#oc jace

[tea-potato-gt]

A Borrower at the End of the World part 8

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Word count: 2700ish

***

Now…

The Brig consisted of several dark jail cells. Each contained two wooden beds, a sink, and a filthy toilet.

The soldiers placed both children inside the same cell, locked the door, and left. 

It was a dark, dusty cell. The only light came from the little lamp in the corner on the other side of the bars. The only window was above the wooden beds. It had no glass, just metal bars, allowing the chill from the night air to enter the room. If the kids stood on the wooden bed they could see out to the street, which was at the same level with their window. One of the kids could stick their arms out and grab tuffs of grass or dirt.

Once Briar was sure the soldiers were gone, he popped his head out of Jace’s bag, only to quickly realize he was suspended high above the ground with no safety net. The soldier carrying Jace’s bag put it on a hook directly across the jail cell that held the kids. They had a clear view of each other. 

“Jace? Layla? Are you hurt?” Briar yelled across the chasm to the cell that trapped the kids. Briar never wanted to see another person he cared about locked up. Now he saw both children behind bars, it made his anger boil and he became sick to his stomach.

“That bastard twisted my arm,” Jace grunted as he tested the limits of how high he could lift it and flexed his tender muscles. “Still hurts, but nothing permanent.”

Briar turned to the little girl, hugging herself in the darkness. “Layla, are you alright?”

Layla just stood there, silent tears streamed down her face and she shook her head. She was shivering, the boys couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or fear. Or both. Briar and Jace locked eyes. 

Just like I showed you. Briar nodded. 

Jace bent down and checked Layla for injuries. He stretched her arms out and bent it slightly, watching for resistance or pain. He turned her head and checked under her shirt for any injuries. 

Briar spent weeks teaching the kids how to check each other for injuries. He taught them first aid, like how to stop bleeding or how to set a broken bone with two sticks and a shirt. Briar had to guide the pair through it with only his voice and using an old doll as an example. Briar couldn’t ever hope to administer first aid to either child himself, given their drastic size differences. A single cut on one of them could produce more blood than he had in his entire body.

“She’s fine, just a couple of scratches.” Jace finally said. 

“If you’re not hurt then why are you crying?”

“I’m scared, Briar.” Layla pressed her round face into the bars. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She stuck her hands and arms through the bars in a futile attempt to reach the borrower.

“I know, sweetheart, it’s gonna be alright. We’ll figure a way out of this.” Briar wanted nothing more than to close the gap between them and comfort her. Have her hold him close to her chest, tell her everything would be alright, but this wasn’t the time for flowery talk. He needed to take action and figure a way out of this nightmare.

Jace pressed himself against the metal door. It was made of thick, rusted metal that he couldn’t dream of opening without a key. “M-maybe you can pick the lock?” Jace sounded hopeful. “You told us once you opened a locked rat trap your cousin was in.”

“Yes, but that took hours,” Briar rubbed his hands over his face. “I doubt we’ll be given the luxury of time before those Beans come back.”

The Borrower spat the word ‘bean’ with complete and utter disgust. He said it in a way that made Jace very uncomfortable.

Briar had never thought highly of beans, but after watching the way these particular ones treated Layla and Jace, it brought forth the ire and pain felt by generations of borrowers before him. 

“Do you have any better ideas, boss?”

“No.” Briar sighed. “Maybe… Maybe I could climb down, get a better idea of what to do. Get a lay of the land.” He grabbed his borrower bag and wrapped his rat skinned cloak around his neck. 

“Please hurry,” Layla whined.

“Alright, I’m coming, sweet girl.” Briar took out the ‘rope’ (string) attached to his waist, tied it to the broken backpack zipper, let the string drop to the ground, and tugged on the knot to ensure it was secured.

Then he jumped up and over the zipper of the bag. And began his descent down the string. Hand over hand and scooting and squeezing with his thighs. Nearly half a century of practice allowed the borrower to safely scale down a dozen story (to him) drop. 

The distinct sound of jingling keys turning at the brig door sounded as loud as an explosion to Briar's ears. Alarm bells screamed at him: A bean is coming.

Briar and Jace cursed at the same time.

Creeaaaak. 

Too late. Both the children and Briar froze.

The borrower had only made it halfway down the string. He couldn’t climb back up into the backpack without being spotted. And dropping had its own risks, but staying still was probably the worst option. Indecision might seal Briar’s fate. The three prayed the new beans wouldn’t spot the little man swinging in mid air.  

The children’s eyes were locked on the man standing at the door. He was intimidating, even by Bean standards. He was huge, very tall, and very muscular. Wearing a heavily decorated uniform with several stars and badges across the shoulders and chest. He took up most of the door frame and had to duck a little to enter the Brig. Close behind him followed Colonel Johansen. 

Oh, joy. 

“Good evening, children.” The new man spoke in a deep voice that, though soft, commanded respect. Jace couldn’t get a good look at his features because of how tall he was. No matter how close or far he got from the lamp light, his face seemed to always be swallowed by shadow. At his side, he carried a black briefcase. “I am the General.”

Neither child spoke as the General made his way towards their cell, his heavy combat boots thumped on the ground. 

“My men tell me, you put up quite the fight while they brought you here.” The General stood before the cell, he studied Jace with dark eyes, looking for something. “Now, I’m very curious. How did two children survive alone in a town crawling with Razors, for three years? Hm?” 

Jace stood up straighter, trying to appear bigger than he really was. Over the years of hunting and borrowing, Jace had gained some muscle, not enough to be useful in hand to hand combat against this brick wall of a man. 

“I would very much like to know who helped you… and where they are hiding, right now.” The General bent down to the level of the kids. When his eyes landed on little Layla, she felt herself shrivel up under his intense gaze. The aura that came from this man made the air thick and unbearable. Alarm bells were ringing inside her head to run away. 

Jace stepped in front of his sister, blocking her from view. The teen glared at the General, a clear sign: No. Not her. Don’t you even look at her.

The General’s jaw ticked, “I’d be careful who you aim that glare at, son.” Only the man’s cold eyes moved to meet Jace’s. 

Jace pulled Layla closer as they backed away from the bars and the men standing on the other side. Even though there was still a row of solid metal between the children and the General (and the Colonel), he knew that could change very quickly with the turn of a key.  

“Not much of a talker, ey?” The General set his heavy suitcase down with a thud. “That’s fine. I can work with that.” He began to fiddle with the locks on the side of the briefcase. 

Elsewhere in the room, Briar swung in mid air. Still caught between a rock and a hard place. Or Two beans and the floor.

He was desperately trying to figure out what to do. Right now, he was still halfway down the rope. Two giant beans were between Briar and the children. Briar could only see the General’s back, he was so large it blocked the kids from view. And the other bean, the Colonel was standing a ways away from the cell, but still watching the intimidating display the General put on. 

Normally, Briar wouldn’t want any bean to ever even look at the kids, the very thought set his anger ablaze. But now was not the time to tell off giants and curse their entire bloodlines. Now he needed to get down as quickly as possible and hide. If he was out of sight he might think of a proper plan to get them all out. Right now, being exposed, his fight or flight was in overdrive and he couldn't really think properly.

After much deliberation, he realized his only choice would be to have a controlled free fall down the string till he got to the ground and could hide in the shadows. Easier said than done.

The beans are distracted now is not the time to get scared, Briar scolded himself. On the count of three. One. two. Three—

Briar let go of the string, except for his left hand, which he used in an attempt to at least control the speed of his descent. His stomach did flips as the ground came up faster than he would have liked. As he got closer, he began to squeeze the string with his left hand, causing terrible, painful rope burns on his palm and fingers. 

Even though Briar slowed down a little, he still hit the ground harder than intended. He involuntarily let out a soft cry of pain as he made impact. His world spun dizzyingly. Maybe he still had his mild concussion from hitting his head and blacking out earlier that day. Ugh.

The General’s ears perked up at the soft sound. A sound most beans would ignore, but this man was not like most beans. The giant's hair stood on end, something wasn’t right. His shoulders tensed and he began to turn around. 

“W-WHAT!” Jace started loudly to gain the General’s attention, he didn’t know what Briar was doing, since the General blocked the small man from view, but Jace knew he had to keep the men's attention. “What are you going to do to us?” The teen eventually gained control of his volume as he continued talking, but his voice still shook. 

“Ah, so you can speak.” The General’s tone of voice sounded amused, but one look at the man’s face made it clear he was anything but. “Well, that entirely depends on you and how cooperative you will be.”

The General took out a set of metal keys jingling at his hip. He placed a rusted metal key in the door to the cell that held the children. The man turned the key with deliberate slowness. 

Briar quickly got to his feet and ran. Or limped, might have be more accurate. Ugh. Everything hurts. 

Briar rushed into shadows. In the dark he was safe. He avoided running out into the middle of the hallway, deciding to instead stick close to the wall. He made it pretty far into the darkness of when–

BANG.

Layla shrieked and covered her ears as the loud sound of a gunshot echoed through the small space.  

The Colonel held a smoking gun aimed at the floor, “Damned rats.”

“What did you do?!” Jace yelled. He pressed himself against the bars, desperate to see if Briar was hurt or worse.

The bullet hole in the floor still had a bit of smoke rising from it. He has to be okay, Jace thought frantically, we just got him back! 

“Missed.” The Colonel sighed as he reholstered his pistol.

The relief Jace felt was almost palpable.

The General watched the boy with great interest. 

Briar scurried back on his hands and knees and easily slipped between the bars of the cell next to the kid’s. His heart pounded and his chest heaved, That Bastard-of-a-Bean just tried to shoot me?! 

Briar got up on his shaking feet, his mind continued to race as he ran to the wall that borders the kid’s cell. He just had to find a crack or a weak point to get to the other side. 

What the hell is wrong with that idiot Colonel?! Shooting a gun in such an enclosed space! That bullet could have ricocheted and really hurt someone! He could have hurt Jace or Layla?!

There! In the corner, a drain connecting the two cells. It was three inches high, short for even the borrower, but not impossible. He ducked down and pushed his way through the wall. 

See kids, THIS is why I hate beans! They always shoot first and ask questions later. Well, good luck asking me questions if I’m DEAD!

When Briar emerged on the other side of the wall, his heart stopped. Three pairs of long legs rose up like thick tree trunks. Those trunk eventually led up to torsos, arms and heads of three beans who didn't know that Briar was in the cell with them. That in itself was concerning, but the real problem came when those legs started moving unpredictably. The borrower could easily be knocked down by a heavy footstep or crushed under a shoe. Leaving nothing more than a stain on the floor to be forgotten by time. 

The General opened the briefcase he brought into the cell. Briar could hear the metal tools clinking in his hands. 

The case held several instruments of torture. Carefully curated and chosen by the General to be used to get information. He pulled out a metal clamp, it looked like a crude a nutcracker. It still had dried blood caked on from its last unfortunate victim. One good squeeze of this contraption could easily break the fingers on a grown bean. If the General got his hands on a borrower, Briar could easily be snapped in half. He gulped at the thought of this painful, horrible end. 

Then his mind switched back to the danger that currently faced the children.it pissed him off, the way this bean tried to purposefully intimidate Jace and Layla. The General was letting his intimidating stature and muscular build do most of the work.

The kids had an intense fear of this unpredictable entity before them, threatening them. Fear began to consume the pair to the point they both were shaking.

What does this bean gain from torchering two children?! What could be so important out there that this man would hurt Jace or Layla over it?! No amount of information in the world is more important than them! Briar’s face grew hot as anger festered in his chest. If the borrower wasn’t afraid himself, he would march over there and give this General guy a piece of his mind. (In fact, if they were the same size, Briar probably would’ve given the General a good kick in the teeth.)

“Last chance, son,” The General took a frighteningly slow step towards the children, steadily clicking the contraption in his fist as he walked into the dim light. Jace stepped back, pulling Layla closer. She whimpered. “Tell me. Who are the people who helped you?” The man spoke slowly, putting emphasis on every word as he bent down to the level of the kids, “And where are they hiding?”

Neither child moved. Or spoke. Or dared to breathe. 

What could they possibly say to this man?

If they told the truth— that they had been living with a man the size of a hand for the past three years. That is man taught them how to survive out in the wilderness— The General would either not believe them and think they were making up creatures called borrowers, and they were stalling or hiding the truth. That path would just lead them back to where they are now, but locked in a cell with a much angrier man. 

Or worse, the General would believe the children and try to hunt Briar down. The number one rule of living with a borrower: Never reveal the secret to anyone. 

“Still not talking, eh?” The General cracked his knuckles and took a deep, steadying breath. He held up his instrument towards the light and watched as the rusted metal glint with such fascination, before coldly bringing his eyes back to Jace. “Well, you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs.”

Jace’s eyes went wide and all the air seemed to be sucked out of the room. His heart sank, but not from fear of what waa about to happen right then. A memory of a man pinged in his mind. A man he used to know a long, long time ago.  

Time slowed down as Jace looked at the General’s face. Even in partial shadow he recognized him. That fraise. That voice. The intimidation. His face. Jace knew this man all too well.

Jace’s voice shook as he spoke. He didn’t know it at the time, but his life, his sister’s life and Briar’s life would change with one word:

“F-father?”

***

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[carnivorousyandeere]

Imagine the Student Council Yans in the future though….

Jace, the biologist— maybe a Professor, too

Rayleigh, the archaeologist or marine biologist— living her best life, honestly

Kendra, the enigmatic fashion designer— running her own studio

Emerson, the successful architect— using their growing wealth to travel the world like they’ve always wanted

Kaylee, the big-name lawyer— has a few favors she can call upon from… former clients, let’s say.

Hailey, the CEO— taking the whole “girlbossing” thing to a new level. Probably also owns a few smaller shell companies and MLMs

[myladysapphire]

Solace

As the daughter of Alicent Hightower you had been fed stories of your older sister and her children, so when you are bethrothed to Jacaerys you arent too sure as to what to expect, and go into your courtship expecting the worse, only to find out you couldn't have been more wrong.

word count: 5,908

CW: MDI 18+, smut, fluff. p in v, fingering, loss of virginity, oral (f reciving), incest not beta read!

Jacaerys Veleryon x Fem!reader

a/n - no war au

Masterlist

She had been betrothed to Prince Jacearys since they were both children, before most noble children even knew the expectation of one day getting married off and yet since the day of said betrothal, they had not spent a single moment together. Nor had you exchanged a single letter nor a single thought of the other, at least she had not. 

In all honesty she had simply lived as if he and their impending marriage did not exist, so when he returned for his brother's hearing and for their courtship to officially begin, they were at a complete loss of where to begin, they knew of no common interests, and there family’s had been pitted against each other their entire lives.  Seeing as they had never been close in their youth, nor present much time together, seeing as she had kept to herself or Heleana, and Jacearys having spent most of his time with his brother and hers.

She had always preferred solitude, preferred to keep to her books, painting, and her beloved dragon Gaelithox. Gaelithox perhaps the only being she would spend day after day with willingly. 

she had hoped he would be similar. Though from what she could remember, he always seemed to find himself surrounded by others, not once does she remember seeing him alone. Perhaps if she had then she would have gotten to know him. But for her crowds were her worst fear, talking to more than one person or anyone was really. But Jacearys was always the centre of attention, with his good looks and charisma, it seemed he never begged for attention, it just always simply found him. She hoped marrying him would not force her to become the same.

How they expected her to one day be queen confused her. With Jacearys as the future king she would have all these responsibilities and have to do everything she hated. Her mother had made sure to tell her that, to start to show her what would be expected of her.

For all she knew it was a scare tactic from her mother, y/n knew her mother hated them, she would call them bastards and would whisper in her ear more and more rumours about her eldest sister and her eldest son. 

So, when he arrived all she could do was watch him. Scared to start a conversation, and too nervous to make any moves towards him. So she stood from the sidelines as he found himself surrounded by the keeps inhabitants. 

As she watched him at dinner, following lucerys victory of being declared the future lord of the tides, she very much doubted he would like solitude as much as she did. The few moments where he found himself not in conversation, he almost seemed nervous. She feared he would never understand her fear of crowds, or her hate for balls and feasts. Nor understand what her mother referred to as her quirks. He was loud and charismatic, all traits she lacked. He was drawn to crowds and seemed to thrive at the events she hated. But he seemed to suffer in the moments she loved the moments alone, the quiet moments.

She had been forced to sit away from her usual seat and sit nearer to the centre, a place where all eyes were on her. She sat opposite her eldest sister, Rhaenyra, with Jacearys on one side, and Aegon on the other. 

Aegon had been making crude jokes all evening, whispering and taunting her. Though she had become extremely talented at ignoring him, it was starting to bug her, and all she wished was to retire to bed. 

Luckily, he seemed to be the only one interested in her, until Rhaenyra decided to start a conversation with her. She had never really known her eldest sister, having always been stopped by her mother. She remembered when her and Rhaenyra would have bi-weekly garden tea, until her mother found out and banned her from even going near Rhaenrya chambers.

Over the years her mother had told her only the worst about Rhaenyra, and forced her own hatred or mayhap envy of her onto y/n. And yet she only ever seemed to be kind to her when they did interact. 

“Sister?” y/n heard her call out.

“Yes princess?” she responded, stuttering from being addressed. 

“Are you quite alright, you look quite pale?” her face was concerned, as did Jaceaerys when he turned from his seat to face ger at his mother’s words.

“i-“ you looked down starting to pull at the skin on your fingers, “i do not find i fit in well in such gatherings, it's just stress” she spoke, voice shaking as y/n looked down and bringing her fingers to her mouth biting the skin around them.

“Would you like me to escort you back to your chambers?” She heard Jacearys ask in concern. 

At this her mother’s attention was captured, as she snapped her head around, ending her conversation with her grandsire, in doing so capturing the whole tables attention “what’s wrong dearests?”

“i- i would like to retire mother?” y/n almost begged, desperate for the offered reprieve.

“of course Aem-“her mother began, before being interrupted, clearly offering Aemond to escort her to her chambers. 

“I shall escort her,” Jacearys interrupted, standing from his seat and offering his hand that

she took it nervously.  These were the most words either had spoken for each other, at least that she could remember. 

Walking down the halls of the keep, she found herself in a comfortable silence.  Though Jacearys seemed to find it rather uncomfortable as he began to ramble on about gods knows what.

“so i told Luke -“

She hummed, responding to a question she probably heard minutes ago, she hated to admit it but she was seriously struggling to follow whatever he was talking about. The topic of which changed near every second. 

He stopped walking suddenly, causing her to be pulled back as their arms were still interlinked. He seemed to finally realise he was talking nonsense and had lost her completely “I’m sorry, I’ve been rambling on and you can’t even follow a word of what i was saying i-“ 

“oh no i- i, well yes, but I believe you are just nervous… as am il” y/n spoke softly. 

He nodded, “your right, i- i have been trying to think of anything i know about you, any shared memories and yet i can not find a single thing” he shook his head, seemingly ashamed.

“oh well… we never really talked until today, i always much preferred my own company to that of others”

“oh i- really?” he sounded confused as if spending time by himself was beyond him.

“i always found i was always more myself when with others, in fact i find myself nervous when I am alone '' he spoke, slowly making sure not to ramble on once more.

“I suppose I have never found such solace with another person as to feel myself with another person” you looked down, she too seemed so polar to one another and feared her solitude would always be interrupted once she married him. 

“I understand that, Luke is the same way” he looked at her then, “i hope that i can be the person you find solace in, one day..” he took her hands, stoking them softly, it was always a hard thing for her, touch. Always avoiding it, and only taking hugs to shaking someone’s hand when she knew social construct dictated she should. And yet with him it was fine it seemed nice almost, something she could get used to, even find solace in.

“I would like that”  she nodded, and he gave her a sweet smile, relief almost washing over his face. He took her arm once more and led her back to her chambers, this time instead of rambling, he simply asked her questions about herself, and for once she happily answered them.

The next day she was awoken to the sound of rapped knocks on her door. Though she normally slept in, it was still rather early for such a thing. Opening the door she saw Jacaerys standing with a bouquet of flowers, more specifically peonies, a flower that you would often find embroidered on several of her dresses. 

“Prince-“

”Jace” he interrupted “ please call me Jace, we are to be a married soon it is only right” 

“Jace” she said slowly, getting used to the informality she lacked with even her own family , “what are you doing here so early?” 

“Early?” he laughed, as if if the idea that nine in the morning could ever be considered early,  “i suppose it could be”

”Why are you here?” She asked, almost irritated.

“Sorry,” he spoke, reaching his arm out to present her with the peonies'' i simply came to ask if we may break our fast, with the hope you had yet to eat and yet it seems i woke you,” he shook his head “i apologise, i am used to waking up early for training. I should have thought you may have preferred to sleep in” he looked down nervously.

Sniffing the flowers, she moved into her room, leaving the door agar as an invitation for Jace to come in. ”I would like that” she nodded, “Though this is still rather early for me, so i shall need to call my maids to help me dress and prepare our breakfast”

”early?” He again asked, “what time do you normally wake?”

”Mostly before noon, but not before 10,” you looked up with a small smile, “i find i can sleep the days away if allowed, it is one of the few things i can never seem to get enough off”

He laughed, the nerves leaving him slightly. “I find i am always awake by eight, at the latest, sadly i do not possess the same skill to sleep in, a skill i am much jealous of.” He smiled, “ i shall have the guards fetch your maids and order breakfast, and perhaps tomorrow we may share lunch instead” 

“I would like that,” she nodded.

Their fast was spent with the exchange of shy smiles and timid questions asked, as time went on  they grew more comfortable and found their rhythm, and she found the tiredness she felt from talking to others never came. 

The next moon was perfect, each day she would wake, dress, then Jace would meet her and she broke her fast and he took his second meal. Then they would walk the gardens. After a few days, she confessed how typically she would ride Gaelithox the second she awoke, and soon they found they were going for dragon rides every morning. Vermax and Gaelithox enjoying each other's company. Every second was filled with chatter, and those few that were not, neither felt any awkwardness, just contentment, solace.

They seemed to spend almost every second of every day with each other and yet she not once found it tiring, or wished for a reprieve, she simply wished for more.

There were even days where she wished for no talking and Jace was more than happy to spend the whole day in silence, simply enjoying each other's company, as they went about their own tasks.

She felt as if she was learning everything there was to know about him, through his stories she felt as if she knew his brothers, his family, like she had grown up with them , and not just watching them. She learnt his quirks and he learnt hers. And every day they seemed to learn something new. 

But today was the first day she would spend without him since his arrival, with her father , the king, asking for Jace to accompany the small council meetings from now on. 

So she had planned to spend the day alone, resuming her old daily routine even on the days where Jace was not in her company. 

That was until her mother decided to skip the small council meeting and spend the day with her.

”Do not ever trust them, dearest” her mother tutted, brushing through her hair. “They only wish for you and he to grow close so when the time comes you are on their side-“

She had tried to tune her out, but the instant comments answered messing with her head. She felt as if she was falling in love with Jace and yet they way her mother spoke of him, it was as if he was worse than Aegon, a fact she knew was not true.

“mother!” she finally  snapped , shaking her head she pulled away from her mother, “i do not care! Jace shall be my husband and as you have reminded me since the day I first bleed, that my duty is to my husband and his family before my own.” she then whispered to herself “a fact you do not follow yourself” continuing she said “ so why now when it is the son of the woman you despise, am I to do the opposite?” It was so out of character for her and yet years and years of hearing the words bastard and betrayal and whispers of war, she was finished. 

She fully pulled away from her mother and stood up, straightening her dress, “this past moon i have felt more seen and known by Jace than anyone my whole life. My whole life I have detested company, and chatter, and have at any and all attempts avoided events. and now i find the one person i do not detest, and would falsely attend any event he wishes me to, someone i enjoy spending time with, my future husband! You wish to ruin it for me! Do you not want me to be happy?” She nearly yelled, her face turning from the sweet, shy and docile face it had always been had turned angry “you clearly do not wish for Heleana to have happiness, as clear with her marriage to Aegon at three and ten!” She was steaming, years of biting her younger so as to not gain attention, or do more talking that’s necessary, bitterness flowed through her.

”dearest i-“ her mother started, moving towards and reaching for her to pull her in a hug, only to be met by an instant rejection.

”I simply wish for whatever war you are making up in your head to end, so you can finally allow me the happiness I deserve!” And with that she walked about, only to be met with Jace and Rhaenyra's face as she walked out. 

Jace chased after her, leaving his mother left to deal with Alicent.

”y/n” he called out, “y/n stop!”

“No, I can't,” she said as she continued down the halls, though she did slow down, allowing Jace a chance to catch up with her. “if i stop walking I’ll march right back in there and apologies!” she proclaimed.

“I'm sure you won't, you did the right thing '' Jace spoke, still trying to catch up with her.

“i have bite my tongue my whole life, never expressing my thoughts or opinions, and today i did!” she spoke, as she realised she was walking towards Jace’s chambers. She didn’t even think of where she was going, having stormed out of her own rooms, it seemed that in this past month his room had become a comfort to her.

Finally catching up in time to open the door to his rooms. “y/n you don’t have to explain, you didn’t do anything, you just spoke up for yourself and…for me” y/n swear she saw him blush.

“i know it was hard for you, that talking and expressing yourself is something your struggle with…but you stood up for yourself it’s nothing you have to feel bad about it’s something you should be proud of” he grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips “and in all honestly  i was rather impressed”

“you where?” she blushed, stepping one closer. 

he nodded, “ you know me and my mother were coming to your chambers to discuss the wedding” he said wrapping his arm around her waist. a movement and touch she had now grown to love. “ We are to be married in a fortnight” his face moved closer to her.

“We are?” she questioned, her breathing getting heavier. 

he nodded, there faces so close they were sharing their breaths “yes, soon you will be my wife, and i your husband and your mothers silly little rants will have no sway any longer” 

she gasped, he leant forward and finally kissed her, it was soft and sweet, leaving them both a blushing mess. 

The next two weeks moved slowly, filled with wedding planning. 

Her relationship with her mother was strained, finding most of the planning to be with her eldest sister Rhaenrya and even Heleana more so than her own mother. And the few times she was there she simply sent a glare in their direction and took at every laugh and smile.

She found that she rather enjoyed her sister's company, the two having a few similar interests. Rhaenyra seemed kind and cared for her children a great deal and as a result she did with her too. 

She knew her mother cared, but watching her mother interact with Rhaenyra highlighted that most of her mothers objections were actually ones of jealousy. She was Jealous of Rhaenyra and more so of Daemon, as he received more glares the more he and Rhaenrya showed affection to one another. So much jealousy that she swear she saw some longing in her gaze whenever she stared at Rhaenrya.

The day before her wedding she finally found herself alone with her mother though from the way her mother barged into her room she knew the conversation the pair were about to have would not be a pleasant one.

“sit down dearest” she spoke as she herself got comfortable.  Doing as her mother bid, she sat beside her. Her mother quickly took her hand in hers, tight enough that even if she were to recoil it would not break her free. 

“When I had this. Conversation with your sister, she already knew some of what was to come, with her Marrying Aegon, and will he loved to taunt her with the gory details for moons before their wedding” Alicent took a deep breath. “On the morrow you will be wed, and with that shall come some expectations” 

she nodded, not quite sure what her mother meant. “not only will you be taking on some of my duties but there is also the expectation of an heir…” she looked at her then, expecting her to interrupt in some way. She stayed quiet, she knew she would have to have children but how the act itself was done was peculiar to her.

Her mother shifted uncomfortably, “once you are wed the marriage must be consummated” she awkwardly grabbed at her hands, “it will be uncomfortable but some pleasure can be found in the act” she sent her mother peculiar look, causing her mother to cough uncomfortably and once again move to explain “your husband will…insert himself in you, and spill his seed, allowing a babe to be made, though it can take some time so i shall prey you are lucky and conceive soon…”

she looked down quietly “mother “she spoke slowly, “Aegon is my brother, though he and i aren’t close i have…walked in on him numerous times, time enough to know what sex is” 

Her mother was shocked, looking down and shaking her head, “your brother has no shame-“

“mother, i also have a septa who taught me” she laughed, Heleana only did not know because she was young mother, i am aware, in fact me and-“ she cut herself off not wanting her mother to become more shocked at hearing how her and Jace have already talked of the wedding night.

They were both inexperienced, though Jace had been taken to brothels by Daemon he had never actually done anything, wanting to save himself for his wife. A fact she was most happy about. 

She loved Jace, she realised. He was everything she did not expect, though he was chatty and loud, he was also kind and sweet, a perfect gentleman. She and him had more in common than not, they both loved to read though Jace found little time to do so, so was more than happy to listen to her ramble on and on about the last book she read. She had shown him how to paint and draw, a skill he, though terrible at, found rather enjoyable, especially when he got the flicking paint at her. She herself had even found she loved a few of his hobbies or well if you can call sword fighting a hobby. 

she remembered the morning, it was still early in their courtship, the first week in.  She and Jace had yet to sleep and yet they could see dawn breaking through the windows in his room. They had spent the whole day and night talking, getting to know each other. “it’s dawn already?” Jace sighed as he moved from his spot on the sofa. she sighed from the movement, missing his warmth. 

“it’s seems so” she hummed 

“it’ll be time for training soon.” he spoke, not necessarily to her. 

“Do you train alone?” 

“Here I do, On Dragonstone Daemon is typically dragging me and Luke out of bed the second the sun begins to rise but here he has no desire to train” he looked at her, “why don’t you join me?” he asked.

“i have never even touched a sword” she exclaimed, as if the idea was a mad one.

He grinned “exactly, it’ll be most entertaining!”

she laughed, “fine, but you must promise to show me your high Valyrian!” y/n declared, he had been complaining how bad his Valyrian was but refused to show her, despite her being fluent and offering to teach him.

He sighed, then a big grin filled his face “very well, let us teach one another, i teach you in swordsmanship and you teach me high Valyrian” 

she laughed “very well! though i make no promises to these swordplay lessons!”

They met again in the training yard, both in training clothes. She had borrowed hers from Jace and she was sure he was trying to sabotage her. His clothes hung from her in an almost comical way, he himself had laughed as she nearly tripped netting the training yard.

“you look beautiful” he said though his eyes were full of mirth as he took in the way his clothes hung from her.

“Perhaps you could have given me some of Luke's clothes instead” she sighed, a frown forming her face as she hung her arm up to show just how big his sleeves were compared to her arms.

“Next time we shall!” he declared, stopping his laughter to then pass her a wooden sword “for now it’s fine.” 

The sword was heavier than she was expecting, as shown by how she nearly dropped it.

“do you do any exercise?” he asked, seeing her near miss with the sword.

she scoffed “no, do i look like someone who does?” she asked bewildered.

he laughed “no i suppose not, and knowing you it doesn't surprise me that you do not” he took the sword off her “perhaps we should start with some exercise”

“what?” she asked, she hated doing anything that could be remotely referred to as exercise. 

“Don’t worry, just some light exercise, to build stamina”  he looked at her then, something passing through his eyes. something she had yet to see. 

He had made her run ten laps, stretch in more easily than she knew possible, And then finally let her hold the sword. “You know I was hoping you wouldn’t take this so seriously” she sighed, hitting the dummy repeatedly. Jace corrects her technique with each hit. “really?”

“Of course not, when you said it I had hoped we would just be jesting around” she sighed dramatically, before moving to place the sword down on the rack. “I think that this ‘lesson’ is over.” she started to walk away only for Jace to grab her arm.

“Wait!” he said, pulling her back to him gently. “Are you really not enjoying yourself?” he asked with a sad smile on his face. 

y/n sighed, before a small smile graced her face “no, but perhaps hearing you speak some high Valyrian may make it more joyous.” she spoke, though she was enjoying herself a little, though it would definitely not be a hobby she would be taking up, though watching him practice his swordsmanship, that is a hobby she will be taking up.

“I- really?” he asked, his face unsure, “nyk-e don’t ȳdragon ziree sȳr”

She laughed, his accent and pronunciation were all over the place, perhaps she was better at swordsmanship after one lesson that he was at high Valyrian after years of lessons, “it’s gaoman daor ȳdragon ziry sȳrī”

I do not speak it well

“See what I mean!” he exclaimed, as she continued to laugh.

“oh Jace, gaomagon daor worry nyke sure kesā jiōragon sȳrkta isse daor jēda” she taunted. 

do not worry I’m sure you will get better in no time

“I have no idea what you just said '' he sighed, shaking his head, “but at least i can hold a sword properly” he taunted back to her.

“Hey! It's my first lesson, have you been learning high Valyrian for how long?” she questioned, a gleam in her eyes.

“hāre jēdri” he replied, a smile as he realised he had pronounced it correctly

Three years

She hummed, beginning to circle him, “hāre jēdri? funny seeing hae heleanas riñar ȳdragon sȳrkta eglie valyrain than ao se issi balrey hāre pōntāla”

three years? Funny seeing as Heleanas children speak better high Valyrian than you and they are balrey three themselves

“I- well, stop taunting me!” he protested.

“Only if we can stop this, will I have reached my yearly exercise limit.. For the year!” she joked, dramatically falling, conveniently into his arms. 

“Fine, fine!” he said, “but you can not mention to anyone about my high Valyrian.” he brought her back to her feet.

“Oh please who would i tell? se lo nyke gōntan, skorkydoso would ao sesīr gīmigon?” she laughed, starting to walk away, only to have Jace chase her back all the way back to her chambers.

and if i did, how would you even know?

It was safe to say she never participated in his training again, but on the odd days she was awake when he went, she found she did in fact enjoy watching him.

It took a few attempts before they found a hobby they both loved equally. Painting. She had been painting for as long as she can remember, Jace however had taken it up about two weeks ago, but seemed to love it as much as she.

“Let's paint each other!” Jace declared, as he saw the paints y/n left out. 

She hesitated, “have you ever painted before?”

“No, but how hard could it be?” She laughed at that, but said nothing.

They sat opposite each other, their art facing only themselves. They gave themselves an hour before they would show each other what they had painted. 

Jace went first. He seemed so proud of himself. To give him credit it was fairly good, though it looked nothing like her. 

“It's good!” she exclaimed, “i like it” she reached forward to grab it “i shall have it framed” she hummed. Jace smiled widely at that.

“Show me yours!” he asked, or more declared as he turned the canvas around himself. 

His face was shocked, mouth wide, “i- wow” he was at a loss of words. “This is incredible!” he exclaimed, his face one of awe, “and you said mine was good!, you were lying!”

She laughed, “no-no it is, i promise” i grabbed his art then, comparing the two, before throwing his on the floor, “oh please, mine is rubbish, yours is wow! I think it shall become my official portrait!” he exclaimed standing up and walking to the doors with it. 

“woah ! where are you going?” she asked standing up to follow him.

“Too show everyone” he stated as if it was the obvious answer.

He showed it to everyone he saw, a blushing y/n on his tail.

“Mother.” she spoke, back once more in the present, “i trust him, more than anyone and anything” at that her mother relaxed, and for the first time in what felt like a long time, she saw a real smile gracing her mothers face.

The day of the wedding came, she had expected nerves and jitters, and yet all she felt was contentment. She knew she was lucky, most brides barely knew their husband before they wed them, and she knew Jace and he knew her. She knew his quirks, his hobbies, and he knew hers. They were polar opposites, and yet they fit so perfectly together. She was excited for this day, and as was he.

The dress she wore was her mothers dress. A white dress with sleeves coming down to her elbow before dropping down to the length of her dress showing a deep red. On her shoulder sat two dragons, dragons she had changed to represent Vermax and Gaelithox. The dragons were joined together and connected in an intricate pattern on her bodice. She wore no jewellery, only a small head piece, woven into the braids on her hair.

“You look beautiful” her mother declared. “Are you ready?”

y/n nodded, taking one final look at herself in the mirror, one last time before leaving her room.

The wedding was a blur, it went by so fast and before she knew it, Jace and her were declaring their love and sealing it with a kiss. They exchanged giddy smiles as they left the 

sept, their hands never wavering from their grip. The night celebrations went by quickly. The only time they never once left each others sides. It was the first event y/n ever truly enjoyed, they had danced four times that night, feasted to their heart's content, and enjoyed the first few hours of being newlyweds. 

Then it was time for the bedding. She had never been more grateful than when Jace shouted at the men attempting to drag her away, and he himself picking her up and taking her to their now shared chambers. 

“I am sorry for that.” he spoke, taking her hand in his, “I had made it clear we would not have a bedding, but -”

“Aegon had other plans' ' she interrupted, “do not worry, it's just who he is' ' she laughed.

For the first time in weeks the silence between them was awkward. Both knowing what was to come, but not how to start.

After a few moments Jace finally moved forward, he reached for her slowly, one had wrapping around her waist, the other reaching up to caress her face. They both looked at each other shyly, before Jace moved in closer, his lips capturing hers. It was soft and slow.

His lips still joined with hers they moved further into the room, his hand moving from her waist to her back, reaching and slowly unlacing the binds of her bodice.

“Are you okay with this?” he asked, breaking away from her lips.

She nodded, “yes.”  As she slowly reached to pull of her dress, leaving her in just her chemise.

Jace groaned his pants tightening, he reached forward once again capturing her lips in his.

 They slowly moved towards the bed, her hands reaching towards his clothes, slowly taking them off and leaving him in his small clothes.

There lips breaking apart, they both took each other in, before finally lying on the bed. Jace continued to kiss her slowly moving from her lips to her neck, his hands reaching down to her should and moving the straps of her chemise down, revealing her breasts.

“gods” he groaned, “you’re so beautiful” he said as he moved down to kiss her breasts. Slowly moving down her body, removing her chemise as he did, leaving her bare beneath him.

He was level with her heat, he had heard of kissing there and the thought of tasting her in such a way made a groan escape him. “Can I?” he begged, unsure of what he meant y/n nodded.

Jace dived in, giving a cautious lick through her folds, he groaned at the taste and quickly went back licking and tasting like a starved man. She herself was moaning in pleasure, her hands clutching the back of his neck, tightening when he finally found her bud.

Releasing the reaction form touching the small bud of nerves, he made sure to focus his efforts on it, sucking it into his mouth, and bringing his fingers up to her entrance, beginning to circle her juices and slowly tease his way into her.

Tensing at the feeling of the intrusion, she gripped further onto him, and started to move away. With his spare hand he gripped onto her and pulled her back to him. His finger now pully in he instead started to focus his intentions of pumping them in and out of her. Causing her to start moaning once again in pleasure, even more so when his second and third finger entered her. Soon she was reaching her peak.

He slowly backed away from her, pulling down his small clothes to revel his hard, thick long length.

“gods” they both groaned at the sight of the others naked body. He slowly crawled back onto the bed, his body covering hers. He once again took her lips with his, in a passionate and heated kiss, his legs slowly parted hers as he positioned himself at her entrance.

“Are you sure?” he once again asked, caressing her face.

She nodded, covering the hand on her face with her own and reaching forward to kiss him again, “yes” she consented.

He nodded, kissing her once more as he slowly entered her.

She groaned at the stretch, feeling at slight sting as he slowly entered her. Her face contorted in quick discomfort, but quickly faded as he settled himself fully inside her, allowing her time to adjust.

“gods, you feel amazing” he groaned, moving his head to her neck. “can I move?” he groaned, near begged.

“yes” she said, and he wasted no time, slowly pumping in and out of her. Slowly the discomfort faded and all she could find was pure pleasure.

Moving in and out of her, Jace was moaning, kissing her neck with each thrust, he had never felt such pleasure as he did in this moment.

Slowly picking up the pace, he soon found that sweet spot inside her, that turned her into a moaning mess. Wrapping her arms around his neck she was soon grinding her hips against his, chasing her peak, and he was soon reaching one of his own, spilling his seed inside of her.

Slowly pulling from her, her moved to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her towards him, he kissed her slowly and whispered, “I love you”. In that moment she felt what could only be described as solace.

That night, they did not sleep a wink, nor would they in the moons that followed. Their marriage was a harmonious one, one of love and joy. And when the king finally passed, and Rhaenrya was queen, there was no division of factions of house Targaryen, she liked to think that their marriage has helped branch the units, and make them once more a family.

Even more so when nine moons after their wedding she birthed their first child.

Taglist

@aleemendoza2425-blog @apollonshootafar @zillahvathek @flrboyd @targaryenmoony @theanxietyqueen17 @leavesmealobe @dark-night-sky-99

to be added to taglist

[venusbyline]

HEADCANON: HOTD characters most likely to be in love with their older sister (reader)

TARGTOWERS BROTHERS & STRONG BROTHERS VERSION

(this includes Aegon II Targaryen, Aemond Targaryen, Daeron Targaryen, Jacaerys Velaryon, Lucerys Velaryon)

— type: smut, light dark (Aemond & Aegon II parts)

— tags/warnings: female!reader, Targcest (younger brother/older sister), DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, vaginal sex, dubcon, rough sex, oral sex (female & male receiving), missionary position, cowgirl position, doggy style position, loss of virginity, underage sex, breeding kink, marriage of convenience, referenced underage non-con, manipulation, infidelity, argument, light dark content (but kinda fluff too), referenced Baela Targaryen/Jacaerys Velaryon, referenced Gwayne Hightower/reader, dom!Aemond, sub!Lucerys, dom!Aegon II, soft dom!Daeron, brat sub!Jacaerys, canon divergence. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— author's note: I didn't write about Joffrey Velaryon in this type of HC because the character and the actor are very young in the show.

❥ HOTD masterlist • ASOIAF headcanons

❥ about me • main masterlist

1- AEMOND TARGARYEN

• No surprise, right? Everyone knows that Aemond is a man who tends to like older women. But you cannot blame him. All the female companions in his life were women older than him. Alicent, mother of both of you, who always raised him as her dearest son. Helaena, your twin sister, has always been one of the few people along with you who truly understood him despite being different from the rest of the family. Madam Sylvi, who Aegon persuaded him to fuck in the brothel when he was still just a little boy. Even Vhagar, the dragon he claimed, was one of Aemond's few companions and was a female being over a hundred years old. Even Aegon used to make fun of him a lot about that.

• It did not come as a surprise to you that Aemond was in love with you. Despite the age difference of only one year, since childhood Aemond had seen you as his protector, someone he could trust and who would do anything to keep him safe. You were there caressing his hand when Lucerys gouged out his eye in Driftmark. You were there when he was only thirteen and came back from the brothel with Aegon, completely embarrassed, lying on your lap and sobbing something about not being pure for a future marriage anymore. You were there to calm him down when he returned after killing your nephew Lucerys.

"I was... I was not thinking straight, sister." Aemond murmured in a shaky voice, his head resting on your thighs and sighing lightly while he felt your hands caressing his hair as if the strands were made of gold. "The eagerness for revenge was consuming me. I could not help but remember the look on our Mother's face and on yours after Luke ripped out my eye. All those... All those nights you stayed up helping me with the fever..."

• In fact, it was not a surprise to you when your younger brother entered your chambers during the night after becoming Prince Regent. You were still angry and hurt with him for what he done to Aegon, but he could not stand more time away from you. You were his older sister and he needed your comfort for the rest of the war.

"Look at me." Aemond growled between thrusts, pulling your chin roughly so you were forced to face him. Face the sapphire shining in the darkness of the romm, lit just by the flickering shadows of the candles. "Look at me, sister. Look at your brother."

There was a touch of vulnerability in his voice that made you obey without a fight or more crying, the way he finally called himself 'Your Brother' and not 'The Prince Regent' clenched your heart, reminding you the little boy who sobbed every night because he did not have a dragon. Now, all that innocence was gone. He was fucking you like an animal, claiming you as his, taking your maidenhood. And yet, he was desperate for your loyalty and your understanding. The same loyalty and full understanding you promised him since your childhoods.

2- LUCERYS VELARYON

• Lucerys is definitely the kind of guy who would be into older ladies, but not for the same reason as Aemond. Due to the fact you were Jacaerys' twin sister, Lucerys always feared that he was getting in the way of something between the two of you. The Targaryen and Velaryon families always considered betrothing you and Jace during your childhoods, since you were very close in your early years. However, after the incident in Driftmark, something changed. Both you and Jacaerys became even more protective about Luke and wanted to share his attention. With Jacaerys, Luke could have fun in ways that were more considered masculine for the Court, like training with swords or something like that. But at night, Lucerys would always sneak into your private chambers, wanting to lie in bed together and hug you from behind then he could smell your hair.

"How was your day, big sister?" Lucerys asked, wrapping his hand around your waist and placing his face in the crook of your neck, nuzzling the dark curls and inhaling your natural scent.

"It was good... I had a few High Valyrian lessons in the morning, but I spent the whole afternoon excited to see you again.' You confessed with a playful smile, placing your palm over his, which was still holding you against him. The words and the soft caress made his cheeks turn pinker than they already were, and Lucerys could not help but chuckle.

"I was excited to see you too... I always am."

• It would take him a while to confess his feelings. Inside Luke's mind, even if the bond between you and Jace was not as strong as it was in childhood, your little brother kept afraid of ruining any potential romance. Because of that, Lucerys showed his love for you in discreet ways, really not wanting to be caught. He would let you comb his hair, sit with you in the library to learn more about Old Valyria history, fly together with your dragons...

• But despite everything, his eyes were never able to hide such feelings. He would stare at you all the time during balls or banquets. And when Rhaenyra realized that her dear son already had a true love in mind, she would arrange a betrothal between Jace and Baela and you and Lucerys. The idea of separating the twins instead of marrying them would be a shock to many lords and ladies, but not to Lucerys. He was grateful that your mother turned the situation easier so that he could be happy with you without feeling guilty again.

"O-Oh, Gods... You are so tight." Luke tried to control his whines while you rode his cock after the wedding ceremony. The movements were uncoordinated and intense at the same time, a perfect demonstration of your inexperience. Just like you, Lucerys did not know what to do, his hands went over your hips, holding himself back from squeezing hard your flesh, helping you move a little slower. "Slow, sister... P-Please. I do not know if I can hold out much longer."

3- AEGON II TARGARYEN

• Born a few years after Rhaenyra, you were also young when Viserys married for the second time and had Aegon and the other children. Although Alicent did not like you so much at first and Rhaenyra despised almost all of them, you developed a good relationship with your half-siblings. During their childhood, you helped Helaena catch some bugs, let Aemond pet your dragon before he claimed his, played funny sword fights with little Daeron... And Aegon? Well, you helped him disperse the guards then he could have night fun. However, what made Aegon fall in love with you was noticing all the times you comforted him after Alicent or Otto's long lectures. With you, Aegon did not have to pretend to be perfect. He could be himself, even if it meant looking inadequate in the eyes of the rest of the family.

• Aegon never tried to hide his attraction to you. During the first years of his youth, he called you "big sister" to tease you, he joked around trying to kiss you, making it clear that he wanted you even after the marriage out of duty with Helaena. You always thought it was nothing more than pure sexual attraction. Well, that was until Alicent managed to convince Viserys to marry you to Gwayne, one of her brothers, arguing that you were already too old and would not be able to have another interesting betrothing proposal. Aegon spent the entire wedding ceremony in a bad mood, drinking and embarrassing everyone.

"Well, now you are married to my dear uncle, big sister? What a shame." Aegon mocked, his voice slurred by the wine he had drunk. He did not know how Gwayne agreed to let you dance with him in such state. He was almost knocking you over with every step. In fact, Aegon never knew how to dance appropriately, always more focused on drinking alcohol and flirting with random ladies at the realm's balls than participating in the dances with them. "This is very unfair, you know. You deserve a better man. Like me, perhaps."

• When Aegon usurped the Iron Throne, the first thing he did was demand Ser Gwayne's presence and yours, not caring if you were angry with him. Everything Aegon needed was to see you, see how you were after your pregnancies and also show you how he had grow up, no longer just a teenage boy with a crush on his older sister, but now a powerful King.

"Imagine how your children would react if they knew you were here... Fucking with your own brother while your husband is fighting for my cause with the other knights?" Aegon purred in your ear, one hand on your neck to pull you closer to him and the other releasing your hip and grabbing your breast now, heavy with breast milk from your last pregnancy. "I could give you one more child. Uncle Gwayne would never suspect that I bred you."

You looked up at the mirror in front of you, watching your own face flushed with pleasure and embarrassment, your breasts bouncing and a few white drops running down your chest due to his aggressive caresses. And then your eyes focused on Aegon, the beautiful crown he wore seemed almost like a punch to your stomach. You were betraying your sister Rhaenyra's trust, becoming the whore of the Usurper King, your younger brother.

4- DAERON TARGARYEN

• Do not get me wrong, please! Daeron did not grow up with his entire family for many years, so he probably would not be the kind of Targaryen who would be into incest practices at frist. Despite the discomfort about it and Otto's idea of betrothing you two to each other in the future, he was feeling lucky and relieved when Alicent sent you along with him to Oldtown. Two years older than Daeron, you were raised just like your mother, focused on the Faith of the Seven and never imagining that you would give in to the sins involving the other part of your bloodline before the real marriage with Daeron. At least that was until the boy started to mature a little more, becoming taller and more handsome as he got older and becoming stronger because of the knight training.

"What do you think, sister?" Daeron smirked at you, making your heart race as he showed you how his arms muscles looked more noticeable and hot.

Your throat went dry at the sight, and even though his chest was all sweaty, you soon cleared the throat and forced yourself to keep looking only at the freckles on his cheeks, which matched perfectly with the freckles on his shoulders. "I think you should put your tunic back on, idiot. You are getting in the way of my studies."

• You fell in love first, always trying to deny and hide these feelings. Daeron only found out about his true romantic interest in you when other knights in Oldtown started teasing him, asking whether he would let them try their luck with his older sister and betrothed. At first, Daeron would get angry and argue with the boys, but he still thought the jealousy was just brotherly. It took years of forced betrothal until Daeron realized that what was happening inside his heart was not so simple as he thought before. He was a Targaryen, after all.

"We... We should not have done this. Not here..." You whispered with your eyelids closed after the best orgasm of your life, a part of the Sept's altar pressed against your bare back. Both of your consciences weighed on your heads and your bodies burned for more touches. It was wrong to commit such a sin, especially in a sacred place, the two of you knew about that.

"It is fine, sister..." Daeron kissed your inner thighs, avoiding thinking rationally and continuing to lick the juices that had run down there when he pleasured your cunt with his tongue.

5- JACAERYS VELARYON

• Among the five characters, I see Jacaerys as the least likely to fall in love with his own older sister. I think Jacaerys is a person who likes to have control over situations — not with a toxic way, but he is a person who prefers to give orders rather than be told what to do. The problem would not be that you are older, his sister, or naturally bossy like most firstborns daughters already are, but rather the combination of these three things. Jace would certainly take a long time to realize that he had romantic feelings for you, and of course... He would take a long time to confess that he was in love with you.

"You were born just two years before me. That does not mean you know everything." Jacaerys shouted furiously after the High Valyrian class together, annoyed about the fact that you corrected his pronunciation and received compliments at his expense. "Your ego is too damn inflated, this is annoying!"

• You were arguing most of the time, disagreeing on everything and often he would even curse you saying that you would be a bad queen in the future and that he should be the heir. Yet, Jace was always defending you from the people who claimed your legitimacy and said that the two of you, plus Lucerys and Joffrey, were bastards. Also, he was stubborn and proud like a child, he would certainly complain when Rhaenyra betrothed you two to each other and he would pretend that he hated the decision, even though his heart was racing with excitement.

"You seem less stubborn this way, little brother." The mockery tone caused a snort angrily on Jacaerys, his gaze fixed on the ceiling afterwards, moaning loudly again when you put his cock deep into your throat with an ease that almost made him questioned to himself if you lied all the years about being a maiden.

Jacaerys should not have let you kneel on the floor to give him pleasure. When your brother agreed to this, he thought it would be the excellent opportunity to have control over the entire consummation of your marriage. And he was completely wrong. "Do not forget that I fucking hate you, my wife." He tried to mock your new title, moaning almost like a pathetic boy one more time while you dug the nails into his thighs and went back to licking his entire cock, paying special attention to the vein at the bottom.

[little-paperhat]

trying to keep up with your giant friend?? straight to pocket jail you go

[bks-writing-adventures]

His Strong Girl (Aemond X Strong! Reader)

Warnings: Brief mentions of bullying and gore, brief mentions of sex, Alicent being a momzilla.

Word Count: 6.5 K

Summary: Aemond has always loved his Strong Girl, she's nearly of age to mary, and he wants her before anyone else can have her.

120 AC

As children, Aemond had always loved her. Even though he knew that he should not. His mother filled his brain with poison, to hate Rhaenyra and all that was part of her, and that included her children. The Strong children, all four of them. It was easy to hate Jace and Luke. They teased him. They found him a pig and called him the second son. They laughed at him and kept them out of their fun. They were kind to the other children in the court, but for reasons he could not understand, he was different. It was so hard on his young brain. He was all that he was supposed to be. H

e could read and write, he had light hair and light eyes. He always prayed at dinner time, and he always wore clean clothes, always had his hair brushed. He did all of his lessons. So what ever could be wrong with him? When Joffrey came along, it was easy to hate him, too. There was no doubt that he would grow into the sculpting hands of his older brothers. As soon as he would talk, he would be name calling and lying too. But when it came to her. Well, it was impossible. 

Her eyes were warm and kind, muddy brown like her brothers and her father. There was a small distance of age between them, a year and a half, but he could hardly tell. She was smart for her age. She was not puzzled by her lessons, and she listened well, could smile and nod. She cut her own food and lived in her own world. He kept his distance for a long time, whenever the whole family was forced together for weddings and funerals. But slowly, like butter beneath rays of sun, he warmed. He grew calm in her presence and peeled back his layers to be vulnerable.

To meet her in the library when she was in her pyjamas, and to whisper gossip that they had picked up in the halls. He had two sides of him. The side that hated the Strongs, and the side that loved. He was good at making sure they did not cross, that was, until the day his aunt died. He never knew much of her. He knew that she was pretty and powerful and rode the greatest dragon in the world. But he did not cry for her. He only stayed quiet as the respects were paid, and his eyes wandered the mourners for her. 

She was caught up between her brothers and their cousins. Black looked odd on her. She always wore pink or blue, maybe red, but hardly ever. Despite being half Targaryen, she had no like for the color. She was all about pastels and ruffles and frilliness. He frowned as he watched, and the feet between them felt like miles. As the group looked over to him, he offered an awkward grin, only to be returned with nothing. His heart sunk deeper into his body, and he tried to give her a light wave, to grab her attention.

But there was nothing he could do, and he could feel her slowly slipping from his fingers. Disappointment ate away at him, and he said nothing to her the entire day. And she made no effort to talk to him, either. And so when evening came and he was alone, with no gossip to speak of in the library, and no puzzles to put together, he found himself in the dragon pit. Tiptoeing carefully, listening to the snore of beasts who had survived all of the worlds wars. The scratch of their claws against stone, and finally, the hiss of fire as it nearly caressed his face. 

The sight of Vhagar was one unmatched, and he moved as though he were being controlled, a mere puppet of the gods as he slowly climbed the scaly creature. He screamed into the wind as it lapped at his hair, and he laughed with joy as they landed with a thump and a roar. All that he was missing in his life was against his palms, and his skin burned with the leather of the saddle. His heart had gone above the clouds, and it hadn’t come down, even as his shaky feet hit the floor, a smile bigger than he had ever worn stretched across his face as he moved to scurry away and back to bed.

He would tell his mother in the morning. She would be so proud. But fate had something else brewing for him, and he was met with the sight of his nephews and his cousins. He clung to the words he had heard from his mothers lips, and he threw them mindlessly as fists collided in the air. He did not remember half of it. And he did not know when it would end, gripping blindly at whatever he could find. A stone the size of his foot, lifting it above his head quickly, every one of his cells begging him to go through with the action. It could have only been a second, maybe not even. 

From the moment he saw the dagger in his little nephews hand, he knew that this was all over. This temporary shot of joy, and it died like a flame to ash as blood soaked his hand. He couldn’t hear his scream, but he could feel it deep in his lungs as he smacked against the ground, clawing at it. He shouted profanities as the guards dragged him to the maesters. He stared at his mothers face, and he sat still as he was surrounded by all of his family. And as he prayed for comfort, he was met with only fighting.

Shouting back and forth between his mother and sister, his father was of no help, and every other moment he was stabbed with a needle, his mouth curling at the feeling as his nails scratched against the armrest of the chair. He knew the eye was gone, but seeing it laying broken in a dish like the bad parts of a chicken. It broke him, and he stared at the wall as blood hit the floor, and when he was finally asked where he had heard the words he shouted, he stared at his mother. Her brows were furrowed, a deep crevasse in the middle. Her brown eyes were shining with a mix of sadness and fury, a touch of fear as she looked over at him. He swallowed his pain and spoke a lie.

 “Aegon.” He whispered out, and shut his eye for the rest to come. The last thing he remembered of that night was the look on her face, and the way her fingers curled, as if she wished to reach out and touch him, only to be quickly whisked away by Rhaenyra and Daemon. That was the night he decided his mother was right about them. All of them. Even his sweet, Strong girl. Because if she were truly strong, she would have come to him. Despite their orders, she would’ve comforted him. But instead, he was alone. Alone and scarred. 

127 AC

When he learned that his sister and her bastard children would be coming to his home, he tried his best to act as normal as he could. He ate his breakfast of pork and eggs, sharpened his sword and trained with Ser Criston. He ignored the groans of his brother, and watched quietly as his sister bounced her babies on her legs. He could almost smile. But he knew exactly how the children came to be. And if Aegon were not his brother, Aemond would have his head on the wall. Dread grew in his stomach as the sun reached its peak, and he hit against Criston’s sword with the ferocity of a thousand men. With every strike, he thought of the night he lost his eye. He thought of the dagger against his skin, the way he was treated so coldly, and how she had done nothing. And every night after that he felt as though he were frozen, reliving the moment over and over. He could feel the pain in his cheek and forehead with every twitch in his lips. 

Soon, the Prince promised he would stop smiling altogether, because maybe then, the pain would stop. And so when he saw his nephews, he stared them down, like a wolf to a rabbit. He liked to watch their discomfort, but his gaze, much to his distaste, softened when he caught sight of her behind them. She had grown beautiful with the years that had passed. Her once chubby cheeks were still round and flushed from the cool air, and her brown curls were pulled back by pins. She wore a pink gown that leaned toward purple, a bit dusty in its tone, covered in small swirls and patterns that he could not process from where he stood. His sweet girl. Her eyes were large, and freckles covered her. He didn’t remember her ever having freckles before, and it took Criston’s voice to break him from his trance.

 “You will be ready for the tourneys in no time, My Prince,” the Knight spoke, to wish he scoffed. 

“I do not give a shit about tourneys,” He responded, his voice quiet and cold. He did not see the pint in galloping around on a horse, fighting other men and yelling like animals, all for the attention of ladies that were as shallow as a tide pool. No. He would save himself for her, if she would have him. And he was certain she would.

 “Nephews, have you come to train?” He asked, his voice louder than before, brows raised. Jace turned to look at his younger brother, and their faces paled. They were afraid, and the thought made Aemond’s heart fill with joy. He threw his sword to the dirt for his men to pick up later. 

“And what of you, niece?” He asked, turning his head to look at her. Jace moved his shoulder to create a wall between them, but it did nothing for her curious eyes. She simply stood on her tiptoes, looked at him, and smiled. The sight brought a smirk to his lips, and when he walked to his chambers, he did so with a newfound confidence. He was quick to change into his outfit for the evening, one that covered every inch of his body, not even his wrists exposed. It made him feel better. As if it hid everything under. As if he were not still the runt of the litter. Even with all his training, he could never seem to grow.

He would always be the smallest of his kin, but what he lacked in size, he could make up for in skill. He could hardly wait for the evening meal. He was not hungry, but he was thrilled. To see her, to tease her. And maybe, if he were lucky, she would meet him in the library like old times. As he paced back and forth, he practically counted down the minutes until the sun finally fell. He groaned as they gathered for yet another meeting, but he could put up with it, if it meant seeing her. 

She stood beside her mother, and it was only then that he could see a hint of resemblance between them. They had the same way of standing, and they were close in height. They shared a curved nose and a cunning gaze, but she only wore it softer. She had not yet seen violence, she had not watched the light fall from a mans eyes. She had not yet lost a love, and he could see her smile softly as the betrothals of her brothers were announced. He relished in the way that she nudged her brothers and gave them a teasing raise of brow before she remembered her surroundings, trying to return to her previously serious demeanor.

A smile pulled at his lips, and his eye narrowed as he stared at her, compelling her to look up at him. Please. He thought to himself, feeling his heart leap as their eyes met. She was just so beautiful. But the peace of her gaze was quickly broken when Vaemond began to speak of their heritage, and Aemond watched in displeasure as her brows furrowed, as her big eyes stared at the floor in shame. 

The others, he could smile at. But to see her caught in the fight, to see her be called names.

 It disgusted him. His back stiffened, and he bit his tongue. He would have plenty of time to speak to her later, to hold her in the years to come, to fuck the bastardy out of her. But he would have to wait. His hands curled in on themselves, and in a fraction of a moment, Vaemond was gone. His head hit the floor with a sloppy thump, Helaena turned away, her eyes huge and her hands on her head, and he watched as his Strong Girl practically mirrored her, her thumbs pressed against her ears and her fingers over her eyes. He sighed, staring at the body on the floor, his gaze slowly following the bloody sword until he was gazing at his uncle. Daemon. An interesting man he was. And slowly, Aemond smiled. This would be an interesting night. 

When dinner time came, he took his seat and looked at the rest of the table. Baela and Rhaena, Rhaenyra and Daemon, and next to them, there she was. He smiled a little to himself. They always did that, sitting around her like a human shield, practically hiding her from his view. He followed his mothers words as she called for prayer, and he smiled to himself as his mother spoke of Vaemond Velaryon. The old man could never shut his mouth. The food came out in small rounds, starting with potatoes and bread, and he gazed at her as he licked the remnants of potato from his thumb.

Her eyes were so big, and he loved watching her cheeks get nice and flushed. And even more, he loved seeing how angry her brothers got, all while her mother remained clueless. When the main course came out, he stared in silence as the roasted pig sat in front of him. He could tell how this was going to go, lifting his head to stare right at Luke, seeing the beginning’s of a smile on his mouth. His hands curled into fists, and just as he moved to stand, she spoke. “Luke. Do not be impolite,” She whispered softly. She was soft and sweet, but she had such a bold presence to her when she wanted it. 

“But-” Luke began, and she gently shook her head. “Eat your carrots. Mother said to be on our best behavior,” She said softly, reaching over to start cutting his soft boiled carrots up. Aemond frowned, slowly leaning back. He had so much anger to release, and no real reason to release it. She was a gem, that girl. She could so easily diffuse a situation. She was the type of woman that she be on the throne. They could share it together, one day. As the evening grew old and their stomachs were full, the music began to flow delicately on the harps. As soon as he saw Jace’s eyes brighten, he stood, walking around the table like a shark circling a helpless seal, placing his hands on the back of her chair. 

“Aemond,” His mother spoke up, her voice filled with caution as she sat up straight. “Do not worry, mother. I only wish to know if my lovely, strong girl wants to dance with me,” He responded, his fingertips moving across her curls. Rhaenyra bit her cheek, and he could feel the tension growing like a cage. 

“I dare you to say that again,” Jacaerys spoke, his hands flat on the table. 

“Brother,” She said softly, gazing back at him. Their eyes met for nearly ten seconds, and finally, he looked away. “I will dance with you,” She spoke, pulling her chair from the table and gently taking his hand. “If you promise not to stomp on my toes,” She says, teasing him a little as he pulled her to the stone tiles. 

“I will do my very best,” He whispered, his hands curling around hers. Her touch was so delicate, and he found himself taking a small whiff of her wrist. Raspberries and cashews. It was a unique scent, but it was hers. He wanted to bathe in it, paint it onto his pillow. “I have missed you,” He said softly. And he had. He often found himself dreaming of the possibilities. Of bringing Vhagar to her bedroom window. Of taking her to the skies and bringing her to the forest, where they were not a Prince and a Princess, but only teenagers in love. “You will be a woman grown soon,” He said softly, his thumbs rubbing circles into her palms as he spun her under his arms. It would only be eight months before they were the same age, and it was only eight months before she would finally be on the marriage market. He just had to make his claim before anyone else could.

 “I know,” She said softly, her fingers trailing to the cuffs on his wrist, touching the golden dragons with her gentle strokes. “I feel as though I was 9 only yesterday,” She mumbled, and he smiled in return. 

“Tell me about it,” He mumbled, his hands moving down to her waist, his touch gentle. His eye wandered to the necklaces she wore, the ones that layered. The shortest was to her collarbone, and the longest was just between her breasts. A seahorse. A Velaryon symbol, something that didn’t belong to her, and they all knew it. His fingers slowly wandered to it, his thumb rubbing against the emerald eyes and the golden details. “This is a symbol of your fathers house, is it not?” He asked softly. His fingers slowly wandered up to cup her face, his fingers against her jaw, licking his lips.

 “It is a symbol of the sea,” She said quietly, and he could see the turmoil in her eyes. He could feel the gaze of his family on him, and he knew they would not be pleased. But his mother was simply delighted, a scheming smile on her face.

 “You like the sea, my lady?” He mumbled softly. They were hardly dancing anymore, he was just holding her close, holding her face, his thumb pressing against her lips. 

“Who does not?” She asked softly, smiling a bit. She was always so sweet when she spoke of the sea, and he could see so much excitement in his eyes.

 “I must admit, I have never had great love for it. Smells of salt and dying fish, and sand simply gets everywhere, the seagulls chase me,” He mumbles, making her laugh a little, brows raised in amusement.

 “Perhaps they just like the look of you,” She said, and he smiled, head tilted. 

“Is that what you think?” He asked. 

“Well, if I were a seagull, I would go for you. Your hair would make a good nest,” She teases, making his eye roll. “But truly, you must be going to the worst spots. I have missed Kingslanding. The shores are beautiful,” She says. His heart thumped, and he found himself gazing into her eyes. 

“Then you should stay,” He responded softly, leaning a little closer. It was hard to remember that they were surrounded, and that they were not the only people in the world.

 “And how would I go about that?” She asked softly. 

“You could marry me,” He spoke softly, and the whole room went silent, the notes on the harp fading out. Her brows raised, and she looked like she might giggle. She couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not, blinking slowly. 

“You do not mean that,” She said softly. 

“Oh, but I do. You would be so happy here.” He mumbled, pushing some falling curls behind her ears, whispering gently against her skin.

 “Wait for me, will you?” He mumbled. Her face flushed, and he could practically feel her heart pounding beneath her skin. She was about to speak, but the doors opened and cakes began to roll out, small cups of pudding, trays of lemon cakes and cookies.

 “(Y/N), come sit,” Rhaenyra called, and she gazed up at Aemond for a moment, as if trying to speak, but nothing would come out. Slowly, they parted, moving to go back to their seats. Her cheeks were so warm, and she prayed that no one else could tell under the warm light of the candles. Immediately, Rhaenyra leaned toward her, searching her face for discomfort. 

“What did he say to you?” She asked, noting the odd look of.. Something on her daughters face. It wasn’t fear, and it wasn’t discomfort. She just couldn’t place that expression. 

“Nothing, mother,” She said softly. All eyes were on her, and Daemon wore a smirk like a man would wear a crown.

 “I believe she has feelings for the boy,” He whispered, making Rhaenyra’s eyes widen. She looked disgusted, for a brief moment, but she quickly hid her distaste, blinking it away as she took lemon cakes onto her plate. 

“We will talk about this later,” She said quietly, plucking the sweetened lemons from the top of the cake and placing one in her mouth. Daemon reached over and took the cake itself. They had a system. She would eat the fruits, and he would eat the parts she did not want. Meanwhile, she reached for a cookie, breaking it into small pieces on her plate, trying her best not to look at Aemond. She could tell that he was getting the same treatment on his side of the table, a knowing smile on his face as his mother shook his arm, trying to juice information out of him. He only chuckled to himself, taking a few sips of his wine. When the dinner finally ended, she was a blushing mess as she followed her mother, looking over her shoulder to see Aemond going in the other direction, a silent agreement in their eyes. They would see each other in the library tonight. As she took her bath, all she could think of was him.

 Him and his offer, and the more she thought of it, the more she smiled. She trusted him more than she ever could a stranger. And she began to think of how she could convince her mother to let it happen. She trusted that Aemond would never hurt her. Maybe men that acted out of their place, maybe annoying nephews at the dinner table, but never her, and she was confident in that. And perhaps the marriage could bring the family together. Rhaenyra had wanted Jace to marry Helaena, after all. She did have a desire for the families to mix. That was it. That would be her selling point. “Some time alone, please?” She asked the maids as they scrubbed her body and hands.

 “Of course, Princess,” They responded, quickly leaving. She sighed softly, ringing out her loofa as she looked at the mirror. Perhaps if she had children with Aemond, they would come out with white hair. Maybe they would have a better life than her. Her eyes then wandered to her seahorse necklace, and she remembered her father, before his death. Her life had been an odd one. She felt like she had a new father every couple of years, and in truth, she had. She had the father who’s seed she grew from, who taught her how to count and tucked her into bed during his shifts on the nightwatch.

She had the father who taught her how to fish, and which shells made the best necklaces, and which crabs were dangerous. And then she had the father that taught her to be bold, the one who married her mother the day after his own wife died. That had been a tough one, and in truth, she still was not warmed to Daemon. She did not like the way he treated her precious mother, and she swore to herself that she would never have a marriage like theirs. When she was finally dried of her bath, she looked out to the stars.

 She looked for her favorite constellations, and she smiled as she remembered the library in the Red Keep. It was beautiful and large and full of enough books to last a lifetime. She was quick to get into her pyjamas, and even quicker to open her door, looking up at her guard. 

“Excuse me,” She said softly, stepping out. “Are you going somewhere, Princess?” He asked, a look of confusion on his face. He had a long beard, and she was sure he had seen him before.

 “Yes,” She answered, making her way down the corridor without saying anything else. She made her way as quiet as she could to the library, passing a rat or two that made her heart jump. That was something that she had hated about the Red Keep. There was nothing on the windows, so animals would come and go as they pleased. She much preferred mice over rats. Something about their tails tickled her brain in the worst of ways. When she finally did reach the library, her eyes searched for him, and she felt disappointment rising in her like steam when she could not find him. Perhaps she had gotten the wrong message. Maybe she made up the language of the eyes. But she would not waste her trip, beginning to pick out a book or two on constellations and The Moon and The Tides.

 “You didn’t think I forgot, did you?” His voice made her jump, and she gripped her skirt as her eyes searched for him. “So close, my little doe. Look down,” He spoke, and when she did, she found him hiding under one of the tables in a pile of blankets. She smiled, crouching.

 “Are you hiding?” She asked softly. She couldn’t see his expression in the dark, but she could feel warmth radiating from him.

 “I am not hiding. I simply wanted to see how long it would take to find me,” He responded, reaching for her hand and pulling her down. This was much easier when they were kids, but now he was longer than the table, and the needed more pillows. 

“So you have just been watching me walk around aimlessly?” She teased, making him nod.

 “Oh, of course,” He spoke softly, his hands finding her cheeks, squishing them gently. “I want to speak with my sister,” He mumbled softly, pulling her closer until her belly was against his chest. “I will not marry you until I get her permission,” He said softly. She nodded softly, leaning her cheek against his chest. She could hear his heart racing, and she smiled at the feel of the vibrations.

 “I did not take you for the type to want Mommy’s blessing,” She mumbles, making him scoff. 

“I know better than to take away her little girl. She owes me this much, for all that has been done to me,” He spoke, and her hand slowly made its way up to his eyepatch.

 “I am sorry that I said nothing that night,” She mumbled, and he softened against her touch. 

“You were only a child,” He said quietly. 

“As were you. None of us deserved all that has happened to us. If it is any help, I stole Luke’s desserts for a week,” She mumbled gently.

 “Ah, yes. That is the most appropriate punishment,” He teased, making her roll her eyes. 

“I did what I could.” She speaks, her lips brushing against his forehead, placing a small kiss there. A bit of his hair got into her mouth, and he squirmed, making him chuckle. 

“Are you trying to make a nest of my hair?” He asked, recalling their earlier conversation.

 “Oh hush.” She mumbled, curling up into him. Neither of them meant to fall asleep, but it was just so warm and comforting, and slowly, they fell into a slumber, feet sticking out of their fort. When they woke, it was to yells so loud they thought someone was killed. Both sat up far too quick, smacking the tops of their heads against the wooden tables. In shame, they crawled out quickly, her eyes big as she stared up at both of their mothers.

 “What is the meaning of this?” Rhaenyra asked. She sounded so angry, but her eyes were not on her daughter, they were on Aemond, her lips pressed into a fineline.

 “We were having a sleepover,” He said simply. “You know what that is like, don’t you sister? Didn’t you used to have sleepovers with your friends quite frequently?” He asked. He couldn’t speak without being antagonistic. 

“Aemond!” She and Alicent exclaimed at the same time. 

“Mother, please. I promise it was nothing. We were only speaking,” She said softly, eyes on the floor as she was pulled closer, her face and neck inspected for marks. “We just wanted to do as we used to as children, that is all,” She said softly. Rhaenyra slowly calmed, tucking her hair behind her ears.

 “He did nothing to you?” She asked.

 “Of course not. Aemond would never hurt me,” She spoke, feeling Aemond’s hand moving to her shoulder. 

“That much is true,” He spoke. “Sister, it has been a long time since we have spoken face to face,” He said, his eyepatch on the floor, having fallen off in his sleep. He wanted her to look at him in full, to see all that he had become. 

“That it has,” Rhaenyra spoke, her face void of emotion. 

“You know that I love your daughter. That has never been a secret. Do not deny her happiness because of one misunderstanding.” He said, making Rhaenyra’s face slowly fall. Her eyes looked to Alicent, as if she had any part in this. She simply shrugged, mouth parted. 

“What are you saying, Aemond?” She asked her youngest son. 

“I am saying that I wish to unite our families. I will marry (Y/N).” He spoke, leaving no room for discussion. Rhaenyra stared blankly at the pair. She had wished to stop the resentment between the families, and this would be the perfect way. But she could not bear the thought of her daughter staying here, alone with him, with them. She knew that (Y/N) would marry one day, but she just didn’t realize how soon that would be. But as she saw her daughters smile, and the hope in her eyes, she just could not say no. “Very well.” She spoke after a moment, letting out a deep breath.

 “I will allow it. But you will wait the moons until her name day. We will ensure that this is what she truly wants,” She spoke, nodding to herself. Alicent was more hesitant, running through the possibilities in her mind. This was not what she wanted, not one bit. She wanted as much distance between the two families as possible. And what would the people say when they learned that the Prince was marrying a bastard? Her blood was good as dirt, and she came from a family of liars and narcissists. But no matter what she said, she knew her son would do as he pleased, so finally, she nodded, looking down at the floor. 

128 AC The wedding day came quicker than either of them had expected. For at least three hours a day it was just planning, planning, planning. Trying on rings and taking them off, getting as close as they could without their chaperones making a fuss, whispered compliments and holding hands under the table. And of course, having to remind Alicent that this was not her wedding. “Oh, but wouldn’t a green dress be so lovely?” She asked, holding the fabric to (Y/N)’s skin. Rhaenyra could sense her discomfort, giving a light shake of her head. 

“No. She has already decided to wear a gown similar to mine,” She spoke, and as Alicent went to open her mouth, she quickly spoke again.

 “Don’t you remember that from when you were young? How old were you, nine or so? I found you in my chambers trying to get the dress on. It was much too long for you then,” Rhaenyra smiled fondly as she sipped her tea. 

“It will not fit her,” Alicent pointed out, to which Rhaenyra smiled. 

“It is a good to live in the time of seamstresses, is it not? I have already had it expanded and altered to suit her. You should worry about your son. Black leather at a wedding would be quite improper,” She spoke. Aemond sighed, slowly making eye contact with his betrothed. The pair were rather calm, but their mothers… were certainly something. 

“I have already had his clothing commissioned. He will wear a fine beaded doublet of dragons and seahorses, in nod to her…. Velaryon heritage,” Alicent spoke, her voice soft and sarcastic, making Rhaenyra’s eyes roll. (Y/N) could not take it anymore.

 “In all respect, this is my wedding. It is our wedding. We do not need this petty argument ruining our day. We both have fine clothes to wear, we have stunning rings, invitations are sent, and that is the end of it.” She spoke, looking between the two older women, watching them go silent. And so the pair would sit and wait for the day to come, resting together in the gardens, watching the sun fall and rise as they ate their meals on a blanket. They were romantic and disgusting, living in their own little world, just them and their chaperone.

 “I cannot wait until we are finally wed and can be alone,” He sighed, rubbing her hand, kissing the top of her engagement ring. It was golden and covered in stones. It was far from traditional, and it was exactly the type of thing that she enjoyed.

 “Nor can I,” She said softly, smiling as she saw a bunny running across the grass.

 “Only a few days left,” he said softly. “You are certain you want to go through with this? There is still time to call it all off,” He mumbled, making her scoff.

 “Of course I am certain. I will just have to prepare myself for more of your mothers comments,” She responded teasingly. 

“Oh, Gods. Are do not want to think about that. I only wish to think of what it will be like to finally kiss you, to share our names and bodies… to finally sleep in the same bed and wake up to the sight of you every morning,” he murmured, making her cheeks burn.

 “Stop it,” She mumbles, too embarrassed to listen to any more of it, placing her hands on her ears, making him chuckle as he pulled them off. 

“I am thrilled to see your pretty face all sleepy and puffy, and to share our evening meals, to have painting after painting made of you to hang on my walls until I cannot escape those pretty eyes,” He smiled. She squirmed under him, flattered and grossed out, covering her crimson cheeks. “Hm.. the bugs are coming out,” He sighed as the sky got dark and frogs bred in the distance. She sighed, and they carefully packed up their things and made their way back to the Keep. Alicent was watching them from her balcony, and the two walked a safe distance apart. Only a few more days they would have to hold themselves together. And finally, on the 18th day of the 11th moon, all of the Lords and Ladies of importance were packed inside the Red Keep. Beautiful gowns twirling under candle light, the best of music echoing from the harps. Aemond tried to breath as he walked in, his eyes finally finding her. 

And gods, he would marry her a million times over. Her curls were full of pearls and small pins, half of her hair up and the other half down. His palms were sweating, pressing against his doublet. He was painfully aware of everyone looking at him, but he couldn’t look away from her.

 “(Y/N).” He murmured softly as she finally stood in front of him. He was struck dumb by her beauty, blinking slowly. 

“Aemond,” She said softly, their voices quiet and kept to the loudness of a breath. Both of their faces red as the Sept read off some text, but neither of them were paying attention. Hurry up, Aemond thought to himself, getting increasingly more anxious as the minutes passed. And finally, as silence covered them, he reached forward, held her cheeks, and pressed a big kiss to her mouth. It was sweet and awkward, and their teeth bumped for a brief moment. All of the love they had collected for each other in the last months came oozing out, her hands holding his until they finally parted, looking at each other, their breath lost.

 “And you have… kissed your bride.” The Septon spoke, a bit awkwardly, as if this had never happened before. And it had not. The crowd was quiet, looking around for the reaction they were supposed to have, until they finally erupted in applause.

 “I love you, My Strong Girl,” He whispered into her ear. She smiled up at him, arms around his shoulders as flower petals flew like rain.

 “Aww, thank you,” She said, making his eye squint. She laughed, her thumbs pressing her cheeks.

 “And I love you too, my One Eyed Prince,” She mumbled, feeling his arms around her waist, holding her close as if he wished to absorb her. And so the One Eyed Prince and The Strong Girl lived the happiest they could, despite the violence around them and the whispers in their ears, their love never died. Burning furious and strong like Vhagar’s flame, and with every five years that passed, they would have wedding after wedding after wedding, until they were wed beneath all the gods and above all the land. Until their love could not be denied, and until they died, where their ashes were mixed and mingled with the shore, covered in shells and seahorses.

I think this might be the longest fic i've posted so far! I hope you enjoyed it!!

Thank you to everyone who reads.

♡- BK

[hisfavegirl]

One Mistake - Aemond Targaryen x Sister!Reader x Jace Velaryon.

Summary : You, the daughter of Alicent Hightower, once married to Aemond Targaryen, find yourself in a marriage born out of duty rather than love. The relationship with Aemond has always been a battleground of lies and heartache, and the arrival of a child born from his affair with Alys Rivers only deepens the chasm between you both.Heartbroken, betrayed, and feeling utterly alone, you escape the suffocating walls of King’s Landing, seeking solace in Dragonstone with your half-sister, Rhaenyra. In this new chapter of your life, you begin to heal, finding peace in the company of those who truly care for you. Among them is Jace, the son of Rhaenyra, whose quiet affection and steady presence begins to rekindle the spark of hope in your heart.

Aemond Targaryen Masterlist.

HOTD Masterlist.

The tension in the air was thick, and your grip on the dagger tightened with every passing second. Aemond stood before you, unnervingly calm, his cold, piercing gaze meeting yours without a hint of fear. His posture remained relaxed, almost as if the weapon at his throat didn’t even faze him. But you couldn’t hold back the wave of fury that surged through you.

“Aemond,” you hissed, your voice laced with venom, “you’ve crossed a line this time.”

Aemond’s gaze shifted, his lips twitching with an almost imperceptible smile. “You always knew who I was, my love,” he replied, his tone ice-cold. “Did you really expect me to be loyal to you when the world has so much more to offer?”

Behind you, you could hear your mother, Alicent, and your sister, Helaena, desperately trying to intervene, pleading for you to put down the dagger. Their words were mere background noise to the storm inside your chest. The rage that had been quietly simmering for so long had finally boiled over.

You had tolerated his affairs, his coldness, his absence, but this… This was unforgivable. Alys River, the woman from Harrenhal, had come to your doorstep, a newborn in her arms, declaring that Aemond was the father. The mere thought of him being involved with someone else, and now with a child, was enough to break you.

“Is this your child, Aemond?” you spat, the words dripping with anger. “Are you really that heartless? Alys River, that harlot… You never cared about what you did to me, did you?”

Aemond’s eyes flickered, a trace of something—guilt, regret—flickering in them for a moment before he schooled his features back into their usual icy mask.

“I never wanted this, you know,” you said, voice shaking with a mixture of hurt and fury. “I’ve tried, Aemond. I’ve tried to make it work. But you… you’ve made a mockery of everything.”

Your breath was ragged, and the dagger trembled slightly in your hand, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to step back.

Aemond finally spoke, his voice as cold and detached as ever. “Put the dagger down, sister,” he said, his tone almost bored. “You’re not going to do anything.”

But you were done listening to his calm and calculating words. The betrayal had cut too deep, and the anger was too overwhelming. You didn’t care if he thought you were weak or if you would never see him the same way again. You couldn’t forgive him for this.

In a brief moment of clarity, you heard your mother’s voice, soft yet urgent, trying to calm you down. “Please, my child, think about what you’re doing.”

But the damage was already done. There was no coming back from this.

With trembling hands, you dropped the dagger, the metallic clang echoing through the room as it hit the floor. You stepped back from Aemond, his gaze unwavering, his silence deafening. The image of Alys Rivers holding a silver-haired baby replayed in your mind, each recollection stabbing your heart anew. Despair consumed you, the weight of your shattered marriage pressing down on you like a crushing wave.

Without a word, you turned and fled the room, the voices of your mother and sister calling after you lost in the whirlwind of your emotions. Tears streamed down your face as you ran through the halls of the Red Keep, seeking solace, but finding none. The pain was overwhelming, the betrayal unbearable. After what felt like an eternity, your feet led you to the door of your old chamber, the sanctuary you once called home before your marriage to Aemond.

You pushed the door open, only to find Alys Rivers inside, cradling the infant in her arms. Her presence in what was once your refuge felt like a dagger twisting in your heart. She looked up, her expression calm, almost smug.

“Aemond asked me to stay here,” she said, her voice soft, yet cutting. “He wanted me to be comfortable.”

The finality of her words shattered whatever remnants of hope you clung to. Rage and grief intertwined, fueling your steps as you slammed the door shut and stormed back to your marital chambers. The hallways blurred in your vision, your emotions a chaotic storm.

Once inside your chamber, you shut the door and locked it, leaning against the cold wood as your breath came in ragged gasps. The room, once a symbol of your union with Aemond, now felt suffocating.

A soft knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts, followed by Aemond’s voice, calm and composed.

“Let me in,” he said.

You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms. “Why should I?” your voice broke, laced with anger and sorrow. “You’ve made it clear where your loyalties lie.”

There was a pause, then his voice came again, quieter this time. “You are my wife. This is your home.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “A wife you’ve betrayed, a home you’ve filled with deceit. How can you stand there and speak of loyalty?”

Aemond’s silence spoke louder than any words. You turned away from the door, wrapping your arms around yourself, seeking comfort in the emptiness of the room. The weight of his betrayal pressed on you, each moment more unbearable than the last.

You isolated yourself for days, the world outside your chamber fading into a blur. The persistent knocks at your door, the gentle pleas of your mother, the worried whispers of your sister—they all went unanswered. You sat by the window, gazing down at the sharp iron spikes below, their menacing points gleaming in the pale light. The thought crossed your mind, a fleeting, desperate idea, but you dismissed it just as quickly. You were heartbroken, but not mad.

The whispers reached you even in the silence of your solitude, the rumors carried on the wind like a cruel taunt. They spoke of Aemond visiting Alys Rivers’ chambers, cradling his illegitimate son with pride. Each word felt like a dagger twisting in your chest, a fresh wound on top of the ones that already bled.

You thought of the promises Aemond had made to you, the soft words of love whispered in the dark, the vows of loyalty and devotion. They felt like hollow echoes now, every one of them a lie. How easily had he cast aside those vows? How quickly had he turned to another, to Alys, and their child?

Your hand drifted to the windowsill, fingers tracing the cold stone as your mind spiraled deeper into despair. The betrayal consumed you, leaving little room for anything else. The image of Aemond, once a source of comfort and strength, now filled you with anguish. His eyes, once filled with affection, were now a haunting memory of deceit.

Each day felt longer than the last, the weight of his infidelity pressing down on you, suffocating and relentless. You thought of your love, the life you had envisioned together, now reduced to ashes. The future you had once dreamed of seemed distant, almost unreachable, as if it had belonged to another lifetime entirely.

You pulled the thin blanket around you tighter, as if it could shield you from the pain. But nothing could shield you from the truth. The man you loved had betrayed you, and no amount of time could change that.

The searing pain in your abdomen jolted you awake, sharp and relentless, unlike anything you had ever felt before. Instinctively, your hand flew to your stomach, clutching at the source of the agony. Each wave of pain grew stronger, rippling through your body and leaving you breathless. Desperation drove you to rise from your bed, to make your way to the door and seek help, but your legs gave out beneath you. You crumpled to the floor, the cold stone pressing against your skin as you gasped for air.

It was then you noticed the blood pooling between your legs, staining your nightgown and the floor beneath you. Panic surged through you, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as tears welled up in your eyes. You tried to call out, your voice weak and trembling, barely louder than a whisper. “Help,” you managed, your voice cracking under the weight of fear and pain.

Outside your chamber, your mother’s voice called to you, her tone laced with concern. She had come again, hoping to coax you out of your self-imposed isolation. But this time, as she turned the handle, she found the door unlocked. Pushing it open, she was greeted by a scene that made her blood run cold.

“Aemond!” she cried, her voice echoing through the halls as she rushed to your side. Her hands trembled as she tried to steady you, her heart pounding in her chest. “Someone, help!” she shouted, her voice breaking with desperation.

Aemond arrived moments later, his eyes widening in horror at the sight of you sprawled on the floor, pale and drenched in blood. His feet seemed rooted to the spot, unable to move as he watched you in your fragile state. The guilt in his eyes was unmistakable, but he didn’t dare approach.

The maester arrived swiftly, his presence a blur as he stand beside your bed and assessed the situation. His face was grim as he delivered the devastating news. “She has lost the child,” he said softly, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. “The stress and lack of nourishment have taken their toll.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the breath from your lungs. You hadn’t even known you were carrying a child, and now that life was gone, ripped away before you could even comprehend its existence. The sobs wracked your body, uncontrollable and raw, as the reality of your loss settled over you.

Your mother gathered you in her arms, her own tears falling silently as she held you close, offering what little comfort she could. You clung to her, your cries muffled against her shoulder, the pain too immense to bear alone.

Aemond remained on the periphery, his face etched with anguish. He reached out, but then drew back, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. He had betrayed you, and now, in your moment of greatest need, he was powerless to ease your suffering.

In your mother’s embrace, you felt a small measure of solace, but the ache in your heart was far from healed. You had lost your child, and with it, a piece of yourself. The pain would linger, a constant reminder of the love and life that had been taken from you too soon.

The days passed in a blur of pain and sorrow. You remained confined to your chambers, your heart weighed down by the unbearable grief of losing your child. The world outside your room seemed distant, muffled by the heavy fog of your sadness. Your mother, Alicent, and your sister, Helaena, visited frequently, bringing food and comfort. They tried to coax you into eating, but you could only lie listlessly as they fed you, your appetite lost in the depths of your despair.

Aemond had not come to see you since that fateful night. His absence was a bitter reminder of the distance that had grown between you. You had heard the whispers, the murmurs that he spent his nights with Alys Rivers and their illegitimate child. Each rumor cut deeper than the last, fueling your anger and deepening your sorrow. The betrayal burned in your chest, an open wound that refused to heal.

But today was different. As you lay in your bed, the door to your chamber creaked open. Expecting your mother or sister, you turned your head, only to find Aemond standing in the doorway. His expression was cold, his gaze hard as he stared at you.

“I lost my child because of you,” he said, his voice devoid of any warmth or understanding. The accusation hung in the air, heavy and cruel.

You felt your heart shatter anew, his words slicing through the fragile threads that held you together. “How dare you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with rage and sorrow. “How dare you blame me for this.”

The pain and fury erupted from you in a torrent. You screamed at him, your voice raw with anguish. “It was you! It was your betrayal that brought me here! Your lies, your infidelity! You destroyed everything, not me!”

Aemond stood there, silent and unmoved, as you poured your heart out, blaming him for your suffering, for the loss of your child, for the broken pieces of your marriage. The tears streamed down your face, your body shaking with the force of your sobs.

Finally, exhausted and broken, you collapsed back onto the bed, your cries filling the room. The pain was too much to bear, the weight of your grief pressing down on you, suffocating and unrelenting.

A soft voice broke through the haze of your sorrow. Your mother, Alicent, stood at the doorway, her expression a mix of concern and confusion. “Why are you not resting?” she asked gently. “Why are you shouting at Aemond?”

Her presence only seemed to heighten your despair. “Because he blames me, Mother,” you choked out, your voice thick with tears. “He blames me for losing our child, for everything that has gone wrong. But it’s not my fault. It’s not my fault.”

Alicent hurried to your side, her arms wrapping around you in a comforting embrace. She stroked your hair, murmuring soothing words as you sobbed into her shoulder. Aemond remained by the door, his face unreadable, but he did not approach. The distance between you was more than physical now; it was a chasm filled with unspoken words, broken promises, and irreparable pain.

As your mother held you, your tears finally began to subside, leaving behind a hollow ache in your chest. The pain would not disappear, but for now, you found solace in the comfort of your mother’s arms, even as your heart ached with the loss and betrayal that Aemond had left in his wake.

The pain of Aemond’s betrayal was no longer something you could endure. His indifference, the whispers of his continued affair with Alys Rivers and the child that belonged to her, cut deeper each day. You couldn’t bear to stay in the Red Keep any longer, not with the constant reminder of what you had lost. Tonight, you made a decision: you would leave. You would find peace away from the walls of King’s Landing, away from Aemond and the deceit.

The cold night air filled your lungs as you quietly made your way through the corridors of the Red Keep, your heart pounding with the weight of your decision. You couldn’t stay here. You couldn��t bear another day in that house of betrayal and lies. You had to go, and Dragonstone would be your refuge, the one place where you could find solace in the company of your sister, Rhaenyra, and her family.

With a heavy heart, you made your way to the stables. The quiet rustle of the night was the only sound that accompanied your footsteps. The guards, bribed and loyal, had cleared the way for you, their eyes flicking nervously around as they ensured no one would stop you. You quickly saddled your horse, the familiar motions of preparing your steed offering a brief distraction from the turmoil inside you.

Once mounted, you headed for the Dragonpit, the shadows of the night enveloping you as you approached the towering structure. There, waiting for you, was Sharapis, your dragon. His massive form loomed in the shadows, his eyes gleaming as you approached. You had always felt a connection to him, a bond forged from years of companionship and shared journeys.

“Sharapis,” you whispered softly as you mounted his back, the dragon’s scales glimmering in the moonlight. His wings stretched out as if eager to fly, and with a single command, you took off into the night sky, soaring toward Dragonstone.

The flight was exhilarating, the wind rushing through your hair as you felt the freedom that had long been denied you. But beneath it all was the ache of betrayal, the loss of a child you had never even known, and the quiet despair that had taken root in your soul. The journey felt both endless and too short, your thoughts lost in the vastness of the night.

As you descended toward Dragonstone, you could see the familiar silhouette of the castle looming in the distance. Your heart fluttered with a mix of relief and uncertainty. You had made the decision to leave everything behind, but now that you were here, would it be enough to heal the wounds Aemond had inflicted?

When Sharapis landed, you dismounted and quickly made your way into the castle. The cold stone floors echoed beneath your feet as you walked toward the heart of Dragonstone. The guards at the entrance saw you and immediately went to alert Rhaenyra and Daemon. The sounds of hurried footsteps soon followed as your half-sister and her husband arrived, her face filled with surprise and concern.

“Why have you come here?” Rhaenyra asked, her voice soft yet filled with urgency. She could see the state you were in, the exhaustion and pain written across your features. “What has happened?”

You took a deep breath, your eyes meeting hers. “I couldn’t stay there anymore,” you confessed, your voice breaking slightly. “Aemond… He’s with her again, and I can’t bear it. I lost our child, Rhaenyra, and I can’t stay in the place that reminds me of all the lies and betrayal. I need to get away, to heal, and I couldn’t stay in King’s Landing a moment longer.”

Rhaenyra stepped closer, her hands reaching for yours. “You are always welcome here,” she said with conviction. “You don’t have to face this alone. Whatever happened, whatever you need, we will help you through it.”

The warmth of her support was a balm to your broken heart. You felt the weight of the world slowly begin to lift as she surrounded you with love and understanding. She hadn’t asked for details, and she didn’t need to. You could see in her eyes that they understood.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you couldn’t hold them back any longer. The weight of the journey, the betrayal, the grief of losing your child, and the decision to leave it all behind finally caught up with you. In the safety of Dragonstone, you allowed yourself to break down, to grieve openly, knowing that here, at least, you would not be alone.

Rhaenyra held you tightly, offering you the comfort you so desperately needed, while Daemon stood a few steps behind, his gaze never leaving you.

“You will find peace again,” Rhaenyra whispered. “Here, with us, you are safe.”

As the morning sun cast its golden light over the Red Keep, your mother, Alicent, made her way to your chamber with a calm determination. She had come to check on you, as she did every morning, hoping that today might bring a glimmer of progress in your healing. However, as she gently pushed open the door, she was met with an empty room. Her heart skipped a beat, a sense of unease creeping in as she took in the sight of your untouched bed and the quiet stillness of the space.

Her eyes quickly fell upon a piece of parchment resting on the pillow. With trembling hands, she picked it up, unfolding it carefully. The words written in your familiar hand made her breath catch in her throat.

“Mother, do not worry about me, and do not try to find me. I have gone where I can heal and find peace. Please, annulled the arrangement of my marriage with Aemond. It is over. There is nothing left for me here.”

Alicent’s fingers tightened around the letter as a surge of emotions washed over her—relief that you were safe enough to leave a note, sadness at your departure, and a rising fury toward the one who had driven you to such despair.

Clutching the letter tightly, Alicent turned on her heel, her face set in a mask of anger. She knew exactly where to find Aemond. Her footsteps echoed loudly in the hallways as she marched toward your old chamber, the one where she knew Aemond was staying with Alys and their illegitimate child. Each step fueled her anger, her mind racing with thoughts of how Aemond had betrayed not only you but also the family’s honor.

When she reached the door, she didn’t bother to knock. Instead, she pushed it open with force, her eyes blazing as she entered. Inside, she found Aemond standing near the window, Alys seated with the infant in her arms. The air in the room grew tense as they turned to face her, Alys’s expression a mixture of surprise and smug satisfaction.

Aemond’s usual calm demeanor faltered as he saw the letter in Alicent’s hand and the fire in her eyes. “Mother,” he began, but Alicent cut him off, her voice cold and sharp.

“Do not ‘Mother’ me,” she snapped, holding up the letter. “Explain this. Explain why my daughter, your wife, felt the need to flee from her home in the dead of night because of your actions.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his gaze flickering briefly to Alys, who remained silent, cradling her child.

“You have disgraced our family,” Alicent continued, her voice trembling with controlled rage. “You have broken her heart, her spirit. And now, you will face the consequences. I will see to it that this marriage is annulled. She deserves better than this, better than you.”

Aemond’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he did not argue. The weight of his actions hung heavily in the room, and even Alys seemed uncomfortable under Alicent’s furious gaze.

“I will not allow this to continue,” Alicent declared. “You will leave her be. You will not pursue her, and you will not bring further shame upon this family.”

With that, Alicent turned on her heel, her grip on the letter unrelenting as she strode out of the room. Her heart ached for you, for the pain you had endured, but she was resolute. She would do everything in her power to protect you and to ensure that you found the peace you deserved.

Almost two years had passed since you left the Red Keep behind, finding solace and a new beginning in Dragonstone. The pain and betrayal you once felt had slowly been replaced by the warmth of your family, especially Rhaenyra and her children. Your days were now filled with laughter and peace, and the exchange of letters with your mother had become a comforting routine. She had informed you that the annulment of your marriage to Aemond had been finalized, a message that brought a profound sense of relief. You were free, truly free, from the chains of a past that had once broken you.

Life in Dragonstone had become your sanctuary. The walls, the sea, and the skies felt like home, a place where you could breathe and live without the shadows of your past looming over you. In this haven, you had grown close to Jace. His kindness, his understanding, and his gentle presence had slowly woven their way into your heart. He had been a constant source of support, offering you companionship and care as you healed from the wounds Aemond had left behind.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the castle, Jace asked you to walk with him along the cliffs. The salty breeze played with your hair as you strolled side by side, the silence between you comfortable and familiar. Jace had always been thoughtful, but tonight there was a certain tension in the air, a nervous energy you hadn’t felt from him before.

He paused near the edge of the cliff, the crashing waves below providing a soothing backdrop to the moment. Turning to face you, he took a deep breath, his eyes searching yours with a mix of hope and vulnerability.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time,” he began, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “You’ve been through so much, and yet, here you are, strong and resilient. Being with you these past two years has been the happiest time of my life.”

Your heart began to race, a mixture of anticipation and surprise swirling within you.

“I know you might think it’s too soon, or that you’re not ready, but I need you to know how I feel,” he continued, reaching for your hands and holding them gently. “I love you, and I want to spend my life with you. Will you marry me?”

His words hung in the air, filled with sincerity and love. You could see the earnestness in his eyes, the way he waited anxiously for your response, hoping you felt the same.

For a moment, memories of the past flickered in your mind, but they were quickly overshadowed by the warmth of the present, the life you had built here, the love that had grown between you and Jace. He had been patient, never rushing you, always understanding.

A soft smile spread across your face as you squeezed his hands. “Yes, Jace,” you whispered, tears of joy welling in your eyes. “I’ll marry you.”

His face lit up with relief and happiness, and before you knew it, he had pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. In his arms, you felt safe, loved, and ready to begin this new chapter of your life, a chapter filled with love, hope, and the promise of a future together.

As you and Jace walked hand in hand back into the castle, your hearts were light with joy and anticipation. The corridors of Dragonstone felt warmer tonight, the stone walls echoing with the soft whispers of your shared future. When you reached the great hall, Rhaenyra and Daemon were seated by the hearth, engaged in a quiet conversation. Their attention shifted as you both entered, Jace leading you forward.

Jace’s hand squeezed yours gently as he addressed his mother. “Mother, we have something to share,” he began, his voice filled with excitement. “We’ve decided to marry. She has agreed to be my wife.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes lit up with happiness, a broad smile spreading across her face. She stood and stepped forward, taking both your hands in hers. “This is wonderful news,” she said, her voice warm with genuine joy. “I am so happy for both of you.”

Her embrace was tight and filled with love, as if welcoming you fully into her family. It was a moment of acceptance and celebration, her blessing clear and heartfelt.

However, as your eyes shifted to Daemon, his expression was more reserved. His jaw tightened slightly, and though he didn’t speak immediately, you could sense the conflict within him. The legacy of your mother, Alicent, and the tensions that had long simmered between their families were not easily forgotten. Yet, he held his tongue, his gaze meeting yours with a guarded intensity.

“Congratulations,” Daemon finally said, his tone measured, but his words carrying a hint of reluctance. He rose to his feet, standing beside Rhaenyra. “I trust you will make each other happy.”

Though his words were polite, there was an underlying tension. He didn’t openly oppose the union, but it was clear he harbored reservations, likely due to the history that bound your families in strife.

Jace, sensing the unease, stepped closer to you, his arm wrapping protectively around your waist. “We understand this isn’t easy,” he said, addressing Daemon directly. “But we love each other, and we want to build a future together. That’s all that matters.”

Daemon’s eyes flicked to Jace, then back to you. After a long moment, he gave a slight nod, perhaps acknowledging the sincerity in Jace’s words, or perhaps choosing to set aside his reservations for the sake of peace.

Rhaenyra, ever the peacemaker, placed a hand on Daemon’s arm, a silent plea for understanding. “What matters is that they’ve found happiness in each other,” she said softly. “Let’s celebrate that.”

Daemon exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. “Very well,” he conceded, though his tone was still tinged with reluctance. “Let it be a union of love.”

Relieved, you smiled, feeling Jace’s reassuring presence beside you. Rhaenyra’s enthusiasm and Daemon’s begrudging acceptance were enough to make this moment a hopeful beginning. The path forward wouldn’t be without challenges, but together, you knew you could face whatever came your way.

The day of your wedding dawned quietly, the morning mist wrapping Dragonstone in a serene embrace. Unlike the grand, ostentatious ceremonies you had once known, this day was intimate, marked by simplicity and the presence of only those closest to your heart. The small gathering was a reflection of the love you shared with Jace, a quiet yet profound celebration of a new beginning.

As you prepared in your chambers, Rhaenyra stood by your side, her presence a comforting anchor in the swirl of your emotions. She watched as you adjusted the delicate fabric of your gown, a soft smile playing on her lips. “You’ve been through so much,” she said, her voice gentle yet firm. “But today is about you—your happiness, your future. You deserve this joy, and I’m so proud of you.”

Her words were a balm to your nerves, and you felt a wave of gratitude for her unwavering support. She had been more than a half-sister; she had become a true sister, a confidante in your darkest hours. Her hand found yours, squeezing it reassuringly. “This is your moment,” she whispered. “Take it, and let yourself be happy.”

When the time came, you walked towards the small altar where Jace awaited, his eyes fixed on you with a mixture of love and awe. His presence was calming, his steady gaze promising a life of mutual respect and affection. The warmth of his smile as you reached his side steadied your racing heart, and the nervous flutter in your stomach eased as he took your hands in his.

The ceremony was brief, the words spoken simple yet heartfelt. Rhaenyra and Daemon stood beside you, their presence a testament to the new family you were building. Alicent’s absence was felt, but her blessings had been given through her letters, and you carried her love in your heart.

As the vows were exchanged, you felt a profound sense of peace wash over you. This was not a union born of duty or political gain, but one of genuine affection and shared dreams. Jace’s hand in yours was a promise, a symbol of the partnership you were forging together.

When the ceremony concluded, and you were declared husband and wife, the small gathering erupted in soft applause. Jace leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that sealed your new bond, a gentle reminder of the love that had brought you to this moment.

Later, as the day faded into night and the candles in the great hall flickered softly, you found yourself beside Jace, the simplicity of the day leaving you content. The weight of the past began to lift, replaced by the promise of a future filled with hope and love.

Rhaenyra’s words echoed in your mind, a reminder that you had earned this happiness. And as Jace’s arm wrapped around your waist, drawing you closer, you knew that this was the beginning of a new chapter—one where you could finally find the peace and joy you had longed for.

Time seemed to slip through your fingers like grains of sand, each day blending seamlessly into the next. It felt as though only yesterday you and Jace stood before the small gathering, exchanging vows. Yet, here you were, sitting in the sun-dappled garden with Rhaenyra, her laughter mingling with the soft coos of little Aegon in her arms. The gentle breeze carried the scent of blooming flowers, and you rested a hand on your growing belly, feeling the life stirring within.

Rhaenyra’s teasing smile was as radiant as ever, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know,” she began, a playful lilt in her voice, “Daemon and I couldn’t sleep for weeks after your wedding. The walls here are not as thick as you might think.” Her laughter was infectious, and you felt your cheeks flush with warmth as you looked away, embarrassed yet unable to suppress a giggle.

“Rhaenyra!” you protested, your tone a mixture of shock and amusement. The memories of those early days—filled with love, passion, and whispered promises—were vivid in your mind. The bond between you and Jace had deepened quickly, the love you shared blooming into something even more profound.

“But look at the result,” Rhaenyra continued, her gaze dropping to your rounded belly. “It seems all that…enthusiasm bore fruit.” Her hand reached out, covering yours as it rested on your stomach. “You’re glowing, and soon you’ll have a little one of your own.”

The thought filled you with a mix of excitement and nervousness. The prospect of becoming a mother, of bringing a new life into the world, was both thrilling and daunting. But the support of Jace, Rhaenyra, and the family you had found in Dragonstone gave you strength.

Rhaenyra’s voice softened, the teasing edge replaced with genuine warmth. “You’ll be an amazing mother,” she said. “This child will be so loved, surrounded by a family that cherishes them.”

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips as you felt a kick from within, a gentle reminder of the life growing inside you. The future was filled with promise, and as you sat there, surrounded by love and laughter, you felt a profound sense of peace.

“Thank you, Rhaenyra,” you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude. “For everything.”

Rhaenyra squeezed your hand, her expression one of sisterly affection. “We’re family,” she replied. “And we take care of our own.”

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the garden, you leaned back in your chair, contentment washing over you. The journey had been long and fraught with challenges, but now, with a new life growing within you and a family that stood by your side, you felt ready to embrace whatever the future held.

Jace had grown into a devoted and attentive husband, always watching over you with a protective fervor that bordered on overbearing. His love and concern were palpable, and while you appreciated his attentiveness, there were moments when you wished for a bit more freedom. Today was one such instance.

As you sat in the garden with Rhaenyra, basking in the afternoon sun, you heard Jace calling your name. His voice, laced with a mixture of worry and relief, reached you before he did. You turned to see him striding towards you, his brow furrowed, still slightly sweaty from his training session with Luke.

“Where have you been?” he asked, his tone gentle yet firm. “I looked for you in our chambers, but you weren’t there.”

You offered a reassuring smile, hoping to ease his concerns. “I was just spending some time with your mother in the garden. I didn’t want to disturb your training, and I felt like getting some fresh air.”

Jace knelt beside you, his hands gently cradling your face as he searched your eyes for any sign of discomfort or distress. “You should have told me,” he murmured. “I don’t like you wandering around alone, especially not now.”

His gaze flicked to your growing belly, a tender smile tugging at his lips. The worry in his eyes softened, replaced by the gentle adoration he always showed when thinking about the child you were carrying.

“I’m fine, Jace,” you reassured him, placing a hand over his. “Rhaenyra was with me the whole time.”

Rhaenyra chuckled softly from her seat, watching the exchange with amusement. “Jace, she’s perfectly safe here. You don’t need to hover over her every moment.”

“I can’t help it,” Jace admitted, his cheeks coloring slightly. “I just…I worry.”

You squeezed his hand, appreciating his concern but also wanting him to understand. “I know, and I love that you care so much. But I need you to trust that I’ll take care of myself too.”

He nodded, sighing softly as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll try. But I’ll always worry about you.”

Standing, Jace offered his hand to help you up, his protective nature not allowing him to let you rise on your own. “Come on, let’s get you inside. It’s getting cooler.”

With his arm around your waist, guiding you carefully back to the castle, you felt a sense of warmth and security. Jace’s love, though sometimes overwhelming, was steadfast and unwavering. It was a love you cherished, knowing that it came from a place of deep devotion and care.

As you entered your shared chamber, Jace guided you gently to the bed, urging you to sit and rest. He knelt before you, deftly removing your shoes, his fingers tenderly massaging your ankles. His touch was soothing, filled with care, as he leaned in to place a soft kiss on your growing belly. His hands caressed your abdomen, his lips following with a whisper meant for the baby you both eagerly awaited.

“You’ve been so good to your mother,” Jace murmured, his voice full of affection. “We can’t wait to meet you.”

You smiled down at him, your fingers threading through his hair as you basked in the warmth of the moment. The quiet intimacy was interrupted by the sound of the door opening, and a servant entered, carrying a sealed letter. The servant handed it to you with a respectful bow before retreating.

Curiosity piqued, you broke the seal, recognizing the familiar handwriting of your mother, Alicent. The contents of the letter were an invitation to return to King’s Landing for a grand celebration in honor of King Viserys’s birthday. Your heart skipped a beat as you read her request, knowing the importance of the occasion. It was not just a celebration for the realm’s ruler, but a family gathering—a chance to reconnect with your roots.

You looked up at Jace, who had been observing your reaction closely. “It’s from my mother,” you explained, handing him the letter. “She’s inviting us to King’s Landing for my father’s birthday celebration.”

Jace’s eyes scanned the letter, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered the implications. “Do you want to go?” he asked, his concern evident. “I know things are… complicated with your family.”

You sighed softly, placing a hand over his. “It’s complicated, yes. But it’s also important. Rhaenyra and Daemon will likely want to attend, and it’s a chance for me to see my family, despite everything. I think we should go.”

Jace nodded, his expression thoughtful. “If that’s what you want, we’ll go. But I’ll be by your side the whole time. I won’t let anything happen to you or our child.”

His protective nature reassured you, easing some of the anxiety that had begun to creep in. “Thank you, Jace. I feel better knowing you’ll be with me."

As the two of you sat together, contemplating the journey ahead, a sense of anticipation mingled with the lingering tension of old wounds. The road to King’s Landing would not just be a physical journey, but an emotional one as well—a step towards confronting the past and embracing whatever the future might hold for your family.

The towering spires of the Red Keep came into view, casting long shadows over the bustling port of King’s Landing. You stood at the edge of the ship’s deck, the sea breeze tugging at your gown as you gazed at the familiar yet distant city. Jace was at your side, his arm a comforting presence around your waist, his hand resting protectively over the swell of your belly. His touch was a constant reminder that, no matter what awaited you in the capital, you were not alone.

You turned your head slightly, catching sight of Rhaenyra and Daemon nearby. They, too, were watching the city approach, their expressions a mix of resolve and nostalgia. For them, like for you, this was more than just a visit—it was a return to a place filled with memories, both bitter and sweet.

Leaning into Jace’s shoulder, you allowed yourself a moment of quiet respite, closing your eyes as his arms encircled you. The journey had been taxing, especially given your current condition, and the looming prospect of facing your past weighed heavily on your mind. Yet, in Jace’s embrace, you found a sense of peace and strength, a reminder of the life you were building together, far removed from the shadows of King’s Landing.

Jace pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his voice soft and reassuring. “We’ll get through this together,” he whispered. “No matter what happens, I’ll be here.”

You nodded, clutching his hand a little tighter. The city grew larger, its walls drawing closer as the ship made its final approach. The sight of it stirred a whirlwind of emotions within you—anticipation, dread, hope. As the Red Keep loomed ever nearer, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the days to come. You had left this place as a broken woman, but now you were returning stronger, with a family of your own to protect and cherish.

Whatever awaited you within those stone walls, you knew that with Jace by your side, you could face it.

As you stepped down carefully from the carriage, the bustling courtyard of the Red Keep greeted you with its usual cacophony. Servants scurried about, arms laden with decorations and provisions for the grand celebration planned for King Viserys’s birthday. The air buzzed with excitement, yet you felt a weariness settle over you, the long journey from Dragonstone taking its toll.

Jace was immediately at your side, his hand steadying you as he helped you out of the carriage. His eyes searched yours, concern etched across his face. “Are you all right?” he asked gently, his voice barely audible over the din around you.

You nodded, though exhaustion weighed heavily on your shoulders. “Just tired,” you admitted softly.

Rhaenyra and Daemon approached, their expressions a mix of anticipation and something else—perhaps trepidation—given the complex dynamics that awaited within the Keep. As they prepared to make their way toward the throne room to greet King Viserys, you turned to Rhaenyra with a small, apologetic smile.

“Would it be all right if we went straight to our chambers?” you asked. “I need to rest.”

Rhaenyra’s face softened with understanding, and she nodded. “Of course,” she said. “Take your time. We’ll see you at the feast later.”

Daemon gave a brief nod of agreement, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he turned to follow his wife into the heart of the Keep.

With Jace’s arm firmly around your waist, you made your way through the familiar halls of the Red Keep. The grand corridors seemed both unchanged and yet different, imbued with memories that felt like they belonged to another life. As you walked, you couldn’t help but notice the way the servants’ eyes widened in shock at the sight of you. Whispers followed in your wake, their astonishment clear as they took in the sight of the daughter of Alicent Hightower, once married to Prince Aemond, now heavily pregnant and walking arm in arm with Prince Jacaerys Velaryon.

Jace’s grip on you tightened, a silent show of support against the unspoken judgments that hung in the air. He leaned in close, his voice a low murmur meant only for you. “Let them stare,” he said, a hint of defiance in his tone. “They don’t know your strength, or ours.”

You glanced up at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite your fatigue. His unwavering support was a balm to your frayed nerves, and you found comfort in the steady rhythm of his steps beside you.

As you finally reached the familiar doors of your chambers, Jace opened them for you, ushering you inside before closing the door firmly behind you. The quiet of the room was a welcome reprieve from the noise outside. He guided you to the bed, helping you sit before kneeling in front of you, his hands resting on your knees.

“You’ve been incredible through all of this,” he said, his eyes full of admiration. “Rest now. I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with gratitude and love. As you lay back against the pillows, Jace settled beside you, his presence a reassuring anchor in a world that still felt uncertain.

As you turned, the door to your chambers slowly creaked open, and there, standing in the doorway, was your mother, Alicent, her eyes filled with unshed tears. Beside her stood Heleana, your sister, who looked at you with a mixture of concern and love. They both stepped inside, and without a word, they enveloped you in a warm embrace.

The familiar scent of your mother’s perfume and the comforting presence of Heleana brought a sense of peace you hadn’t realized you longed for. You felt a lump form in your throat as your mother spoke, her voice thick with emotion.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered, her hand gently brushing through your hair. Heleana joined in, wrapping her arms around you, her voice soft but filled with affection. “We’ve both missed you.”

Tears welled in your eyes, not just from the pain of the past but from the sudden realization that despite everything, they were here, with you now. You had built a new life, but the love of family—those who truly cared—was something that always remained.

Your mother, pulling back slightly, gazed at Jace, who had stood silently by your side, his protective arm still around you. She took a deep breath before speaking again, her voice steady but laden with regret. “I… I want to thank you, Jace,” she said, her words sincere. “For giving her what she truly deserves. For loving her the way she should have always been loved.”

She paused, her gaze shifting to the floor briefly before lifting it again to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she continued, her voice now tinged with sorrow. “For everything. The way I treated you, and your family. You did not deserve that.”

Jace, ever the steady presence, simply nodded, his eyes softening as he met her gaze. “It’s in the past,” he replied gently. “We move forward now.”

A brief silence followed, the weight of the past few years hanging between them. But in this moment, there was understanding, a step toward healing. Your mother’s apology, though not easy for her to give, had an undeniable sincerity. You could see it in the way her hands trembled slightly as she clasped her own in front of her.

Heleana, who had been silently observing, finally spoke up, her voice gentle. “You deserve happiness, both of you,” she said, her eyes filled with warmth. “I’m happy for you. For the family you’ve created.”

Her words were like a balm to the wounds that had been left untreated for so long. And as the room settled into a peaceful silence, you felt an overwhelming sense of relief. It wasn’t just the apology or the reconciliation—it was the simple truth that, despite everything, you had a family that still cared for you, and that love was worth rebuilding.

Your mother’s gentle hand traced your growing belly, her touch warm and tender, as she smiled softly at you. “You look radiant,” she said, her voice full of affection, her eyes glimmering with love. She kissed your forehead, a motherly gesture that made your heart swell. “I’m so proud of you,” she added quietly, her voice filled with emotions she didn’t often let slip.

Rhaenyra, who had been moving around the room, paused to look at you. Her expression softened, a knowing smile curving on her lips. “You should rest,” she said, stepping forward to help with your things despite your protests. “Let us do this. You’re carrying the future, after all.”

You tried to decline, wanting to take care of things yourself, but Rhaenyra was insistent, and her tone was kind but firm. “It’s not about what you can do—it’s about what we can do for you now.” With that, she motioned to her attendants, who began to unpack your belongings and arrange them carefully.

Despite your desire to remain independent, there was something comforting in the care they showed you. Rhaenyra’s presence felt like a reminder of the family bonds you had begun to rebuild, and your mother’s soft touch was a reminder that, despite everything, love had endured.

You sighed, a sense of peace settling over you as you allowed them to help. It was clear that both your mother and Rhaenyra wanted to support you—especially now, during this delicate time. Their kindness, in its simplicity, was more than you had ever expected. It was healing in its own way, allowing you to finally feel at ease, even amidst all the changes in your life.

As the room began to take shape with the items that had been moved and arranged, Rhaenyra smiled at you. “You deserve this happiness. You deserve to rest, to be cared for.”

Your heart swelled with gratitude, and you reached out, squeezing Rhaenyra’s hand gently. “Thank you,” you said softly, knowing that no matter the journey you’d been on, this moment—this sense of family—was the true gift.

You let out a small, frustrated sigh as you looked at the dresses hanging before you. The reality of your growing belly settled in as you tried on one gown after another, only to find that none of them fit quite like they used to. Each attempt left you feeling more disheartened. The grand celebration tonight, your chance to present yourself to the court and your family, was approaching, but the idea of not having anything suitable to wear only made you feel more exposed.

You muttered under your breath, cursing softly at the fact that none of your formal gowns fit anymore. “Why did it have to be tonight?” you mumbled, feeling a growing sense of annoyance. The last thing you wanted was to feel like you were drawing attention to the changes in your body—something that had already been the source of too many complicated emotions.

As you stepped out of the gown you had just tried on, you caught a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. For a moment, you stared at yourself, unsure of how to feel. The weight of everything—the pregnancy, the marriage, the responsibility—had taken its toll. And yet, beneath the surface, there was a flicker of excitement. Tonight was about celebrating, about reclaiming some sense of joy after everything you had been through.

You shook off your frustration and took a deep breath. You needed to find something, something that would make you feel confident. After all, this night was not just about appearances—it was about embracing who you had become, and all that you were carrying with you, literally and figuratively.

Just as you were about to give up, a familiar voice called out from the door.

“Need a little help?” Jace stood there, leaning against the frame of the door, his usual warmth and concern written on his face.

You smiled softly at him, despite the frustration bubbling inside. “I can’t find anything that fits for tonight,” you admitted, your voice tinged with exasperation.

You blinked in surprise as Jace gestured toward one of the servants. “Please bring the dress I’ve prepared for her,” he said with a smile, his voice carrying the tone of someone who knew exactly what was needed. You watched in confusion as the servant returned with a beautiful gown in her hands.

The gown was a striking combination of deep red and black, the colors of House Targaryen. It was unlike any of the dresses you had worn before—bold, yet elegant, fitting for the occasion. You could hardly believe it when Jace explained.

“I knew the formal gowns wouldn’t fit you anymore, so I had something made for you,” Jace said softly, walking over to you with a small smile on his lips. “I wanted you to feel like yourself tonight, regardless of… well, everything else.”

As the servant helped you into the gown, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude and warmth toward Jace. It was so thoughtful of him, and it showed how much he cared. The fabric fit comfortably, accentuating your form without being too tight, and the colors seemed to shimmer in the soft light of the room.

Jace stepped back, eyes scanning the gown with a proud glint in his eyes. “What do you think? Does it fit?”

You twirled around in the gown, the fabric flowing gracefully with each movement. It felt different from the gaudy or tight dresses you were used to—this one felt like it had been made just for you, a perfect blend of your strength, your heritage, and the love that surrounded you now.

“It’s perfect,” you said, smiling at him with genuine appreciation. “Thank you, Jace. This means more than you know.”

He grinned, the light in his eyes soft and affectionate. “Anything to make you feel special tonight,” he said. “And I think you already do.”

Your heart fluttered with a mix of emotions, but above all, you felt a deep sense of peace. With Jace by your side, you could face whatever the night held. And for the first time in a long while, you felt ready.

You stood before the mirror, gazing at your reflection, the elegant gown hugging your growing form. The deep red and black fabric seemed to hold your essence, a blend of strength and grace. Jace stood behind you, his arms wrapped gently around you, his hand resting on your swollen belly. The warmth of his touch grounded you, and a sense of peace settled in your chest.

As you stared into the mirror, you felt a small sigh escape your lips. The life you once knew, with its chaos and heartbreak, felt so far away now. The man behind you—Jace—was all you had ever wanted in a partner. He loved you not because of duty or obligation, but because he truly saw you. The love he gave was not a burden; it was a gift, something you’d never known you needed but now couldn’t live without.

Jace’s voice, soft and tender, broke the silence. “You look beautiful,” he whispered in your ear, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. “I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you.”

His words made your heart flutter. There was no resentment, no bitterness in his tone—just pure love. You turned your head slightly, catching his gaze in the mirror. His eyes were full of warmth, tenderness, and sincerity. His fingers moved slowly over your belly, caressing it as if holding your unborn child in reverence.

“I love you,” Jace whispered again, his voice a soothing melody that filled your heart with warmth. “More than you’ll ever know.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, savoring the feeling of his embrace. It was so different from the cold, harsh reality you had once endured. With Jace, there was no fear, no uncertainty—only love, acceptance, and a future that felt brighter than anything you had ever imagined.

“I love you too,” you murmured back, your voice thick with emotion. “You make me feel safe. Happy.”

The moment stretched between you, both of you simply holding each other in the silence. It felt right—like this was where you were always meant to be. Aemond’s betrayal, the heartache you had suffered, seemed distant and small now, swallowed by the love and comfort that Jace had given you.

“Tonight,” Jace said softly, breaking the quiet, “We’ll celebrate our new life. But for now, it’s just you and me. I’m so grateful for this—grateful for you.”

You smiled, turning in his arms to face him completely. He leaned in to kiss you, a soft, gentle kiss that conveyed everything words could not. His love was overwhelming, and in his arms, you felt whole again—no longer the broken woman from before, but a woman who had been healed by the love of her true partner.

In this moment, nothing else mattered. Tonight, you would share the joy of your new beginning, but for now, you were content in the stillness, with Jace by your side, loving you like no one ever had before.

As you walked side by side with Jace into the grand hall, the sounds of laughter and celebration filled the air. The atmosphere was lively, but as soon as you entered, a hush fell over the room. All eyes turned toward you. The weight of their gaze was undeniable, but it was Jace’s presence beside you that steadied your steps, grounding you amidst the scrutiny.

Your heart fluttered with nerves, but Jace’s hand held yours firmly, his reassuring touch offering you solace. You walked confidently toward your father, Viserys, who sat at the head of the table. A smile spread across his face as he looked at you, his eyes softening as they landed on your belly. He stood to greet you, his voice warm and welcoming.

“Congratulations,” he said, his gaze flicking briefly to your swollen belly before returning to meet your eyes. “I am so happy for both of you.”

You smiled back, the words of your father bringing a small sense of comfort. Jace squeezed your hand, his pride evident in the way he stood next to you. For a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you and your new beginning.

But as you made your way forward, you couldn’t ignore the intense gaze from across the room. Aemond sat at the far end of the table, his cold eyes locked onto you and Jace. His expression was unreadable, his lips set in a tight line as he stared without saying a word. Next to him, Alys sat silently, her child resting in her lap—an image that seemed to freeze your heart.

The sight of Aemond, his gaze piercing and distant, brought a tightness to your chest. You could feel his disapproval radiating from him, a silent accusation in his eyes. The child in his lap, a reminder of his betrayal, only added to the tension that pulsed between you.

You could almost hear the silent words between you and him, unspoken but heavy in the air. But you refused to let it affect you. You had moved on. You had found a new life, a new family in Jace, and no matter how Aemond looked at you, it didn’t change that.

Jace’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, a subtle reminder of his unwavering support. He could feel the shift in the air, but he said nothing. Instead, he simply stood tall beside you, his presence a shield against the coldness from across the room.

You walked toward your father and took your seat, the weight of the moment settling over you. Aemond’s gaze never wavered, but you refused to meet it. The past was behind you, and you were no longer the woman who had let herself be trapped by his coldness and betrayal.

Tonight was about celebration, about the new life growing within you and the love you had found with Jace. The past—Aemond, Alys, the hurt—had no place here, and you wouldn’t let it ruin your joy.

As the evening unfolded, the lively chatter and the sounds of the celebration filled the grand hall, but your attention was entirely on Jace. He had insisted you eat, even though your plate was still full. His worry for you, for the well-being of the child you were carrying, was evident in every gesture.

When the manservant brought forward a plate of sweets you particularly enjoyed, Jace smiled proudly and handed them to you, not noticing the amused glances from Rhaenyra and your mother, Alicent, seated beside you.

“I told you I’m fine,” you laughed softly, lightly pushing the plate of sweets away, already feeling full from the rich meal that had been served. “I haven’t even finished my dinner yet.”

But Jace was unperturbed, his eyes filled with concern. “You need to eat more, for the baby. Mother and your mother both say you should eat plenty, and they’re right,” he said, his tone unwavering.

Rhaenyra and Alicent exchanged glances, their laughter echoing softly across the table. You could tell they were enjoying the sight of Jace’s earnestness, the way he was fussing over you like a doting husband. It was both endearing and a little frustrating, especially when your stomach had no room for any more sweets.

“Jace, I really don’t need any more,” you said, gently pushing the plate further away. “I’m already full. Really.”

But Jace simply smiled, oblivious to your protests. “Nonsense,” he said. “A little more won’t hurt, will it?”

Your mother’s laughter rang through the air. “He certainly is determined,” she teased, her gaze softening as she watched her daughter and son-in-law interact.

You sighed, a mix of amusement and mild exasperation at Jace’s overzealous attention to your needs. But despite the small frustration, you couldn’t help but smile at how much he cared, at how he always made sure you were well taken care of, whether it was ensuring you ate enough or offering constant support.

“You’re impossible,” you said with a playful smile, and Jace just grinned, pleased with his efforts to look after you.

Rhaenyra leaned in, her eyes twinkling with humor. “He does make it hard for you to say no, doesn’t he?”

You nodded, giving Jace a mock glare before turning back to your mother. “I don’t know how you put up with him all the time.”

Alicent chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “It’s all part of being a mother-in-law. I suppose I’ve grown used to it.”

Though the playful banter continued, it was clear that your family, despite the turmoil of the past, had found a sense of joy and peace again. And that, in itself, made the night feel all the more special.You felt a slight tension rise in your chest as Alys approached, her presence undeniable as she cradled her child in her arms. She smiled warmly, offering her congratulations to you and Jace, her voice sweet and calm.

“Congratulations to you both,” Alys said softly, her eyes lingering on your growing belly.

You nodded politely, offering a small smile, but your mind couldn’t help but wander. As she mentioned her son, you glanced at the child she was holding. The little one had silver hair, unmistakably a Targaryen trait. You couldn’t help but comment, “He looks just like Aemond.”

Alys smiled, her expression gentle as she glanced down at her child. “Yes, he does,” she said, her voice filled with maternal pride. “Aemond and I are hoping for a sibling for him soon.”

Her words, though kind, hit you like a sharp pang in your heart. The thought of Aemond and Alys trying for another child, especially after everything that had transpired, was almost too much to bear. You forced yourself to maintain a calm exterior, though your stomach churned with a mix of emotions—jealousy, hurt, and frustration.

Jace, noticing the slight shift in your mood, squeezed your hand reassuringly under the table, his eyes flicking between you and Alys.

Alys, seemingly oblivious to the effect her words had on you, continued talking about her son and how happy she was with her little family. But your mind was elsewhere, struggling to reconcile the image of Aemond with his new family and the new life you were trying to build with Jace.

You did your best to smile and respond politely, but the conversation felt strained. It wasn’t that you harbored ill feelings towards Alys or her son—it was the reminder of everything you had lost, and how easily Aemond had moved on, leaving you behind in the wake of his choices.

Jace, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, gave you a subtle nudge, and you quickly redirected your attention back to him, offering a smile that was only half genuine.

“Thank you, Alys,” you said, your voice steady, though inside, a whirlwind of emotions raged. “I’m glad to see you and your son doing well.”

She smiled warmly, seemingly unaware of the tension that simmered beneath the surface. “It’s been wonderful, truly,” Alys replied before turning her attention back to her child.

As she walked away, you exhaled deeply, grateful for the brief respite from the conversation. Jace gave your hand a comforting squeeze, his silent support more than enough to help you regain your composure.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into him, taking comfort in the stability he provided, a stark contrast to the chaos and heartbreak of your past.

The moment Alys left, a wave of relief washed over you, but it was short-lived. The atmosphere grew tense once again as you saw Aemond and Aegon approaching, the weight of their presence undeniable. You could feel your heart race, your body instinctively tensing as they drew nearer.

Aegon, ever the charismatic one, gave you a warm smile and congratulated you on your marriage. His words were genuine, though the tension in the air was palpable. Aemond, however, had a different aura—his expression was cold, his eyes sharp as he fixed his gaze on you and Jace.

“Congratulations,” Aemond said with a forced politeness, though his voice lacked warmth. He then added with a calculated calmness, “I must admit, your decision to marry Jace is quite the surprise. How could you marry a bastard like him?”

The words stung, but you didn’t flinch. You had grown accustomed to Aemond’s cutting remarks. You met his gaze with equal intensity, refusing to let him undermine your happiness any longer.

“How could I marry a bastard like him?” you echoed, your voice steady, but a fire burning in your chest. “And how could you, Aemond, have a bastard child with the bastard girl of Harrenhal? What’s the difference between us?”

Aemond’s face tightened at your words, his lips pressing into a thin line as he took in your response. The room felt smaller, the tension thicker. He opened his mouth, but no words came out at first. He had always expected you to cower before him, but today was different. Today, you were not the same woman he had left behind.

You saw a flicker of frustration in his eyes, but he quickly masked it with a cold, dismissive look. “You’ve changed,” he muttered, though it seemed more to himself than to you.

Jace, ever protective, stepped closer to you, his arm coming around your waist possessively. He met Aemond’s stare with a challenging gaze, unspoken tension hanging between them.

Aegon, sensing the growing hostility, quickly intervened, attempting to defuse the situation. “Let’s not do this now,” he said, his tone softer. “It’s a celebration tonight. We’re here to honor our father.”

But Aemond, still silent, looked between you and Jace with a mixture of disdain and something else you couldn’t quite place. He knew the words he had spoken had hit their mark, but you were no longer the woman who would let his venom affect her.

“I’ve made my choices, Aemond,” you said firmly, your gaze unwavering. “And I’ll continue to make them. Your opinion doesn’t matter to me anymore.”

With that, you turned your attention to Jace, your hand finding his, drawing strength from him as you walked away from the tension-filled encounter. The murmurs of the room faded as you and Jace made your way to a quieter corner, where you could finally breathe freely again.

Jace, ever the calm in the storm, gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, his eyes soft with affection. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice low and comforting.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I am now.”

You had been spending more time in the Red Keep, adjusting to this new phase of your life. With your family, including Rhaenyra and your mother, growing closer, things had begun to settle. The tension between your family members had diminished, and there was a sense of peace that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

That morning, you found yourself sitting with Heleana, enjoying the company of her twin children as they played nearby. Their laughter filled the air, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to smile, feeling the warmth of family. Yet, beneath that smile, there was an ache—an uncomfortable pressure you couldn’t quite shake. It wasn’t just physical; it was as though your body was reminding you of the strain you’d been carrying.

As the children ran around, you tried to hide your discomfort, taking slow, steady breaths to calm the mounting pain in your abdomen. You didn’t want to worry Heleana or anyone else, so you kept your focus on the children, pretending that everything was fine. But the truth was, the constant dull pain had become something you couldn’t ignore.

Heleana noticed your shift in demeanor, her sharp eyes catching the subtle change in your expression. She paused for a moment, looking at you with concern. “Are you alright?” she asked softly, her voice laced with care. “You look like you’re in pain.”

You tried to brush it off with a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine, just a little tired,” you replied, attempting to downplay it. “I think I just need a moment to rest.”

But Heleana wasn’t convinced. She stood up and walked over to you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “If something is wrong, you know you can talk to me, right?” she said, her voice warm and understanding.

You hesitated for a moment, torn between wanting to confide in her and not wanting to burden anyone with your concerns. But then, the pain flared again, sharper this time, and you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“I’ve been feeling… off,” you admitted quietly. “It’s like there’s something not right, and I don’t know how to explain it.”

Heleana’s face softened with empathy, and she knelt beside you, taking your hand. “You should speak to someone, perhaps a maester, to make sure everything is alright,” she suggested gently.

You nodded, your heart heavy with uncertainty. You had been so focused on rebuilding your life and finding happiness that you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge the possibility that something could be wrong.

“Thank you, Heleana,” you whispered, grateful for her support. “I’ll think about it.”

As you sat there, the laughter of the children faded into the background, replaced by the heavy thoughts running through your mind. Something inside you knew you couldn’t ignore this feeling any longer.

The pain intensified, each wave making it harder to focus on anything else. You clutched your stomach, unable to ignore the overwhelming sensation anymore. Looking at Heleana, you whispered, “Please, help me. I think it’s time… it’s time for the baby.”

Heleana’s eyes widened in concern, but without hesitation, she helped you up, supporting you as you staggered toward your room. She could sense the urgency, the change in your breathing, the way you were trying to hide your discomfort, but she knew you couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Once inside your room, Heleana didn’t waste a second. She quickly stepped out, telling you she would get Jace and a maester immediately. The moment she left, you were left alone, walking back and forth in your room, trying to ease the growing pain with slow, deliberate movements. Each step, each breath, felt like a small battle.

Time seemed to stretch as the pain surged and receded, leaving you wondering how much longer you could bear it. You were no longer just anticipating the arrival of your child; it had arrived in the form of this unbearable, sharp reminder of what was coming.

Minutes later, Jace burst into the room, his face a mix of concern and urgency. His eyes scanned you quickly before he rushed over, his voice barely above a whisper. “Breathe, love. Please, sit down."

You could hear the panic in his voice, the way he was trying to stay composed for your sake, but it only made your heart race faster. He gently guided you toward the bed, helping you sit down, his hands steady yet trembling with concern. “Stay with me, just breathe,” he urged, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders, his presence a comfort amidst the overwhelming pain.

The maester arrived soon after, and Jace’s face softened with relief as he stepped aside to let the healer do their work. The maester checked on you quickly, muttering words of reassurance as he confirmed that the time had come. “It’s happening,” he said, giving Jace a nod before he began preparing for the delivery.

Jace turned to you then, his eyes filled with love and worry. “You’re doing great, just keep breathing, alright?” He sat beside you, holding your hand, offering whatever comfort he could as the maester worked.

The room was filled with a tense silence, broken only by your labored breaths and the quiet, soothing words Jace whispered to you. The pain was unbearable, but his presence was the anchor you needed. His steady voice, his comforting touch—he was there, and that alone was enough to help you find the strength to keep going.

“You’re strong,” Jace said, his voice full of admiration. “You can do this. I’m right here with you.”

And in that moment, with his words and his love surrounding you, you knew you weren’t alone. The journey ahead would be painful, but with him by your side, you could face anything.

The sharp wave of contraction ripped through your body, and you couldn’t hold back the scream that tore from your throat. Your grip on Jace’s hand tightened, knuckles white as you clung to him like a lifeline. He was right beside you, whispering soothing words, but the pain was overwhelming, consuming every part of you.

Your mother, Alicent, and Rhaenyra were both there now, their presence adding a layer of comfort. They stood at your side, each offering soft words of encouragement, their hands brushing against your hair, wiping away the sweat that beaded on your forehead. The room was filled with a flurry of movement, the midwives and maester working efficiently, their voices calm and reassuring as they guided you through the process.

“It’s too much,” you gasped, shaking your head in desperation. “I can’t do this. It hurts… it hurts too much.”

Alicent leaned in, her voice steady and filled with a mother’s unwavering strength. “You are stronger than you think. You can do this. Just one more push, my darling.”

Rhaenyra echoed her, a determined look in her eyes. “You’ve come so far. You’re almost there. We’re all here with you.”

Jace pressed a kiss to your temple, his voice soft but firm. “I believe in you. You’re doing so well. Just one more time, love. For our son.”

Their words were a lifeline, pulling you from the depths of your despair. Drawing in a shaky breath, you gathered every ounce of strength left in your body. With a guttural cry, you pushed, the pain reaching its crescendo as you gave one final effort.

The room seemed to still for a heartbeat, and then, the sound of a baby’s cry filled the air. Relief washed over you like a tidal wave as the midwives worked quickly, bringing your child into the world. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as they placed the squirming, crying baby into your arms.

“It’s a boy,” the maester announced, smiling as he stepped back.

Jace’s eyes were filled with awe as he looked down at the tiny bundle in your arms. His hand trembled slightly as he reached out to touch the soft, silver hair on your son’s head. “He’s perfect,” Jace whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Just like his mother.”

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from your son, overwhelmed by a flood of love and relief. His cries softened as he nestled against you, his tiny fingers curling around your thumb. “Hello, my sweet boy,” you murmured, your voice cracking with emotion. “You’re finally here.”

Alicent and Rhaenyra looked on with tears in their eyes, sharing in the joy and relief that filled the room. “You did it,” Alicent said softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You brought him into this world.”

Rhaenyra smiled, brushing a tear from her cheek. “He’s a true Targaryen. Strong and beautiful, just like his parents.”

Jace leaned in, pressing another kiss to your temple, his own tears falling freely now. “I love you,” he whispered. “Both of you. You’ve made me the happiest man in the world.”

In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of your family, the pain and fear melted away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of peace and joy. Your son was here, healthy and safe, and your heart swelled with a love that you knew would only grow with each passing day.

As you cradled your newborn son in your arms, a wave of relief washed over you. His tiny cries filled the room, a sweet sound that marked the culmination of your pain and struggle. Jace was at your side, his eyes shining with pride and love as he gazed down at his son. Alicent and Rhaenyra stood nearby, their expressions softened with joy.

But then, without warning, a sharp, familiar pain gripped your abdomen once more. You gasped, clutching at your stomach as the pain intensified. The room shifted from serene to alarmed in an instant, the midwives and maester springing back into action.

“It’s happening again,” you managed to choke out, your voice trembling with fear and exhaustion. “What’s going on?”

The maester stepped forward, his expression calm but urgent. “You’re carrying twins, Your Grace. We must act quickly. The second child is on their way.”

Jace’s grip on your hand tightened, his face pale but resolute. “You’re strong,” he whispered, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of pain. “You can do this. I’m right here with you.”

Alicent knelt beside you, her hands trembling as she brushed the damp hair from your face. “You’ve already brought one beautiful child into this world. You can do it again. We’re all here with you.”

Rhaenyra leaned in, her voice soothing and filled with determination. “Focus on your breathing. We’ll get through this together."

Drawing on their words, you summoned what little strength you had left. The contractions came fast and hard, each one sapping your energy, but you refused to give up. The thought of your second child, waiting to take their first breath, fueled you to push through the pain

The room blurred around you as you bore down, your body trembling with the effort. Time seemed to stretch endlessly, each second a battle against the overwhelming exhaustion threatening to consume you. But with one final, agonizing push, the pressure released, and the room filled with the cries of your second child.

A sob of relief escaped your lips as the midwives carefully placed your newborn daughter into your arms. Her tiny face scrunched up as she wailed, her voice strong and fierce. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you looked down at her, her delicate features a mirror of her brother’s.

“It’s a girl,” the maester announced, a smile breaking through his composed demeanor. “Both children are healthy.”

Jace’s eyes welled with tears as he reached out to gently touch his daughter’s hand, her tiny fingers wrapping around his. “She’s perfect,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe. “Just like her brother. Just like you.”

Your heart swelled as you cradled both of your children, the weight of them grounding you in this moment of profound joy and love. Despite the pain, despite the fear, you had brought them both into the world, and they were safe in your arms.

Alicent pressed a kiss to your forehead, her tears mingling with yours. “You did it, my love. You brought two beautiful souls into this world.”

As Jace wrapped his arms around you, holding you and your children close, you felt a surge of love so powerful it took your breath away. This was your family, your heart. No matter what challenges lay ahead, you knew that together, you could face anything.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @zaldritzosrose @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @callsignwidow

[rennalaqotfm]

𖤓 DRAGONSPEAR | J.V (MASTERLIST)

Pairing: Prince Jacaerys Velaryon x Martell Princess! Reader

Synopsys: Upon discovering Aemond Targaryen's alliance with the Triarchy, the Blacks are pushed to the point of desperation. With the war looming over the horizon, they have no choice but to turn to an unlikely ally: House Martell.

Content Warning: Smut (MDNI 18+), incest, canon-typical violence, blood and injury, alcohol consumption, slow burn, enemies to lovers, (more specific tags and TW on each individual chapter).

Chapters:

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 (TBC)

A/N: If you wish to be added to the taglist, please fill out this form for easier management.

[lionneee]

Your sworn sword

English is not my first language, please be kind

Masterlist

Taglist

•Warnings: fingering, degradation (just a bit), 'just the tip', talking of sexual themes, piv, smut.•

Part 1 -> Part 2

{Request: I have a request! Aemond is send across the narrow sea to be the sworn sword/knight of a (verryy beautiful) princess from a noble house is esso’s. As punishment what he did to lucerys Thanks for reading dear 💙}

To say that Prince Aemond was grumpy was an euphemism.

He was rigid, stoic, and rude.

But your father loved him.

You couldn’t understand why, not after his most recent kill: his little nephew.

You remembered meeting Luke Velaryon once, he was a nice, gentle, kind boy.

His brother Jace was just the same.

Princess Rhaenyra had been invited as a guest at your father’s name day feast with her family, and you remembered spending a nice afternoon with her sons.

You actually kept contact with her youngest child, Jace. You two sometimes sent letters to each other, talking of your days apart.

You would have never said it outloud, but you had a weakness for the boy’s dark, beautiful hair.

But he was promised to her cousin Baela.

As soon as you heard the news, you thought he would have stopped sending you letters, but he didn't, and you almost cried of joy when the next letter came.

Then, your father sided with the greens.

He sided with rude, dangerous people, and named the worst of them as your sworn sword.

When he told you about his choice you begged him, you cried, you did everything you could to try to change his mind but it was all to no avail.

Now, all the other Ladies never sat with you, they were afraid to speak with you, all because of some dark, evil, scary person standing behind you, following every step you took.

It was so obvious how much he hated being a night, yet, he stood his role perfectly.

Aemond was always there, lurking like a shadow behind you, his presence cold and heavy, suffocating your every breath. He never spoke to you unless necessary, never showed any warmth or softness in his voice. There was nothing but formality and distance, a thick wall of indifference that made your skin crawl whenever he was near.

To be fair, the only thing you thought interesting of him was his dragon Vaghar.

Your days had become a game of silence, your once carefree nature now replaced with the constant awareness of his eyes on you. You missed the days when you could write to Jace without a worry, when his words brought you comfort and a glimpse of hope. Now, the letters felt like a secret rebellion, something dangerous, but you couldn’t give them up. They were the only link to a world that still held some warmth.

You still wrote to him, though your letters had become shorter, more cautious. You dared not mention Aemond, or your isolation. Instead, you spoke of mundane things, of books you were reading, of the changing seasons. Jace’s responses, too, had shifted, though he remained kind and attentive. There was always a note of tension, a hint of restraint. You knew he was aware of the shifting tides, of your father's allegiance to the Greens.

 You happily walked in your room, smiling as you held the newest letter on your hand from Jace.

Aemond was walking right behind you, but you couldn’t care.

Jace's letter had just come.

You chuckled to yourself as you closed the door of your room behind you, leaving Aemond outside, guarding your door. 

You jogged to your desk, sitting down on the chair and breaking the sigil, opening with trembling hands the letter.

There were only a few lines written.

You furrowed your brows, confused. He usually wrote at least one page.

Dearest friend,

I assume you have heard of my family’s recent loss, my sweet brother Luke, gone by the hand of my uncle Aemond. 

It saddens me to tell you this, but due to your father’s allegiance and your newest sworn sword, I believe it is time to end our communications.

Jace Velaryon

You felt a pain in your chest.

A deep pain.

You weren’t going to receive any more letters from him. 

I believe it is time to end our communications.

You stood up from your desk, leaving the letter to hit the floor as you ran to your bed, laying face down, your arms crossed under your face as you bursted into tears.

You didn’t eat lunch, you didn’t have dinner. You didn’t want to get up from your bed.

Your maids, even one of your closest friends tried to walk past Aemond to check on you, but he was impenetrable, he wouldn’t let anyone in, not if you didn’t want them to.

His behavior left you speechless.

You knew he was loyal, you knew he was one to do his duty, but the way he stood up for you, not letting anyone in just as you asked, left you almost flattered.

The hours dragged on as you laid in your bed, the room dark and suffocating. The weight of Jace's words still lingered, pressing down on your chest. It was as though the last thread connecting you to the warmth of your past had been severed. You felt utterly alone, the castle walls seeming colder, the silence more deafening.

But outside your door, Aemond remained, steadfast and unmoving. His presence felt different now, less like the shadow you despised and more like an unavoidable part of your life. He had become a constant, whether you liked it or not, and now, oddly, that constancy brought a shred of comfort in your moment of loss.

By the time the moon rose high in the sky, you hadn’t moved from your bed, save to cry quietly into your pillow. The pain of Jace's rejection, not just of you but of the friendship you had cherished, was overwhelming. You couldn’t bring yourself to think of anything else, let alone leave your room.

A soft knock echoed through the thick wooden door. At first, you ignored it, thinking it was another maid or friend trying to check on you, Aemond would have taken care of it in a moment. But after a moment, there was another knock, firm yet measured, followed by a voice, calm, collected, and unmistakably Aemond’s.

 "You haven't eaten." He said, his tone devoid of his usual coldness, though it was still restrained. You laid still, wondering if you could pretend you hadn’t heard him. But the silence lingered too long, and it was clear he wasn’t going to leave. He was your sworn sword, after all, bound to you, whether you liked it or not.

"I’m not hungry." You muttered into your pillow, your voice muffled and thick with the remnants of tears.

There was a pause, a moment of hesitation, which was unlike him. Then, Aemond spoke again, quieter this time. "It has been hours. You should take something, if only to keep your strength."

His words were filled with disinterest despite the meaning of them. He made impossible things possible.

"I don’t want anything." You repeated, more firmly this time. 

The door opened with a loud creek, and Aemond just walked inside. You scoffed, annoyed, but you felt too sad to think about him pissing you off.

“Leave me alone!” You groaned on the mattress, clenching your hands into fists. You could hear him moving in the room.

“That puppy of my nephew is what has reduced you in this state?” He asked, scoffing. You turned your head to look at him, and you saw him looking down at a letter in his hands.

Jace’s letter.

You bolted upright on the bed, fury boiling inside you at the sight of Aemond holding Jace’s letter. His tall, imposing figure seemed even more oppressive in the dim light of your room. His one good eye flicked over the page with a mixture of disdain and cold amusement, while the sapphire in his other socket glinted in the low light.

"Give that back!" you demanded, your voice cracking from the tears and frustration, but Aemond made no move to return the letter. He dropped the letter, letting out another scoff.

“You’re a fool.” He said, his rudeness making you red to your ear.

“How dare you talk to me like that?” You exclaimed, indignited.

“He’s a bastard. You’re sweet on a bastard, the son of my whore sister. That’s foolish.”

You felt your blood boil at his words, each syllable a sharp jab to your heart. “You don’t know anything about me! You think you can judge me just because you think you're so much better than everyone else!?”

He stepped closer, towering over you, his expression a mixture of contempt and something unreadable. “I am better than everyone else. I’m surely better than that boy who has no right on the throne he wants to claim so much.”

Your anger flared, but underneath it was a deep sorrow. “He’s more than just a name or a title! Jace has been kind to me, and you—” you pointed an accusing finger at him, “you are the one who brings darkness wherever you go.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, the air crackling with tension. “Kindness won’t save you, and neither will that bastard. This world isn’t built on sentiment. It’s built on strength and blood.”

“Strength?” you spat, incredulous. “Strength that comes from killing boys? That’s your idea of strength?”

He looked unfazed, his expression hardening. “Luke was weak. That’s why he’s dead.”

“You’re twisted.” You hissed. “It brings you pleasure, doesn’t it? Being feared, see people looking away from you –” He pushed you back before you could continue, as he started pulling off the upper structure of his armor.

You stumbled back as you looked up at him, confused and stunned, but he pushed you back again as he took off the lower part of his armor, making you fall back on your bed.

“You want to know what brings me pleasure?” He grabbed your ankle, dragging you down the bed until your butt was almost over it. He pushed the skirts of your dress up, exposing your legs.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You tried to close your legs, or pull down the skirts, but he raised your legs up, then he leaned down to grab both your thighs, spreading them apart, pressing his face against your underwear.

“This.” He mumbled against the thin clothing, his nose pressing against a funny spot against you, that made a strange sound come out of your mouth. “This brings me pleasure.” He growled as he pulled down your underwear along with the stockings. “Teaching stupid ladies their places.” He said as he dived his face back between your thighs, now his mouth pressing on that same spot, sucking and rubbing with his tongue, leaving you breathless for a moment, the pleasure was so high and so good you couldn’t speak.

You couldn’t see him, your skirts were covering the view, but you didn’t really care. Not when it felt this good. 

You didn’t think you'd ever felt this good. 

The one who was making you feel good, was a Targaryen Prince, a child murdered, the rider of the largest dragon in the world.

You could only squirm, your mind numbed by the pleasure, slowly overcoming all the alarms your brain was sending you, telling you to push the prince away, to not let him touch you in such an appropriate manner.

But then, all so suddenly it stopped, leaving you panting heavily. You saw Aemond raising his head from between your legs, coming into your field of vision.

His chin was wet, his only eye almost completely black as he looked down at you.

His hands moved on your skin, almost gently, caressing your skin as they moved up, your knees, your ankles. He wrapped his fingers around your ankles, securing your legs raised, your feet by each side of his head.

You should have stopped him.

This was improper, it was a sin. A sin you were committing with the worst man in the Seven Kingdoms.

You wanted to move, kick him back, telling him to stop touching you with his filthy, blood-stained hands, but under the dark gaze of his single eye you couldn’t move.

Aemond tightened the grip on your ankles, suddenly pulling you up so your hips lifted from the mattress. Startled, you let out a weak squeak, gripping the sheets tightly as your body moved forward, the back of your thighs landing harshly against him, your core rubbing against a protuberance on his pants, the impact sending another jolt of pleasure through your body.

“Yeah, you like it.” He hummed to himself as he dropped you back on the mattress. He leaned down, his body making space for himself between your legs as his face came to hover yours. “And you want to feel it more, don't you?” He smirked, looking down at you.

You could feel your face burning because of his words, more likely because of the truthfulness of them, because yes, you wanted to feel it again.

“No-” You mumbled as you looked up at him, directly in his eye, trying to sound firm, but he simply chuckled, grabbing your face with his hand, his fingers digging in the soft skin of your cheeks. “Such a liar. No wonder why my sweet bastard-nephew doesn’t want you.” 

That stang.

Your eyes immediately filled with tears and anger.

“How dare you?” You hissed as you tried to push him off of you, slapping his chest repeatedly, but he only smiled even more.

“There, there…” He hummed as his hand went back underneath your dress, finding you private again. No matter how much you fought, his body was keeping your legs apart, and he seemed impossible to move.

You only stopped when you felt a strange feeling, something filling you in a way you’ve never felt, that made you gasp out loud. You unconsciously let out a moan, your back arched instinctively, as your body almost contorted as he started moving his finger inside you.

“So easy to shut you up, mh?” He asked as he followed your face to be able to see every expression you made. “So easy to put into place.” He added then in a low voice.

You gritted your teeth together, trying to find in you the force to push him off, to not give him the satisfaction he was showing with that damn smile of his, but you couldn’t. The only sounds that came out of your mouth were whines or soft moans as his finger moved faster inside you, caressing everywhere inside you, and eliciting a pure bliss of pleasure.

“Jace is a fool for leaving you.” He said as he looked at you, your eyes half closed, your head leaned back, your lips apart. He didn’t even look like he realized he said that, it was like he was talking to himself and accidentally said it outloud. You turned your head to look at him, finding his eyes fixed on you, staring in appreciation. “You’re a rare beauty.” He said, his voice low and rough.

You blinked slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. A warmth spread across your chest, but you weren’t sure if it was the pleasure or the way his gaze lingered on you. 

No.

You thought to yourself.

Not him.

Please.

But the way he looked at you, like he was looking at the most beautiful thing in the world was doing something to you. It made your stomach clench, your head dizzier.

You’ve been told countless times by suitors that you were a sight to see, a beauty, but it did nothing if not make you blush or feel appreciated.

With Jace you felt your heart beat so loud you feared it could jump out of your chest.

You too were aware of your beauty, but you never thought of it as a rareness.

But now with Aemond Targaryen, the cold, mean, cruel man, who was doing unspeakable things to you, who looked at you like a Goddess, you truly felt like one.

Aemond’s gaze pierced through you, a silent intensity in his expression that made your breath catch in your throat. You wished you could deny the way his presence and actions were affecting you, wished you could ignore the way his words stirred something deep inside. But the truth was undeniable. 

As he slipped his second finger inside your thigh core, you felt it crushing on you. You didn’t know what, but for a moment, you forgot about everything, Jace, the war, Aemond’s sins, your worries, your anger and your sadness, it all vanished by the newfound feeling of ecstasy. You whined louder, making aemond clamp his other hand immediately over your mouth to muffle your sounds as he kept moving your fingers. You looked at him with wide eyes, you didn’t know what had just happened to you, but you wanted to keep feeling it, no matter what cost, you wanted to feel that good again.

He kept pumping his fingers inside you as you saw him starting to move, rub, against your thigh, some hardness pressing and caressing your skin. His brows arched slightly, his eye narrowing slightly as he pressed his hips harder against you, seeking more friction and pressure. 

You’ve never seen a man do a face close to that one.

You’ve never seen Aemond make a face like that, and it was beautiful, it was breathtaking, hypnotizing, you felt like watching him all day as he experienced his pleasure.

He didn’t miss the way you seemed affected, obviously. He looked down at you and found you staring at him, his eye darkened even more, his pupil dilating even more if possible as he clenched his jaw.

“You like this?” He looked down at you, moving his hand from your mouth to your neck, gripping it tightly, but not enough to actually cut your air off. You tilted your head back, wrapping your hands on his wrist and arm, gasping as he slipped his fingers out, passing them over your pearl just to see you squirm, his lips moving into a smirk. “No.” He said as he sat up in his haunches between your legs, forcing you to spread them to make room for his body as he started to undo his pants. “You love it.”

You tried to look down, trying to understand what he was doing but he squeezed your throat into a warning, keeping your head in place. “What are you trying to see, uh?” He growled as he pushed his pants down enough to let his cock spring free. “Such a curious menace, always getting into trouble.” He hissed as he leaned over her to look at you from above. “Always sneaking around, making my life harder.” He gritted his teeth. “Making me chase you.” He raised her skirts to your waist as he aligned his cock to your core, wet and warm, hot.

“No – “ You mumbled as you felt the tip pressing on your skin. “Y-you can’t- We’re not married-” You mumbled as you panted, shaking your head. Aemond smiled down at you, his thumb caressing the skin of her neck. 

“No one will notice.” He said firmly, pushing slightly, making his tip grace the inside your core, just slightly, enough to hear another moan from you. “Just…” He groaned as he repeated the movement, moving his hips forward as his face contorted in pleasure. “... the tip – Fuck –” He groaned as he started moving his hips, the tip of his cock was being sucked in every time by your cunt, as if it was trying to keep him inside. 

It didn’t feel bad.

She did feel like her cunt was being torn apart, but she found the pain mixed to the pleasure extremely pleasing.

It was good.

It was so good.

The pleasure was so overwhelming, so strong, so blissful.

“A-Aemond – “ You bit your lower lip as you arched your back, jerking your hips to find more pleasure as his tip kept slipping out and back in.

Aemond couldn’t tear his eyes off the sight, your core making a wet sound every time he slipped in, your walls forced open to make space for his thick cock, his red tip being welcomed in the warmness of your body, and then the sound of your weak wail every time he pulled back, only enough to be able to push back in.

“Yeah like that –” He growled as he tightened his hand around your neck, his eye still fixed on how your bodies connected, his thrusts regular, calculated and hard.

He was hanging by a thread, and he was showing a great amount of control, just by not slamming his whole long cock inside you, and making you scream in pain and pleasure.

“Grind yourself like a whore –” He snarled as he started rolling his hips faster, the wet sound growing louder along with his pace. “Fuck youre so tight – You’re squeezing me inside - ”

It didn’t bother you the way he called you, the way he spoke. If not, it only aroused you more.

You bit your lower lip harder, and no matter how low you tried to keep your noises, it became impossible as Aemond moved his free hand, using his fingers to circle your pearl, putting just the right amount of pressure. Your back arched violently as you threw your head back, your mouth open in an oval shape, grunts and moans coming out one after another as Aemond tightened his hand around your throat, starting to cut some of your air supplies, your eyes rolled in the back of your head.

It was all so much.

It was all so good.

“Come.” He growled as he finally looked up at you. “Come, before I lose it.” His eye fixed on yours. He looked feral. He looked like a chained animal, that once set free, would have hunted and killed everything in its path. “Come, before absolutely ruin you.” 

It wasn’t like you had any control over it, because when the pleasure reached you in such a hard, strong frisson, you could only surrender to it. Your eyes widened, your mouth opened, but Aemond tightened his hand on your throat even more, killing every sound you could have let out. Your eyes watered as your hips jerked, the pleasure washing over you in devastating waves.

He snarled, letting go of your throat, but you barely had the time to take a deep breathe because you felt a stinging pain, barely muffled by the aftershocks of you climax, as Aemond grabbed tightly your hips and harshly pulled to him, making you slip down on the bed and making his cock thrust completely inside you, as he moaned on top of you.

“So fucking tight.” His voice was strained, his breathing heavy, then, you felt a strange sensation of wetness inside you.

You whined as the bliss of pleasure slowly faded away, leaving you in an uncomfortable pain, so you pushed Aemond away, who retrieved with a groan, slipping out of you.

You slowly sat up, looking at him as your mind slowly registered the last moments. 

Aemond stood up from the bed, tucking himself inside his pants and starting to put his armor back on.

You didn’t say anything in the meanwhile, you just stared down at the bed covers, where you and Aemond were laying till a few seconds before, committing one of the worst sins ever.

A sin that felt so good.

You snapped out of your moment of trance only when you heard the door slam shut, and a strange smell of burned paper in the air. You moved to the end of the bed, on the floor, there was a piece of paper on fire.

Jace’s letter.

Part 2

Taglist: @ka1afbr @cynic-spirit @ladythornofrivia @zenka69 @queenofthekeep @adorewhatever @diannnnsss @kotadislikesthissite @iloveallmyboys @valyrianflower @dixie-elocin @gelacat0413 @quinquinquincy @mamawiggers1980 @darylandbethfanforever9 @rhaethoughts @believeinthefireflies95 @urfavnoirette @summerposie @sk1mah1 @queenofshinigamis @anukulee @chlmtfilms @m-riaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @malfoycassimalfoy

[tea-potato-gt]

A Borrower at the end of the world part 3

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Word count: 1200ish

***

Now…

Briar felt weightless as he was picked up by a human. 

Internally he groaned, why won’t these damned beans ever get it over with and kill just me already? Why drag this out? He tried to open his eyes, but everything was fuzzy and his ears were still rung. 

The hands were smaller and smoother than he would expect from the grown Beans he heard yelling earlier. He was being held more gently than he would have anticipated too. His head was being supported, his arms were gently nudged to stay at his sides, other than that he wasn’t being crowded or poked by fingers. 

A distant rumbling came from all around Briar. Clearly a Bean's voice based on the volume. But it was higher pitched than the deep rumble of full grown Beans. The voice shook as he was brought higher in the air, closer to the speaker’s face. His hearing was slowly coming back, though it was still garbled. If Briar knew better, he could have sworn the Bean was saying his name, softly begging and sniffling. 

“Please, Briar, wake up…” the voice said, “I can’t lose you too.”

Jace? Briar hoped beyond hope it was the boy. He was still too weak to fully see, but through his vision came a fuzzy outline of a redheaded young Bean. 

“Briar? C-can you hear me?” Jace brought the borrower closer to his face as he saw Briar attempt to open his eyes. He’s alive! 

Briar had just enough strength to whisper, “Lay…la?” His voice was hoarse and almost imperceptible. Jace had to bring the borrower close to his ear to even piece together what he was trying to say. 

Jace let out a breathy laugh in relief. Here this borrower was, laying in the boy’s hand, practically on death’s door thinking about Layla.

“You stubborn old man,” Jace muttered as he brought the borrower closer to his chest. “She’s fine. Those soldiers are protecting her outside. They even killed the creatures in the alley.”

“...Good…” Briar smiled. That seemed to take all his energy as he once again began to lose consciousness. 

“Boss?” Jace watched as the borrower’s breath even out. At least he’s alive.

Suddenly, gruff human hands grabbed Jace by the shoulders and pulled him up, “Get moving kid! We need to leave now!”

Thankfully, Jace had enough sense to hide the passed out borrower by sliding him into his shirt pocket. 

As the man pushed Jace outside the store, he saw Layla crying, surrounded by soldiers with guns. When she spotted her brother she immediately ran to him and wrapped her arms around his waist.   

“Did you find–” Layla was cut off by Jace’s finger over her mouth. He nodded and gestured with his eyes to the pocket where the borrower lay unconscious. Layla let out a sign of relief. 

Jace and Layla were able to convince the soldiers to let him go back inside the store because he said he forgot something important, it did help that Layla began to scream and cry with those loud lungs of her’s until they let him go inside. It seemed the soldiers were mostly concerned with all the comotion the kids made, that they gave Jace two minutes to get whatever it was he needed to get. 

The siblings remained silent about what he went back for. They understood that Briar could never be seen by Beans, he had told that to them from the first time they met him. There was a silent agreement between the brother and sister, they would keep their Borrower a secret and protect him as he had helped them so many times over the years.  

This was the first time either Jace or Layla had seen another human in three years. They honestly thought they might be the last of the human race.

It was all a crazy coincidence that Layla spotted the soldiers as the siblings made it to the roof she cried out for their help. The siblings climbed down from the roof using a ladder and told the men one of the monsters was inside and more were in the alley.

The men were actually hunting this pack of creatures that surrounded the store for a few days. They slowly killed the monsters one by one. It just happened they tracked them to the store the trio lived in. 

Now that the monsters were dead and the kids had their borrower, the three needed to get out of there.

Jace pulled his sister close, “Alright, thanks for the help, misters,” he began to walk in the opposite direction of the soldiers, taking Layla with him. “But we really should go now.”

Little did they realize, but they walked directly into another soldier. This guy was huge, with a nasty scar accross his cheek. He spoke in a impatient voice, “you two are coming with us.”

Jace jumped away from the man and looked around to find another way out.

The soldier continued, “Our General says that any humans we find out here have to be brought back to him immediately.”

“Well, Bria— Our parents always told us not to talk to Bea— STRANGERS and definitely not to follow them!” Jace tried, but he stumbled over his words. He didn’t like this at all.

The cock of a gun made both kids freeze. One of the other soldiers pointed a rifle at Jace and said coldly, “We must incist.”

The impatient soldier spoke again, “If you refuse to comply, we have orders to shoot you in the foot and drag you back with us.”

One soldier pointed his gun at the boy’s shoe. Layla wimpered and hid her face in her brother’s side. Jace almost pissed himself.

“Alright! Okay, we’re coming!” Jace laughed trying to ease the tension of the soldiers. There was no humor in his voice, “Lays, looks like we’re going on a little road trip.”

With the boss out of commission, it was up to Jace to make the tough calls to keep the three of them safe. (Even if he was forced to make this decision.) The most important thing right now is to stay together and stay alive, and everything will turn out okay in the end.

Right?

***

Three years ago…

The distinct sound of a rolling tin caught Jace’s attention. He looked towards the shadows to see a can spinning to a stop on the ground.

Looks like corn again today. Jace thought with a sigh.

After some silence, the voice spoke, “Why didn’t you start a fire last night, boy?”

Jace didn’t respond. 

The voice pressed further, "Did you not find another tree like I said?”

“I did,” he nodded his head towards the new pile of wood near the door. 

“Then why did I not see a fire?”

“Because I couldn’t start it!” Jace snapped, throwing his hands up in the air exasperated. He didn’t care for this game of 20 questions or being talked down to, especially not from some coward who wouldn’t even show himself.  

“Wait here.” That all the voice said before it stopped talking. Jace assumed it left.

About two hours later, Jace saw something slide out from the darker corner of the room. It was a small box and a rolling ball of something. 

Jace looked towards the darkness, “Where did you go?”

“To bring you a gift.” The voice said, out of breath, having apparently ran to wherever it went to. 

Jace stood up and picked up the objects, he realized it was a box of matches, though there were only three matches inside. In his other hand, Jace had a ball of lint. What the hell am I supposed to do with this?

“It’s a good fire starter, the lint is.” The voice answered the question in the boy’s mind. 

“Oh,” was all Jace could think to say. 

“If that is all, I’ll be on my way.”

“Wait. Where are you getting all this food?” Jace gestured to all the empty cans of food slowly stacking up in the corner of the room. 

“In a shed near here.” 

“Can you take me?”

“I don’t think that is a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I can never let you see me.” The voice said matter of factly.

The boy groaned in annoyance, “Then tell me where the shed is.”

“Even if I told you it wouldn’t do you any good. The shed is locked from the inside because there is a dead Bean inside.”

“What?!”

“There are hundreds of hoarded cans of food in that room.” The voice said. “Even though that man was surrounded by food. He refused to eat any of it, and thus he starved himself to death. Just wastful, keeping everything thing to yourself. If that isn’t the perfect display of Bean greed, I don’t know what is.”

Briar thought he would be used to dead bodies by now. He was well acquainted with death.  But the sight of this dead Bean was beyond disturbing. Seeing a creature that looked like him being slowly eaten away by insects into nothing was disgusting. Briar imagined it would be much more distressing for a Bean child to see his fellow creature in such a state. He wanted to spare the boy that sight. 

“What’s a ‘bean’?” Layla asked as she walked into the room from the bathroom, thankfully only hearing the tail end of what Briar had said. 

“It’s what I call your kind.”

“So you’re saying you’re not human?” Jace asked.

“No.” Briar admitted, “But I am a person.” 

***

Thanks for reading! See you next time 🫡 (Mondays and Fridays update)

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[carnivorousyandeere]

the student council x slasher darling idea is just.... 👌👌👌 chefs kiss

Glad y’all like the idea so much!!

Kendra: prefers a baseball bat herself, but thinks you’re super fucking sexy no matter what weapons you lean towards… she just wants to kill with you forever and ever till death do you part~

Emerson: they could never do what you do. Emerson tears up a little at the thought of killing spiders in their room, much less killing people. And yet… when you do it, they can’t help but feel a sense of fascination that overrides their horror at the scenes you create. You’re so visceral, so raw, so real when you kill. Emerson wonders if you’d end up killing them someday— and they can’t ignore the way their heart shudders and beats a little harder at the thought of you ripping it right from their chest, holding it in those hands of yours…

Jace: reserved but volatile, Jace has come close to killing before. But he’s always been able to pull himself back from the edge until now— until you showed him the light. The light leaving your victims’ eyes, anyway. He can’t hold back now that he knows that you don’t, can’t live dishonestly anymore… if you’re going to kill, then so will he. And each creative death will be a monument to his love for you.

Rayleigh: always tried so hard to be good, to suppress her evil thoughts. She was always a little too fascinated by blood and death, the thought of taking somebody apart piece by piece until there’s nothing to put back together. It frightened her, kept her to herself. If you thought her overbearing sisters or awkwardness were the only reasons she has so few friends, well… that’s what she’d hope you’d assume. It’s not until she meets you that everything changes… and before she even realizes you’re like her, she begins to kill for you. But once she realizes you’re a killer too, her m.o. changes to mimic yours… imitation is the highest form of flattery, right?

Hailey: she could probably be The World’s Shittiest Final Girl. She could also snap and kill everyone you’ve ever known and loved. Depends on the day, on her mood, but she loves the adrenaline rush of fighting you, running from you… knowing that you might kill however many people, but the one that got away will always be her. She’ll always be in your mind, taunting you— until you finally get her. Or she gets you… tied up in her basement.

Kaylee: has the potential to become a killer herself, though “slasher” probably wouldn’t be the right classification… probably adores fucked up morality plays like SAW, and plans everything carefully in advance. Well, almost anything— Kaylee does like a good element of uncertainty and surprise now and again. And they love that about you.

[myladysapphire]

You belong with me

you and jace were childhood friends, you never left eachothers side growing up, but that all changed once you both went off to university.

CW: MDI, 18+, smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, angst, jealousy, unrequited love (kinda), love confessions, not proofread!

word count: 5,896

modern Jace x fem!reader

Masterlist

a/n based of taylor swifts you belong with me, lyrics and music video.i also have very little knowledge of american uni or football, but i tried my best though!

You and Jace had grown up, side by side. Your mothers had been the best of friends, and so naturally you both were also. For your entire lives you knew everything about each other, your traits your habits, you knew each other better than you knew yourselves. You made every decision together, especially the decision to go to Dragonstone university together.

And that decision changed everything.

It wasn’t a surprise that Jace became so popular, he always had been. Always so able to draw a crowd and make friends in any situation.

And you, you had always been one to take a backseat. Happy in the friends you had, and never one to put yourself out there as he did.

And sadly, that seemed to be your first mistake.

He had joined the football team, finding new friends and a new crowd quickly.

You stuck to your old friends. Making small efforts to know the endless crowds of people at university.

And so, he and you started to spend less time together, and more and more time apart.

And then he got a girlfriend.

Sara Snow.

The cheer captain.

And the sister of his new best friend, Cregan Stark.

And suddenly you weren’t apart of his life anymore. You had found out he had a girlfriend from sitting on the bleachers at one of his games and seeing her run towards him and shove her tongue down his throat.

As time went on, your texts to one another became less and less, your replies delayed, and sporadic, and his ever more so.

Your study sessions stop, nights in together became nights in apart.

It hurt, you had loved him for so long, as a friend and a lover. Not that he knew. All you could do no was stare in envy as you lost your best friend and never even got a chance to say goodbye.

That year was a strange one, you now watched each other from the outskirts, you didn’t know each other every thought or where they were at all times.

Ther person you looked to in every room, no longer there, no longer was he the person you would text at every opportunity, or share looks as you reacted to what other people were saying.

Now you only knew each other in passing, a few texts here and there, mostly about your course, or if you were going home for summer or the weekend.

And when you both were home, it was so different. Once you would spend all day together, planning your days with each other. And now, you may sit in the same room, but little more than small smiles and small talk was shared between you.

And the few times you did feel you could talk to him; he would be, interrupted by his new friends coming to whisk him away.

The last three years you started to get used to not having Jace as a constant presence, instead you found great comfort in your other friends, you had always been close to them, and apart of you was grateful as you began to realise the love of female friendships, rather than just the love of Jacearys Strong.

It was Friday, the week before the big football game. The game everyone talked nonstop about, even Jace, as he had messaged you asking if you were coming to the game.

You had yet to respond.

Once you were his biggest cheerleader, sitting on the bleachers shouting his name. Now you no longer cheered his name, though you always sent him a kind smile when he did look for you in the crowd.

But unlike before you no longer went to every game, and as time went on you went to less and less.

 “Are you going to the game on Friday?” Maris asked. You were all sat in a private study room, preparing for your midterms.

You shrugged “maybe, I’m not sure yet”

“of course, we all are! It’s the big game, everyone’s talked about it nonstop!” Baela said beside you, “and I also don’t want to miss watching Cregan stark all hot and sweaty, now would I?” she said with a laugh, she and him had been casually hooking up for a past year, and with the way he looked at her she was sure they were soon to become more.

You laughed, “perhaps for you maybe, not that I have anyone worth ogling over”.

“Sure, you don’t” Heleana giggled from the other side of the table “poor Jacey would miss you terribly if you don’t go”.

“Oh please, he wouldn’t care if I was there or not” you rolled your eyes.

“Oh? Aside from his on again off again weird little thing with Sara Snow, Jace is, besotted with you!” Maris interjected.

“she’s not wrong” Rhaena spoke,

“Really?” you shook your head, “perhaps once, but he rarely speaks more than a few words to me anymore”.

“Perhaps that’s because he realised how hot you are” Baela said, sending you a wink.

“Oh gods, do you remember the look on his face when you slept with Justin Lannister in our first year” Maris laughed, “he looked like a kicked puppy!”

“Especially when he saw the hickey he had left” Heleana added.

You shook your head “I think he was more disgusted with the fact I slept with Justin than anything else”.

“hmm” Rhaena hummed, “and when you and Aemond dated in high school, what about then?”

“Oh gods, don’t bring that up” Heleana grumbled, “it still brings me nightmares, from when I walked in- “she fakes gagged at the memory.

“Okay stop it, I think you’ve all proved your point!” you sighed, “maybe once he had a crush on me, but not anymore!”

They all shared a look.

“And what about your crush on him?”

“What crush?” you said defensively.

They all laughed.

You stood up dramatic, gathering your books, “if I go to the game will you all shut up?”

“We make no promises!” Maris said, laughing once more.

“Ughh, I don’t know why I put up with you lot” you grumbled, as you went to leave.

“Because you love us” Heleana, answered.

“And Jacey too” Baela added.

you rolled your eyes as you left, heading home for the weekend.

You returned home often, your mother was all alone with out you there, though you did often find Rhaenyra, Jace’s mother, in her company. You loved seeing them both, finding Rhaenrya presence to be as much as a comfort as your own mothers.

Its one of the reasons your friendship with Jace fading into what it was now, hurt so much.

Before you had practically lived at Jace’s house growing up and now you rarely went over there, despite living next door, your bedroom windows facing one another. It hurt, seeing the life you knew suddenly disappear. To spend the summers in your own home, having your friends come to yours rather than to his, especially when you could see him on his bed, and you on yours.

He had changed, though not so much that he seemed a stranger to you, though his company was certainly strange. He knows hung out around Aegon a lot more, though he had once avoided him as often as he could. You were glad he had yet to adopt Aegon’s personality, the self-entitlement mixed with the self-loathing. Jace remained kind, his gaze often on yours whenever you were in the same room together. Something you had heard Aegon mock on several occasions.

As you walked into your house, the taste of cinnamon and sound of laughter flooded your senses. It was no surprise to see your mother in the kitchen, and even less of a surprise to see Rhaenyra with her, a smile graced your face as you approached the pair.

“mama” you greeted, “Nyra”.

“Oh darling, I didn’t know you were coming home!” your mother greeted, pulling you into a hug.

“I came home to study, I couldn’t focus with all the football stuff going on” you sighed, dumping your bag on the kitchen table.

Rhaenyra laughed, “yes Jace has talked nonstop about the football” she then looked at you with a sad look, “are you planning to go?”

“I’m not sure yet” you replied, stealing one of your mother’s cinnamon rolls from the counter.

“I’m sure Jace wants you there, he misses your rituals you know” Nyra spoke, coming to sit down at the table you now sat at.

“He does?” you did too, he was the reason you got into football in the first place and watching him without your rituals or watching games without Jace’s constant commentary.

“I know he does” she smiled, reaching for your hand, as your mother moved towards to the table.

“Believe it or not, darling, he talks about you often” she gave you a teasing look.

You shook your head, “if only he talked to me and not about me more” moving to stand up and head for your room.

“He said he was coming back this week, perhaps he will” Nyra called out as you started to walk up the stairs.

As you lay on your bed, your eyes moving to investigate Jace’s room. You laid there for a while, hoping they would open.

And they did. He had clearly just returned home just like yourself, his face tired, as he moved to sit on his bed, his face downcast, no smile in sight.         

You moved to sit up, and as you did, he saw you, a small smile gracing his face.

He sent you a small shy wave, and for a moment you felt as if you and he were back to normal.

But then his smile disappeared as his phone rang.

She tried to not watch as he argued with someone, his girlfriend you assumed. They always argued, she was always upset about something he had said, she never got his humour, not like you once did.

You couldn’t think of anything they truly had in common, then again you didn’t know either of them, not anymore.

On paper It made sense them being together, she was cheer captain and he on the football team, whilst you, you were on the bleachers, watching the game and waiting for his victory, whilst she would cheer him on, in his direct view. Ever the supporting act, and you the extra.

Before Uni, you and been his biggest and though you still supported him, it hurt a little seeing her cheer his name, especially since you never knew if they were off or on again until her, she shoved her tongue down his throat.

You and he used to have a ritual before each game. the day before you would always bunk of school, and he would always somehow convince you to join him on his run, you would run side by side, your phones listening to same playlist. (You and he had always had the exact same music taste, music she didn’t like, if the  though few parties hosted by his frat and her sorority were anything to go off of)Then you would spend the night staying up and watching the same three movies, before falling into a sugar induced coma only to be woken up by Nyra and Luke aggressively shilling you both awake screaming that your going to be late, and when you did finally wake up Jace would always force you both to take an ice bath, claiming it to be a good way to wake you up. You never believed him, and it would take him pulling you into the water with him for you to join him.

You would be there for every game and event, cheering from the bleachers.

And now as you watched him arguing with his girlfriend, you wished you knew what they were saying, there issues. A part of you regretted not trying harder to stay friends with him, even though it was him who moved away from you, not you away from him.

You reached down under your bed, trying to find the old sketchbook you used to use to talk to Jace before you both had phones.

You didn’t have his number anymore, having deleted it off your phone, though you remembered it off by heart, a part, something you could never bring yourself to forget it.

You didn’t want to text him, it didn’t feel right, you are reaching out first almost didn’t feel right either but eh looked hurt and you deep down still cared.

Finding a pen you quickly wrote, “you, okay?” Finding a pen you quickly wrote, “are you okay?”

He had sat down on his bed, head in his hands before looking up to see you turn the paper around.

A smile graced his face as he shrugged and reached for his own sketchbook and pen.

“Tired of drama” he wrote.

You laughed a little at his message, writing “sorry” with a sad face beside it, shrugging as you turned the paper around

And he shook his head, moving to stand up as you went to write something else, only for him to shut his curtain before he could see what you wrote. 

You shrugged of his easy dismissal, and how so few words were exchanged before he decided to end the conversation.

You had finished you studying, content and ready for your exams, so blasting your music on full volume you started to dance around your room.

Unbeknownst to you, he watched you dance, a smile pulling at his face as he realised you were the same as always. You danced like no one was watching singing along to the songs as you did. And he smiled, laughing at your antics as he remembered how you used to pull him up and dance with you.

He regretted how he ended his friendship with abandoning you, he wasn’t even sure why he did it. He knew he hurt you. He feltBu, for his own selfish somehow, he had made gain. He had made new friends; he, he was popular and on the uni football team. He liked the spotlight always had and was half to have all these new friends. He had made a great bond with but in doing so he lost his truest friend and the woman he loved.

He had decided to talk to you, to apologise and make up for what he did. So, as he saw you at outside the bench outside both your houses he came over and sat beside you. So, as he saw yous at outside the bench outside both your houses he came over and say beside you.

“hey” you heard a voice say beside you, as you turned your head to see Jace sit beside you.

“hey” you said back, as your hair falling in front of your face. He reached his hand forward, to brush the hair out of your eyes, and tucking it behind your ear.

 “How have you been?” he asked, his hand lingering slightly. You stared at him fro a moment, he still dressed the same, with the same worn-out jeans, the same smile, but with better hair.

You supposed you looked entirely different, though at the same time you hadn’t changed either. Your curled hair was no longer a frizzy messed, but well maintained. You didn’t wear your glasses much anymore, now favouring contacts. He seemed to smile as he took you in, staring at your eyes.

“I’m good, you?”

“Good, excited for the game…” he kept talking and it felt like old times again, you thought, it was so easy, to return to how it once was, chatting about nothing in particular.

He smiled as he spoke to you, happily chatting away. His smile was the same as always, a smile you sworn could light up a town.

“I haven’t seen you in a while” you said after a pause.

“yeah” he said awkwardly, scratching his head “I’m sorry about that, I never meant to- “a car pulled up, with Sara Snow in it.

He got up suddenly, mumbling goodbye as he did. His smile had faded, and turned into a forced smile, the kind of smile you gave to a stranger you passed in the hallway, as he got into her car. She instantly pulled him in for a kiss, her eyes staring you down as she did.

You had never actually talked to her before, never known anyone who had, but you did know Cregan, though not well, and he rarely said anything nice about his sister.

They drove away after that, Jace looking at you over his shoulder as they did.

The rest of the day you kept too yourself, focusing on studying. Jace had yet to return home, the light off in his room. Not that you were checking.

He had sent you a text, “sorry”, nothing more. You hadn’t replied, you didn’t even know what to say.

From the corner of your eye, you saw the light in his room turn on.

He walked in with a downtrodden look. He had spent the whole day with her and felt only regret on not spending it with you.

He and sara were on and off again, never anything serious, no feelings past lust. Especially after how she talked about you today. He ended it officially, and he couldn’t be happier. Especially when he saw yous at at your bed.

He reached under his bed for his sketchbook, reminiscing on how even as children you couldn’t spend an hour with out talking to one another.

It had all changed after uni, and he regretted not dragging you with him as he changed.

“hey” he wrote holding it up hoping you would look, and as luck would have it you did.

You seemed unsure as you yourself grabbed your own sketchbook, writing the words.

“what’s up?”

“I wanted to see if you were okay”.

You furrowed your brows “yeah?”

He sent you a small smile, before grabbing his phone and calling you.

“Hey?” you answered, your tone nervous.

“Hey!” he said trying to lighten your mood a little, “i’m sorry about earlier it won’t happen again”.

Yous kissed your teeth nodding your head, “right” his actions early hadn’t supposed you, they only made you realise that you and he won’t ever return to how you were before. Choosing each other first always, and never up and leaving each other mid conversation.

“I…. i broke up with her, officially”.

You hummed, he nervously coughed.

“I I know I hurt you when I started dating her, and i…I am so sorry, I just got so caught up in the idea of it all, these…these past few years have been a torment to me, watching as you seemed perfectly okay with us not…not being us anymore and I didn’t know how to…how to talk to you or-“

“i wasn’t perfectly okay with it” you interrupted him “at not point was I okay with loosing my best friend” you shook your head, glaring at him through the window “I tried to talk to you  and you shook me off, you chose her over an 18  year long friendship, how would I be okay with It!”

“I didn’t!” he said quickly, his face panicked, “I-I I messaged you I swear I did I sent you so many messages and you never replied”.

“No, you didn’t, I get the odd one but the second is as her shove her tongue down your throat I haven’t received these “many messages” you claim to have sent”.

“what?” he looked shocked through the window, “I told you about her, how I got drunk and slept with her at a party and how she wouldn’t take no as an answer, you never replied, I sent you countless texts about going to study together or hanging out and you never showed up!”

“What! You never showed up when I asked you!” you were near shouting now.

“You never asked me- “

“Neither did you!”

You heard your mum call you are asking if you were okay. You went silent, “we can’t do this over the phone”.

“Meet me at the backdoor” you looked at him nodding your head.

“hey” you said as Jace opened his back door, pulling it closed behind him.

“hey” he said moving towards you, “look, clearly there was some reason we never got these texts”.

You looked at him in disbelief, shaking your head, “gods Jace I didn’t realise you were so blind!” you laughed, “look I don’t know her or anything about her but, are you sure Sara never used your phone and maybe deleted the messages?”

“Umm…no?” he said unsure, “why would she do that”.

“Oh, please Jace, you and I have known each other our whole lives, and when we first started uni, we were acting like a married couple, she probably wanted me out the way so she could date you”.

“But we weren’t…we’ve never- “he stuttered awkwardly.

“Have you never once thought of me-?”

He cut you off, “no!” he said it too fast, so fast that you were unsure if he meant it.

“Really? Because I have, I did” you replied, sending him a shy look. You had hopped he had to and that you are saying this would make him say it in return.

He looked at you shocked, not expecting your admission, then his face turned guilty.  “I know” he said looking down, “but at the time I- I saw you nothing more than a…a friend and so I…I dated Sara to push you away in hope you would stop seeing me as more than a friend.” He scratched his head awkwardly, looking down his eyes filled with guilt.

 “oh” that’s all you could say. It was the first time you had ever admitted you had actually liked him, and to be rejected so clearly. To know the reason why he was with Sara, the reason he was with her in the first place was to get rid of you, it hurt more than three years of only passing words and fading friendship.

“I. I’m sorry I… I broke up with her though”.

You laughed a humourless laugh, almost in disbelief “I well that makes what you said better” you scoffed, truing around to leave.

He grabbed your arm, “No…I” he whispered your name, “I… I do like you like that… I’m just before her id dint realise my feelings for you and I do know…”

You scoffed, “right… so it took fucking another woman and ignoring me for three years, to save me from my feeling, made you realise you liked me to?”

“Yes.” He nodded.

You laughed, a short scoff of a laugh, “by the gods Jace you’re an idiot” this time when he grabbed your arm as you went to leave you only shook him off, storming up to your room and leaving the curtains shut for the rest of the weekend.

That week you swear you saw Jace everywhere. He seemed to follow you almost.

Though you were both doing the same course, meaning 90% of your lectures were together.

“Why is Jace following you?” Maris asked as you both walked out of your seminar.

“Oh gods, I haven’t told you, have I?”

She laughed, intrigued, “no, what happened”.

You looked down laughing as you tried to tell her, “Well Jace and I finally talked and he… admitted he liked me?”

“What!”

“that’s not it… but he also told me that he knew I liked him and that was the reason he started dating Sara… so I would stop liking him”.

“What the hells?” Baela said as she caught up to the pair of you, “did I just hear that right”.

“don’t even get me started! But I basically told him he was an idiot; I mean who hurts someone like that!”

“Idiots!” Maris and Baela said simultaneously.

And as they did you saw Jace appear from around the corner, two coffees in hand. He had a hopeful look in his eyes as he walked towards you.

“Speak of the devil” you mumbled, as you turned to your friends, “I’ll be back in a minute” you said as you walked towards him.

“Jace” you greeted. “What do you want now?”

“To apologise” he said handing you a coffee, “I really am sorry, I never should have done what I did, and I should have told you, and not kept it from you.” He looked at you, his face kin to puppy scrounging for food.

“Then why did you?” You said as you ushered him to an empty room.

“I was scared. “He admitted, smiling shyly, “all my life I had loved you and everyone told me you did too, and then. then you and Aemond started dating and I thought they all were lying to me and how could you ever love me and when you could be with him”

In truth it took you until after your relationship with Aemond to realise your feelings for Jace, in fact it was Aemond who broke up with you because he saw said feelings first.

He continued. “And then you broke up and everyone was telling me to take a chance, and then uni started, and I got scared and realised that you did I fact like me too. But for some reason I was convinced that being in a relationship in uni would only tear us apart. So… so I decided to take a step back and stop whatever romantic feelings we had- “

“That wasn’t your choice to make Jace, maybe for yourself but my own feelings? You had no right!”

“I know… I know. I was- I am an idiot and…I’m sorry, truly.”

You sighed, you could see he was really sorry, and yet an apart of you didn’t want to forgive him. But another part of you wanted to jump into his arms and forgive him.

“I want us to be friends.” He said, with a hopeful gaze. And your heart broke all other again.

“no” you stepped back, “you know of my feelings, and… I-I can’t be your friend, I can’t ignore those feelings, I won’t, I can’t” tears welled in your eyes at the look on his face.

“I don’t know if I can give you what you want.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have loved you my whole life, and I have already screwed that up, I can’t risk whatever we have now for a relationship.” “we have nothing, we are not friends, not lovers, nothing. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain”.

“No, I have everything to lose, I have already lost your friendship, I can’t risk breaking your heart and loosing you forever!”

“So, because you’re afraid of the possibility of us breaking up you won’t try?” you shook your head, “I can’t believe you! I don’t understand what you want! And you clearly don’t see what I want either!” you went to leave, “I can’t anymore Jace, I just want, I can’t look at you without my heartbreaking. You broke my heart and our friendship once before because you feared losing me forever, well know I think you might have lost me anyway.”

You left without another word or a single glance.

The week passed slowly, your friends were a great comfort and your exams seemed to breeze past you, but the nagging in your back of your mind was constant.

The regret and want. The want to see Jace, to take back what you said and make him realise what an idiot he was. And the regret from not grabbing his face and kissing him.

You and he had been each other’s first kiss, using the excuse of ‘practice’ to cover up you real feelings. It had been awkward, with nose and teeth clashing, and then before you knew it the kisses became perfect, casual even. You had both been sure it was the start of something. And then you ruined it by saying yes when Aemond asked you on a date. You never regretted dating him, he was your first love, your first everything. But not your first kiss. He made you realise what love was and that it was what you had with Jace all along.

Then University started, you lived in the same halls, saw each other every moment of everyday, cooking together, studying together. And then the casual kissing came back. Sweet kisses goodbye or good morning. And then one day you had lingered, and he had pushed back. Your daily routine faded, and then it all happened. The football team and Sara Snow.

It would of been better had he just stopped kissing you, stopped initiating the kisses. Instead, he left you, and now you had done the same to him.

And yet here you stood, getting ready for the big football game, with all your friends.

You wore a jersey, his. The day he got on the team he had gotten you both a jersey. It had sat unworn in a box under your bed since then. It fit perfectly, his name written in bold on the back, alongside his lucky number. The number you had picked, the number that was conveniently todays date.

You stared into the mirror taking a deep breath as your friends all readied themselves. You weren’t sure exactly what you planned to do, but either way Jace would regret ever saying no to dating you.

Everyone was at the game, including the entirety of Jace’s family, you found yourself sat next to Rhaenrya and Luke. You sat right at the front, practically, on the field, meaning Jace could see you, and more importantly you in his jersey. They had all taken notice of your jersey, with Harwin sending you a teasing look.

It was loud and chaotic, the entirety of the university at the event and for good cause as Jace’s team had won.

You hadn’t really paid any attention, your eyes solely focused of Jace.  

He made eye contact with you, solely you and came rushing forward. You stood up moving yourself and before you knew it, he had sweeped you up into is arms. Spinning you around, he whispered like a chant “I’m so sorry, I regret everything I never should have- “

You shut him up, taking his mouth with yours in a slow passionate kiss. Moaning into each other’s mouths, you realised you both had got on lost in the crowd, as everyone had run into the field. Leaving you to find a moment alone, to finally reconnect and admit your feelings.

“Come with me” he said grabbing your hand, leading you away from the crowd and field.

“I’ve never taken anyone here before” he said once you finally reached your destination, it was a sweet little outlook with a view of the island. “The day I found it I wanted to save it, for you”.

You looked at each other, hands entwined.

“I love you” you both said in unison, bringing a smile to each of your faces.  

“I am so sorry about everything, I don’t know why I said what I did, why I asked to be friends and nothing more. I’m a fool”

“You’re my fool” you laughed, “in fact were both fools, I don’t know why we kept this from each other for 21 years. “You laughed, before reaching forward and kissing him again.

It was so different from your years of practice kisses. They were deliberate and sweet. This was hot, passionate and desperate.

“Gods, I need you” he moaned into your mouth, as he backed you up onto a tree, his hands descending to your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your bodies stating to slowly grind against one another as your tongues battled for dominance, his eventually winning, as he took you in for one last heated kiss before his lips began deciding down your neck.

“Please.” You begged, as you reached down to pull of his jersey, you wore nothing underneath, your bare breasts on show.

He moaned at the sight of them, before taking your nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking as he did. Low moans spilling out of you as he did.  You gripped his hair as he continued his ministrations, before pulling him of your breast and reaching up to undress him. Soon you were both bare, if anyone was to walk by, they would easily you, but neither of you seemed to care as Jace moved to kiss you again his hand reaching down to caress your wet cunt, shuddering as he penetrated your hole.

As he continued to pump his fingers in and out of you, your moans swallowed by his mouth as you felt yourself tighten around his fingers your peak edging closer and closer, before he withdrew his fingers causing a moan of protest as his fingers left you.

“Keep going” you pleaded, but he simply shook his head, before going on his knees, your leg moving o his shoulder as he licked your cunt. He lapped you up like he was dying, and you were his final meal. Licking up all your juices before finally reaching your clit, his fingers hand made there way back to your cunt, as you felt his finger penetrate you once more as he sucked your clit into his mouth.

You moaned loudly as he did so, making no effort to hide your pleasure, as you gripped his hair and started to ride his face until you finally came.

he stood up slowly, before once again pulling you into heated kiss.

“You taste divine” he moaned into your mouth, before groaning as you reached for his cock. “jump” he groaned, and as you allowing him to thrust, into you in one slick movement as you wrapped your legs around his waist, causing you both to moan simultaneously, as your walls wrapped around his length tightly, he didn’t move for a moment, allowing you both to adjust before he started to pump his hips slowly into you, building up a rhyme.

“Gods you moaned,” gripping onto him tightly, as he started to pound into you, you both moaning as his pace picked up.

His face was buried in your neck, leaving kisses you where sure would leave a mark.

He continued to thrust his hips, pounding into you as your peaks grew closer and closer, his cock throbbing inside you as your cunt tightened around his length.

“I’m going to cum” he whined. “Fuck, where?” he asked, reaching down to rub your clit, prompting you closer and closer to Cumming with him.

“Inside…I’m on the pill” you said between moans and before you knew it you felt the warmness of him spreads inside you as you came yourself, gripping tightly on his arms as you did.

You took a moment, leaning against, him and him you.

“Why did we wait so long to do this again?” he asked catching his breath.

“Because you’re an idiot”.

He laughed, “and I will spend every day making it up to you I swear” he kissed you softly, as if sealing his promise in a kiss, a promise you knew he would keep “I should have known, you belong with me”.

taglist

@apollonshootafar @flrboyd @theanxietyqueen17 @dark-night-sky-99 @zillahvathek @leavesmealobe @winter-soldier-101 @bunbunbl0gs @ka1afbr @tesha-i-guess @aemondwhoresworld @RAYNETARGARYEN2 @cloboboo @now-i-have-a-new-obsession

to be added to taglist

[queers-gambit]

The Black Dread part one

prompt: after word is sent for Dragonseeds to raise up, you shockingly claim The Black Dread. knowing your stance would all but determine the war, both Alicent and Rhaenyra send emissaries to persuade your allegiance through means of marriage. when tragedy strikes, you fly to war. -> in this part - you claim Balerion and emissaries are sent.

pairing: Jacaerys 'Jace' Velaryon x female!Tyrell!reader pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!Tyrell!reader -> hair color specified reader -> technically Targaryen!reader -> ALL characters aged 18+

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

series masterlist: The Black Dread part two: read here

word count: 4.9k+

note: ALL characters are aged up - they are NOT minors

warnings: hair color specified reader but it's paramount to the story. Dance of the Dragons AU, Balerion lives AU - kinda heavy introduction. political manipulation, i guess no Baela, Rhaena or Alys romantic interests, ALL characters are aged 18 or older, Muses aren't in this part much, stolen Olenna Tyrell quote(s), Dylan Thomas quote.

though Balerion is not shown in the shows [HOTD or GOT], these are some of author's personal favorite fan art pieces: this this one, but maybe this color

Considering the climate, environment, elements, and location of each region with no true diverse distinction or transition between seasons, summers varied in each corner of the Seven Kingdoms. Notably, the mainland experienced vastly different summers in comparison to the constantly humid Westerosi islands.

This was expected.

Where the weather endured in King’s Landing is dry and stale - lacking cloud coverage, baking all forms of life under the unforgiving sun - Dorne was ideal: temperate, tropical, the temperature usually consistently comfortable.

Northwest of the continent, off the Westerlands coast in water of Ironman's Bay so dark, secrets remain hidden, summers on the ratified Iron Islands were cold due to the winds blowing from the North. The rocky region wet and slippery from rain; never humid, usually biting.

The Reach boasted pleasant summers; lush and green with fully bloomed gardens, perfectly balmy. The Stormlands lived up to its name and was plagued with frequent storms. These were usually warm rains - opposite the Iron Islands. The Crownland's annually hosted hordes of tourists at their ever popular summer attraction: temperate beaches. And why wouldn't they? The Crownlands's usually kept moderate temperatures and plenty of vast coastline to offer reprieve in the surf.

However, the only exception to sweltering, stereotypical climate that ransacks the Realm is the North - an expansive outlier. You see, in the North, summers are cold but winters are REALLY cold. From Bear Island to White Harbor, the dreary, overcast summer sky reflects on year-round, bright, pristine summer snow, making it glitter and blindingly glow. This results in the curation of a blue-grey filter naturally exclusive in the North.

However, tonight - You weren't ankle-deep in North summer snows. You weren't wheezing in King's Landing. You weren't vacationing in Dorne. You weren't sloshing through the Stormlands.

Tonight, you weren't on the mainland.

Tonight, you were on Dragonstone - ancestral home of your distant, estranged family.

Bullfrogs belted their croaky song, loud and incessant; as if trying to individually greet each twinkling star in the inky sky - the ever faithful audience; intrigued by this reckless and dangerous suicidal showdown you embarked on. Crickets chirped in a soprano choir; dotting around the maze of tide pools - cratered by the same porous, jagged, volcanic rock that defines the unpredictable, natural coastline. Frothing alto waves of dark navy, violent, salty sea brutally crashed against rock - the booming baseline of the frog's and cricket's private duet sang in perfect harmony.

All that was missing was a little red crab with a Jamaican accent encouraging you "kiss the girl".

Night had fallen. The winds were cold as a storm rumbled overhead. Rain fell sideways. Lightning streaked the skies.

You navigated through the dark - a slippery, dangerous feat.

Few windows of the castle gave a subtle, dim light; indicating the residents were more than likely turned in for the night. Still, despite the lack of patrolling guards and other witnesses, you remained in stealth mode. Only fools allowed themselves to feel cocky when their guards go down. When someone allowed their defenses to go down, mistakes are made, capture is imminent, the mission is a failure, and surrender to the enemy's mercy is forced.

Your presence on Dragonstone wasn't for romance - no girls (or boys) for you to kiss. This wasn't a social visit to recreationally mingle with the Velaryon Prince or Targaryen Princess Twins. You're not conducting research curriculum - no time to study flora, fauna, volcanic activity.

To the winged terrors, Dragonstone Island is a recognizable safe haven that promotes healing - the one place these miraculous beasts could relax, ease their defenses; be vulnerable with lowered guards. This sense of safety gives freedom away from the confines of Dragon Riders - simply allowed to be true, authentic, and animalistic.

Currently, a couple dragons sought refuge on the island, nesting, minding their own business; others sought rest, retirement, peaceful isolation. Several took advantage of the heat and loitered around the volcano, the Dragonmont.

They weren't just any dragons, some were rogue, wild; some released after captivity; all unclaimed, riderless. This tempted several persons to rely on arrogant luck and try their hand at harnessing the terrible beasties - but they never returned.

Summer days stretched long, giving limited time to move under the cover of darkness, and the nights progressively shortened each day leading up to the solstice. Your journey was miraculous, having never navigated open water before yet somehow arriving at Dragonstone after setting sail from King's Landing by yourself. Perhaps you had a hidden talent, a subconscious sailor mentality; maybe you were just lucky, or maybe your boiling emotions made you defiantly determined - running on pure spite to stay alive, unharmed, and without capsizing in an effort to complete your mission.

Most of the time, you relied more on logic than emotion, something that helped keep you balanced, grateful, rational. Leading with logic arguably "made" someone intelligent; solution oriented, stubborn, hardheaded, unwilling to compromise (a common foundation when leading with emotion).

Yet logic made you very black and white - no grey area. Logic is cut and dry. Logic is sometimes sophisticated. Logic is also stubborn. Logic abandoned empathy. Logic could be explained. Logic identified applicable reasonings and explanations. Logic is hard to argue against. Logic sustained battles of wit. Logic is sometimes discriminatory. Logic always tells the truth. Logic has limited loopholes.

Logic is fact driven, and when paired with your own rooted moral and religious beliefs, made you subconsciously judgmental.

There's a well-known proverb, quote, "it's not the destination, but the journey." Yet some philosophers think the destination is mundane, anticlimactic, boring, sometimes disappointing and unfulfilling while the journey is much more fulfilling. The journey is what's worth; an adventure, where development inflates, where a story worth telling lies.

Logic is the destination. Leading with emotion is the journey.

Leading with emotion develops thoughtful decisions. Emotions sharpen empathetic abilities. Emotions sometimes changes perspectives, broadens horizons. Emotions allow for differences in opinions. Emotions curates safety. Emotions heightens generosity. Emotions expands willingness to help. Emotions softens situations with compassion. Emotions often strides towards peace. Emotions structures harmony. Emotions accepts all. Emotions could be overwhelming. Emotions don't always have one, single, clear victor.

Leading with emotion makes you easily reactive, being why you made a conscious effort to engage logic; keeping yourself in check.

You often never lost your cool; always having a handle on things, but sometimes, it was a challenge. Emotions demand to be felt, and no matter how hard you train yourself and practice relying on logic, you were still human.

Both leading with logic and emotion made you passionate, sometimes synonymous with stubborn. Either way, you ended up here - on Dragonstone - slinking around in the dead of night as if a criminal on the run, trying to avoid the Rogue Prince's nefarious, outlandishly violent City Watch.

You were dedicated to the truth, hence your willingness to embark on this suicide mission. You know it's out there, becoming desperate to find it; never settling, fed the fuck up of mindless gossip the court whispered and hissed about. Enduring years of scrutiny and unfiltered rudeness made you confident, wanting, and energized to justify your claims, prove self-worth, assign relief, terminate turmoil, tension, and assumption.

Yeah, yeah, yeah - but what truth are you dedicated to? Your family's lineage and heritage, your birthrights, your position in society. Your contributing livelihood. They only thought you a young lady boasting the Tyrell surname - a broodmare to sell off. After Queen Rhaenyra proclaimed herself, you became incessant to prove you were so much more than a pretty fragile rose to be set in a vase.

Truth became your Eighth God; being a dedicated, loyal, trusting, worshipping follower. And the truth was, you're a Targaryen as much as a Tyrell, and by all means, had as much of a right to claim a dragon as any of the rest of them.

You refuse to take detours, cut corners, violate, or cheat to obtain your goal(s); arriving at your desired end result with integrity, completing your mission by barreling through obstacles with laser focus - like a predator stalking prey.

Boots slapped and clicked on wet rock, splashing in puddles, splattering mud up your legs to soak into your breeches. Heavy humidity - thick and muggy air - coated lungs and stuck in nostrils, being suffocatingly stuffy; breathing becoming difficult. You could physically feel the condensation in the air - hair adopting a mind of its own; beaded, clammy skin becoming uncomfortably sticky, palms slick with sweat. You missed the dry heat of the capital.

Dark hood of your cloak hid your vibrant hair; the material swishing, swirling airy fog low to the ground around your creeping form, creating an ominous energy. You half expected a ghost to appear at your flank.

The clanking of the night patrol's armor was heard first, alerting you to a diminishing window; sliding into the mouth of one of the dragon caves in time for the White Cloaks to stalk around the castle's perimeter walkway.

Even with thick rock cocooning your form, the rumbling of the nested dragon's slumber was heard; loose pebbles, dust and other debris showered from the cave ceiling. Despite the heat of the Dragonmont, you heard the slow echo of dripping water.

Your choice to come to Dragonstone, was it a logical decision? Or driven by emotions - fed up with the rumors, sneers, disrespect, critical judgement from everyone in King's Landing? ...yes.

Navigating a dragon lair was dangerous, but navigating a dragon lair with ZERO experience was an anticipated disaster. Surely, you must've lost your mind because no mentally stable person would dare step foot in this cave - let alone scale the depths in search of an ancient beast that could (and possibly wound) treat your charred body as a BBQ appetizer. With a gasp, you slipped on the rocks, hissing when the heels of your palms took the brunt end of impact and slit open; tiny pebbles sticking to your open flesh. You whimpered gently, jagged rocks digging into your knees as you cleared your hands and slowly found your feet.

Even with knowledge of your heritage, you hadn't grown around the scaly Targaryen counterparts like any and every other legitimate offspring. You were long divided from that side of your family, missing out on fascinating Valyrian traditional customs. It made you a slightly bitter.

No dragon egg in your crib. No hours-long practice in the Dragon Pit. No reptilian anatomy studies. No personalized leather saddle embellished with a three-headed dragon. No claim to ancestral privilege or birthright. No unique morality, nor holier than thou complex. No generational beast to inherit.

Skin free from the lingering, invasive, embedded stench of dragon hide.

You used to think learning Ancient Valyrian was a redundant waste of time, education, and resources. You were raised in the ancestral keep in the Reach's capital, Highgarden, under your father, Lord Tyrell, and his beloved wife - the Vanished Princess - which made this secret sleuthing harder to rationalize or explain, given no Targaryen ever lived in Highgarden. Never before were dragons hosted in The Reach, and therefor, a Dragon Pit was never erected.

So, you know how when you're a kid and see something at the store that you really want but your parent says no because you already have too much shit? They might've made their point by saying something, like, "Where do you think you're gonna put all that?"

Well, Highgarden is the toy box and you intend on bringing home one of those enormous stuffed animals won at a carnival / festival.

If anyone knew of this plan, they might've sent you to the medical institute the Citadel in Oldtown operates; involuntarily commit you to the structured research program that studies different mental and physical medical phenomenons.

Truth was, this wasn't even your idea. Your grandmother, who definitely either spent time in one of the Citadel's cells or should, encouraged you. Perhaps that should've been a red flag, but it was too late now, her words echoing in your mind ―

Be a dragon.

The gardens you walked through were in fragrant, full bloom; providing a sweet air to combat the foul words you admitted with your arm looped in your grandmother's. You paced evenly through the overgrown foliage, the bees buzzing to drown your words.

"Perhaps, something is wrong with me," you sulked, "because surely, it cannot be this difficult to find a match. It seems I need to lower my standards, I could not attract a decent man if I were covered in honey and he were a fly."

"Perhaps try covering yourself in shit, then," she advised with a knowing smirk.

"Grandmother."

"Well, it's curious, isn't it?" Celia asked.

"What is?"

"All your life, you've always been more Targaryen than Tyrell; fierce, loyal, impulsive, strong, enduring. Yet now, you return nothing more than a rose wilted from King's Landing's stench, moping about failed relations. Have you ever considered that simple men are incapable of supporting the love and marriage of a dragon?"

"Half blooded does not make me a dragon."

"No, but the spirit, wit, intelligence, spunk, ferocity, cunningness, and determination you display proves it." She paused your stroll, secluded canopy shroud by foliage to provide a moment of privacy.

"Not all would think so," you let your eyes roll.

"Who do you speak of?"

"Those who think I am lying about my own Targaryen parentage, citing the color of my hair as evidence. You would think I'm one of the Queen's sons, the way they whisper."

"Do not listen to busy mouths, sweet child, hair cannot be a sole indication of parentage. I know it's easy to cite, but not all descendants of Valyria have silver locks, and should anyone have anything to say, know they are merely bitter and jealous for your hair is the perfect blend of Tyrell auburn and Targaryen silver. A color that is hard to ignore."

"Yet it's not enough to prove myself to them, Grandmother."

Now Celia sounded determined but angry, "You are every bit Tyrell as you are Targaryen. While you might not appear to their biased eye, there's never been denial that you are made in your mother's fire. Pure blooded or not, you're a dragon, my sweet petal."

"So?"

"Oh, for the love of the Gods - so, be a dragon! Dragons do not fret because men don't blink twice at them, they eat those men! Don't beg for approval; maintain your dignity, instill a new opinion, demand respect! Prove your strength, skill, and capabilities - everything the courts would deliberately overlook. Prove everyone wrong, offer contribution to this war, become a valuable asset who would be foolish to send away. Establish your seat at the table and never let anyone talk down on you again," your grandmother snarled with passion. "There's more than one way to prove you have the blood of the dragon."

"Such as? What would you have me do?"

"I hear rumor there remains a host of unclaimed dragons on Dragonstone. The Queen's son and heir, Prince Jacaerys, has called for dragonseeds to try their hand - they need more dragonriders for their war. Claiming your birthright might be the fastest, easiest way to earn the Realm's approval; doubling as undisputed evidence of who you are."

"What a terrifying thought."

"But what a statement it would make," Celia's lips pulled in a smirk, wrinkles deeper, more prominent on sun-soaked, wrinkled skin. "Tyrells might be flowery, we might sigil a rose - but we are resilient and refuse to wilt; even in the heat of dragon fire. The Realm thinks Tyrells are only pretty faces; pretty flowers meant to be seen and never heard, whose sole purpose is to be left on display. Preconceived as uselessly inexperienced during wartimes; criminally green, pure, innocent - judgement that makes them shockingly unprepared for how deep our thorns prick." Both of Celia's hands grabbed yours, squeezing, advising, "Do not go quietly, my petal, make those who doubted you be haunted by their foolish choice to challenge the wrong woman. Let them seep in humiliation and regret their judgement. Allow your successful conquest to be the biggest 'fuck you' to prejudice, the final nail in any coffin of doubt. Toss your wilted rose of fear aside, petal, embrace the fire that burns in your veins; you are Lady Y/N Tyrell of Highgarden, daughter of The Forgotten Princess, and you will not go gentle into that good night. You will be a dragon."

You were ensuring passage by morning light, intent to deliver yourself to Dragonstone.

Parts of the cave glittered with unharvested gems; a lost collection of rarities nobody dared pursue out of fear of the ancient, terrible Valyrian beasties that dwell in those caves. The walls sweat from combined dragon and volcanic heat, tunnels jagged and uneven; zero holes, cracks, or slits the sun could leak through (if it were up); everything terribly dark. At least there was a scattered pile of preprepared torches to light the way. A permanent odor of limestone and fractioned corpses assaulted your sinuses, dried puddles of blood seeped into rock, the scurrying critters who used dragons as hosts echoed with a twinkling charm - the least menacing reminder that you were not alone.

Claimed dragon chambers varied in size; pitstops along the winding pathways that ended at the largest chamber - a dead end. While other chambers were large enough for sometimes several dragons, this final stop could only be described as a jarring, stomach churning, hauntingly pitched ebony abyss of incalculable depth that played tricks on the mind. An abyss. It was like you were staring Death in the face and anxiety was dredged forth from white hot fear.

With a flickering torch alight in a trembling hand, you slowly stalked down the chiseled causeway that ended several lengths into the expansive, bleak nothingness. Pitch black shadows danced; the air felt electric, seemingly vibrating - alive and judgmental.

The glaring cavern besmirched your family name, hauntingly reminding that your disinheritance resulted in your late dragon bloom. The ebony airy sea identifies and heightens fearful insecurity about your estranged family's rejection, their lack of interest and care for your side of the family stinging; their rejection of familial relationships. The darkness predicted your failure, inability, and humiliation.

The cavern challenged your confidence and determination, your staked ownership and proclaimed lineage; labeling your bravery, beliefs and ambition as arrogant. It sneered about your stupidity, weakness, fear, and anxiety; belittled applied effort and desired goals; questioned your true desires and needs; tested your loyalty.

The cavern rejects any and all attempts before you could even try; unraveling your logic, shunning your emotions; proclaims reactive decisions as immature and lacking control, crowning you as dangerously naïve.

The cavern mocked your desperately pathetic need for station and acceptance; revoking and nullifying public (and private) ladyship, dubbing you unladylike - which, in itself, was insulting to your womanhood. Why do men get all the exciting adventure, but when a woman tries, she's crucified for being irresponsible? Smooth ebony waves reflected your maddening, constant effort and want for acknowledged contributions.

To the naked eye, the cavern appeared uninhabited, assuming the habitat was abandoned. The silence was eery; air buzzing with alarm, deceiving humans that attempted to see through the waves of darkness.

To a "true" Targaryen, this was just a sheet of camouflage the fire breathers wield for their privacy.

No wonder the Red Sowing was so... Bloody and devastating.

A growl was heard, something gravely and deep, intimidating and impressive. You frozen, eyes wide as if it would give you night vision, torch flickering, hands starting to shake. Then you saw prominent movement, lungs stalling and heart hammering. Slowly, a large, scaly, stained snout emerged at a sail's pace.

The more the beast stepped into your sight, your mind could only scream one thing - was coming face to face with a dragon logical or emotional? Because whether logical or emotional, this was a dumb fucking idea there was no turning back from.

So, you steeled yourself in position, dewy sweat lining your forehead to soak your hairline.

112 years After Conquest, dragons flew to war at the behest of the Targaryen family over Rhaenyra and her half-brother's claim to Aegon the Conqueror's Iron Throne. Sister-wife, Queen Visenya, rode Vhagar - said to have been the smallest dragon with bronze hide, yet, as rumor had it, still large enough that a horse could ride down her gullet. Sister-wife, Queen Rhaenys, rode Meraxes - who was larger; big enough to swallow horses whole with silver scales and golden eyes.

Then, The Conqueror, King Aegon Targaryen I, rode Balerion - the fiercest and largest, who’s wingspan could shadow entire towns, swords-long teeth assisting his ability to swallow mammoths whole, and who’s scales, wings, and fire were pitch black. Balerion was called the Black Dread and was so powerful, he could melt steel, stone, and fuse sand into glass. He never lost a battle - against human or dragon.

Balerion was also the dragon responsible for the Burning of Harrenhal, largest castle in Westeros.

In the year 2 BC, Aegon began his Conquest and engaged King Harren Hoare the Black in his keep, Harrenhal, who refused the Conqueror and was met with Balerion’s flames. In fire so hot, it melts stone like candles, the entire House Hoare was extinguished when Harren and his sons perished in the largest tower - later named Kingspyre Tower - though it’s said they haunt the Wailing Tower.

Since then, of Aegon's Three Dragons, only Meraxes boasted a single rider, but to be fair, in 10 AC, during the First Dornish War, allegedly, both Queen Rhaenys and Meraxes met their demise. Vhagar knew Prince Baelon Targaryen, Lady Laena Velaryon, and Prince Aemond as riders. Balerion knew Maegor the Cruel, Princess Aerea, and King Viserys, who, in the year 94, retired The Black Dread - thinking the beast was nearing his end. The dragon outlived every single rider.

In the year 129, Viserys died and The Black Dread stared you in the eye; curating a vibrating rumble deep within his chest that made the darkness dance. It'd been decades since anyone dared face this terrible beastie, thinking he wasn't long for this world; the pair of you curious about the other, no moves made yet.

There was no backing down, there was no turning away. This is what you wanted, for Aegon the Conqueror's mount to see you as you are - worthy of your of blood. You refused to be told you did not deserve your lineage, the Targaryen name, you would not endure disrespect any longer! You would earn your place in this Godsforsaken family, earn station in this Godsforsaken world, or die trying...

That night, Balerion took to the skies again, doing several laps in the air, soaring over King's Landing to let the residents of the Realm know - he flew again.

Your father's family hailed from The Reach, specifically Highgarden; colorful, temperate, lush, bountiful, and abundant. Your family oversaw 75% of the country's sole wheat, barley, grain, and corn production, even germinating the country's most grand gardens - which decorated a rather generous estate.

Despite the vast, open lands, there had never been need for a dragonpit before, so, when you landed your mount, he was left exposed on the outskirts of the Keep. Considering he was the largest thing, you know, ever, Balerion seemed content out there - so, you didn't worry.

It was strange, however, to see anyone without white hair on dragonback. Even stranger to the Realm to learn of your accomplishment; adding fuel to several fires.

The Green King Aegon asked lazily, a hand waving in the air, "Who?"

His mother, Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower, reminded, "She is of Targaryen seed on her mother's side, but was raised under the Tyrells. She sits to inherit all of The Reach, she will be Lady of Highgarden - "

"Until," Grand Maester Orwyle interjected softly, "her young brother, the Young Lord Tyrell, comes of age."

Aegon waved their words off, complaining, "Yes, yes, but why do we caaaaare about some red headed bitch?"

See, where the Targaryens had trademark white locks, the Lannisters had golden strands. The Starks had deep umber brunette color hair, and while both the Tully's and Tyrell's erred more on the reddish side, the Tully's had darker overtones, like an auburn, and the Tyrell's had lighter, coppery-amber waves. North of the Wall, they say "kissed by fire".

"Because Lady Tyrell has laid successful claim to The Black Dread! To Balerion!" Alicent snapped, quickly adding the snarky punctuation, "Your Grace."

"Well, we have Vhagar - "

"With respect, Your Grace, Balerion could give a singular chomp to any living dragon as Vhagar did Arrax and it would prove fatal," Otto Hightower, the King's grandfather and Hand, quickly stepped in to save his daughter from losing her temper.

"Well, she doesn't even speak High Valyrian," Aegon scoffed, rolling his eyes; lip curled, slouched in his chair.

"Neither do you," Aemond quipped in his Father's Tongue.

Otto continued loudly to prevent Aegon's response, "With The Black Dread now officially out of retirement and in play, the only choice we have is risk facing him in open battle, or..." His eyes shifted to Alicent, pausing, sighing and revealing, "Send an emissary to negotiate terms of an alliance."

"Meaning...?" Aegon drawled.

"Meaning a marriage pact, Your Grace," Otto supplied sternly.

"With respect?" Larys Strong spoke up, "But the Crown is lacking in their eligible bachelors for such terms."

"Or perhaps, what of someone outside the family? Marry two strong allies of the Crowns? Alliances henceforth might not have to include Targaryen marriages," Jason Lannister threw in quickly, but every Small Council member denied him just as swift.

It was reminded, "There's Prince Daeron."

"Lady Tyrell is actually the same age as Prince Aemond, I do not think she is looking for a husband so many years younger than her."

"Didn't Prince Aemond already secure the Baratheons through a marriage alliance?"

"Technically," Otto agreed slowly, "but given the circumstances and turning of tides, Lord Borros can be treated with in other ways should we need to offer Aemond for Lady Tyrell's willing support."

"Rhaenyra will send terms, as well," Alicent reminded. "Lady Tyrell is Prince Jacaerys' age, she might consider breaking his engagement, too."

The Small Council continued their plotting. Prince Aemond remained silent. Nobody so much as threw him a glance.

When the Black Queen Rhaenyra was informed of your heroics and your identity was questioned, her uncle-husband, Daemon, informed, "Daughter of the Forgotten Princess."

And Rhaenys affirmed, "My sister's daughter... Do not mistake her lineage for guaranteed alliance; her mother and I are long estranged, she's lived in The Reach her whole life - she does not know us. Nor owes us any loyalty."

"Perhaps she could be persuaded," Corlys wondered. "The Lady Tyrell is unwed, is she not?"

"As far as accounts go, yes," his wife reported.

"Perhaps a marriage alliance?" Corlys glanced around the table.

"To whom would you propose?" Queen Rhaenyra asked, all sat around the Painted Table.

"If I may be so bold...?"

"Please."

"Given your marriage to Daemon and his daughter's are shared with our own daughter, Laena... Is there truly need for a marriage pact between the children?"

Rhaenyra cocked her head, "You mean to... Disengage my son from his intended, and engage him again...? Like a pawn in chess? My son, Heir to the Iron Throne, married to Lady Tyrell?"

"Why do you sound displeased by the prospect, Your Grace?" Corlys wondered. "I hear the Lady Tyrell is most beautiful, and we need the Tyrell's wealth like we need their dragon, Balerion. If used properly, he can melt castles alone, Your Grace; burn towns, extinguish entire bloodlines, torch this country, melt the bloody Wall. No living dragon rivals him in size, in ferocity, in age nor experience. He's been at rest for decades now... Something tells me there's a reason he's come out of his nest."

"An omen," Rhaenyra agreed, straightening her spine.

"Precisely - the portents are cast, Your Grace."

"Lord Corlys makes a point," Daemon chimed in, "if by marriage, we secure The Reach and take back the Iron Throne with little to no carnage. Should the Greens fight, not even Vhagar could stand against Balerion."

"Prince Jacaerys is a handsome match to offer," another lord agreed, "which should help sway Lady Tyrell to our side."

"Which also frees both Lady Baela and Rhaena for other pacts - if need be."

"But if we have had this thought, I promise so has Alicent," Rhaenyra stood from the table, staring at the triangle of King's Landing, Dragonstone, and Highgarden. "Who would they offer? Who do they have, unwed, unpromised?"

"Well," Rhaenys stood to meet her Queen, "if we had the thought of a marriage alliance, and the thought to break off one engagement in favor of another, who is to say the Greens would not consider the same?"

It was quiet, a shiver shooting down the Queen's spine. "Vhagar and Balerion are familiar with one another," she grit her teeth, "and Aemond is the False King's brother. He's an attractive match, too."

"I think it's worth making the Tyrell's an offer," Corlys sat back in his seat. "They will receive us both and decide their allegiance - just as the Baratheons did, just as the rest of the Realm has or must do as well."

"Let it be done - if Prince Jacaerys agrees," Rhaenyra nodded, looking to her son - wanting his consent and participation in his own fate. Jace proudly lifted his chin and puffed his chest, nodding while nobody noted the looks of near relief on Lady Baela and Rhaena's faces. In a moment, they had been engaged to Jace and Luke without their thought, input, nor consent. In another moment, they were single young women with the tantalizing prospect to marry outside the family.

"I consider Her Grace's offer an honor."

part two: read here

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

The Black Dread masterlist

i'm already writing it, but, poll for the end ―

[little-paperhat]

~~hands~~

[damneddamsy]

second sight | cregan stark x oc (bonus i)

a/n: on this sweet episode of Stark-fluff, Cregan and Co. visit King's Landing. And boy, does he fucking hate it. Meanwhile, Bran's eager to connect with his Targaryen kin.

The heat pressed against Cregan Stark’s skin like a second tunic, heavy and cloying. The air in King’s Landing was thick, and damp with the scents of sweat, perfume, and the shit stench of the streets below. The Red Keep loomed above, gleaming red stone under a sun far too bright for his liking. He glanced at the bustling courtyards, the laughter and chatter of nobles weaving past him, their brightly dyed garments flaring like banners. The yellows, greens, and silks of every hue were so garish compared to the quiet greys and dark furs of Winterfell. Everything here screamed of excess, even how people spoke—words spilling out like wine, too much, too sweet, too fast.

The so-called wine he’d been served during the midday meal still churned in his stomach. It was red, but not like the rich Dornish vintages he’d had once at White Harbor. This was sharp and sour, cloying at the back of his throat. The food hadn’t fared much better: dry bread, over-salted meat, and sauces thick with spices he couldn’t name. Cregan clenched his fists. How did Claere stomach this place? She’d lived here once, grown up here. And now they were back, summoned to the capital for some political matter too tedious to justify enduring this heat.

The worst of it, though, wasn’t the heat or the food or even the absurdity of the southern finery—it was sleeping without her. Some ancient southern tradition dictated they take separate chambers while they were guests of the crown. He hadn’t asked why. He didn’t care to know. All he knew was that the empty bed in his room felt colder than any winter night, and the fact that she wasn’t beside him had gnawed at his nerves all day.

It didn’t take him long to track her down.

He found her in her chambers, standing on a dais, surrounded by an army of handmaidens. It was different from Winterfell, where her attendants numbered only two or three, and they worked in quiet efficiency, more like sisters than servants. These women buzzed like a hive, fixing the smallest fold of fabric, pinning her hair with jeweled combs.

And there she was—Claere.

He froze in the doorway, his breath caught in his chest. The sight of her stole every thought from his head. She stood tall and graceful, her hair woven into an intricate crown of braids, strands gleaming in the candlelight. The gown she wore was like nothing he’d ever seen: deep blue silk that shimmered with silver undertones, its sleeves draping like pendants to reveal her arms, pale and smooth. The neckline framed her collarbones, dipping just enough to tease. The bodice cinched her waist so perfectly that it might have been poured onto her, and the slit down the front laced delicately, offering a whisper of the skin beneath.

She turned slightly, catching his reflection in the mirror. For a moment, her expression was still, unreadable, her violet eyes flicking to meet his. Then, she smiled, soft and shy, and lifted her fingers in a small wave.

Cregan chest went tight. His heart pounded so loud he thought the handmaidens might hear it. For a moment, he forgot the heat, the food, the city he despised. He forgot to hate it all because there was only her in that instant.

One of the handmaidens giggled. He blinked, realizing he’d been staring. Claere’s smile deepened, faintly amused, though she said nothing. A woman pressed the last pin into her hair and curtsied before filing out. Claere remained where she was, poised on the dais like she belonged on top of the world entirely.

Cregan shut the door behind them with a deliberate click, the bolt sliding into place with a satisfying thud. The warmth of the chamber surrounded them, faintly scented with the oils and perfumes of the South. His eyes were on her, drinking her in as she stood before the tall mirror, her figure framed by the golden light of a dozen flickering candles.

“C’mere,” he said, his voice low and rough, thick with hunger.

She didn’t move, her posture as calm and composed as ever. But her lips parted slightly, the barest quirk of curiosity in her brow.

Cregan crossed the room in three strides, his boots heavy against the ornate tiled floor. When he reached her, his hands found her waist, the fine silk of her gown slipping easily beneath his calloused fingers. He pulled her close, the warmth of her body anchoring him, the air suddenly still around them.

His head dipped low, pressing a firm, deliberate kiss against the slit of fabric that curved down toward her belly.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his breath warm against her skin, his voice a soft rumble. “All this skin. Why can’t you dress like this at home?”

Claere tilted her head, her violet eyes meeting his in the reflection of the mirror. A faint, knowing smile touched her lips. “I’d freeze in moments.”

He laughed, a deep, wolfish sound that rolled out of him unbidden. “Then I’d keep you warm.”

Her hand brushed over his damp hair, her fingers grazing the sweat gathered at his temple. “Not while you reek of sweat.”

He leaned into her touch, undeterred by her observation. “I’m not wearing those ridiculous coats they want me in,” he grumbled, his Northern pride rising.

“But you are sweating,” she repeated, a ghost of amusement flickering across her otherwise serene expression.

Cregan groaned, wrapping his fingers around hers and guiding her carefully down from the dais.

“It’s just a bit of water, love.”

Her gown whispered against the floor as she stepped down. She cast a glance at him, the faintest quirk of mischief in her eyes. “You would look rather noble in an overcoat,” she murmured, brushing her thumb over his knuckles.

He snorted, shaking his head with a mockery of disbelief. “Would. Will never.”

Her lips curved into something soft and understanding, the expression only she could manage. “It's alright,” she said simply. Her fingers tightened in his, her voice a quiet promise. “We can leave first thing tomorrow.”

He laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he lowered her forehead to hers. “We got here yesterday,” he said, his tone light with affection.

Her eyes fluttered closed momentarily, her breath soft against his cheek. “I know,” she whispered.

His chest tightened at the words, an ache blooming there that wasn’t unfamiliar, but tonight, it felt sharper. He lingered in the warmth of her presence, the silk of her gown brushing against the coarse leather of his tunic. The scent of her was maddening—some southern concoction that mingled with the subtle lavender she always carried. He hated how it suited her, hated how this place seemed to mould itself around her. But Gods, how she looked here, how she belonged.

“I suppose some fresh air should help with the heat,” she drawled thoughtfully.

Her steps were deliberate, and graceful, as if she had walked these halls all her life. For a moment, Cregan’s eyes softened, and the corner of his mouth twitched into something between awe and defiance.

"Arm?" she asked, glancing at him.

“Aye, my lady, always,” he replied, his voice gruff.

His hand found the crook of her elbow. They stepped out of the chambers together, her delicate hand on his forearm.

The corridor of Maegor’s Holdfast stretched before them, its vaulted ceilings casting long shadows that flickered with torchlight. Claere’s gaze wandered from door to door, deep in recollections, her violet eyes tracing the intricate carvings and golden inlays that adorned every arch.

Cregan, meanwhile, scowled away his frustration. "All this gold and they can’t even serve a proper roast. That pheasant at supper—dry as bone. And what’s that sauce they drown everything in?"

"Spiced honey," Claere replied, though she kept her eyes forward, lips curving faintly.

He snorted. “Spiced, indeed. Tasted like it came straight out of a septon’s tight arse.”

Claere stifled a laugh, her lips pressing together as they walked.

“You’re quite the guest,” Claere murmured, her voice as smooth as silk.

“Guest,” he echoed bitterly, his jaw tightening. “A guest in a city that couldn’t be farther from the North. Look at this place—all gilded stone and false smiles. Give me the cold and honest halls of Winterfell any day.”

His words came rough, unfiltered, the kind he rarely let slip outside the privacy of their chambers. But the South clawed at his patience, and his discomfort had no place to hide.

Claere didn’t answer at once. Her gaze drifted upward, catching the way the golden sunlight angled through an open archway, illuminating the intricacies of the tapestries along the walls. She lingered in the quiet, as she often did, before finally glancing at him, her expression soft and thoughtful.

“Would you like to walk by the sea?” she asked, her voice carrying the faintest lilting warmth, as though the memory of it lived in her words. “I used to love watching the ships when I was small. Perhaps you'd feel more at ease there.”

Cregan paused mid-step, her words surprising him. He opened his mouth, but the immediate retort died on his tongue. He realized, too late, how his words had landed—disdain aimed not only at the South but at the place where she had once lived, once laughed, once grown into the woman who now stood beside him. A pang of shame gripped him. She had never uttered a word against Winterfell, though the North had been slow to accept her. Yet here he was, spitting curses at her childhood home like a petulant boy.

“I’d like that very much,” he said finally, his tone softening, almost contrite.

She gave a slight nod, her lips twitching faintly—not quite a smile, but something close. She said nothing more, but he could feel her watching him as they moved through the Red Keep’s curving corridors, his silence now more reflective.

The air shifted as they descended through the castle gardens, the sharp floral perfume of the South mingling with the faint salt tang carried on the breeze. They passed fountains of carved marble and hedges trimmed into unnatural shapes, the paths too clean and the sunlight too bright for Cregan to feel at ease. Yet as they rounded a final corner, the horizon opened up to them.

The lush gardens gave way to a stone balcony overlooking Blackwater Bay, the fountain at its centre singing softly in the breeze. Beyond, the water stretched endlessly, its surface shimmering like molten gold under the afternoon sun. The wind picked up, cool and bracing against the heat, carrying with it the scent of salt and something untamed.

Cregan stopped at the edge, his hands resting on the warm stone railing. For the first time since their arrival, his shoulders eased, the weight of the city loosening its grip. As he drew a long breath, letting the salty air fill his lungs, he thought, for the first time, that perhaps the South wasn’t entirely without its charms. Not when she was here.

“It’s not so bad,” he admitted grudgingly, his voice quieter now, more grounded.

Claere stood beside him, her violet eyes fixed on the horizon, the endless expanse of Blackwater Bay glimmering under the sun. The breeze toyed with the loose tendrils of her silver hair, brushing them against her cheek, and she seemed lost in thought, her silence as soft and vast as the sea itself. When she finally spoke, her voice was peaceful, a quiet anchor in the weight of the day.

“Forgive me. I didn’t think you had to come all this way.” She turned to him, her gaze meeting his, sincere and unyielding. “It’s only Jace’s coronation. It’d be improper for me not to show my support.”

Cregan held her gaze for a long moment, the words settling between them like stones dropped into deep water. He reached for her hand, his calloused fingers brushing against hers, and for a moment, the warmth of her touch quieted the turmoil inside him.

“Wherever you go, I follow,” he said simply, his voice softer now, more certain.

Her eyes flickered a subtle acknowledgment of his loyalty, before narrowing slightly, playful yet questioning. “Do you truly hate this place that much?”

He let out a low, sardonic laugh, leaning his elbows against the stone railing. “Hate might be too soft a word. It’s too hot, too bright, and the food’s about as satisfying as eating sawdust.” He turned his head, meeting her gaze. “And don’t even get me started on that tart red piss they call wine.”

A small smile curved her lips, faint but unmistakable. “You’ve been drinking it.”

“Because Lucerys poured it himself,” Cregan shot back. “And if I’d refused, I’m certain it would’ve become some grave insult to the Targaryen name.” He smirked, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Can’t have Lord Stark burned to a crisp, can we?”

Her smile lingered, and she tilted her head, considering him with quiet amusement. “You’re still sweating.”

“It’s the heat,” he grumbled, wiping his brow with his sleeve. “And this gods-forsaken leather. What would you have me do? Strip down and sit bare-chested in the middle of court?”

Her eyes glimmered with something close to mischief. “I’m sure that would make an impression.”

Cregan turned to face her fully, his brow arching. “And what impression would that be?”

“That the Northmen are as wild as they’re rumoured to be,” she said lightly, a faint tease threading her tone. “They might start calling you the Bear of Winterfell.”

He let out a short bark of laughter, the sound startling even himself. “The Bear? Better than most things they’ve called me today.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping. “Though I’d wager they’re far more interested in you.”

Her gaze softened, but she said nothing. She simply looked at him, her quiet demeanour grounding him in a way the chaos of the Red Keep never could. Slowly, she lifted their joined hands and pressed her fingers to his wrist, her touch light yet deliberate.

“I don’t care what they think,” she said at last, her voice almost a whisper.

The warmth in her words tugged at his guilt, a pang sharp enough to silence his earlier complaints. He turned his hand to cradle hers properly, rough fingers grazing the fine lines of her palm.

“You grew up here,” he said after a moment, his tone quieter now, tinged with regret. “And I’ve done nothing but condemn it since we arrived. That wasn’t fair of me.”

Her lips parted to speak, but she didn’t rush to fill the silence. Instead, she gave his hand the faintest squeeze, grounding him.

“The North is your home. You don’t have to love it here,” she said, her tone as steady as ever. “But it’s part of me, just as Winterfell is a part of you.”

He sighed, dipping his head closer to hers. “You’re too forgiving,” he murmured.

“And you’re too hard on yourself,” she countered softly.

The tension between them broke like ice under spring sunlight. She leaned closer, resting her head against his shoulder, her movements so natural it was as though they were alone on some frozen expanse instead of standing in the open gardens of the Red Keep. Cregan stiffened briefly, the ever-present sense of propriety tugging at his instincts, but her warmth quickly dispelled it. Let them look, he thought.

“I don’t like this place,” he admitted after a moment, his voice low. “But I like you in it.”

Her head tilted slightly, her breath ghosting against his neck as she spoke, barely above a murmur. “I only like that you're here.”

His chest tightened at the simplicity of her words, their truth unadorned and cutting. He turned his head, pressing a kiss to her temple, uncaring of who might be watching. His hand slid to her lower back as he eased her against the balustrade, the coarse material of his leather brushing against her softer silks. The faintest smirk tugged at his lips as his gaze dropped to hers, his large hands bracketing either side of her, blocking any escape. A flicker of surprise crossed her face, but she didn’t retreat—she never did.

“I’ve made my peace with it now.”

Claere arched a delicate brow, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Have you?”

Before she could say another word, he leaned in, his intent clear.

“Aye. I should think,” he said, his voice low and wanting, “that I’m owed a proper kiss for enduring this place without setting half of it ablaze.”

She arched a brow, raising her palm to his lips, halting his advance any further.

“Might I remind you,” she said, her tone lilting with amusement, “that we share four children? If I want to make another child in the Red Keep, I should think I’m owed the courtesy of seclusion.”

Cregan barked a laugh, the sound rolling through the gardens like a wolf’s howl. “The courtesy, is it?” He grinned, unrepentant. “Perhaps I like the idea of giving the South a show.”

Her laughter bubbled again, only to turn into a surprised gasp as he suddenly swept her off her feet, hoisting her into his arms with ease.

“Cregan!” she squeaked, her hands clutching his shoulders as he carried her toward the ornate fountain.

With a mischievous gleam in his eyes, he perched her precariously on the edge of the stone basin, her balance wobbling as she grasped at his shoulder for support. The water behind her sparkled in the sunlight, a picturesque backdrop for her indignant glare.

“Get me down this instant!” she protested.

He grinned up at her, the glint in his eyes sharp and mischievous. “I thought you didn’t care what they think,” he drawled, tilting his head toward the guards, who were now openly staring at them.

Claere’s frown deepened, though it was betrayed by the twitch of a smile. “Cregan,” she warned, her tone sharp but losing its edge.

“Will you let me kiss you?” he asked, voice full of mock gravity.

She cocked a brow, folding her arms even as her dangerous perch forced her to lean on him. “After this? Not likely.”

He clicked his tongue and then, with a sharp whistle, called out to the guards. “Oy, lads!” His voice boomed with bravado, loud enough to echo off the garden walls. “Lady Stark’s making an effort to get in my breeches, and you’re just going to stand around and watch? You sick fucks.”

The guards, flustered and wide-eyed, shuffled and stammered before hastily retreating around the nearest corner.

“Cregan!” Claere’s voice was sharp, but the laughter bubbling beneath it betrayed her outrage.

“There we go,” he said, turning back to her with a smug grin, utterly satisfied. “No one’s watching us. Where's that kiss?”

“You’re insufferable,” she muttered, though she couldn’t keep the laughter from spilling out.

“And you’re beautiful,” he shot back, leaning in again.

She sighed, letting him haul her down from the fountain and into his arms. Her fingers curled into the thickness of his jacket, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered, “Kiss me then.”

The kiss was brief but searing, noses stroking, smiles wide, a moment of stolen fire in the gardens of a place neither of them belonged. Claere pulled back first, her cheeks tinged with colour, though whether it was from the kiss or the embarrassment of being manhandled in full view of fleeing guards, Cregan couldn’t say.

“Do you have to make a spectacle of us every time?” she asked, her voice laced with exasperated fondness as she stepped back to smooth the fabric of her gown.

“Only when it’s worth watching,” Cregan replied, his grin unapologetic. He reached out to tug a strand of silver hair that had come loose from her braid. “And you, my love, are always worth watching.”

Her lips quirked in a reluctant smile, her eyes flicking toward the open path where the guards had retreated moments before. “You’re lucky they didn’t faint from sheer humiliation. I thought Northerners valued their dignity.”

“If there’s no fun to be had, I cannot refuse,” he quipped, his hands settling on his hips as he glanced around the gardens. The wind carried the brine of the sea, and the faint murmur of distant voices reached them, though the path remained deserted.

Claere shook her head, turning toward the fountain, her fingers idly brushing along the stone’s intricate carvings. “You’ll make the septas gossip for months. ‘The Wolf and his wild displays.’”

“Good,” he said, stepping up behind her and wrapping his arms loosely around her waist. She felt cold, from the chilly satin. “Maybe they’ll finally stop whispering about the Valyrian witch.”

Her posture stiffened briefly before she relaxed, leaning back into him. She tilted her head slightly, her voice quiet but edged. “They’ve never mattered to me.”

He frowned, his chin resting atop her head. “They’d matter to me if they ever dared say it to your face.”

“And what would you do?” she asked, her tone lighter now, teasing. “Bash a septa’s head in with your precious Northern honour?”

He smirked. “If I have to.”

Her laugh broke through the tension like sunlight through clouds, soft and sudden. She turned in his arms, her hands resting against his chest. “There are days I don’t know what to do with you, Lord Stark.”

“Love me,” he said simply, the grin slipping from his face as he met her gaze with earnest warmth.

“I already do,” she murmured, her thumb brushing absently against his cheek. “'Tis a nuisance.”

For a moment, they stood there, the world beyond the gardens blurring into nothing. It was only them, as it always seemed to be, no matter the distance or the trials they endured.

Then, of course, Cregan broke the moment.

“Shall we give them something else to talk about?” Cregan’s grin widened, a boyish gleam of mischief lighting his features.

Claere narrowed her eyes suspiciously, her lips parting to question him, but before she could speak, he swept her off her feet again. A gasp escaped her, followed by half-hearted protests muffled by her laughter as he spun her around in a wide arc.

“Put me down!” she cried, clutching his shoulders as the world tilted around her.

Her protests only seemed to encourage him. “Put you down?” he mused, his tone teasing as he held her aloft. He glanced at the fountain ahead, where the sunlight danced on the water’s surface. “Down in the fountain? Or perhaps in the sea?”

Her skirts brushed against the cool spray of the fountain, making her squirm in his hold. “Cregan Stark, don’t you dare!” she warned, though her laughter betrayed her delight.

He laughed along with her, the sound deep and rich. “Promise me something first,” he said, his voice mock-serious, though his eyes danced with amusement.

“And what is that?” she asked, tilting her head, her silver hair catching the light like spun moonlight.

“That you’ll drink the red piss wine with me the next time we’re here.”

Claere groaned dramatically, her head falling against his shoulder as she dissolved into laughter. “I’d rather face a dragon.”

Cregan chuckled, lowering her just enough that her feet skimmed the ground but keeping her firmly in his hold. “Lucky for you,” he said with a playful smirk, “you’ve already got the White Dread on your side.”

“And you,” she murmured, her laughter softening into a smile as her hand settled on his chest.

“Always me,” he promised, finally setting her down, though his hand lingered at her waist. The moment her feet touched the ground, she slipped her hand into his, their fingers lacing together as naturally as the tide meeting the shore.

They walked toward the garden’s edge, where the sound of waves whispered promises of freedom and escape. The sea breeze played at their hair, carrying their laughter over the walls of the keep.

Guards stationed nearby exchanged knowing glances, smirking behind their helms. Their love was a subject of quiet admiration, a rare warmth in Winterfell’s stoic halls. And though the couple walked on, seemingly alone, their bond was never unnoticed.

As the waves beckoned them onward, Claere glanced up at him, her violet eyes alight with mirth. “Even in this wretched place,” she said softly.

Cregan’s thumb brushed over her knuckles, grounding her in his steady presence. “Especially in this place,” he corrected with a gentle smile. "Where else would I want to be but at your side?"

X

The Great Hall of the Red Keep had been transformed into a grand stage for celebration, though the ever-present shadow of the Iron Throne loomed at the far end of the room, casting jagged shapes across the banners of red and black, each adorned with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. Long tables stretched beneath the vaulted ceiling, groaning under the weight of golden platters, roasted meats, and goblets brimming with Dornish wine. Laughter and music filled the air, but the undercurrent of tension was as thick as the scent of spiced lamb and honeyed ham. This was King’s Landing—where alliances and betrayals were decided with a glance, and no gaze lingered without meaning.

The great doors creaked open, a low groan that silenced the hum of conversation in the hall. Heads turned, drawn as much by the sound as by the imposing figure that entered. Lord Cregan Stark strode into the chamber, his presence commanding in its stark simplicity. Draped in heavy northern velvet, the deep grey of his cloak was clasped at the shoulders with snarling wolf-heads wrought in polished iron. Against the opulence of the Crownlands’ finery—silks that shimmered like water, gold heavy as ambition—he stood out like the first shadow before a storm.

At his side, Lady Claere moved with an ethereal calm, a quiet dignity that seemed to still the air around her. Her expression, serene but distant, gave away nothing, and yet it drew every gaze like a whispered challenge. She was not garbed in the colours of flame and pageantry that adorned the court but in a pale gown that shimmered faintly, its simplicity outshining the artifice around her.

They were the North embodied: stark, unyielding, and undeniably present. The southern courtiers shifted uneasily, some bowing, others murmuring among themselves, as the Lord of Winterfell and the silver-haired first daughter of House Targaryen walked past them.

Brandon Stark, only eleven but every bit his father’s son in spirit, too tall for his age, perched at Cregan’s side. His silver hair caught the torchlight like polished steel, strikingly contrasting the dusky, layered northern doublet he wore. Brimming with youthful excitement, the boy’s wolfish grey eyes flitted around the hall as if trying to absorb every detail. From the golden chandeliers to the opulent silks draped over the high table, it was a world far removed from the rugged stone of Winterfell.

The feast was meant to honour Jacaerys Velaryon’s coronation on the morrow, yet as the Starks passed, the hall rippled with murmurs. All eyes seemed drawn not to Cregan or even young Brandon who bore the close hallmarks of Old Valyria but to Claere—the woman who, by birthright, could claim the Iron Throne if she so chose.

The Targaryen banners overhead seemed to shift uneasily, the dancing flames making the three-headed dragon appear alive. Whispers chased the Starks down the aisle, tugging at the edges of the great hall's jubilant façade.

“Princess Claere Velaryon...”

“The Queen Who Never Was.”

“Nay, her blood holds more fire than Jacaerys’s...”

“If she had wanted the throne—”

“But she married the Wolf.”

“She's the Winter's Queen now.”

The low hum of speculation reached even the dais, where Rhaenyra and Daemon sat flanking Jacaerys. Rhaenyra’s lips pressed into a thin line, her violet gaze narrowing ever so slightly as it followed her daughter’s steady progress. Daemon’s smirk widened, his hand idly spinning the stem of his goblet, watching as though the feast had taken an unexpected and delightful turn.

But Claere moved with an ethereal calm, her head held high, her hands folded before her. The train of her pale blue gown, embroidered with white-gold leaves and stitched dragons, trailed behind her like freshly fallen snow. She did not look left or right, though she was acutely aware of the eyes fixed on her.

They reached the dais, where the heart of the family sat like the sun at the centre of its orbit. At its centre sat Jacaerys Velaryon, his crown a fiery band of gold wrought into dragon wings. He exuded easy authority, his smile warm yet edged with caution like a blade sheathed but not forgotten. Beside him was Baela, her silver hair catching the light like a polished jets, her sharp gaze sweeping the hall with a quiet pride that spoke of a warrior's vigilance. Their children flanked them: Laena and Daeron, poised and princely, speaking in hushed tones between delicate bites.

To their left, Lucerys and Rhaena whispered and laughed like co-conspirators, their bond evident in every stolen glance and shared smirk, while Joffrey charmed his betrothed with exaggerated gestures, his joviality a balm to the tension that lingered in the air. At the table's edge sat Rhaenyra and Daemon, aged but undiminished. Rhaenyra’s presence commanded respect, her violet eyes sharp as steel. Beside her, Daemon lounged like a coiled dragon, his pale hair falling loose over one shoulder, his sharp gaze roving the hall as though he were cataloguing its players.

Jacaerys rose first, unbefitting his position, the movement subtle yet commanding. Silence fell over the hall like the turning of a tide, his authority palpable. His gaze swept over the trio approaching him, pausing briefly on Brandon before settling firmly on Claere.

“Sweet sister,” he said, his voice carrying enough warmth to veil the undertone of command. “It pleases me to see you here after so long. You look well.”

Claere curtseyed, her movement graceful, her voice soft but steady. “Brother,” she greeted, the single word weighted with a thousand unspoken meanings.

It was Joffrey who broke the formality, rounding the table to embrace his sister as if no years had passed since their last meeting. Where he had once been a mere boy of ten, burying his face in her waist, now he held her tightly, the man he had become pressing a familial kiss to her cheek.

“Lord Stark,” Jacaerys continued, his tone shifting as his gaze turned to Cregan. Joffrey lingered beside his sister, still holding her hand as if reluctant to let her go.

“The North honors us with your presence,” Jacaerys said.

Cregan inclined his head, his words measured, his tone neutral. “The honor is ours, my king.”

Jacaerys’s gaze shifted again, his smile breaking into something warmer, easier. “And you must be Brandon Stark,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “It’s good to finally meet you, nephew. The blood of the dragon burns bright in you.”

Cregan’s hand fisted briefly at his side, but his expression remained impassive.

Before the moment could stretch into tension, Rhaenyra’s voice carried over the hum of the feast. Though time had etched its mark upon her, her presence was no less commanding. Her tone, measured and regal, filled the space between them.

“Lord Stark,” she began, her violet eyes resting on Cregan, “you’ve brought your eldest, but what of my other grandchildren? I hear you have a fine brood at Winterfell.”

Cregan’s jaw tightened slightly, his discomfort evident in the subtle shift of his posture. “They are too young to travel the Kingsroad,” he replied curtly, his voice a low rumble.

The stark simplicity of his response brought a ripple of quiet across the table. Rhaenyra’s expression wavered, the faintest edge of offence flickering like a shadow.

Before the unease could settle, Claere stepped forward, her voice calm and steady as a winter wind. “They are quite well, Mother,” she said, her serene smile meeting Rhaenyra’s gaze. “Rickon already dreams of commanding the vanguard like his father. Edric”—her lips quirked slightly—“has taken to sneaking pastries from the kitchen. And little Luce…” Her tone softened, and warmth crept into her expression. “She’s discovered archery from her brothers. A proper little warrior, though she insists on naming every sparrow she meets.”

The tension broke as faint laughter rippled among those listening, and even Rhaenyra’s gaze softened. “It seems they thrive under your care,” she said warmly. “Winterfell is fortunate to have such a lady.”

“You flatter me, Mother,” Claere replied, bowing her head with a grace that seemed instinctual.

Cregan exhaled quietly, his shoulders loosening as the moment passed. The interlude was interrupted by Jacaerys, his voice warm yet commanding as it carried over the table.

“The White Wolf, is it?” he called, leaning forward from his gilded seat. His dark hair framed his sharp smile, confidence radiating like the glow of a dragon’s flame.

Brandon straightened instinctively, his cheeks reddening as all eyes turned to him. “The North heralds me too much too soon, Your Grace,” he said quickly, his voice clear and earnest.

Jacaerys chuckled, raising his goblet in a mock salute. “A Stark with humility? A rare breed indeed.” The jest drew a ripple of laughter. “But no need for titles, nephew. Call me uncle.”

The boy’s face lit up, his youthful nervousness melting into a smile. “Uncle,” he repeated, the word sitting comfortably on his tongue.

“And tell me, Brandon,” Jacaerys continued, leaning slightly closer, “is it true you’ve been training with a sword? Daemon tells me you’ve a good arm for your age.”

Brandon brightened, his excitement spilling over. “I have! Father says I’m stronger than most boys my age. I practice every day in the yard with the master-at-arms.”

“Oh, has he now?” Jacaerys grinned, casting a glance at Cregan. “Sounds like you’ll make a fine squire soon enough. What do you say, White Wolf? Would you squire for me, come winter?”

Brandon’s breath hitched, his grey eyes wide with awe. “Aye, my king. I would, absolutely!”

The table erupted in laughter and good-natured cheers from the Velaryon and Targaryen kin. Rhaena, seated beside Lucerys, smiled warmly at the boy, and even Joffrey offered a nod of approval. The boy’s enthusiasm was infectious, and soon Brandon found himself swept into the fold, his questions and stories met with encouragement and kindness.

From further down the table, Daemon’s sharp, cutting voice reached them, unmistakable even amidst the lively din of the feast.

“So, lad,” he began, leaning forward with his goblet in hand, his pale hair falling loose over one shoulder. His gaze rested on Brandon with a predator's curiosity. “What’s your dragon called? I imagine it's speed and size akin to your mother's White Dread.”

The question froze the boy in place. His youthful confidence faltered, replaced by hesitation. He looked to his mother, then to his father, but neither answered for him. Claere’s serene expression didn’t shift, though her brows lifted subtly, a small gesture of encouragement.

Brandon swallowed. “I don’t have a dragon, Your Grace. Neither do my brothers and sister.” His voice was steady, though the words were clearly an effort to say.

The silence that followed wasn’t oppressive, but it lingered long enough for Cregan to bristle. His jaw tightened, and his hand flexed once before he leaned a step closer, his steely gaze fixed on Daemon.

Daemon’s smirk widened, his goblet tilting lazily in his hand. “No dragon, eh?” he drawled, eyeing his silver hair and features. “That’s unusual for one with so much Targaryen blood.” His gaze flicked to Claere, then back to the boy. “Surely your mother would have gifted you an egg.”

Brandon’s face reddened, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Cregan cut in, his voice low and firm. “The Starks have no need for dragons and wyverns,” he said, each word deliberate. “We are wolves.”

Daemon raised a brow, his smirk undiminished. “Wolves may run well in snow, but they don’t fly. Am I right, Claere?”

Claere managed a shaky smile.

“The North stands without wings,” Cregan retorted, his tone growing colder. “We always have. We always will.”

Claere’s hand on his forearm stilled him. Her touch was light, but the look she gave him—calm, steady, and unreadable—silenced the retort building in his throat. She turned her attention to Daemon, her expression serene.

“Dragons are not all that are a measure of man,” she said softly. Her violet eyes settled on Brandon, a quiet pride shining in them. “And wolves do not need to fly to command respect.”

Brandon straightened, emboldened by her words. “I shall squire for the King,” he said suddenly, his voice firm and sure. “Dragon or no dragon, I’ll serve with honour. My sword is yours.”

The table chuckled, the tension breaking like a wave receding from the shore. Daemon gave a low laugh, tilting his goblet toward Brandon. “We’ll see if the little wolf can keep up,” he said, though the words lacked the earlier bite.

Brandon grinned, his earlier unease gone. He turned back to his grandfather, his grey eyes bright with excitement. “You will see, Your Grace.”

A moment of pride swelled within Cregan. His eldest son, holding himself up before the family he had driven to keep at arm's length. Soon, the Stark trio were ushered away from the dais, away from the chaos.

Cregan and Claere were seated farthest away, though their most immediate family, their presence a clear demarcation of their difference from the Targaryens’ inner circle. The distance may have been political, a subtle reminder that while Cregan was a king in his own right, the North was far removed from the intrigues of the South. Or perhaps it was a kindness—to keep them from the full extent of Southern eyes and whispers.

Cregan, sitting as still as the mountains he ruled, seemed carved from the same stone. The velvet black overcoat he wore—tailored in the southern style—sat awkwardly on his broad frame, but he bore it with stoic determination. He tugged once at the stiff collar, a prison of its own, his discomfort as plain as the wine in his untouched goblet, but when Claere’s hand brushed his under the table, he relented.

He glanced her way, catching the soft curve of her lips, and sighed. She had asked him to wear it, after all. And for her, he would.

“Da,” Brandon’s voice broke the lull, soft but curious. The boy leaned closer, his grey eyes darting toward the high table. “Why aren’t we sitting up there?”

Cregan followed his son’s gaze to the gleaming dais, where the Targaryens sat cloaked in splendour and formidable grace.

“That’s my uncle, the king. And my grandmother, the queen mother?” Brandon pressed, his young face shadowed with confusion.

Cregan’s gaze flicked back to his son, sharp as the frost beyond the Wall. “Aye,” he said after a pause. “They’re your kin.”

“Then why are we here?” Brandon gestured at the low table, where the Starks had been placed, as though set apart by invisible walls. “At home, Luce and all of us sit together at the table. So why not here? We’re family, aren’t we?”

Cregan let out a low, humourless chuckle. “Family by blood, maybe. But blood means little in this hall. The North is our seat, not this nest of vipers.”

Brandon frowned, unsatisfied. “But you are a king too,” he pointed out. “The King in the North.”

“King,” Cregan admitted, his voice gruff. “But here? Dragonblood casts a longer shadow.” His tone softened as he leaned closer, his words meant only for Brandon. “Did you know, little wolf? Your mother could sit on the Iron Throne if she willed it. She could walk up there and claim the throne as her own, not a tongue would raise against her. Not even her own brother.”

Brandon blinked, stunned. “Ma?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “She could rule the Seven Kingdoms?”

“And you,” Cregan said, his expression thoughtful, “would be her heir. A prince of the realm.” He reached out, ruffling his son’s unruly curls. “But it was not in your mother's interest.”

The boy’s gaze flickered to his mother, who sat serene and unyielding, as timeless as winter itself. Her quiet smile, so untouched by the pomp and grandeur around her. She seemed apart from it all—rooted in some deeper, colder truth that made the gilded splendour of the hall feel hollow.

Brandon’s attention followed his line of sight, drawn inevitably to the Iron Throne. That jagged, monstrous seat of swords loomed above the hall, its sharp edges whispering of blood spilt and secrets kept. It was no mere throne—it was a warning, a legacy forged in fire and fear.

“It doesn’t suit her,” Brandon murmured, as if speaking a truth he’d only just realized.

“No,” Cregan agreed, his voice low and steady. “It does not.”

Brandon tilted his head, his youthful curiosity breaking through the moment. “But why? Why did she refuse?”

Cregan’s eyes lingered on Claere beside him, silently playing with her spoon, a soft murmur under her breath, her soft profile catching the flicker of firelight. There was a reverence in his voice as he answered, low and intended.

“Because she does not rule with swords and fear. The Iron Throne demands both—and she would not let it make her cruel.”

Brandon furrowed his brow, his gaze flicking between his father and the twisted enormity at the heart of the hall. “So... she chose you instead?”

Cregan turned to his son, a rare softness in his expression. “She chose herself—and the family we built together.”

The words hung in the air, wrapping around the three of them like a protective shield. Claere paused her quiet humming, her violet eyes flicking up to meet Cregan’s for a brief moment. There was no need for words between them.

Brandon, however, found his attention drifting elsewhere. His gaze wandered to a cluster of figures seated at a smaller table on the far side of the hall, shadowed but unmistakable. There was something about them—an air of detachment, of belonging to a different story entirely. One of them caught his eye, a tall, lean figure with long silver hair and an eyepatch glinting in the candlelight.

Brandon’s breath hitched, his chest tightening with something he couldn’t quite name. He knew the man, though he’d never met him. Knew him from tales that Maester had painted of him, of his mount, Vhagar. Of how he'd claimed such a dragon, so young. Aemond One-Eye. The rogue prince whose name carried both dread and fascination.

He turned back to his father, keeping his voice low. “Da,” he asked cautiously, his words edged with unease. “How come they’re here?”

Cregan followed his son’s gaze, his posture stiffening as his eyes landed on the table. Aemond sat with a languid confidence, his single eye gleaming with sharp amusement as though he could sense the Stark lord’s scrutiny. Nearby sat Alicent, her posture rigid, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Helaena sat, twisting a strand of her hair and shot Brandon a small smile, while Aegon, glassy-eyed and dishevelled, picked at his plate without interest.

“They, too, are your mother’s kin,” Cregan said after a moment, his voice clipped. “Her uncles and aunt. They’re not well-loved here, even now.”

Brandon’s brow furrowed again, but his eyes remained fixed on Aemond. “Aemond One-Eye is a skilled swordsman,” he said in a hushed voice, almost in awe. “Father, you must let me—”

“Bran.” Cregan’s tone was sharp, cutting his son off before he could finish. “That is where we draw the line.”

The boy flinched slightly at the firmness in his father’s voice. He glanced at Claere, hoping for some reprieve, but she didn’t look at him. Her gaze was steady, locked on the silver-haired prince across the hall.

Aemond, as if sensing their attention, smirked. It was a cruel, knowing expression, one that seemed to challenge the very air between them. His single eye glinted as it flicked from Claere to Cregan, lingering just long enough to feel like a deliberate taunt.

Cregan’s hand tightened into a fist, though he didn’t rise or speak. His jaw worked as he stared back, his wolf’s eyes cold and unyielding.

The tension in the hall crackled like frost underfoot. Brandon, though young, could feel it as he watched his father’s jaw tighten and his gaze narrow at the far table. Aemond’s smirk had only deepened as he leaned back lazily, his long fingers curling around the stem of his goblet. It was the posture of a man who feared no consequence, and it made Brandon’s stomach twist.

Cregan’s voice, when it came, was low but carried the weight of ice. “You’re a bold man, Prince Aemond,” he said, the title clipped, bitter on his tongue. “To sit there smirking like a cat in a coop, after the damage your house has done.”

Aemond tilted his head slightly, the firelight glinting off the edge of his eyepatch. His smirk widened, sharper now, more deliberate. “Damage?” he echoed, the word soft but dripping with mockery. “Surely you’ve seen your share of bloodshed, Stark. Or do Northerners keep their hands so clean they can point fingers without guilt?”

Cregan rose slowly, his chair scraping against the stone floor, the sound grating enough to make Claere glance up from her quiet contemplation. “If my hands were unclean, prince,” Cregan said, his voice a low growl, “you’d feel it across your jaw.”

“Father, don't,” Brandon whispered, alarmed, tugging at his sleeve.

Aemond leaned forward slightly, as though entertained by the rising tension. “Yes, listen to your pup, Stark. Threats have a way of turning into invitations. And I accept such things readily.”

“Aemond,” Alicent interjected, her voice sharp, though it wavered at the edges. “Enough. You shame yourself—and us.” She placed a hand on his arm, as though to stay him, but he brushed it off gently without looking at her.

Brandon, encouraged by his father’s stance, couldn’t hold back his question. “Why do you act like this?” he asked, his young voice cutting through the room like an unexpected breeze. His words were unpolished, direct. “You’re supposed to be our kin.”

Aemond turned his head sharply, his single eye locking onto the boy. The smirk faded, replaced by something colder, though not entirely without amusement.

“And what would a boy like you know of kinship?” he asked, his voice soft and biting. “The White Wolf—even the name leaves my tongue feeling sour. When a direwolf lays with a bastard dragon, do you call that kinship? Or depravity?”

Cregan’s fist slammed onto the table, the sound reverberating through the hall. “Speak those words before my family again, and I’ll make sure your other eye matches the first.”

“Enough. Both of you,” Claere said, her voice cutting through the room like a whip crack. She stood, her hands calm, but her eyes burned with a quiet fury as they fixed on Aemond. “Aemond, you’ve proven your wit. Cregan, your son has his eyes on you.”

Cregan hesitated, his grey eyes lingering on Aemond for a moment longer before he exhaled sharply and sat back down. Brandon clung to his father's shoulder as if restraining him.

Aemond met her gaze for a moment, his smirk threatening to return, but when he saw the set of her jaw and the icy stillness of her expression, he gave a slight incline of his head.

“As you wish, sweet niece,” he murmured, though the mockery lingered in his tone.

Alicent, looking harried, finally pulled at Aemond’s sleeve with more force. “Come,” she said firmly. “We’ve lingered long enough.”

With a shrug, Aemond rose, draining the last of his wine before setting the goblet down with deliberate care. He glanced at Cregan one last time, the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eye. Then, with a flick of his violet eye, he turned and strode out, Alicent following close behind.

The doors groaned shut behind them, leaving a silence that was more deafening than the clamor of conversation earlier.

Brandon sat stiffly, his small hands clutching the edge of the table. His gaze darted to his father, wide-eyed, searching for answers he could not yet articulate. “Da,” he began, his voice unsure.

Cregan’s sharp look silenced him. “The world doesn’t fight fair, Bran,” he said, his voice low, like the growl of a wolf. “Men like him thrive on your weakness. Remember that.”

Brandon nodded but said nothing, his lips pressed into a firm line.

Claere’s hand brushed against Cregan’s arm, the touch light but insistent. He turned his head slightly, his storm-grey eyes softening only for her. She leaned closer, her voice a whisper barely louder than the crackle of the torches.

“Nothing about this place feels right. I feel sick,” she murmured, her gaze flicking past Cregan’s shoulder to where Helaena sat at her table. The Targaryen princess’s pale eyes were fixed on Claere, her expression unreadable but laced with a quiet sorrow.

Cregan followed her gaze briefly before nodding. His hand closed over hers, rough and grounding, before he rose. “Let's have you rested, my love.”

Bran watched his parents, deploring.

“We’re leaving,” Cregan said firmly, his voice cutting through the lingering unease in the hall. He placed a hand on Brandon’s shoulder, urging the boy to his feet. Claere stood as well, taking Bran into the arch of her side.

As they moved toward the exit, the sound of their steps echoed in the cavernous room, every eye tracking their departure. The doors closed behind them with a dull thud, the sound resonating like the closing of some unseen door in fate’s design.

X

Cregan paced the chambers, the soft candlelight casting flickering shadows over his bare chest. There was a sheen to him, like he'd returned from a swim out at sea when really the heat was too warm by half. His tunic and coat lay strewn across the floor, casualties of his brooding temper. His hair was mussed from the constant drag of his hand through it, his jaw set like stone, holding back the sharper edge of his fury.

Claere lay on her stomach, nestled in the grand canopy bed, the silk covers draped loosely over her shoulders, her chin resting lightly on her folded hands. Her violet eyes followed him in silence, tracking his every movement. She said nothing, but the flicker of golden light over his broad shoulders, the fire in his grey eyes, and the tension in his frame—it pleased her more than she cared to admit.

“I will not allow it,” Cregan growled, his voice low and rough, vibrating with barely restrained anger. “My son, raised in the shadow of Targaryens? Bowing to them, serving their whims?” He stopped mid-step, turning on his heel to glare into the distance. His hand raked through his hair again, tugging at the strands. “What kind of Northerner bends the knee to fire?”

“A bold one,” Claere said, her voice soft, like a blade sheathed in velvet.

Cregan’s head snapped to her, his storm-grey eyes narrowing. Her calm demeanour seemed only to fuel the fire in him. “Bold?” he spat, incredulous. “No. Foolish. He’s too young to know what they’ll demand of him, what they’ll strip away. They’ll keep him here, chain him with loyalty, make him their sword—and he’s meant to rule the North, not waste his blood in service to their crown.”

Claere tilted her head slightly, the soft silver of her hair catching the faint breeze from the window. “They are his blood as much as they are mine,” she said evenly. “Is it so wrong for him to want to know them?”

Cregan let out a sharp breath, his hands bracing on his hips. “He doesn't need their approval. We're Starks,” he said, his voice cold and final as if the truth of the North was enough to silence any argument.

“And he's a Targaryen,” Claere countered, her voice quiet but unyielding. “You knew that the moment he was born.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Cregan muttered, resuming his restless pacing.

With every step, his frustration deepened, and with every sharp motion, another layer fell away, another furious mutter about the heat. His belt hit the floor first, then his boots. By the time he reached the hearth, he was stripped down to his breeches, his chest heaving with the effort of holding his temper.

“You’ll wear a trench into the stone,” Claere remarked, her tone edged with amusement.

Cregan turned, his lips twitching despite himself. “You find this amusing?”

“Not at all,” she said, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. “But you’re very… lively when you’re infuriated.”

He froze, staring at her, his expression torn between irritation and something warmer. “Lively?”

“Passionate,” she corrected, her gaze holding his.

The word struck him harder than he cared to admit, and for a moment, his temper wavered and a small smile bloomed. She reclined against the pillows, the golden light painting her features in soft relief. Her hair, loose and unbound, spilt across her shoulders like molten silver. There was a knowing look in her violet eyes that stilled him more effectively than any word could.

He crossed the room in a few strides, looming over the edge of the bed.

“You’re enjoying this,” he accused, though the fire in his voice had dimmed to an ember, flickering weakly beneath his frustration.

Claere blinked up at him, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Enjoying you sulking? Fuming? Growling at shadows? Jealous that your son looks up to someone who isn't you?” Her voice was soft, laced with mirth. “Perhaps.”

Cregan huffed, leaning closer until their faces were inches apart. His voice dropped, low and rough. “Impossible woman.”

“Stubborn man,” she replied, her tone calm, her gaze steady.

For a moment, her words hung in the air, heavy as snow on ancient pine boughs. Cregan exhaled deeply, his shoulders sinking under her quiet truth. He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, scrubbing a hand over his jaw and face. It almost felt like the world's tonnage was hanging off his neck.

“Come,” Claere murmured, shifting to make space. She reached for him, her touch gentle as she guided his head to rest in her lap.

He barely hesitated before letting himself fall into her care, his weight sinking heavily onto her thighs, as though he carried the weight of every storm in Winterfell. Her fingers slipped into his dark hair, cool and soft, brushing through the strands with ease that unravelled the knot of tension coiled at the base of his neck. The quiet rhythm of her touch was soothing, a balm for the raw edges of his frustration.

“Let him be,” Claere whispered, her voice a gentle command, soft yet unyielding. “Let him find himself, make mistakes, learn. This is what he wants.”

Cregan closed his eyes, drawing in a shuddering breath. He lifted a hand, weary and slow, to rub at his face as though trying to scrub away the ache in his chest.

“He’s our son,” he said. “I can’t simply let him go. He’s but a boy.”

“Nearly eleven. A man grown,” Claere chuckled softly. It wasn’t dismissive, but tender, carrying an affection that could pierce through his storm-clouded thoughts.

His lips twitched faintly at her laughter, the corner of his mouth lifting as if to meet her warmth, but the heaviness remained, pressing against him like an unrelenting tide. He swallowed hard, his throat working against the swell of words lodged there.

“Ever since…” His voice wavered, the syllables slipping from his mouth like broken shards. “Her.”

Her hand stilled, her fingers resting gently against his temple. A shared silence fell between them, heavy with the unspoken. She didn’t need to ask who. The memory of their firstborn, the one they lost before they even knew her face, lingered between them like a shadow cast by a distant flame.

“I’ve felt this unquenching need,” Cregan said at last, his voice rough and low, as if every word cost him. “To shield everyone. I'm the one who stands between my family and the rest of the world.” His breath hitched, and his fingers clenched briefly against the fabric of her skirts. “I can’t… I cannot lose another. Cannot afford to now. Not when grief is so far behind us I dare to believe we’ve escaped it.”

The vulnerability in his voice was a rare thing, raw and unguarded, and it made Claere’s heart ache for him. She bent her head toward his, her silver hair spilling down to mingle with his dark locks. The contrast was striking, a tangle of moonlight and shadow, wolf and dragon bound together by shared pain and quiet resilience.

“You won’t lose him, Cregan,” she whispered, her lips brushing the shell of his ear, her voice threading softly through the cracks in his armour. “But you have to trust him and let him grow. No matter how far he roams, he’ll always find his way back to the pack.”

His breath shuddered against her lap, the words sinking deep into the ache in his chest. Slowly, as though the weight of her assurance began to ease the crushing guilt he carried, he nodded. His head pressed against her, seeking the solace only she could offer, a stillness he could find nowhere else.

X

The garden of the Red Keep was alive with the gentle hum of crickets and the muted rustle of leaves stirred by the evening breeze. The scent of jasmine hung in the air, mingling with the faint tang of salt from Blackwater Bay. The sun had begun its slow descent, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson that reflected off the polished stone of the courtyard fountain.

Seated at a table draped in white linen, amidst the sprawling garden, Rhaenyra Targaryen watched her grandson with a quiet awe she had not felt in years. The boy was a Stark through and through, with his storm-grey eyes and the faintest dusting of freckles across his pale cheeks, but there was something unmistakable about him that spoke of his mother. His hair, pale as Luna's wing, caught the light with the faintest sheen of white, a gift from the dragonblood running through his veins.

Brandon tore a piece of warm bread from the loaf between them, his fingers deft and sure.

“You should have seen Rickon last week,” he said, his voice animated. “He was trying to teach Eddric to shoot. They’re both useless, of course. I keep telling Rickon to stop puffing his chest and aim properly, but he’s as stubborn as a mule.”

Rhaenyra chuckled softly, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she reached for a cup of spiced wine. “And you, darling? Were you the one to show them how it’s done?”

Brandon grinned, a flash of teeth that was all wolf. “Of course I was. Someone has to keep them in line.” His face softened as he leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. “Though Luce is worse than both of them combined. Did you know she refuses to sleep anywhere but on my shoulder these days? If I so much as move, she howls loud enough to wake the gods.”

The mention of her granddaughter brought a rare, genuine smile to Rhaenyra’s lips. “She sounds as demanding as her namesake,” she said, her voice touched with both fondness and melancholy.

“She’s a little terror,” Brandon agreed with a dramatic sigh, though his tone betrayed nothing but affection. “But I love her the most.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze lingered on him, her mind slipping into memories of Claere as a child—how her daughter would sit by the fire, pouring over flowers in a soft mumble, her silver hair glowing in the firelight. Brandon had that same intensity, that same spark of life. Yet where Claere had always carried an air of distant melancholy, Brandon seemed unburdened, his laughter bright and unguarded.

“You’re a breath of fresh air, Brandon,” Rhaenyra said softly, her words catching the boy’s attention. “I don’t know that I’ve laughed this much in years.”

Brandon tilted his head, his sharp features softening. “You should come North more often, Grandmother. You’d find plenty to laugh at with my brothers around. And Luce. She’s probably tormenting her septa as we speak.”

Rhaenyra laughed again, a sound that surprised even herself. Her hands reached for the bread, breaking off a piece and toying with it absentmindedly.

“Perhaps I will,” she murmured, though her heart clenched at the thought. The North was Claere’s world now, a place she had only touched briefly, where Rhaenyra’s legacy seemed small against the towering walls of Winterfell.

Brandon, as if sensing the shift in her mood, leaned forward, his tone light. “Tell me about Syrax,” he said, his grey eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Mother told me she was a golden dragon. Is she as fierce as she sounds?”

Rhaenyra’s expression softened further, her thoughts turning to the dragon she had not ridden in years. “Syrax is a queen in her own right,” she said, her voice reverent. “Golden as the sun, proud as the first flame. She was my companion through the best and worst of times.”

Brandon’s eyes lit up. “Do you still ride her?”

A shadow passed over her face, though her smile remained. “No, sweetling. My time as her rider has passed. But she’s still mine, and she would not turn away the blood of my blood.”

Brandon tilted his head, curious. “What do you mean?”

Rhaenyra reached out, her hand cupping his cheek, her thumb brushing over his hair. “You should try and claim her,” she said softly, her words carried beyond their simplicity. “You’re of her blood, of her fire. She would accept you. I know it.”

Brandon blinked, startled. “Me?” he breathed, his voice tinged with awe.

“You, my brave boy,” Rhaenyra said, her tone firm. “You’ve got the blood of kings and queens in you, just as much as the wolves. You’re meant for something greater.”

For a moment, he seemed speechless, his grey eyes searching hers. Then, with a grin that was as wild and free as the North, he leaned back and said, “Maybe I will.”

X

The midday sun poured through the windows of the Red Keep’s solar, gilding the stone floor in rippling light. Outside, the distant din of King’s Landing played like a faraway melody: the clang of market bells, the chatter of traders, the call of gulls drifting from Blackwater Bay.

Inside, Claere lounged on a cushioned bench, her legs stretched out lazily across Cregan’s lap. One foot was bare, her silken slipper dangling precariously from her other toes as she shifted, wriggling to catch the light. Her fingers danced in the air, casting fleeting shadows against the high, arched walls. A butterfly flapped its wings, morphing into a crocodile that snapped its jaws before melting into a sparrow.

Cregan sat at ease, a knife in one hand, an orange in the other. He peeled it with the care of a man sharpening a blade, the rind coming away in one long spiral. His head was bowed slightly, but his eyes flicked up to her now and then, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’ve gotten better at that,” he muttered, gesturing toward her shadow play. “Not as dreadful as the last butterfly you tried.”

Claere scoffed, her toes pressing lightly into his thigh. “I had two children hanging off my arms when I made that butterfly. I should like to see you do better with little Luce clawing at your hair.”

“I’d make a proper direwolf,” he said, leaning back as he flicked the orange peel onto the table. His grey eyes glinted with quiet challenge.

She raised an eyebrow, her hands pausing midair. “A direwolf, you say? Go on, show me.”

He set the orange down, wiped his hands on a cloth, and raised them. The shadows twisted into something vaguely lupine—more of a blob with pointed ears.

Claere giggled, her laughter soft but unrestrained. “Is that supposed to frighten me? It looks more like a sheep with horns.”

The golden light softened the sharp edges of his face, his Northern ruggedness somehow at odds with the languid peace of the moment. Claere traced his profile with her eyes—the set of his jaw, the faint curve of his smirk—and felt a pang of gratitude for this rare interlude.

“What's going on in your head?” he asked, not looking at her, his hands now occupied with dividing the orange into sections.

“How much you remind me of a bear every now and then,” she said with mock seriousness. “Big, grumpy, growling at anyone who comes too close.”

He chuckled, low and rumbling. “I’ll remember that the next time you call me wolf.”

She smiled, her hand reaching out to take a slice of the orange he offered her. The sweetness burst on her tongue, and she closed her eyes briefly, savouring it. The Red Keep, for all its burdens and shadows, had afforded them a rare reprieve, a pocket of time carved from the relentless press of duty.

But the peace shattered like glass underfoot when the door to the solar burst open. Two guards stumbled in, dragging a soot-covered figure between them. The acrid scent of smoke and singed hair preceded them, and Claere and Cregan froze, their shared moment breaking apart as reality surged in.

The boy's tunic was torn, his face smeared with soot and ash. A gash marred his cheek, sluggishly oozing blood. The acrid stench of smoke clung to him, mingling with the scent of charred leather. Beneath the grime, his sharp grey eyes were unmistakable.

“Brandon.”

It was Cregan who moved first, surging from his chair, the knife and orange clattering to the ground. His heavy boots echoed against the stone floor as he closed the distance, his towering frame lowering to kneel before the boy. His hands, rough and calloused, reached out instinctively, gripping Brandon’s shoulders, scanning his son for injuries.

“Who did this?” His voice was low, cold, edged with barely contained fury.

The guards, though hardened men of the Keep, faltered under the Warden of the North’s glare. One cleared his throat nervously. “He—he snuck into the Dragonpit, my lord.”

A tense silence followed as the words sank in.

“He tried to claim the Queen’s mount, Syrax.”

“Bran,” Claere sighed, her voice tinged with exasperation as she rubbed her temple, though the faint tremor in her hand betrayed her fear.

“Out,” Cregan growled, cutting her off. His voice was thunderous, and the guards didn’t wait for a second command. They dropped their hold on the boy and backed out of the room with hurried bows, the door slamming shut behind them.

Cregan rose to his full height, looming over his son. His face, lined with the weight of leadership and fatherhood, was dark with anger.

“Did you fall on your head one too many times, boy?” His voice was sharp with the ferocity of a father's fear, his Northern accent biting. “Do you want death so much you have to go find it? You thought to claim a dragon—dragon! Alone! Do you think yourself fireproof, huh?”

Brandon stood his ground, his chin lifting defiantly, shoulders squared, the faintest hint of his father’s stubbornness mirrored in his young face. He said nothing, his jaw tight, and with a deliberate step, he brushed past Cregan and toward his mother.

“I’m talking to you, Bran!” Cregan’s voice thundered again, but the boy didn’t falter. “You’re scrubbing the stables when we get back, do you hear me? The filthiest ones. I don't care how long. Every day until your arms give out!”

Brandon didn’t so much as flinch. He quietly moved to Claere’s side, his head bowing as he settled beside her.

“Sit,” Claere commanded softly, her tone holding none of Cregan’s fury but all of its authority. She reached to dampen a cloth from a jug, her movements calm and deliberate as she began to dab at the soot and grime streaking her son’s face.

“Hold still,” she murmured, her voice softer now, almost a whisper.

Brandon obeyed, though his eyes flicked to his father’s looming form across the table.

“Don’t coddle him, Claere,” Cregan growled, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “He needs discipline, not mothering. Look at him; there's no remorse in his eyes. Ungrateful little... He could have—” He cut himself off, the words sticking in his throat.

“He did not. It's alright, Cregan,” Claere said quietly, her tone cutting through the tension like a blade.

Her husband’s jaw tightened, but when she glanced up at him, her steady gaze held him in place. It wasn’t reproachful, but neither was it yielding. Slowly, his shoulders eased, though the storm still lingered in his grey eyes.

“What happened, Bran?” Claere asked again, her focus returning to Brandon. Her voice was soft, coaxing.

“They were all going to the dragonpit,” Brandon mumbled, his voice barely audible. “Laena, Daeron. All of them left me behind, Ma.” He sniffled, his small chest hitching with restrained tears. “I wanted to go, too.”

Claere sighed, her hand pausing as she rubbed at the soot on his neck. She leaned forward slightly, her silver hair cascading like a curtain around them, creating a small, private world.

“And you thought claiming a dragon would make them see you differently?” she asked, her tone free of judgment.

Brandon hesitated, then nodded, his gaze flicking up to meet hers. “I just wanted to be... like them. Like you.”

Claere’s breath caught at his words, but she schooled her expression, her thumb brushing his cheek as she cupped his face. “Oh, my sweet boy,” she whispered. “You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone—not to them, not to me. You’re already enough.”

Cregan shifted behind her, the sound of his boots against the stone floor filling the quiet. His anger had ebbed now, replaced by something deeper—guilt, perhaps, or worry.

“Bran,” Cregan said, his voice quieter but no less firm. “We don’t need dragons to make us strong. What makes you a man isn’t fire or glory—it’s honour, and knowing how to protect those you love.”

Brandon glanced at his father, his small face torn between shame and defiance. “But they think I’m weak because I don't have a dragon.”

“They don’t know you,” Cregan said sharply, stepping closer. “Not like me or your mother does. Not like your people do. You’ve got more fire in you than you know, son. You don’t need to risk your life to prove it.”

Claere glanced back at Cregan, her eyes softening at the rough edge in his tone. She reached out, resting her free hand on his arm.

“He’s young,” she said gently, reminding them of the earlier conversation they shared. “He’s learning.”

Cregan nodded, though he didn’t look at her. His focus remained on Brandon, the lines of his face softening at last. “A month in the stables,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “You’ll think twice next time before putting yourself in danger.”

Brandon’s shoulders slumped, but he nodded. “Fine.”

Claere smiled faintly, dabbing at one last streak of soot. “There,” she said, brushing her hand over his hair. She placed a deep, long kiss on his cheek. “Clean enough to sit at the table again.”

The boy managed a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He slid off the bench and stood uncertainly between them, looking from his mother to his father.

Cregan let out a long breath and crouched to his son’s level, resting a broad hand on his shoulder. “Next time you feel left out,” he said quietly, “talk to me. We’ll find something worth your bravery—but not this. Not dragons.”

Brandon’s lips parted, his defiance flickering for a moment as if he might argue. But then, seeing the unyielding lines of his father’s face, he relented. His shoulders sagged, and his voice was smaller than before.

“Yes, Da.”

Cregan’s hand squeezed his shoulder once, a silent acknowledgement of the promise before he released him. He smacked the back of his head lightly, ushering him away.

“Get out of here and get cleaned,” Cregan told him. “You look like pigshit.”

Brandon lingered for a moment longer, then turned and padded toward the doorway.

Claere’s gaze followed her son as he disappeared into the corridor beyond. Her hand, resting on the table, tightened briefly into a fist before she relaxed her fingers.

“You were harder on him than usual,” she said softly, her voice carrying none of the reproach it might have.

Cregan didn’t answer immediately. He straightened with a groan, his exhaustion evident in the slump of his broad shoulders. Dragging a hand through his dark hair, he looked at her, his jaw tight.

“One of us had to be,” he replied, his voice low and heavy with something unspoken. “Taming dragons. Tsk. Foolish fuckin' lad.”

X

The air was crisp with the bite of late autumn, the scent of hay and manure thick in the stables back in Winterfell as Brandon Stark worked the rake over the uneven floor. His arms ached, his back stung from leaning too long, and his frustration simmered just beneath his skin. Scrubbing the stables wasn’t the worst punishment his father had ever doled out, but the indignity of it gnawed at him.

His brothers, as always, were more hindrance than help. Eight-year-old Rickon had armed himself with a brush and was vigorously sweeping, though his efforts did little more than stir the hay into scattered piles. Five-year-old Ed trailed behind him, copying his every move, while Luce, the youngest and the most spirited, darted about the stalls, her voice rising in an off-key rendition of "Foxy’s Hole." She seemed utterly oblivious to the tension simmering in her elder brother.

“What’s the capital like?” Ed asked suddenly, his small hands smudged with dirt as he crouched to pick through the straw. “Are there dragons everywhere?”

“And the Kingsguard,” Rickon added, pausing his dramatic sweeps to look up. “Is King Daemon as strong as they say? Did you see Caraxes?”

Bran froze for a moment, the rake still in his hands. The images came unbidden: the Red Keep with its high walls and colder shadows, the whispers in court that hissed behind every smile, the weight of Targaryen eyes on him. The songs had lied, just like the stories of dragons made for little boys’ dreams.

“It’s not what you’d think,” he muttered, his voice low as he looked away.

Ed wrinkled his nose, his face scrunching with confusion. “But it’s the Red Keep!” he insisted. “Mummy grew up there. It must be grand.”

Rickon elbowed him and leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Bran’s just mad because Da made him clean out horse dung.”

Bran’s jaw tightened, his fingers gripping the rake handle until his knuckles whitened. He wanted to snap back but forced himself to take a breath instead. Straightening, he raked his fingers through his hair and spoke before he could think better of it.

“I’m going back next winter,” he said flatly. “To squire for the king. For Uncle Jace.”

The words dropped into the stillness like a stone into a frozen lake, shattering the moment. Rickon stilled mid-sweep, and Ed’s mouth fell open in stunned disbelief. Even Luce, who had been twirling in circles, stopped and turned her wide violet eyes on him, her expression unreadable.

“You’re leaving Winterfell?” Rickon blurted, aghast.

A sharp whistle sliced through the crisp air, cutting through the chatter and the rustling of hay. All four siblings froze, their heads snapping toward the gates where Cregan Stark stood, his broad frame outlined against the slate-grey sky. His weathered face carried a familiar authority and warmth, and with two fingers, he beckoned them forward. Rickon and Ed bolted instantly, eager to obey, their boots thudding against the frozen earth.

Bran lingered, his hands tightening around the rake. He cast a sidelong glance at Luce, who clutched his hand, her small fingers curling tightly around his. She wasn’t moving.

“Go on, then,” he muttered, sighing. “Don’t make him wait.”

Luce shook her head stubbornly, her violet eyes wide with mischief. “I don’t want to.”

Bran rolled his eyes, kicking the rake aside with frustration. “Fine. Let’s go.” He extended his finger to her, and with her tiny hand wrapped around his, he trudged toward their father, his steps heavy with reluctance.

When they reached the gates, Rickon and Ed were already beaming under Cregan’s rough hands as he tousled their hair. His gaze shifted, landing on Luce as she hovered behind Bran, half-hidden. He arched a brow, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Snuck away from your septa again, have you?” His voice was a low rumble, laced with gentle reproach.

Luce’s grip on Bran’s leg tightened as she tried to disappear behind him entirely. Cregan’s brow lifted higher.

“Rickon, Ed,” he said, his tone turning firm, though there was still warmth beneath it. “Take your sister back to her lessons. She’s not to be running loose.”

“But—” Luce began, her protest dying on her lips as Rickon swooped in, his grin wolfish. With a quick motion, he wrapped his arms around her waist and hoisted her over his shoulder.

“No use arguing, Luce,” Rickon teased, cackling as she squirmed and kicked her little legs. “You’re outmatched.”

“Bran!” she wailed, reaching for him as Rickon carried her off. Ed trailed after them, giggling at her indignation.

Bran watched them go, his arms crossing over his chest, his jaw tightening as he turned his gaze to the ground. The heat of his frustration simmered again, bubbling up beneath the surface. The stables were punishment enough; he didn’t need another lecture.

“You’re sulking,” Cregan observed, his deep voice cutting through Bran’s thoughts. There was a faint teasing edge to his tone, but it was undercut by quiet understanding.

“I’m not,” Bran snapped, though the words sounded half-hearted even to his own ears.

Cregan stepped closer, towering over his son with that familiar weight of presence. He reached out and nudged Bran’s shoulder lightly, forcing him a step forward. “Come on, lad,” he said, his voice softer now. “I’ve something to show you.”

Bran frowned, his arms tightening across his chest. “If this is another punishment—”

“Far from it,” Cregan interrupted, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “But keep dragging your feet, and I might change my mind.”

Bran sighed heavily but relented, falling into step behind his father. Together, they crossed the courtyard toward the kennels, the air alive with the low growls and soft whines of the direwolves housed within. The sharp scent of pine and frost hung thick around them, mingling with the earthy musk of the animals.

At the edge of the enclosure, Cregan stopped before a small pen. The low growls and soft whines of the wolves fell away as Bran followed his gaze. Inside, a lone wolf paced nervously, its coat a deep, glossy black that seemed to drink in the pale light. Its sharp yellow eyes darted toward them, wary and unblinking, its every movement tense with distrust.

Cregan crouched by the pen, his hands steady as he unlatched it. “Come closer,” he said, his voice low but gentle.

Bran hesitated, his eyes fixed on the wolf. Its wiry frame was all sharp angles, a creature of feral instincts and quiet resilience. Yet something in its gaze—something untamed and fierce—stirred something deep in Bran, a strange pull he didn’t quite understand.

Cregan slipped inside first, his movements deliberate as he reached for the wolf.

“Found him in the woods,” he said, his tone soft but resonant. “All alone. Half-starved, snarling at shadows.” He chuckled quietly, scratching behind the wolf’s ears. The creature flinched at first but gradually stilled under his touch. “Sniveling little fighter,” Cregan added, glancing back at Bran with a small, knowing smile. “Reminded me of someone.”

Bran bristled, though he stepped closer, his curiosity outweighing his indignation.

Cregan cradled the wolf with surprising gentleness, lifting it from the pen and holding it against his broad chest. The wolf let out a low, hesitant growl, but Cregan’s steady hands quieted it. “Go on,” he said, extending the wolf toward Bran.

Bran’s breath caught as the creature’s sharp gaze locked onto his. For a moment, he froze, unsure. Then, carefully, he reached out, taking the wolf into his arms. Its warmth was startling, a living, breathing contrast to the biting cold of the air. It wriggled slightly, testing his grip, but Bran held firm.

Cregan watched him, his expression softening. “What would you have named your dragon?” he asked suddenly, his tone light but pointed.

The question hit harder than Bran expected, and his grip on the wolf tightened. He frowned, his shoulders tensing.

“You don’t have to rub salt in the wound, Da,” he muttered. “I know what I don’t have.”

“Humor me,” Cregan pressed, his voice steady, his eyes holding Bran’s. There was no teasing now, just quiet patience.

Bran hesitated, his face heating with embarrassment. “Frostbane,” he mumbled, barely above a whisper.

Cregan’s laugh rang out, a warm, rich sound that echoed through the kennel. Bran scowled, turning away, but his father’s hand was quick to catch his shoulder, holding him in place.

“Don’t turn your back on me, boy,” Cregan said, his voice softening. He reached out, his large hand brushing the wolf’s sleek black fur. “Frostbane’s a damn fine name. Look at him—sharp, fierce, a survivor. Just like you.”

Bran blinked, startled by the words. He glanced down at the wolf in his arms, its yellow eyes watching him with an intensity that mirrored his own.

“He’s yours,” Cregan said, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Not just any wolf, Bran. A direwolf for a Stark who’s more than he thinks he is. Who doesn’t need dragons to be great.”

Bran’s throat tightened. The weight of his father’s words settled over him, heavy and warm, easing the sting of the day’s frustrations. “Mine?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost disbelieving.

Cregan nodded, ruffling the pup’s ears. “Yours. He’ll grow to match you—strong, proud. A king of the wilds, like his friend.”

Bran’s chest swelled with a mixture of pride and relief. For the first time in what felt like weeks, he grinned, the corners of his mouth lifting as the wolf squirmed in his arms.

“Frostbane,” he said again, testing the name aloud.

“A Stark name,” Cregan said, watching his son with a faint smile. “And one that’ll make the whole of Winterfell remember who you are.”

X

it's humbling when your inbox is as empty as your soul :') This feature was just something off the top of my head lmao I don't even know if it's that good but worth a shot!

[ taglist: @pearldaisy , @thatkindofgurl , @theadharablack , @cherryheairt , @beingalive1 , @oxymakestheworldgoround , @tigolebittiez , @cosmosnkaz , @lv7867 , @piper570 , @danikasthings , @acsc8 , @justdazzling ] -> thank you for your endless support everyone!

[jacesvelaryons]

(Modern! Jace Velaryon x Female!Reader) Social Media AU

summary: Modern Jacaerys Velaryon is an heir to the Targaryen Corp, and also has a decent following on social media. You and him have the best time together, making the most out of life being young, beautiful and successful. Spot the cameos of our other HOTD characters in a lot less stressful circumstance where everyone gets along in modern day. 😅

a/n: please keep sending in your requests! i love hearing and writing for you guys. i’ll get them back to you as soon as possible alongside a ton of original work i plan to share. will post a previews of my upcoming work with their posters and all.

masterlist

requests OPEN

yourusername

liked by rhaenyratargaryen, laenorvel and others

date night with the love of my life

sarasnow hope you had a blast lovelies!!

liked by yourusername

↩️ random63 wasn’t sara rumoured to be jaces fling situationship before he got with y/n? 👀👀

↩️ person173 i think so but she cregan and jace have made it clear they’re all just close friends

↩️ user649 ofc sure 🤔

rhaenyratargaryen love you my darlings

↩️ yourusername love you too mama nyra 🩷🩷🫂

↩️ user0092 oh she got his ceo mamas approval this is SERIOUS

yourusername

⭐️

liked by laenavelaryon, sabithafrey and others

user725 she’s making the targ heir work for her i love it

↩️ fan92 as men should

liked by yourusername, baelatargs and rhaenatargeryen

alyblackwood you deserve it girl 😌

↩️ yourusername thanks pookie 😙

username366 wish my man would treat me like this too 😓

user271 now where is this dress from?

↩️ yourusername it’s @/versace luv!

jacaerysvelaryon

ibiza

taken by the beautiful @/ yourusername

liked by oscartully, joffreyv and others

baelatargs and where are the pictures of her? sick of seeing your face 😤

↩️helaenasbugs yes where is she?? 🤭

↩️ yourusername dw girls my pic dumps are coming soon 😭

yourusername youre so stunning baby

↩️jacesvelaryons no you are stunning babe

↩️lucerysvelaryon get a room please…

randomuser now why does joffrey have an ig he’s too young 🤔

↩️ rhaenatargs it’s just for roblox and minecraft updates he’s fine trust me 😭😭

yourusername

it’s all sea blue and sand from here. 🐚

liked by addamhull, yourgirlnettles and others

usernamehere oh to be the targaryen corp heir’s gf living a life of luxury

↩️ randomuser887 she’s a gold digger 😒

↩️ person1124 she don’t need no gold she comes from a comfortable family herself lol

↩️ user98 you’d go for the gold too imagine the life and besides he’s cute smart respectful and a gentleman i’d date him even if he was broke

↩️fan120 real

itsyourgirlnettles missed you luv! come over at driftmark more often

↩️ yourusername i don’t see you enough! promise we’ll hang one on one time more

↩️itsyourgirlnettles good luck to me to get your man off your arm even just for a few hours with ya lol

jacaerysvelaryon posted a story

creganstark

night out with the best bro

liked by kermitully, oneyedaemond and others

yourusername get home safely boys!

↩️usernamehere why didn’t you go girlie?

↩️ yourusername i’m always invited but im a grannie im in bed by 10 pm with a book winding down for the night 😅i come sometimes

↩️creganstark yeahhh you should come next time! had to deal with him fawning over you again 😐 don’t want your ego to get any bigger

↩️ yourusername hey! i’ll come next time i promise and my ego ain’t changing stark

jacaerysvelaryon missed you there my muse at my new set

↩️ yourusername i’ll be there next time i promise 😅 you know this isn’t my crowd but I’ll go for you

↩️ jacaerysvelaryon you missed my dedicated song to you last night i’ll have to play it again next time 😔

aegondeux yoo invite me over next time missed out the fun again

↩️helaenasbugs too busy at the bar that’s why 😒 why did you get out of rehab idiot