cried, her voice shaking. “I just love you so much. I didn’t think… I’d hoped… but…”

“I know,” he assured her. “I never thought it would happen to me. I think I’ve waited my entire life for you.”

“I know I’ve waited my entire life for you,” she said cheekily. She rolled on her back, drawing her with him until he was nestled between her legs. “Don’t go slowly,” she urged.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he said as he surged into her, filling her completely.

They moved together, but it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t gentle. It was fire. And a tempest. And total reckless abandon. Both of them reaching for that peak that seemed just out of reach, until they reached it together in a cascade of ecstasy that made Ruby arch, lifting them both from the bed with the power of her completion and Graham roar her name as he emptied himself into her.

Ruby collapsed back to the mattress, Graham’s weight pinning her down. Not that she minded in the least. She loved these moments, when they were both too spent to move. She loved the weight of him, the smell and taste of the sweat on his skin after their lovemaking.

She loved him.

It was that simple. She loved him and he loved her. And it was all she needed.

~*~*~

The next week would forever be remembered by Ruby as the most magical of her life. Nothing special happened - no birthdays, no unexpected guests, no extravagant gifts.

But on the inside, everything changed.

The well of happiness was overflowing and seemingly without end. And she could sense the same thing inside of Graham as well.

She woke one morning, pleasantly sore in all the right places, to see Graham, fully dressed, sitting at the foot of the bed simply watching her.

“Good morning,” she said, sitting up and tucking the sheet around her naked breasts. “What are you doing there?”

“Watching you,” he said, an indulgent smile on his face.

Her mouth dropped open in surprise, and she felt her cheeks heat. “That can’t possibly be very interesting.”

“On the contrary,” he replied, “I can’t think of anything that would hold my attention for so long.”

Her blush intensified and she wondered if perhaps she’d be able to convince him to join her in the bed again. But then she remembered he was already dressed and had probably done so for a reason.

“I brought you a muffin,” he said, holding it out to her. She thanked him and began eating when he spoke again. “I thought we might go on an outing today.”

“Really?” she asked in surprise. “You and me?”

“Actually, I thought maybe the four of us.”

Ruby froze, the muffin halfway to her mouth. To her knowledge, this was the first time Graham was reaching out to his children, rather than setting them aside and hoping someone else would see to them.

“I think that’s a lovely idea,” she breathed.

“Good,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’ll leave you to your morning routine and inform that poor housemaid that you bullied into being their nurse that we’ll be taking them for the day.”

“I didn’t bully her… exactly,” Ruby protested feebly. Mary hadn’t wanted to take the position of nursemaid, even on a temporary basis, none of the servants had. Ruby couldn’t really blame them after the debacle with their former governess, but for that reason, Ruby had extracted a promise from the twins that they would treat Mary with the respect due to the Queen, and so far they’d held up their side of the bargain.

Ruby glanced up and saw Graham just standing in the doorway, not moving.

“Graham?” she asked. “What is it?”

He turned to her, his eyes a bit bewildered. “I don’t know what to do. There’s nothing going on in the village today, no fairs or events, I mean. What should we do?”

Ruby smiled gently at him. “Anything at all, Graham. All they want is you.”

Two hours later, Graham and Nicholas were standing outside the Larkin’s Fine Tailor and Dressmaker in the village of Tetbury, waiting somewhat impatiently while Ruby and Ava finalized their purchases inside.

“Did we have to go shopping?” Nicholas whined.

Graham chuckled. “It was what your mother wanted to do.”

“Next time, the men get to choose,” he grumbled. “If I’d known having a mother meant this…”

“We men must make sacrifices for the women we love,” his father informed him, patting him on the shoulder. He looked inside the shop window and saw that the ladies didn’t appear to be anywhere near finished. “But as to our next outing,” he whispered conspiratorially to his son, “I agree whole-heartedly.”

Just then, Ruby poked her head out. “Nicholas, would you like to come in?”

“No!” he said vehemently, shaking his head for emphasis.

“Allow me to rephrase,” Ruby replied, not missing a beat. “Nicholas, I would like you to come in please.”

Nicholas turned pleading eyes upon his father, making Graham chuckle. “I’m afraid you must do as she says.”

Nicholas grumbled under his breath as he climbed the steps, but just before he entered the door, he turned back to his father. “Aren’t you coming?”

Hell no, Graham almost said, but he bit his tongue just in time. “No,” he said instead, “I need to stay out here and watch the carriage.”

Nicholas’ eyes narrowed. “Why does the carriage need watching?”

“Yes, you need to come in as well, Graham,” Ruby said sweetly. Graham groaned. “You need new shirts.”

“Can’t the tailor just come out to the house?”

“Don’t you want to pick the fabric?” she asked.

“I trust you implicitly,” he said. Ruby frowned at him, and Graham sighed. “Very well, I’ll come in.”

“Thank you,” she said, leading them both inside.

Graham found himself on the ladies side surrounded by bolts and yards of frilly and lacey, sparkly and shiny. He felt about as comfortable there as he did in formal wear.

Ruby kissed him on the cheek and whispered in his ear. “When Ava comes out, make a fuss.”

“I’m not very good at that sort of thing,” he said quietly.

She smiled up at him. “Learn,” she said just as quietly, then turned her attention to Nicholas. “And now for you, Master Humbert. Mrs. Larkin…”

“I want Mr. Larkin, like Father,” Nicholas protested.

Ruby looked at him, surprised. “You want Mr. Larkin? The tailor?” she asked. Nicholas nodded. Ruby was silent for a moment, pondering his request and Graham could see Nicholas start to squirm with impatience and anxiety that she might deny him. “Very well then, off you go.”

Nicholas wasted no time at all and all but ran into the other side of the shop. Graham leaned over to his wife.

“You are good,” he praised, whispering in her ear.

A small smile pricked the corners of her lips. “Yes, I am,” she agreed.

Not a moment later, a blood curdling howl reached them and Nicholas ran back in. Straight to Ruby, which left Graham feeling a bit bereft. He wanted his children to run to him.

“He stuck me with a pin!”

“Were you squirming?” Ruby asked, not bothered in the least.

“No!”

“Not even a little bit?”

“Maybe just a tiny bit,” he said, sheepishly.

“Right then. Don’t move next time,” Ruby said briskly. “I can assure you Mr. Larkin is very good at his job and if you don’t move, you won’t get stuck with a pin. It’s as simple as that.”

Nicholas looked up at his father with pleading eyes, and as nice as it was to be seen as an ally, he couldn’t contradict Ruby in front of his son like that. But then Nicholas surprised him. He walked back toward the other side without complaint and then turned back toward them for a moment.

“Father, will you come with me? Please?”

Graham opened his mouth to reply, but then had to stop, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. He couldn’t speak. He was, quite simply, overcome.

It wasn’t just the moment - the fact that his son wanted him to accompany him in this male right of passage - but it was the absolute confidence and assurance that if he followed his son to the other side, he’d know the exact right thing to say and do when they got there. He wasn’t his own father. He could never be. And with Ruby by his side, he knew he could do anything. Even manage the twins.

Graham laid his hand on his son’s shoulder. “I’d be proud to go with you, son.” He cleared his throat of the hoarseness that had crept in, then bent down to his son’s ear. “The last thing we need is women on the men’s side.” Nicholas nodded in agreement.

Graham rose back up, but before he could take a step, he heard Ruby clearing her throat behind him. He turned toward her, but his gaze came to a stop and his eyes widened as he saw his little girl all dressed up in a lovely lavender frock, showing just a hint of the woman she’d one day become.

For the second time in as many minutes, Graham’s eyes filled with tears. This is what he’d been missing. In his fear, in his self-doubt, he’d been missing this. His children, growing up without him.

Graham patted Nicholas’ shoulder, letting him know he’d be right back, and walked to Ava’s side. Without a word, he took her hand and lifted it to his lips.

“You, Miss Ava Humbert,” he said, his heart in his words, in his smile, in his eyes, “are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.”

Ava gasped in surprise and blushed under his praise. “But what about Mother?” she asked.

Graham knelt by her side and looked over at his bride, whose own eyes were filled with tears. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, quietly. “We’ll say that your mother is the most beautiful woman in the world, and you are the most beautiful girl. And someday, when you’re all grown up, you can believe that your mother is the most beautiful woman, and I’ll still say that you are.”

And later that night, when he kissed the children on their foreheads and tucked them into their beds, Ava whispered.

“Father?”

“Yes, Ava?”

“This was the best day ever.”

“Ever,” agreed Nicholas.

Graham smiled down at them. “For me as well.”

~*~*~

It started with a note.

Later that night, as Ruby finished her supper and her plate was cleared away, she realized there was a small folded note underneath. Graham had excused himself a few minutes earlier, claiming that he needed to locate a book of poetry they’d been discussing during the meal. So once she was alone, she unfolded the note and read the words contained within.

I have never been good with words.

And then, at the bottom of the paper,

Proceed to your office.

Puzzled, but intrigued, she rose and made her way to her office. There, she found another note in the center of her desk.

But it all started with a letter, did it not?

Then followed instructions to take herself to the sitting room, which she followed, being very conscious to keep a sedate pace instead of breaking into a thoroughly inelegant run. The next note was found on the center of the sofa.

And so if it started with words, it ought to continue with them, too.

This time she was directed to the front hall.

But there are no words to thank you for all you have given me, so I will use the only ones at my disposal, and I will tell you the only way I know how.

This time, she was to proceed to her bedchamber.

Ruby headed up the stairs, her heart thumping in excitement and anticipation. This was her final destination, she was sure. Graham would be waiting for her, to take her hand and lead her into their future.

It had all started with a note. A short, but heartfelt note of condolence, that had led her here. To a love so full and all-encompassing, Ruby had trouble containing it. She reached the upstairs hall and stepped forward toward her room, where the door was just slightly ajar.

She pushed it open with shaking hands and gasped.

For covering the bed were flowers. Hundreds and hundreds of blooms of every variety and color, some clearly out of season, from Graham’s special collection. And written in blossoms of red, against the backdrop of white and pink petals…

I Love You

“Words aren’t enough,” Graham said softly, stepping out of the shadows.

She turned to him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Speechless?” he asked, with a smirk. “You? I must be better at this than I thought.”

“I love you,” she whispered, choking on the words. “I love you so much.”

His arms came around her, and as she rested her head on his chest, his heart beating under her cheek, he rested his chin on the top of her head.

“Tonight the twins said that today was the best day ever,” he said softly. “And I realized they were right.”

Ruby nodded in agreement.

“But then I realized they were wrong.”

Ruby pulled back, a question in her eyes.

“I couldn’t choose a day,” he said, looking down into her eyes. “Any day with you, Ruby. Any week, any month, any hour.” He tilted her chin up and brushed her lips with his gently, but with all the love in his soul. “Any moment,” he whispered. “As long as I’m with you.”

The End

~*~*~

Thank you all for coming along on this journey with me!!! I so hope you enjoyed it and would love to hear what you thought!!! Happy birthday, Marta!! Love you!!!

#to sir graham with love #krystal writes #art by motherkatereloyshipper #birthday fic for marta #red hunter fic

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icarusignite · 2 years ago

Text

Like an old melody, my heart resumes

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Summary: After years apart and with several misunderstandings between them, you meet Prince Daeron at what is meant to be his betrothal feast. When secrets and unspoken desires come to light, you and Daeron are faced with a choice: to let go of the past and embrace a love that has always burned between them or allow your tumultuous history to keep you apart.

High Valyrian words:

ñuha rūklon = my flower

kepa = father

Pairing: Daeron x Fem! Reader | (angst, hurt/comfort, fluff)

A/N: for the lovely @lady-targaryens-world and their request. Thank you, I had so much fun writing this. Daeron is a total sweetheart. I fancast him as Lucas Lynggaard Tønnesen cuz he looks like how I imagined Daeron. Hope you like the fic and hope your exams went well 💙💙💙

Word Count: 4K

"What's on your mind, ñuha rūklon?"

Your head snapped up to meet the eyes of Daemon Targaryen as he leaned in the doorway of your room, observing you keenly. You shifted your position on your bed, sitting up straighter against the headboard, careful not to disturb the slumbering brunette whose head lay on your lap.

"Nothing, kepa," you smiled at him.

"You've been distant lately. Ever since news of our travel."

You sighed as your eyes strayed to the crumpled letter in your fist, "Do I have to go Kingslanding, kepa? May I not just stay here, please."

Daemons said your name disapprovingly and gave you a stern look, or tried to anyways, but he was powerless when faced with your mournful eyes pleading with him.

"Your grandsire would feel your absence deeply if you do not go. Not to mention your mother, she would like all her children in one place."

"But-"

"You will have a good time there my little flower, and you will have your brothers to keep you company," he stated firmly before leaving.

You rolled your eyes and huffed in frustration. This trip to King's Landing would be anything but fun. Your parents kept trying to tempt you with tales of festivities and merriment, but all you could think about was that the only reason such an event was even being held in the first place was that he had returned.

Him.

Daeron Targaryen, third son of King Viserys and Queen Alicent, your dearest childhood companion, and also the boy who broke your heart. You frowned at the letter in your hand once again, a choked melancholic feeling rising in your throat. It was the last letter he'd ever written to you, dated years ago, and although you had written many ever since then, you never received a reply. It was unfair. He had promised you that he wouldn't forget you, but he had. He had forgotten you within the first year of being sent to Oldtown, and now your parents expected you to attend what would be his betrothal feast with a happy disposition. You could not do it. Although years old, the ache of betrayal still felt fresh.

"You've been frowning an awful lot lately sister," came a sleepy mumbled sound from below you, and you looked down to see your younger brother, Lucerys, looking up at you in concern.

You grinned as you carded your fingers through his hair, "Don't worry your head over it, little Luke."

He rolled his eyes at the nickname and pushed your hand away in annoyance.

"I'm serious. Why are you so sad? Do you really not want to go? If you want I can pretend to be sick and tell Mother that I'm not fit to travel and then you'll have an excuse to stay behind with me."

"You don't have to do that for me, Luke."

"But I would. I don't like it when you're sad."

Your heart swelled with affection for your younger brother and you smiled at him, hands going to brush the hair from his forehead.

"I know you're looking forward to it Luke. You don't have to stay behind for me. I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive!"

"Okay," he hesitated before raising his fist in the air. "But if anyone bothers you, you tell me, and I'll duel them!"

A giggle bubbled out of you at his heartfelt exclamation. You pushed his hand back down, thumbing the scar that stretched across the back of it.

"How about we leave the duelling to someone else? Wouldn't want our little prince to get hurt."

"You've got to stop calling me little!" he pouted and you couldn't help pinching his cheeks in affection.

"Oh, but you are little," you cooed. "You're so very little."

Luke grumbled your name sternly, and you laughed again, already in better spirits.

The great hall of King's Landing was ablaze with life and festivity. The air was filled with a symphony of chattering nobles, their voices blending together in a lively hum. The room echoed with laughter, gossip, and the occasional clinking of goblets, creating a vibrant backdrop to the grand event.

The hall itself was a sight to behold. Tall, arched ceilings stretched overhead, adorned with exquisite tapestries depicting scenes of Targaryen history. Soft candlelight bathed the space, casting a warm and inviting glow upon the gathered guests. The flickering flames danced upon the polished surfaces, reflecting in the shimmering armour of knights and the elaborate gowns of noble ladies. Long tables adorned with elaborate centrepieces and sumptuous feasts lined the hall, laden with platters of roasted meats, trays of fresh fruits, and delicate pastries. The tantalizing scents wafted through the air, mingling with the fragrance of perfumes and the rich aromas of fine wines. The air itself seemed to carry a sense of indulgence as if every breath was infused with the anticipation of revelry and celebration. The hopes and aspirations of potential suitors, the desires of ambitious families, and the excitement of a long-awaited reunion all converged in the great hall.

Nobles and courtiers, clad in their finest attire, mingled and exchanged pleasantries. Their colourful garments, embellished with intricate embroidery and delicate jewels, added to the opulence of the scene. Laughter rang out, accompanied by the occasional flirtatious whispers and stolen glances toward the newly arrived young prince.

Prince Daeron Targaryen sat upon the elevated dais, his family flanking him on either side. His presence commanded attention, drawing gazes from all corners of the hall. His posture was impeccable, his back straight and his chin held high, and his eyes scanned the crowd with a mixture of curiosity and expectation. As each of his prospective wives was introduced, Daeron's gaze fixed upon her, his expression charming and polite. He listened attentively to their names and the descriptions of their families, his demeanour respectful and gracious. Though his duty was to find a suitable match, there was a flicker of anticipation in his eyes as if he awaited the presence of someone special.

Just as one particular noble lady was stepping forward to be presented, the herald's voice echoed through the great hall.

"Announcing the arrival of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and her family!"

The grand entrance of Rhaenyra and her entourage commanded the attention of all present. Daeron's gaze shifted instinctively, his eyes seeking out the captivating figure of his niece. The noble lady, momentarily forgotten, hesitated mid-sentence, her words drowned out by the flurry of excitement and murmurs that filled the hall.

Daeron's heart quickened at the sight of you, his eyes locking with yours, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded away. The noble ladies, the festivity, everything paled in comparison to your presence. He had not seen you in years, but the time apart had only enhanced your beauty and grace. Your hair cascaded down your back, framing a face that bore a striking resemblance to the Rogue Prince who led the procession with your mother. Your eyes sparkled with a lively intelligence, and your gentle demeanour held an irresistible allure. That was until your eyes hardened and when your gaze turned away from his with a barely concealed sneer, he felt his heart plummet.

King Viserys Targaryen, seated at the head of the dais, greeted his daughter with a warm and open smile. His eyes lit up with joy and pride as Rhaenyra approached, the years apart momentarily forgotten in the embrace they shared. As Rhaenyra stepped back, her gaze shifted to her father, and the smile that graced his face widened further. The aging king's eyes were drawn to you, his beloved granddaughter, who stood beside her parents. There was a mix of tenderness and nostalgia in his gaze as he took in your features, seeing glimpses of his late wife, Queen Aemma, in them.

When he uttered your name, it was filled with warmth.

"It warms my heart to see you once more. You grow more radiant with each passing day, just as your mother did," he pulled you into an embrace.

"It is an honour to see you again, Grandsire!" you grinned and then presented him with the present you had been working on during your entire journey.

The parchment you handed to him depicted both King Viserys and Queen Alicent. A royal portrait of sorts, done in charcoal. Your grandsire's eyes widened with delight as he took the sketch in his hands. His weathered fingers traced the lines and curves, his expression filled with a mixture of joy and melancholy.

"Oh, my dearest," he said, his voice tinged with emotion, "this is a gift beyond measure."

He then turned to his wife, who stood by his side, and held up the sketch for her to see. A smile adorned her lips as she admired the work, her eyes shimmering with affection as she thanked you.

Eventually, the clamour subsided and Rhaenyra and her family took their seats at the grand table, finding their places on the dais. By some twist of fate, you found yourself seated between Daeron and your brother Jace. You settled into your seat and turned yourself so that you were facing your brother mostly, wanting to avoid speaking to your uncle for as long as you could.

Once everyone had been seated, King Viserys stood again, raising his goblet high to catch the attention of all those gathered in the grand hall. The room fell silent, and the flickering candlelight reflected in his eyes, revealing a mix of pride, nostalgia, and a touch of sadness.

"My esteemed guests, noble lords and ladies. Tonight, we celebrate not only the return of my son, Prince Daeron Targaryen but also his journey of growth and learning in Oldtown. By the end of tonight's event, it is my fervent hope that Daeron shall find a bride, a woman who will stand by his side as he takes his rightful place in the realm. Let this be an occasion for new beginnings and the forging of alliances that shall strengthen House Targaryen and the Seven Kingdoms."

Your heart sank at your grandfather's words. The affirmation that Daeron's search for a bride was the purpose of this grand celebration struck you with a wave of unexpected pain but you pushed it away and kept a placid smile pasted on your face. You turned your attention to your brother, seemingly engrossed in conversation with his own betrothed, Baela.

"Jace, my dearest brother," you whispered, nudging him with your elbow.

Jace turned to you with a raised eyebrow, "What is it now? You're being suspiciously polite."

"I am always polite, how dare you?"

"You want something, don't you? C'mon spit it out, what is it?"

You grinned, "May I borrow your handkerchief? My hands are in desperate need of cleansing from the clutches of charcoal."

"You shouldn't have been scribbling away then," he eyed your stained hands with amusement.

"Oh, come on. Please," you begged, tugging at his sleeve.

"But I just had it washed."

"Oh, brother, surely you can spare your dear sister a clean handkerchief to save her from the grips of artistic messiness. Think of it as an act of kindness."

Jace huffed, reluctantly reaching into his pocket and producing the handkerchief, "Fine, but promise me you won't turn it into another work of art."

"I would never do that!"

"Mhmm, and what happened to the last few I lent to you?"

"I don't even have any drawing instruments right now. I promise, dear brother, it shall remain unscathed. You have my word."

You accepted the handkerchief with a grateful nod, laughter bubbling forth at the sight of Jace's disgruntled expression. With a swift and discreet motion, you wiped away the charcoal smudges, returning your hands to their former cleanliness. You handed the handkerchief back to your brother, who grumbled good-naturedly, but with a playful glimmer in his eyes.

As Daeron watched you engage in laughter and conversation with your siblings, a pang of hurt settled within his chest. The tinge of disappointment lingered as he longed for your attention and connection and the weight of his unspoken emotions was not lost on his older brother, Aegon.

Aegon, noticing Daeron's gaze fixed on you, couldn't resist the opportunity to tease him. He leaned closer, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, and nudged Daeron playfully.

"You seem awfully distracted, dear brother. Is it the beautiful ladies or something else that's caught your eye?"

"It's nothing, I'm just lost in thought."

"Lost in thought about a certain someone, perhaps?" Aegon teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Daeron scowled, "Leave it, Aegon."

"Well, well, dear brother, it seems our enchanting niece has indeed stolen your attention. You've had your eye on her since she arrived."

Daeron's cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and annoyance. He tried to deflect Aegon's teasing, but the slight quirk of his brother's eyebrow told him that Aegon wasn't about to let him off the hook so easily.

"I said leave it, Aegon. It's none of your business," he muttered defensively, forcing his eyes away from where they lingered on the curve of your jaw.

"All right, all right. I won't tease you anymore. But I have to admit, I think she is quite lovely myself."

Daeron gave him a withering look, making him laugh even harder. He took a swig from his goblet of wine and leaned in close.

"You know, you have this entire hall of ladies to choose from. I don't think you should mind if I were to take a liking to our dear niece here."

"Don't you dare-"

"Don't be selfish, dear brother."

"Aegon," Daeron warned.

Aegon leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smirk, "Well, if that's the case, then you might wish to speak to her yourself. This feast may have been held to find you a wife, but she sure is garnering a lot of attention."

He gestured to the various noble lords and knights who had their eyes fixed on your graceful movements. Daeron turned his attention back to the banquet in annoyance, choosing to ignore the surge of jealousy that rose within him. He watched you laugh with a scowl on his face. He wanted to be the one making you smile like that, to be the one sitting next to you and sharing in your conversation, but you were pretending as though he didn't even exist, never once meeting his gaze, no matter how desperately he sought you out.

As Daeron sat there, nursing his wounded pride, a group of noble ladies approached him with flirtatious smiles and sparkling eyes. Their gowns swirled around them as they curtsied and extended their hands, inviting him to join them.

One of the ladies, a vivacious brunette with a playful tone, spoke up, her voice laced with excitement, "Prince Daeron, would you do us the honour of sharing a dance with us?"

Daeron glanced at the ladies, his initial reluctance warring with the desire to distract himself from his lingering disappointment. With a sigh, he relented and rose from his seat, offering a polite smile.

"I would be delighted, ladies. Allow me to make this evening memorable for us all."

You watched him leave, a mix of bitterness and sadness welling up within you. You had expected this, but now as you witnessed him embracing the company of other ladies, you couldn't help the surge of tears that forced their way into your eyes. You scolded yourself inwardly for feeling this way, knowing you had no right to claim his attention solely for yourself.

Berating yourself, you forced a smile and attempted to push your discontent aside. You knew that Daeron was at the age where a potential wife was being sought for him. These noble ladies, giggling and vying for his attention, were merely following the customs of courtship as they tried to make themselves as appealing as possible to him. Each attempted to capture his interest with their charms, their eyes sparkling with hope. They swirled around him, showcasing their graceful movements and engaging in light-hearted banter.

Daeron, despite his initial reluctance, allowed himself to be swept into the dance, making polite conversation and offering charming smiles to each lady in turn. He appreciated their efforts and acknowledged their beauty, but his heart remained distant, his thoughts still preoccupied with you. He thought he caught your gaze from across the room, but he couldn't be sure and he didn't want to delude himself into thinking that you actually cared.

It was only the trembling of your lips that gave you away and when you discreetly excused yourself to rush out of the great hall, Daeron abandoned his dance partner mid-step and made his way swiftly towards you. The noble ladies he left behind exchanged confused glances, their voices hushed in curiosity as they watched him break away from their company. He followed the path you had taken, emerging into one of the adjoining dimly lit corridors where you stood with your back toward him. Your shoulder shook as you clamped your hands over your mouth to stifle the sob building inside.

Daeron stood at a distance, not sure what to do or say. You must have sensed his presence though, because you straightened your back and quickly brushed away any lingering tears before turning to give him your brightest smile.

"My prince. Should you not be back in the great hall? You know, dancing with your future wife?"

Daeron frowned, "What future wife?"

"One of those ladies is meant to be your future wife, isn't she? So shouldn't you be spending time with her?" you snapped.

In the solitude of the corridor, Daeron's eyes flickered with hurt as your words cut through him. He had hoped for a warm reunion, a chance to express his feelings and seek understanding. Instead, he found himself facing your unexpected harshness.

"Is that what you truly want? To see me dance with others while you remain distant? Can you not find it in your heart to tell me why you're upset? Why you've been avoiding me?" he pleaded.

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean!"

"How am I supposed to know when you won't say anything!"

A fresh wave of tears welled up in your eyes. How dare he be this audacious. He was pretending to be oblivious.

"You think I've been avoiding you? That I've willingly chosen to keep my distance? Perhaps you should look inward, Daeron. You never responded to a single one of the letters I wrote to you. You went to Oldtown and forgot all about me!" your voice broke, the tears running freely down your face now.

"Letters?"

"Do not pretend not to know!"

Daeron rushed toward you, entwining his fingers with yours, eyes boring into yours as he said your name.

"What letters? I swear I never received any letters. I thought it was you who had forgotten about me."

"Liar! I do not care if you did not care enough to respond but at least do not be a coward and pretend not to know about them altogether."

"Listen-"

"It doesn't even matter," you interrupted, wrenching your hands away from him. "I stopped writing last year, anyways."

"You...you wrote to me for six years?" Daeron's voice was soft in disbelief.

"What, is that supposed to be surprising? Not all of us can be callous and cruel like you. You were my friend, of course I wrote to you!"

Daeron took your hand once again, placing it on his chest so that you could feel his racing heartbeat, voice tinged with desperation.

"I swear on all the gods, the old and the new, that I never received a single one of your letters. I would never willingly ignore you or dismiss your words. Please, you have to believe me."

"Stop! Just, stop," you pleaded. "Go back to your dancing and select a wife from amongst the ladies grandsire has chosen for you."

You wanted to believe Daeron, to let go of the resentment that had consumed you, but the wounds ran deep, and trust was a fragile thread between you two.

"Why would I lie about this?" he implored again, stepping closer. "I have spent every moment longing for you, questioning why you had grown distant. If I had known about your letters, I would have responded, you know that."

"I find that I do not know you at all, so forgive me for disagreeing."

"Do not say that. Please do not say that. I have loved you since we were children!" Daeron's words came tumbling out of his mouth, making both of you freeze.

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes widening at his confession. Your anger and doubt began to crumble, replaced by a mix of astonishment and a glimmer of hope. You listened intently, heart yearning for the words you had always longed to hear.

"I cannot imagine marrying any of those women in the grand hall," he continued, his voice earnest. "Not when my heart has always been set on you. You are the one I have dreamed of, the one who has occupied my thoughts and fueled my hopes. Please, believe me when I say that you are the one I want to spend my life with."

Your breath was shaky as you struggled to absorb the weight of Daeron's confession.

"I... I don't know what to say," you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of vulnerability and bewilderment.

"Say you feel the same way. Say you love me too," he begged.

"I...you truly meant what you said?'

"I have never meant anything more in my entire life," he gently brushed away the tears from your cheeks, his touch filled with tenderness. "I understand your doubts and fears. But I want you to know that I am committed to proving my love to you, to mending what has been broken between us. I will do whatever it takes to earn your trust again and make you feel cherished."

"I...I don't know."

Daeron nodded, his eyes filled with unwavering patience and determination.

"I will give you all the time you need. I will be here, waiting for you, for all of eternity, if that is what it takes. Just know that you hold my heart in the palm of your hands, and nothing will change that."

You couldn't help the chuckle that escaped your lips as you met his desperate gaze.

"I do not think you have all of eternity, my prince. Grandsire expects you to be betrothed before the night is up."

"Whether or not I am betrothed by the end of tonight depends entirely on the lady I hope to be betrothed to. The decision is hers entirely."

You sniffled, "And who might such a lucky lady be?"

Daeron thumbed your cheekbone affectionately, tracing his fingers up your jaw and then settling them to cup your face. His other hand dropped to your waist, pulling you closer.

"There will never be another lady. Not when I belong to you wholly."

You sighed, leaning into his touch with your eyes closed. When you opened them, you were met with his startling intensity.

"I suppose I might be inclined to accept," you murmured, arms coming up to wrap around his neck.

His lips curled upward in a beam, "Is that a yes then?"

"Yes."

Daeron paused for a moment, his lips a hairsbreadth from yours, giving you a chance to pull away, before they met yours in a gentle kiss. Your lips moved in perfect harmony, a dance of affection and yearning. As your kiss deepened, Daeron's arms wrapped around you, pulling you impossibly closer, as if afraid to let go, his body pressing you into the cool stone wall behind you.

When you pulled away eventually, he pressed his forehead against yours and closed his eyes reverently as he whispered in the space where your breaths mingled.

"I am yours. I will be yours for all of eternity."

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