#oc: elayna reyne | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

queen--kenobi · 5 months ago

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Wheel of Fortune: Prologue

Story summary: Elayna Reyne often imagines herself being someone and making a name for herself but only in the way young girls do. Unfortunately, when Elayna makes her way to King's Landing as one of Cerelle Lannister's ladies-in-waiting, Elayna finds dreams come with a price.

Pairings: Cerelle Lannister x OFC (Elayna Reyne), OC (Tymon Lannister) x OFC (Elayna Reyne), eventual Tyland Lannister x OC

Chapter summary: News finds its way to Elayna. Some of it is good but most of it is bad. Elayna learns when it rains, it pours.

Chapter warnings: implied NSFT (wlw action, BDSM themes, D/s dynamics), discussions of domestic violence, some suicidal ideation, and sexual harassment. Also Tymon. Yeah, a lot for a prologue I know.

Author's note: Hi hello it's finally here! I know it's taken 5ever and a day, but it's here! I'm so excited to introduce everyone to Elayna in canon and Tymon as well. I want to thank @writingbylee for being my cheerleader and helping me since day one with Elayna you have no idea how much that means to me. I also want to thank @baba-fett and @emilykaldwen for being willing to listen to me try and figure all this out

Waves crash against the unyielding cliffside.

Elayna sighs. She looks down to the waters below. Jagged rocks stick up from the ocean, the edges sharp and dangerous despite the weathering. Elayna tilts her head. In the dying light, the areas where the rocks cluster almost look like teeth to her, the giant gaping maw of an unknown beast.

What would it be like to die upon those rocks?

What would it be like to kill someone upon the rocks? How long would someone suffer in the blistering sun and salty air? Would they die upon impact, or would it break their back and render them immobile, unable to stop the slow creeping of the Stranger?

She bites the inside of her lip. The pain stops the morbid thoughts, she finds. More and more as of late, her brain keeps coming back to them. They circle her brain like vultures awaiting the dying. Elayna closes her eyes and inhales slowly. Some days, she cannot tell if she wishes to kill or be killed. She thinks it is the latter of the two. She has no true wish to die, only to escape her suffering. Her life has become a prison she cannot escape from no matter how much she tries.

Then again. Is it truly a prison when she has willingly given her captor the keys? When the prison is of her own making?

She exhales. She pauses and rubs her face.

If only she could talk to Cerelle. If only she could make her see...

“Elayna!”

The familiar voice makes Elayna's hairs stand on end. Elayna wants to ignore him. Maybe he'll go away if she pretends he isn't there. Of course, it has never stopped him before, so why would it now? Slowly, Elayna lifts her head.

Tymon walks towards her. He seems to be in a good mood. A smile graces his features. The wind blows his hair gently. Elayna looks at his eyes. His eyes turn first when he's angry; he can keep the smile up and make it seem genuine even when his eyes make it clear he wants nothing more than to commit an act of unspeakable violence just by looking him in the eye. His jaw betrays him next.

His smile is always the last thing to go.

“Tymon.” Elayna tries her best to answer his smile. She tries to force it to reach her eyes. It feels too tight, too fake. A surge of panic overtakes her. What if he sees it's fake? Will he ignore it? Will he pretend to not see it until he can use her lack of enthusiasm against her? What if it provokes his ire? She blinks. Her eyes must show her fear, she can't have that.

Tymon laughs. When Elayna opens her eyes, she sees him holding his hands up.

“Woah.” He sounds as if he is calming down a spooked horse, not a human being. She can hear the clear amusement in his tone. Elayna bites down on the inside of her cheek. She cannot sneer at him; no one else is around, and she is too close to the edge of the parapet. Despite her early thoughts, Elayna has no desire to be pushed off the castle.

“I did not mean to startle you. My sincerest apologies.”

“Think nothing of it. I was just under the impression I was alone.”

“One might begin to think you want to be alone.” Tymon stops right beside her. The sleeve of his doublet almost brushes against the sleeve of her dress. Elayna's skin crawls. “I noticed you left particularly early.”

“I needed some fresh air is all.” Elayna looks out towards the sea. “I spoke with Jeyne Marbrand. The incense they use in their Sept must be quite... strong.”

Elayna sniffs delicately as if to prove her point. Tymon lets out a small chuckle. He places his forearms on the low wall.

“Yes, I have noticed that as well.” Tymon turns his head to the side. His green eyes inspect her. “Where is Cerelle? I thought if I found you, I might find her.”

Elayna swallows.

“Cerelle is talking with one of the Tarbeck daughters, I believe.” Gods above, she hates she knows this. “There's talk of one of them being brought in as one of Tyshara's ladies.”

Tymon hums. He looks back out to the ocean once more. He inches his forearm towards her. Elayna tries to subtly move her arm away. She reaches up and adjusts her necklace before placing her arm down.

“Mother spoke to me today.”

“Oh?” Elayna arches an eyebrow. “What did the two of you speak about?”

“Many things.” Tymon fidgets with one of the many rings on his fingers. “Mostly of the future.”

Elayna nods. Within a fortnight, Cerelle and Tymon would be celebrating their eight and tenth name day. The feast tonight kicks off the events to follow. The future looms large over everything now; all the politics and planning finally moving into action. A bitter, acrid taste surges into Elayna’s mouth. For all that Johanna cares about Cerelle, she will also use her, as is the way. A son ensures the line while a daughter ensures treaties and potential comfort in old age.

She knows what will most likely become of Cerelle, but she has no idea what awaits her. For years, she and Cerelle would joke about having to find two brothers to marry. Naturally, Cerelle would marry the eldest and Elayna the younger. Elayna presses her lips together. She gazes at the far away horizon, feeling as if she herself is as much of a distance away from her own body as the horizon. Those plans... Well. They were no more.

She hears shifting, the rustle of clothes against the stone wall. Elayna forces herself back into her body. She turns her head. Tymon now stands with his back to the wall, facing away from the sea and into the courtyard. He crosses his arms.

“The plan is for you to accompany Cerelle to King's Landing when we leave.”

“I'm aware.” Elayna tries to keep her tone pleasant. “I'm looking forward to it.”

Tymon turns his head to look at her. He evaluates her for a long moment.

“Did you hear that from my mother or sister?”

“Cerelle told me. Why?”

Tymon smirks. “Then you don't know the good news yet.”

“Good news?” Elayna huffs a laugh. “Let me guess. Your father found an uninhabited island and named it after Cerelle?”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“You're right, that is ridiculous. He named it after Tyshara.”

Tymon rolls his eyes. “I am the first born son.”

“Yes, but I've been under the impression islands are she's. On account of them being pretty to look at.” Elayna sees a brief flash of irritation on Tymon's face. “So the good news is not an island.”

“No, it isn't an island. That would be excellent news, but this is better.”

“Better than an island? Hmm. Dalton Greyjoy dying. Ideally a slow and incredibly painful death.”

“Alas. One can only wish.”

“Cerelle is betrothed to a Hightower? Is that it?”

Tymon scoffs. Elayna bites the inside of her lip to keep from giggling. As dangerous as it can be, she does enjoy annoying Tymon. He thinks himself to be so smart, to the point he corrects anyone he deems lower than himself. Yet, somehow, he falls into every single conversational trap she creates. It's almost as if he can't help it; he has to try to make someone else look like an idiot, even at the expense of making a fool of himself.

The apple never falls far from the tree.

“No. It is not Cerelle marrying a Hightower.” Tymon sniffs almost delicately. Annoyance laces every word. Elayna has no doubt in her mind if she pushes more, she will push too far. Normally, she might relish in the chance to pick a fight. Instead, she decides to play nice. “I'm sure mother has higher ambitions for her.”

“What is the good news, then?”

Tymon looks at Elayna. His gaze feels intense. Elayna looks back at him.

“Once Cerelle is settled and has found a husband, mother suggested you might come back. With us.”

Elayna's heart doesn't just sink; it plummets. It drops from her chest to her stomach the same way a boulder falls from a cliff.

“I'm... I'm afraid I don't follow.”

“Don't play dumb with me, Elayna.” Tymon smiles, and for the first time, his smile itself scares her. “Isn't this what you wanted? I would think so, given all the times you have tormented and teased me. Finally, Mother has come to her senses about everything as well.”

“Tymon, I genuinely do not know what you're talking about.”

Tymon sighs. It's one of the most patronizing sounds Elayna has heard. It makes her skin crawl and jaw tighten.

“Mother wants to ensure you and Cerelle have ample time together before Cerelle is married. Once Cerelle is settled, our betrothal will be made official and announced.”

Elayna instantly regrets not jumping off the castle and onto the rocks below. A sour, bitter taste floods her mouth. She stares at him.

“We're...?”

“To be married. Do keep up, Elayna. I cannot have a wife who is slow on the upkeep.”

Elayna's years of practice prevent her from snarling at him. Her upper lip still twitches. Her jaw clenches. She glares daggers at him.

“I'm not slow!” She pauses. Tymon gives her a look as if he might hit her should she say more. “I am merely... surprised. I wouldn't have thought I would have been a contender.”

“I thought my fondness for you was evident.” Tymon tilts his head. He almost seems genuinely confused as to why Elayna doesn't understand. “ ‘Tis a good match.”

“Surely there are better matches. One of the Lefford's daughters per-”

Elayna's next words are muffled. Tymon surges forward and kisses her. The beginnings of his beard feel rough and unpleasant against her skin, as do his lips. He takes advantage of her parted lips to try and slip his tongue into her mouth. It feels wet and gross against hers, almost slimy. An unpleasant shiver runs up her spine. Elayna clamps her teeth down on his tongue. She means it as a warning bite.

It works.

Tymon pulls away, fury blazing in his eyes. His smile drops.

“Tymon. I don't... this isn't appropriate!” Elayna hisses. “Nothing has even been announced or made official, you cannot just kiss me like that.”

“I don't care.”

“Well I do. Your reputation may not be at stake but mine is.”

Tymon stares at her, his expression unreadable. Elayna's chest heaves.

“Why would your reputation be ruined? Everyone knows you are mine and mine alone.” He reaches forward and attempts to touch her face. Elayna jerks backwards and away from him.

“Tymon.”

Both Elayna and Tymon turn towards the sound of the voice. Tymon scowls. Cerelle stands on the parapet as well. She looks radiant, the setting sun lighting her in beautiful hues. Cerelle has her father's hair and eyes but everything else about her comes from her mother, down to the cold expression she wears.

“Cerelle.” Tymon greets. His tone matches the coolness of Cerelle's face. “I was wondering where you were.”

“So you thought to seek Elayna out?” She steps forward. Tymon’s upper lip twitches, but he manages to wrangle it under control at the last second. Elayna takes the welcome distraction and begins to put some distance between herself and Tymon.

“Yes, well. The two of you are close.”

He makes it sound almost disgusting. Elayna glares at him. Still, she doesn't say anything, not wishing to draw his attention to her. Cerelle tilts her head. A perfectly curled ringlet of blonde hair falls into her face.

“Elayna is not my keeper.” She sounds as if she wants to laugh.

“No, but you are Elayna's.”

Cerelle raises an eyebrow. “Speak plainly. If you have an issue with my relationship with my ladies-in-waiting, say so and be done with it."

Tymon lifts both his hands in the air. He chuckles softly, a sly smirk making its way onto his face.

“I meant no offense, dearest sister.” He lowers his hands.

“I take offense to your actions, not your words.” Cerelle steps forward. Her gait remains surprisingly steady. Elayna knows, though. She sees the barely repressed anger and tense jaw, the way Cerelle clenches both her hands into fists for the briefest of seconds before clasping her hands in front of her, the flare of Cerelle's nostrils as she nearly stalks towards her brother.

“My actions?”

“Yes. Your actions. Mother has made it explicitly clear you are not to be alone with Elayna. Yet you openly defy her and seek out Elayna when I am busy.”

Tymon swallows. Elayna sees his Adam's apple bob. She takes advantage of his surprise and almost scurries over to Cerelle. Cerelle seemingly doesn't react to her presence.

Tymon stares at his sister for a long moment. Cerelle stares evenly back at him, her steely gaze not dissimilar to Johanna’s. Tymon must make some sort of expression because after a long minute, Cerelle's brow furrows. She raises one eyebrow. The left side of her mouth lifts slightly, not quite into a sneer but certainly a scoff. Annoyance rolls off of Tymon. His hands clench into fists for a second before he thinks better of it.

“Very well.” Tymon tries to sound pleasant, as if he's truly deferring to his sister. The blazing storm in his eyes says otherwise. He bows his head. “I shall do as instructed. Do try to not hog all of my future wife's time.”

He turns on his heel and heads towards the other set of stairs. Elayna watches him from her place behind Cerelle. She waits until he disappears from sight to speak.

“Thank you.” Elayna murmurs. She tries to effuse her gratitude into every word. Cerelle tries to keep her steady gaze. Despite her efforts, her expression softens, the hard edges of her jaw easing and forehead relaxing.

“I cannot rescue you all the time.”

“I know. I don't expect you too.”

Elayna steps forward. Cerelle does as well.

“Mother wants to see us as well. After she talks to Tymon.”

Cerelle stands torn. Elayna sees it clear as day. Cerelle refuses to close the distance, but with each passing moment, her posture relaxes some.

Elayna moves first. She steps closer to Cerelle, stopping two paces away.

“I'm still mad at you.” Cerelle looks away as she speaks.

“I know. I made a mess of things.”

“I'm not going to forgive you easily.”

Elayna steps closer. She could reach out and touch Cerelle if she wants to but opts not to do so.

“How would you like me to apologize?” Elayna looks around for a second. The two of them are alone. “I've been told I have a silvertongue when it comes to apologies.”

Cerelle's stern exterior fully breaks. She blushes. Red rises from her neck to her cheeks.

“Elayna!” She hisses. “Not here.”

“Oh, I wouldn't dream of doing that here.”

Cerelle finally closes the distance between them. She reaches out and loops her arm through Elayna's.

“We should get back to the feast.” Cerelle lightly traces a finger down Elayna's forearm. “If we don't, they'll come looking.”

“Whatever my Lady desires.”

The look on Cerelle's face sends a pleasant tingle along Elayna's spine. Cerelle hums. Elayna bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling victorious. Cerelle's expression no doubt means a delightful night lies ahead of them, one Elayna imagines many women only dream of happening to them. Her own eight and ten name day is still several moons away yet many ladies have taken to giving her womanly advice. She cannot bite or scratch for too much passion may scare her husband, and it is unseemly to mark him with her nails and teeth. He may mark her as he wishes, though. His pleasure must occur; some women say she can experience it while others say she must not. Do not get on top for he will get sick since to do so is an abomination and sin. He must never look at her nether region except for when he slides into her.

All the rules make her want to laugh. While she cannot say she has experience with men beyond a kiss, she doubts the rules. If they are true, men have weak constitutions.

Cerelle never complains about her being on top or whose pleasure comes before the others. Cerelle never cares if Elayna’s mouth finds its way to Cerelle's lips or clit. Truth be told, she seems to enjoy the act quite a lot. Cerelle does prefer Elayna not mark her; Elayna has no qualms about being marked so long as it isn't visible.

Despite her gender, Elayna finds herself performing more husbandly duties than most men. The only rule existing between them is they must not break their maidenheads. It is the only thing their husbands may have before them.

Elayna's greed knows no bounds; everything a husband could take is hers except for that one thing. The same goes for Cerelle. She owns everything except Elayna's maidenhead. Elayna can only dream of that happening.

“Perhaps I will need you tonight. I would like to spend time with my boon companion.”

“I am always at your service.”

They begin to walk towards the stairs. Cerelle's grip keeps Elayna close, as if she thinks Elayna would go far. Elayna would never. If she could, Elayna would chain herself to Cerelle. She would put a collar around her neck like a hound and hand Cerelle the lead. She wonders if it would surprise Cerelle but doubts it would; Elayna often kneels at Cerelle's feet and whines like a bitch in heat.

“Behave.” Cerelle squeezes Elayna's arm. Elayna starts. She gazes at Cerelle with wide eyes.

“I am!”

“Physically? Yes. Mentally?” Cerelle clicks her tongue.

“Oh?” Elayna arches an eyebrow. “And where exactly did you learn to read minds?”

“I didn't. I just know yours well.”

The two of them finally enter the turret. Elayna listens in case someone is coming up the stairs. She sees and hears no one. Before Cerelle can lead them down the stairs, Elayna maneuvers them towards the wall. As soon as Cerelle's back is against the stones, Elayna pounces.

Cerelle's lips slot against hers perfectly. Cerelle squeaks in surprise, which makes Elayna grin into the kiss. Cerelle quickly recovers. Elayna groans when Cerelle digs her fingers into Elayna’s hair. She avoids Elayna's intricate braids, instead opting for the thick, brown curly hair at the base of Elayna’s skull. Those strands of hair being messy can be explained away; her braids falling out of place can't be. Elayna braces herself. She places one forearm on the wall by Cerelle's head. Her other hand rests on the bodice of Cerelle's gown. She wants nothing more than to ruck up Cerelle's skirts and trace the creamy expanse of skin she knows lies under the red silk. Caution makes her stop. Fabrics wrinkle all too easily.

Still, Elayna can only be cautious for so long. She inches her hand upward, fingers grazing the underside of Cerelle's breasts. The motion makes Cerelle stop. She digs her fingers hard into Elayna’s hair, her nails nearly digging into Elayna’s scalp. She pulls Elayna's head back. Elayna isn't sure if the sound escaping her mouth is from pleasure or pain.

“No.” Cerelle's chest heaves. She doesn't look angry, despite her tone. “You aren't forgiven yet.”

Elayna pouts.

“How am I to be forgiven if you won't give me a chance?”

“You have to earn forgiveness. Me giving you what you want will only reinforce your terrible behavior.”

“You speak of me as a dog.”

“Perhaps if you behaved, I wouldn't have to treat you like one.”

“I am not a dog.” Elayna huffs. Cerelle arches a perfect eyebrow. She lets go of Elayna’s hair.

“Oh? What are you then?”

“Is not a dog not enough?”

Cerelle snorts. Despite her derision, Elayna sees the fondness in Cerelle's expression.

“No. You are not a dog. They can be taught manners.” Cerelle hums. A devious smirk appears on her lips. “You're a kitten. You refuse to listen and learn, you act as if you're above the rules, and you believe if you want it, it is yours. However, you don't have the claws nor teeth to back your attitude up.”

Elayna stares at Cerelle, wide eyed. She opens her mouth in an attempt to respond, but no sound comes out. She feels hot, not just her face but her entire body. Her breath comes in short bursts.

“I...”

“Yes?” Cerelle tilts her head. “You what?”

“You... you...”

“Is my kitten having trouble finding her words?” Cerelle grabs Elayna's chin and forces Elayna to look at her. “Answer me.”

“You're so... so mean.” Elayna whines. She tries to bury her face in the crook of Cerelle's neck to hide her embarrassment. Cerelle's grip on her chin prevents her from doing so. Cerelle clicks her tongue in mock sympathy, a direct contrast to the delight dancing in her blue eyes.

“Behave tonight, and I might just let you find out how mean I can really be.”

She lets go of Elayna’s chin. Her blue eyes meet Elayna’s hazel ones. Cerelle seeks reassurance, from the way she looks over Elayna to make sure what transpired is truly alright to the way she frowns when she sees the small red indentations from her nails on Elayna’s chin. Elayna smiles. She presses her forehead to Cerelle's. Both of them close their eyes. They stay still for a moment, breath falling into line with the other's.

“You promise?”

Elayna opens her eyes and grins. Cerelle's eyes fly open. She stares coolly at Elayna. Elayna tries her best not to laugh.

“I would be careful if I were you.”

“But what if I want you to make me regret it?”

“Then you cannot complain later.”

The sound of footsteps makes both girls back away from each other. Cerelle smooths out the wrinkles in her dress with one hand while Elayna checks her hair. None of her braids appear to be loose. She tucks the small amount of hair Cerelle accidentally removed from the carefully done hairstyle and stuffs the ends as best she can into her braids and held up hair. The two look at each other. Elayna scans Cerelle and nods. Cerelle does the same for Elayna.

“Shall we join the others?” Elayna offers her arm to Cerelle.

“I think it best.”

In the whirlwind of the feast, Elayna forgets about having to speak with Johanna. She spends most of the night dancing and laughing. No one yet knows of her creeping fate; Elayna takes advantage of this fact. Truth be told, she refuses to imagine what her future looks like. Instead, she decides to enjoy the moment.

The moment includes Elayna staying with Cerelle as the first night of festivities begin to wind down. They don't even bother to come up with an excuse if they're questioned; it's happened a million times before after a feast and will no doubt happen again. Everyone knows the two are inseparable.

“Elayna.” Cerelle murmurs from the dark. They lay in bed together, Cerelle pressing up against Elayna from behind. One of her arms lightly rests over Elayna's hips.

“Yes?”

“You have yet to make good on your promise and apologize to me. Properly.”

Elayna hums. She rolls over to face Cerelle. They both wait for a second.

“I suppose I can.”

*****************

“I don't want to marry Tymon.”

Elayna knows not the hour. She assumes early since the darkness seems almost oppressive. Elayna rests her head just underneath Cerelle's bare breasts. Cerelle sits mostly upright, lounging on some pillows. One of her hands rests on Elayna’s head, fingers gently intertwining into Elayna’s dark curls.

“You must.” Cerelle gently scratches Elayna's scalp in a comforting gesture. A tinge of sadness colors Cerelle's tone, though. Elayna buries her face into Cerelle's soft curves. She takes a moment to find her words, tasting each one on her tongue.

“He scares me, Cerelle. He scares me so much. I... I worry he means to harm me.”

Cerelle sighs. The bed creaks. Cerelle brings one hand down and places her fingers underneath Elayna's chin. She tilts Elayna's head up so she can look at her.

“He would harm you if you were betrothed to another.” Cerelle speaks bluntly. She never minces words when it comes to important things. “I hope Mother and Father realize this. Perhaps this is their way of mitigating damage. If you don't marry, violence is inevitable. If you do marry, mayhaps it will be... limited.”

“I doubt it.” Elayna frowns. She looks away into the darkness. Cerelle gives her that luxury. “He doesn't love me. He doesn't even like me. He just sees me as an object to own.”

“Most men see their wives like that.”

“I know that! But... I sometimes...”

“You sometimes what?” Impatience bleeds into Cerelle's tone.

“It feels as if he sees me as little more than a broodmare for prized horses.”

Cerelle doesn't say anything. She neither confirms nor denies Elayna's accusations. Instead, she takes a strand of Elayna’s hair between her fingers and gently plays with it. Elayna lowers her head. She shuffles up the bed some, intent on placing her head on Cerelle's chest to hear her heart beat.

“I can't save you all the time.”

“I'm not asking that of you.” Elayna huffs. “I can rescue myself if need be. I'm just... I'm frightened, Cerelle.”

Elayna's whole body trembles. Cerelle shushes her. She places her hand back on Elayna’s head. Elayna tries to relax into Cerelle's embrace; her body refuses to obey her commands. Every part of her tenses. Cerelle sighs. The sheets shift, a whisper of silk, as Cerelle reaches down with her free hand and takes Elayna's hand in her own.

Elayna waits for Cerelle to say something, anything. She waits for words of comfort. Cerelle stays silent for an uncomfortably long time. Eventually, Cerelle sits up some and presses a kiss to the top of Elayna’s head.

“Go to sleep, Elayna. We can talk about these matters in the morning.”

****************

Johanna calls for them after breakfast.

Thankfully, the two of them were already decent. Three years of practice means their timing is down to an art. No one ever expresses any suspicion.

“Cerelle. Elayna.” Johanna looks between the two of them. The pair sit opposite Johanna. Elayna’s back stands ramrod straight while Cerelle almost leans back in her chair. “ ‘Tis time to begin looking at the future. The Lord Lannister and I have discussed this, and we have come up with a plan.”

Elayna and Cerelle exchange a look. Elayna raises an eyebrow to which Cerelle blinks. Johanna watches them.

“One of Princess Helaena's ladies-in-waiting injured herself badly, to the point she must retire and go back to her family. Truly a shame what happened to her. Rumors are she is now a cripple. Despite how unfortunate this is, a princess should never be without.” Johanna meets Cerelle's eyes. “I have arranged for you to be one of Princess Helaena's ladies-in-waiting. She needs someone more confident than she, and I know you will serve her faithfully. Elayna, of course, will follow as one of your ladies.”

“We're going to King's Landing?” Cerelle grins. She looks to Elayna, eyes glittering with hope. Elayna grins softly in return.

“Yes.” Johanna nods. “Even though you are one of the Princess's ladies, I do expect you to spend time with your uncle. He will be able to provide valuable instruction. Your father would have sent you earlier, but now I believe you will be able to fully grasp any advice given to you.” Johanna turns her attention to Elayna. Elayna almost wants to shrink back. “You, of course, will ensure Cerelle's comfort and safety. I also think it would behoove you to accompany her when she visits with Tyland. You may learn things as well.”

“Of course.”

“Good.” Johanna places her hands in her lap. “Cerelle. You're dismissed. I wish Elayna to sit with me a while.”

Cerelle and Elayna exchange looks. Elayna doesn't move, even as Cerelle does.

“Mother.”

“Cerelle.”

Cerelle takes her leave then. Elayna adjusts her position in her chair.

“Tymon spoke with me.” Elayna watches Johanna. Before she takes a sip, Johanna indicates with a gesture for Elayna to be poured a goblet.

“Did he?”

“He said you spoke to him about a betrothal. Of him and me.” Elayna tries her best not to pout or look too sullen.

“Your father will accompany us when we go to King's Landing. Jason or I will suggest the idea then.”

Elayna frowns. She leans back in her seat. Johanna sets her goblet down.

“Elinor. If you would leave us.”

The servant curtsies before leaving. Elayna waits to hear the soft close of the doorway to the servant's quarters. Johanna eyes Elayna. Her hands rest in her lap.

“Do you not wish to marry Tymon?”

“ ‘Tis not that! I'm just... I don't mean to question you, but I do not see how I am the appropriate choice.”

“Tymon will need someone who can reign him in once he is in charge. Someone practical who knows the ins and outs of this place.” Johanna takes a drink from her goblet. Elayna tries not to fidget and keep her hands still. “Even if he were not set on you, you are the best choice. Whether you recognize it or not, you are everything but a Lannister in name. ‘Tis time that changes.”

Elayna purses her lips. She bites down on her tongue to keep herself from saying the immediate thought in her mind. Truthfully, she does not want this marriage; she wants no marriage as of now. It is inevitable, she knows. Elayna is acutely aware of this fact. It doesn't ease her mind on the topic.

Johanna stares Elayna down once more. Eventually, she places her goblet down with a sigh.

“ ‘Tis time for you to grow up.” Elayna nearly flinches at Johanna’s steely tone. “I know of you and my daughter. I have... indulged you both and kept your secret, but it cannot go on any longer. You both have your duties. I will not let our reputation be tarnished because you refuse to give up antics more suited to young girls. Indiscretions like this do not go on for several years nor do they go as far as it has. The time for that is over.”

Elayna trembles. Fear courses through her body.

“I understand, my Lady. Forgive me.”

“I keep this quiet not for you but for Cerelle.” Johanna’s nostrils flare. “I do not agree with what the two of you have done in the slightest. I recognize the impulse, but it cannot continue.”

Elayna dips her head. She feels frozen, stuck to her chair even though she wants nothing more than to run. Johanna clearly sees it. She leans forward and places a hand on Elayna’s knee.

“If you were a man, it would be done. Cerelle deserves a loyal husband. I meant it when I said you were one of us.” Johanna’s voice softens for the briefest of moments. When she pushes back to her full height, the harshness returns. “But you are not a man. It can't continue.”

“It can't. It won't continue.” The words taste bitter.

Johanna leans back in her seat. She picks up her goblet again.

“Good. To prove your commitment and to show you keep your word, you have a task. You are to target Prince Aemond. Find out what he likes, what he dislikes. Learn everything you can about him. Then, you will feed this information to Cerelle. I can't ask for a betrothal outright. The future is too uncertain. I can, however, obtain it other ways. When you come back, you will be betrothed to Tymon and marry him.”

Elayna nods.

“Are we in agreement?”

“Yes.”

“Look me in the eyes when you say it.”

Elayna blinks back tears. She clears her throat and poorly suppresses a sniffle. She inhales.

Lifting her head is the hardest thing she's ever done.

“We are in agreement.”

Johanna smiles. It doesn't meet her eyes; it's a socially expected smile. Her lips stay too close together, and her eyes blaze.

“Excellent. You are dismissed.”

Next chapter

#oc: elayna reyne #oc: tymon lannister #persephone writes #fic: wheel of fortune (the fool)#aemond targaryen x OFC #Cerelle Lannister x OFC #Aemond Targaryen x OC #Elaemond #OC x OFC #HotD OC #House of the Dragon OC

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rainwingmarvel7 · 2 months ago

Note

I'm gonna cheat and offer Elayna BUT. I want to know who you think she'd have the most interesting dynamic with

(Hi it's @queen--kenobi sdasd being perceived on main)

Ok what’s really funny about this is that I was actually going to send you an ask about Elayna right before you sent this😂

I was gonna say Kaleb for this but since I asked you about them I’m gonna go with someone else, just for fun (but I definitely think she’d have the most interesting dynamic with him, I just wanna do something different lol)

Elayna + Therese

The brat best friends. Therese and Elayna are the girls with the most attitude in the Red Keep, and everyone knows it. They can bond over the drama they have with the Targtowers, especially Aemond. Now, Therese being a Targaryen might cause some drama on its own, but I wouldn’t imagine it being that much of a deal, except maybe until the Dance starts. But like, they absolutely would gossip together and judge everyone because they can. I just think they’d vibe honestly, at least for a little while.

#oc: therese targaryen #oc: elayna reyne #other people’s ocs

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lady--elayna · 2 years ago

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Elayna's phone rings.

She nearly jolts at the sound. Alon doesn't stir. His chest rises and falls with regularity. Elayna grabs her phone, fully intending on ignoring the call. The name flashing across her screen makes her pause.

Katie, one of the younger nurses, walks by at that moment. Perhaps she came over to check on Elayna.

"We'll watch him." She offers.

"Thank you." Elayna stands. She accepts the call as she heads towards the doors. Alon taught her to always take calls outside when in public places, so as not to disturb anyone else.

"Hello?"

"Miss Reyne." Tyland's voice greets her from the other end. His tone is almost bland.

"Mr. Lannister." Elayna makes her way out of the chemo ward. "How are you? I heard you're back in Paris."

"Yes. I arrived last week." Tylands hums. "I must say, I could be better."

"Oh? What's wrong?"

"I just got a troubling call from Jason." Tyland keeps his tone friendly and approachable. "He says he had a meeting with the Targaryens, and we lost our contract."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Oh, I don't think it's news to you." Ah. Elayna smirks to herself. That's the crack in his benign bean counter facade she wants to see. "He said we lost the contract to Castamere Financial. More specifically, we lost it to you."

"To me?" Elayna hums. She walks out into the hospital courtyard. "That's very flattering, but everything is still run by my father."

"Jason seemed under the impression it was to you."

"I will be working closely with the Targaryens, yes. But that does not mean it was lost specifically to me or because of me."

Tyland makes a small noise over the phone. "I see."

"You know Otto Hightower is a fickle bitch. He probably got upset with Jason and decided to punish him."

"Oh, I have no doubt Jason upset him." Tyland sounds almost amused. "I talked to Otto as soon as I heard. He says you were the one who brought Jason's indiscretions to light."

Elayna rolls her eyes. She barely stops herself from muttering something derogatory about Otto. "You make it sound as if I tattled. All I did was bring up concerns, but they were not why the meeting was called."

Tyland makes a low noise, one indicating he's not convinced.

"I didn't know the meeting was even happening until last week. I didn't even know I was to do anything other than be there until today." She offers. "I thought I was just along to ease any future transitions."

"So you didn't know you were tapped to work with them?"

"I didn't." Of course Elayna had her suspicions. She never asked, though. Mostly so she could answer this question honestly and in a way that made her not a threat.

Tyland stays silent for a moment. She wonders... If circumstances were different, what would he say? She finds for the briefest of moments she wants his verbal approval, like she used to get.

"Do you need to talk Jason off a ledge?" She teases to fill the space.

"No. He merely asked me to talk some sense into you. If that hasn't worked by now, I'm afraid it never will."

Elayna places a hand over her heart.

"You wound me."

"Yes, the truth can hurt." Tyland hums. "How is your father?"

Elayna swallows.

"Are you asking in a business capacity or friend capacity?"

"Friend."

"As well as can be expected."

"And if I said I was asking in a business capacity?"

"As well as can be expected."

Tyland lets out a low chuckle. "It sounds as if you don't trust me."

"It’s more..." Elayna sighs. "I don't particularly want to talk about it." She stops. "That, and I don't trust you right now."

"Probably wise."

#oc: elayna reyne #blurbs: modern au #OC: Alon Reyne #tyland lannister x oc

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queen--kenobi · 10 months ago

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I got Keira Knightley for Elayna Reyne, Brandon Sklenar for Tymon Lannister, and Pzm Grier for Kau'ra!

For fun anonymously (or not) recast a faceclaim for my OC.

#oc: elayna reyne #oc: tymon lannister #oc: Iriya 'Kau'ra' Nahi

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princess-lyanna-stark · 2 years ago

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hi today i’m thinking about all the similarities between Lyanna and Elayna cause on the surface they seem like such different people but they really aren’t

how they both are close to their fathers

how they both pine after their soulmates because they think they are unlovable

how in the Western AU, they both get monikers and become infamous

how in the modern AU, they both end up with “failed engagements”

how in canon they’re still connected, 100s of years apart, through the fact that they both become Queens, not for power but to protect their families

i just love them

#oc lyanna stark #other people's ocs #oc: elayna reyne #modern au #western au

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queen--kenobi · 24 days ago

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Wheel of Fortune: Magician (Reversed)

Chapter summary: Almost at King's Landing, Elayna finds her circumstances changing. Anxiety and pride mix, causing her to make deals she may regret.

Masterlist

Prologue

Elayna pauses when she steps out of her tent.

The air here tastes different; she isn't sure if she likes it or not. At first, the smell of fresh river water delights her sense. It makes her think of home. Now, as they approach King's Landing and the coast, the water seems less like home.

They still have several more days to King's Landing. Their camp sits on the edge of Blackwater Rush. Gold Road crosses it twice on their way towards the Red Keep, and although it strays from the water, it never strays too far. Elayna wishes it would. She doesn't like the smell or feel of this river. No. She much prefers mountain water to this.

Elayna lifts her upper lip in disgust when the wind blows her way. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches Cerelle emerge from her own tent. Cerelle makes a face not too dissimilar from her own.

Their eyes meet.

The space between them stretches for miles. Cerelle stands only yards away yet Elayna imagines an ocean's worth of distance in the empty space. Elayna swallows. Cerelle purses her lips. She looks away first towards the campfires. Even though Elayna can't truly see how she looks, melancholy rolls off Cerelle in waves.

Elayna's feet move without her permission. She makes her way towards Cerelle, consequences be damned. She may speak to Cerelle if she wishes.

Besides, she has been meaning to ask Cerelle if she might ride with her father today. Alon specifically asked last night for her to check.

“Lady Cerelle. May I ask something?”

Cerelle turns to face Elayna fully. Dark circles highlight her lack of restful sleep. While her hair is intricately braided and done, wisps of blonde hair appear everywhere. Her pale skin almost seems to emphasize her condition, making her look almost sickly. She stares at Elayna for a second before slowly nodding.

“Of course.”

“Would it... would it be alright if I rode with my father today? I would like to spend some time with him.”

“I don't see a problem with this.” Cerelle nods her acquiescence. Elayna smiles at her.

“Thank you.” Elayna doesn't move yet. She wants to say something, to address the awkwardness between them. She takes a single step forward. “I- I have something else I want to speak with you about.”

“Don't.” The sudden sternness in Cerelle's tone makes Elayna flinch. Cerelle clears her throat before looking away from her. One of her hands finds the hem of her sleeve. She toys with it for a second before speaking. “I have spoken with mother. She's informed me of the decisions that have been made.”

Cerelle lifts her head and looks at Elayna over her shoulder. One perfectly curled strand of blonde hair falls over it and down her back. Cerelle's rueful expression snaps Elayna immediately back to the present.

“I was told to pursue other, more fruitful, ventures.”

Ah.

Despite the sadness in Cerelle's tone, a quiet weight lifts off Elayna’s chest. It helps, oddly enough. The thought of no longer being miserable alone but Cerelle sharing in her misery helps her. Elayna hates Cerelle feels that way, but at least she knows now she didn't sit in misery and silence by herself.

Elayna shifts from foot to foot. She tries to think of what to say, to tell Cerelle. She wants to tell the truth, but she would risk incriminate herself in the process.

“Would it help if I-”

“Cerelle! Elayna!”

Both Elayna and Cerelle turn to face the newcomer. Elayna bites down on the inside of her cheek to keep from scowling. Alia Oakheart makes her way over to the two of them, a pleasant smile on her face. Two thoughts cross Elayna’s mind: either the smile on Alia's face is fake, or the other girl just finished making babies cry for fun. The third thought that makes its way into the forefront of Elayna’s mind, and the one most likely the truth, is Alia has been charged with making sure she and Cerelle don't spend anytime alone.

Elayna hates her all the more for it.

Elayna never quite understood why Cerelle never did anything to have Alia sent back home. Sure, it would most likely cause issues, but those would be worth it to not have Alia hovering around them. She can't put a finger on the point she started to dislike Alia; all she knows is everything Alia does grates her nerves. Even Alia sneezing sets Elayna’s teeth on edge.

Maybe it's because Alia thinks she's as smart, if not smarter, than Elayna. Maybe it's because she always feels an air of judgment from Alia, as if Alia knows about her and Cerelle and is waiting to expose them. Maybe it's because Alia is just a bitch. Whatever quality Alia possesses that Elayna hates, Alia has in a massive quantity.

Alia stops when she reaches the two of them. She smiles at them.

“What are the two of you doing down here? We're about to break camp.”

“Elayna was asking if she might ride with her father today.” Cerelle stands up slowly. She shifts into her usual self, but her heart clearly isn't in it. Elayna nods.

“I was. Cerelle has been gracious enough to allow me to do so.” Elayna knows her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes.

Despite the surface level pleasantness of the interaction, the undercurrent of awkward tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. Alia doesn't prod or push, but she clearly seems to think something more is going on, based on the slightly suspicious look on her face. Cerelle, for her part, isn't helping. She looks anywhere but Elayna, her gaze eventually settling on a tent in the distance.

A squeal of absolutely delighted laughter makes both Cerelle and Elayna turn. The sound comes from down closer to the river.

“Ryman! Stooop, ‘tis not funny.” Despite Tyshara's words, she grins. She blushes, her cheeks a light shade of pink. Ryman sits beside her. The situation doesn't look indecent; Tyshara's two closest confidants and Ryman's two friends all sit clustered together so the pair aren't alone. Still, Ryman leans in a little closer than socially appropriate. He whispers to Tyshara. His words cause her entire face to go pink.

Elayna looks to Cerelle out of instinct. Much to her surprise, Cerelle glances back at her. One of her eyebrows raises. Elayna snorts.

“Elayna, I think your brother might have designs on Tyshara.” Alia Oakheart's voice comes out almost sing-song. Her eyes glitter with genuine delight. Elayna shakes her head with a small smile.

“I doubt that. He plays too much.”

“This looks like some very serious playing.” Alia nudges Elayna with her shoulder. Elayna instinctively pushes back against her.

“It shan't happen.” Both Elayna and Alia turn to look at Cerelle. Cerelle stares forward. She watches the meandering river. “Marriages cannot be even exchanges. Tyshara won't marry a Reyne.”

An awkwardness pervades the air for a second. Alia breaks it.

“No one said anything of marriage. Designs don't guarantee outcomes.” She almost titters. Cerelle tears her gaze away from the river to look at the pair. She catches Elayna’s eye. Elayna cocks her head ever so slightly to the side and shrugs, lifting her eyebrows as she does so. Elayna keeps her gaze trained on Cerelle to make sure she catches her quick eye roll.

For a second, Alia's expression falls. Her eyes flick between Elayna and Cerelle of them. She truly looks crestfallen. A twinge of guilt makes itself known. Elayna averts her gaze. She clears her throat.

“Shall we go break our fast?” Elayna offers. Normally, Cerelle smoothes over any minor slights when it comes to the three of them. She manages their small group. Elayna knows how, but Alia makes it difficult. She never seems to believe Elayna, no matter how earnest she actually is.

“That sounds perfect!” Alia beams. “Cerelle, don't tell us you're not hungry.”

Cerelle stares at Alia. The dark circles around her eyes makes her expression seem sunken. After a moment, she nods.

“Yes. That... that sounds good.”

“Excellent!” Alia smiles. She moves forward and grabs Cerelle's wrist. Elayna swallows down a sudden wave of rage. Alia shouldn't touch Cerelle. She doesn't deserve to touch Cerelle. Elayna's hands flex and curl into fists, but she closes her eyes and breathes in slowly. It keeps her from swinging on Alia. She forces a smile.

The three of them make their way down to where everyone else is. Elayna notes her father and Johanna sitting at the head of the group, clearly deep in discussion. Johanna’s eyes briefly leave Alon. Even from this distance, the intensity of Johanna’s gaze nearly makes Elayna stop. She regards Elayna coolly. After a moment, she turns her attention back to Alon.

Elayna purses her lips. A sense of unease creeps over her. She turns her attention back to Cerelle and Alia in an attempt to ignore her discomfort. Still, it nags at her, prickling in the back of her mind. Elayna follows the other two women to the fires. The smell of food causes Elayna's stomach to rumble. She blushes, embarrassment coursing through her. For a second, she swears she hears Alia giggle. Her suspicions are confirmed when Alia nudges Cerelle with her elbow.

Her heart soars when Cerelle gives Alia a dirty look. Elayna doesn't even bother to hide her smirk.

Their meal consists of bread and some cheese. Their journey demands they eat, especially since setting up in the middle of the day just to eat makes no sense. They can close the distance within two or three nights. Extra breaks mean a longer journey, and everyone wants to reach their destination. Even Elayna finds herself irritated with people; she has no place to hide when she tires of everyone else.

The group sits by the river. Elayna nibbles on her bread. Cerelle barely touches her. Alia seems to be the only one enjoying her food. After several long minutes of silence, Cerelle stands. She moves to her feet rather quickly. Both Alia and Elayna look at her.

“I wish to speak my brother. I shan't be but a moment.”

This time, Alia and Elayna exchange confused expressions. Cerelle and Tymon have grown closer on the trip, so her words aren't unexpected. It's more the delivery and suddenness with which she stands.

“Are you su-” Alia begins, but Cerelle quickly interrupts.

“I must speak with him alone.” Cerelle pauses. “I really shan't be but a moment.”

Elayna nods. While she is just as curious as Alia, Cerelle's tone and expression make Elayna think better of asking what is going on. Besides, if it is important, Cerelle will tell her in time. She thinks. Despite her best efforts, Elayna's faith in Cerelle isn't as strong as it once was. Elayna tries to dismiss it, but it bothers her more than she wants to admit.

“If you need us, we'll be here.” Alia practically chirps. Cerelle nods before making her way towards Tymon and his friend. Elayna watches her march determinedly across the grass towards them.

“So.” Alia clears her throat and looks at Elayna. Her eyes sparkle with barely contained mischief and a deviousness that worries Elayna. “You may be betrothed to Tymon?”

“Mayhaps.”

Alia grins. “And what is your plan to get out if it?”

It takes every ounce of Elayna’s self-control to not recoil. Her upper lip twitches.

“Pardon me?”

“You always have to have a plan. I want to know what it is.” Alia leans in close to Elayna. “So tell me. What is it?”

“You make it sound as if I'm constantly scheming.”

Alia raises an eyebrow. “Are you not?”

“I don't scheme! Planning for the future is not scheming.”

“No, that isn't. What you do is.” Alia laughs at Elayna’s expression. It's almost vicious, and Elayna nearly bares her teeth at her. “Don't tell me that you don't realize that's what you do.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Elayna bites her bread a little more viciously than needed.

“Ohohoho, I finally know something the great Elayna Reyne doesn't.” Alia almost sneers.

“Considering I know what a plan is versus a scheme...”

“Planning means you have a general plan. However, since all of your plans end up with you not only surviving, but you coming out on top? You don't plan. You scheme.”

Elayna huffs. Irritation courses through her and takes over her mouth before she can stop it.

“You shouldn't speak of things you have no knowledge of. It makes you look even more ignorant.”

A brief flash of hurt crosses Alia's face. Were Elayna not so upset, she might apologize. However, given Alia is in the wrong, she has nothing to be sorry for. Alia never knows what she is talking about. Alia presses her lips together.

“I bet you can't do it.”

“Can't do what?” Elayna raises an eyebrow.

“I bet you can't get out of this betrothal.”

“Again. You shouldn't speak on things you know nothing about.”

“Do it then.” Alia tilts her head. “You won't. You can't.”

Elayna sets her piece of bread down in her lap. She stares Alia down.

“Not only will I prove you wrong, but I'll do one even better. I shall get out of this betrothal by getting into a better one.” Elayna lifts her head. Her nostrils flare. She keeps her eyes trained on Alia's, jutting out her chin. She dares Alia to challenge her.

Alia doesn't back down. Instead, she grins. It's a sly grin, one Elayna should heed as a warning. Elayna's lip twitches.

“Prove me wrong then." Alia actually smirks at her. Elayna's fingers twitch. She glares venom at Alia, visions of strangling her or bashing her head into the table dancing through her head.

“Oh, I shall.”

*********************************************

The carriage creaks as it goes down the road. Elayna sits across from her father, an embroidery hoop in her hand. Focusing on her stitchwork not only helps the time pass but also eases her anxiety. It gives her fingers and hands an alternative to picking at stray fibers or her nails.

“I spoke with Lady Johanna.”

Elayna blinks and looks at her father. Alon keeps his hands on the handle of his cane. At first, seeing her father with a cane nearly sent her into a spiral. He could not be so old and feeble as to need a cane to keep himself upright. She wouldn't allow it. Her fears ease as she sees him use it infrequently. She only really sees him use it after a particularly brutal day of travel.

It concerns her he uses it more and more often. The use of carriage instead of horseback also bothers her; she tries to attribute it to his age. Surely it must get uncomfortable riding when one reaches his age. She clings to the explanation.

“Did you?” Elayna tries to keep her tone neutral. Hope creeps in despite itself. Maybe her father talked some sense into Lady Johanna. If anyone could, it would be him. She knows this, is certain of this fact. When all else fails, Elayna can count on her father to not only have her back but find a graceful way out of the situation.

Some might call what faith she has in him blind faith, but it's not. Blind faith implies he could let her down yet she takes the risk in trusting him. No. This isn't blind faith. Elayna knows he has her. He has never once fractured her trust; it stands as steady as the rocks beneath their feet. He has never once let her down. He will never do so.

“It was a productive conversation.”

Patience has never been one of Elayna’s strong suits. Having a potential answer to her problems but not knowing the specific details drives her more than a little mad. She cannot solve her issue if a piece is being purposefully withheld from her. Elayna looks at her father expectantly.

“How so?”

Alon leans back some. He presses his lips together slightly, clearly considering his words carefully. Elayna fights to keep still.

“We may have reached a compromise.” Alon states. His tone carries an odd sense of finality to it, one that sets Elayna on edge.

“May I ask for details?”

“You may. You won't get them, but you may ask.”

Elayna's expression must betray her because Alon shakes his head. A soft hiccup of a laugh betrays the fondness in the gesture. Elayna huffs and leans back. She crosses her arms over her chest and looks out the window. This time, Alon's laughter is unmistakable. Elayna glowers at the trees lining the road. She knows how ridiculous she must look, pouting because she isn't given the information she wants, and Alon's laughter only further makes her feel silly. She gets why he's laughing; it doesn't mean she appreciates it.

“I'm not keeping information from you on purpose.” Alon breaks the silence first. His tone shifts from amused to soothing. He shifts in his seat, the sound carrying a little in the carriage. “Things are not solidified as of yet. When I know more, I shall tell you.”

Elayna nods. Despite herself, her shoulders drop away from her ears and ease down her back. She closes her eyes and inhales slowly. She needs to trust, trust her father and his plans.

“I know.” Elayna winces at how her voice comes out a petulant whine. She huffs a quick breath to try and pull herself together. “I know you will. I just... I do not do well with uncertainty.”

“Really? I hadn't noticed. You should tell me these things.”

His words earn him the nastiest glare Elayna can muster. Alon isn't bothered by it; he merely leans back in his seat and looks out the window. Both hands sit on the pommel of his cane, one resting on the other. The grin on his face is infuriating. Elayna isn't the only one who thinks so. Everyone knows Alon's sword skills were only as good as they were because they had to match his wit.

They sit in silence for a long moment. Elayna listens to the carriage roll along, turning her attention back out the window. She frowns at the passing trees. Despite her best efforts, her teeth dig into and pick at the inside of her cheek and lip. She fidgets. Elayna glances down to her hands and then out the carriage window. She shifts her weight from one hip to the other and then back. She sighs. One of her hands comes up to play with some of the stray curls not captured in her braids. She sighs again. Eventually, Elayna clears her throat and turns to face her father.

“I truly don't like knowing.” Elayna confesses. “I know you shall do right by me. I...” she sighs, “I don't want to marry Tymon. I understand the advantages and what it would do for us, but I cannot. I could never love him. And I know that isn't required for marriage but I have to be able to at least stand my husband, but I could never ever stand him.”

Tears begin to form in her eyes unbidden. She swallows hard. The outpouring of emotion startles even her. She stares at Alon, lip wobbling.

“I don't want to.” She knows she sounds like a child, but it sums up how she feels perfectly.

Alon watches her. The look on his face isn't cold or impassive, far from it. While his face is perfectly schooled, she can see sorrow in his eyes. He sighs.

“The current plan is to find you a better match.” Alon speaks carefully, each word specifically chosen. His reluctance to tell her sits heavy in the air yet Elayna's heart swells. She knows the signs of victory when she sees them. “I won't tell you who. But that is the plan.”

Elayna nods and swallows. Gratefulness and relief creep into her in equal measure. She smiles at Alon, and she watches some of the sadness in his eyes leave.

“Thank you.” She murmurs. Elayna can't find any other words. Alon leans back once more and settles himself in his seat. Curiosity burns through her. It tries to pry her mouth open, but Elayna keeps it shut. Alon clearly sees the conversation as finished; he closes his eyes. Elayna swallows hard. A million and one worries dance through her head. She breathes in slowly.

“Elayna. I would not do anything to bring you harm.” Alon keeps his eyes closed. Elayna nods and turns her head.

“I know.” She presses meaning into the simple phrase. Having been at Casterly Rock for so long, trust seems as unfamiliar as a friend who she long lost contact with due to being oceans apart. The danger present in such emotion makes her skin itch. Still, Elayna places her trust in him.

“You shall be fine. I promise you this.”

Elayna picks up her needlework once more. She moves slowly and far less viciously.

“Did I tell you.” Alon interrupts the silence. He still keeps his eyes closed, but his tone makes Elayna look up from her work. “I heard the most interesting rumor about James Crakehall the other day.”

“Oh?” Elayna tilts her head to the side. She finds Lord Crakehall repulsive for many different reasons, a fact she expresses to Alon whenever his name comes up. She distinctly remembers the old man leering at her when she was but two and ten. Neither her nor Alon will ever forgive the offense. “And what did he do now?”

“To my knowledge, there are two new Hills. Unofficially of Crakehall. Of course.”

“And? We know there to be at least 5 Hills a year born there.” Elayna scoffs. “More if rumors are to be believed.”

“None who's mother is newly six and ten.” Alon raises an eye. Elayna drops her needlework in her lap.

“Tell me you jest. Where did you even find out this information?”

“We aren't the only ones who dislike him.” Alon shrugs. “While I have never heard of him officially trying anything untoward, Dustin Plumm seems to have the same gripes as us.”

“Six and ten?”

“Aye. Six and ten.”

“And to think my opinion of the man could have been no lower.” Elayna scoffs. “If it were any lower, it would be in the Seven Hells themselves.”

Alon laughs. The laughter turns into a cough, one seemingly rattling Alon's very bones. Elayna sits up with alarm, needlework clattering to the floor of the carriage. Alon grunts. He waves her away.

“I'm fine.”

Despite him forcing each word through his breathlessness, Alon's tone is sharp, sharper than normal. Elayna hesitates, but Alon opens one eye to level her with a look. She holds up her hands in surrendered before sitting back down. After a moment, she bend forward and picks up her work.

“And how do you know Lord Plumm has the same complaints as us?”

“I have my sources.”

Elayna resists the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she looks back out the window. The distance between her and her fate closes with each turn of the carriage wheels. She purses her lips together. Gossiping about other people's misfortune would keep her mind off of her own impending doom.

“And what of Lord Crakehall? What does he say to the accusations?”

#oc: elayna reyne #oc: alia oakheart #Tyland Lannister x OC #Tyland Lannister x OFC #fic: wheel of Fortune #oc: Alon Reyne #hotd oc #hotd ocs #persephone writes

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queen--kenobi · 11 months ago

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Y'ALL. Y'ALL.

You have no idea how excited I am about this Elayna piece I commissioned from @felrija!!! It's literally so perfect and exactly the way I imagined it in my head!!!!! I'm so happy withit y'all have no idea!!!!!!!!!!

The reference paintings for y'all so you can see how GOOD this looks

#oc: elayna reyne #House of the Dragon OC #HotD OC

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writingbylee · 5 months ago

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OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

okay okay okay okay i shall attempt to control myself

(chapter/story spoilers under the cut)

first off— HARRENHAL BABY!!!!! i’m so excited to be here! with the amount of spooky shit we’ve been seeing from Harrenhal in the show, i can’t wait to see what you do with it. and this chapter did not disappoint— Abby’s strange feelings and the WHISPERS and ALYS and i just AGH

Aegon and Abby are so cute they make my TEETH HURT. i’m so obsessed with how you write Aegon, he’s got such depth and complexity that i feel like the show robs him of.

ELAYNA MENTION!!!!! MY GIRL!!!! i was so shook at seeing her name that i had to reread that paragraph twice!

JACE!!!! i totally forgot about him being at Harrenhal!! i love that he wanted to go visit Harwin’s tomb, and i feel so bad for him knowing that once his mother arrived that she would never let him. i’ve always wondered if it made Jace’s life easier or harder knowing for certain that he was technically a bastard, and i love how you’re exploring that here!

AND THEN THAT REVEAL AT THE END??? i love that change from the show! literally fuck King Viserys— i didn’t think i could hate that man anymore. also having Aegon be the one to find and comfort Jace???? SO GOOD

i love this series and this chapter was amazing! i know i said i’d be going through and leaving unhinged comments on all the chapters, and i still plan to, hopefully over the next week or so. thank you so much for sharing this story and these characters with us!

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Twenty

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

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Author's Note: Happy Anniversary to Maiden! I'm so happy to those of you who've been on the journey from the start and those who have found this story along the way. We are in the final few chapters of this Arc! And to celebrate, I bring you amazing plot twists! All my love and thanks to @vampire-exgirlfriend for holding my hand and being with me every step of the way, and @darkwolf76 who loved this story first.

If you're reading here on tumblr, I'd love to hear from you! My inbox is open and I can't wait to hear your thoughts!

CHAPTER TWENTY - I'm In Over My Head

We finally arrive at Harrenhal, where you cannot escape the ghosts.

It was a fortnight by horseback and only six hours by Sunfyre to Harrenhal, but the royal progress along the Kingsroad took a moon. The people needed to see them, the queen had insisted, refusing to let them stay and ride out on dragonback. Instead, Helaena would stay, Ser Criston at her side, and the sworn sword would fly with the princess in a month’s time. Baela would fly out with them on Moondancer, Jace on Vermax, and Aemond would accompany the royal progress without Vhagar.

Harrenhal could only house so many dragons.

Abby was ready to be done with it all; her body felt like it would never stop jostling even when she was out of the wheelhouse. The days on horseback were better, but even those had left her aching from her inexperience. Aegon had whispered in her ear that it would be good practice for her, and how precious she looked bowlegged. The ribald flirtation had sent a rush of heat and anticipation through her, as well as frustration with him for making light of how uncomfortable she’d been. For his cheek, she’d bundled herself in the wheelhouse with the Crane twins, Merei Thorne, and Floris, the latter of which had her hold her tongue to keep from ranting.

She missed Wylla.

Wylla, she knew, would loop her arm through hers and recount all the wonderful ways they could make Aegon miserable. Jesting, of course, though the pair regularly snipped at one another.

Guilt roiled in Abby’s gut. After the betrothal announcement between Aemond and Floris, Wylla had taken the opportunity to flee to Stone Hedge to witness her brother’s nuptials to Lady Alys Bracken. It had been good that she did, Abby thought. She would be able to see her mother and other brothers, who had come down in order to attend her wedding, and Wylla did not know when she would see them next. Karhold was further north than Winterfell and her friend was giving up a great deal to come live at Harrenhal.

That said little of the other reasons why Wylla had eagerly left for Stone Hedge, and Abby thought of Helaena’s words all those months ago. ‘And I’ll be left alone while you and Aegon are busy making babies together!’ She felt like a poor friend and and even worse sister, unable to deny that as the weeks had passed, her focus had been less on duties she’d taken so seriously, of being there for those she cared for, and more focused on the making of her wedding dress, of the stealing time with Aegon with a desperate heat and wanting, of responding to well wishes and organizing a household… when she had promised to always be there for Helaena. When she had begun to foster a love and friendship with Wylla that had grown into its own sisterhood.

Jace had so easily comforted Helaena during her difficult days when Abby was pulled away or otherwise occupied. And Wylla had not even told her of the budding romance between her and Aemond - now brutally cut short in the wake of politics beyond their control. So consumed she’d been with Aegon, with everything else, things that, selfishly, were for her and her alone, and so easily she’d forgotten those she vowed to care for.

Abby would do all she could to make up for it. She would ensure that Wylla did not feel forgotten, that her and Helaena could indeed visit often. She would write, she would-

“Lady Abrogail?”

Desmera’s voice cut through the swirl of guilty words flitting through Abby’s head and she looked up at the Crane girl. Desma, Abby corrected herself. Desmera preferred Desma. She was holding the wool kirtle in her arms, the shade of green as lush and dark as the fields they passed through with red weirwood embroidery along the arms. The surcoat carefully folded on the table was half red and half blue and edged in silvery rabbit fur, among the other parts of her heraldic dress. She would not be in the wheelhouse as they came into Harrentown, and the parade that announced their arrival would be a large one. Already they had seen an uptick of traffic along the Kingsroad and the tents in the fields, the small inns filled to bursting the closer they were. With only a few hours until they approached the town, it was almost like they were approaching King’s Landing. Merchants were setting up along the way to hawk wares and Abby knew that the crowd would be thicker the closer they crept

The distant call of dragons echoed outside the tent and Abby and Desma poked their heads out the flap to crane their necks to look up.

“I can’t believe Ser Criston is riding dragonback with the princess,” Desma murmured, and Abby laughed. He had stayed behind with Helaena, and Abby knew it was to keep an eye on Jace. What Abby would have given to see the look on the knight’s face when he was told that he would fly with Helaena. Not even Queen Alicent had flown with her children, despite both Aegon and Helaena’s offers.

Abby knew how big dragons were, having been around them her whole life, but this was different. With no expansive sprawl of King’s Landing or the Great Sept to compare, they seemed even larger. Past the many tents of the camps, the moors of the Riverlands was all there was. No buildings, no great mountains or spires or monuments. Just the green, rolling hills surrounding the Kingsroad and the forest beyond.

Dreamfyre’s bulk was impressive, the blue and silver of her scales standing out in the morning light, her call warm and low, melodic in a way that was surprising for a dragon. Two smaller dragons were flying about, answering the calls, scales in shades of jade and bronze and silver as Jace and Baela danced around the great dragon.

There was another familiar call, the trilling echoing across the moor like a song. Abby’s heart swelled, hearing Aegon’s happy shout from somewhere inside the camp as Sunfyre gleamed as bright as the morning sun. How she missed him, how she missed being free in the air where nothing else mattered.

Desma tugged on her elbow, laughing. “Come back here, Abby, you’re still in your nightgown.”

Abby allowed herself to be pulled back in the tent, and was soon joined by Merei Thorne, who came bearing a plate of cold meats and bread and warm cider to break her fast.

“I’m ready to be done with all this mud,” she groused, dark hair loose and free about her shoulders, her swarthy skin flushed from the cool morning air. “Ser Rickard says the crowds up the road will be thick by the time we reach them.” Merei’s uncle was a member of the Kingsguard, and Abby was grateful that she had sought information before arriving.

She let herself be tugged out of her nightgown and a fresh chemise pulled over her head before Desma got her into the green kirtle and Merei shoved a piece of bread with ham into Abby’s open mouth. “Wylla’s sent word this morning with the rider.” Merei waved the scroll around. “Your rooms have been made ready, and Lythene and Sarra are settling in, so all you need to do is arrange things to your liking.”

Abby eagerly reached for the scroll as the girls laced her into the kirtle. It was a short message, but Wylla’s handwriting was comforting and familiar.

“Is Alys another one of your ladies?” Merei asked, moving the surcoat out of the way while Abby sat to eat. Desma opened the box of combs and ribbons and hairpins to get to work on her curls.

Wylla’s letter had mentioned help from Alys Rivers, and Abby shook her head before Desma pinched her to keep still as she carefully worked Abby’s curls.

“No, she’s a member of our household. A healer and sometimes ladies maid. She helped my mother when she was pregnant with me, but declined to come to the capital with us.” Her memories of the woman were fuzzy whenever Abby tried to look at them more closely. Dark haired with large grey eyes, Alys had been a fixture when she had visited Harrenhal over the years. “It’s good that she’s helping Wylla. I know Aunt Mya has her hands full with everything and my cousin, Deidre, is there to help.” Deidre, the future Lady Smallwood of Acorn Hall, had grown up at Harrenhal and would prove helpful in this busy time of preparation. Deidre’s younger sister, Cassana, lived at Runestone and would be arriving with Lord Yorick’s party soon.

Desma’s hands worked quickly to pull Abby’s curls from her face, winding a knot of braids along the back of her head, the rest curling down her back to her waist. It would be hours of riding, but also hours of being seen by the people who looked to Harrenhal, who looked to her family, as their liege lords. Merei pulled a delicate net of silver dotted with rubies, sapphires, and emeralds and pinned it around Desma’s delicate knotwork.

With her mother’s carnelian necklace around her throat, Abby shoved her feet into her riding boots and grabbed a last chunk of bread and ham before ducking out of the tent as her ladies oversaw the packing of her things.

The sea of black and red tents felt like a field of Targaryen poppies as she made her way through the camp. The ground was not as muddy as Merei complained, but Abby was nonetheless grateful for her sturdy boots. Already the grass was churning into a muddy mess in various places and she carefully stepped around them. Servants paused to offer quick bows and curtsies, which Abby felt awkward about. They did not need to pause in their duties to acknowledge her, but at the same time, it was strangely satisfying to be recognized, to be deferred to in some small way.

Abby was not sure how to feel about it, so she pushed the confusing feelings away and shoved the rest of her bread in her mouth.

She found Aegon where the horses were stabled, tethered to temporary posts and being fed their morning grain. The morning light turned Aegon’s curls a soft gold, his gray linen shirt tucked into a pair of high waisted, black riding pants, stripes of red embroidered with gold scales down the sides into a pair of tall, shiny black boots. He was without his own surcoat and she knew that it was just as ostentatious as her own heraldic gown: black and red and scaled as was the Targaryen way. She licked butter from her thumb as she approached, gaze raking over him appreciatively and the opened neck of his shirt, teasing the lightly freckled skin that she longed to kiss.

Kostōba was as brilliant as ever, pawing happily at the ground and rooting his nose against Aegon, clearly looking for more treats. His cream colored coat shone as golden as his master’s hair in the sun, brilliant against the caparison of red and black taffeta for House Targaryen. Aegon was busy stroking the snout of another horse, focused on checking the buckles of the halter and bit. The mare was a brilliant chestnut, so red that it matched her hair, it’s mane only a scant few shades darker. It pawed the ground beside Kostōba, nickering and also looking for treats.

“What’s this?”

Aegon turned, eyes wide as if he’d been caught, a sleepy smile on his face. She was no longer mad at him, of course, but the forced distance over their travels was frustrating, in addition to the misery of frequently having to sleep outdoors, no matter how comfortable the tents were. It made tempers shorter, and the stress of everything that was to come was fraying at her.

Aegon closed the distance between them, cupping her face in his hands, and the touch immediately had her shoulders relaxing and she sighed as he kissed her. Chastely, but it was Aegon and his teeth snuck in a quick nibble before he pulled back. She did her best to hide her pout, tasting the wine he’d had that morning on her mouth. Abby licked her lips, blushing at the look he gave her.

“Happy nameday!” he declared, gesturing to the mare. Abby blinked at him, owlish and momentarily confused.

“Nameday?” What day was it? Time had become an endless blur of bumpy roads and the creaking wheelhouse. He raised an eyebrow at her, taking her chin in hand and tilting her head to look up at him.

“It’s your nameday,” he repeated slowly as if she hadn’t heard him the first time.

Oh! It was, wasn’t it? She sputtered softly and he chuckled, pressing another brief kiss to her parted mouth.

“Happy nameday,” he repeated more slowly this time, snickering at her lapse of memory and dropping her chin to caress her shoulder and turn her towards the mare. “She’s from the same stock as Kostōba. Six years old and well trained. She’ll be gentle with you and give a hoof to the face of any who should try to pull you from her.” His grin brightened as he went on, lilac eyes crinkled in excitement as he glanced back at her. Abby could see the hope in Aegon’s face, the nerves and question of if he’d done well with the gift.

Kostōba snorted at Aegon’s shoulder, nudging at him more insistently. Aegon huffed and pulled another piece of carrot from the pocket of his black riding coat. Abby reached up to gently stroke the velvet soft nose of the mare and took the second carrot that Aegon offered. She eagerly took it with greedy teeth, and Abby giggled as the velvet nose tickled her palm.

“She’s beautiful,” Abby said, giddiness bubbling through her belly, swooping at the thoughtfulness of the gesture, and surprise at how exciting it was to be given a horse of her very own. “And she won’t buck me off?”

“Well you’ve proven to be a good rider already, on dragonback no less, though it’s different with a horse, obviously. And I think as long as you keep petting her and speaking to her sweetly as you do, provide plenty of carrots, maybe even some apples? Oh, I think you’ll be just fine.”

Abby scoffed, but her smile was bright. “Endless supply of carrots and apples and oats. Understood, my prince. I will endeavor to bond her to me.” The mare huffed softly as Kostōba’s head came near hers to bump it.

“They look good together, don’t they?” Aegon asked softly, casually.

“They do,” Abby agreed with a soft laugh. “She matches my hair.”

“Exactly. That’s why I picked her.”

“And your horse matches your hair.”

Aegon shrugged, cheeks flushed pink as he scratched around his stallion’s nose. “I have good taste. Do you like her?” There was a furrow now between his brows as he pointedly asked her, her words not doing enough to convey her thanks. It was a guileless thing - Aegon wasn’t trying to tease a deeper showing of affection from her in his usual, playful way. Abby handed him her gathered skirts and he took them, confused, and she reached up to cup his face with both hands, his skin warm against her perpetually chilled fingers.

“I love this gift, Aegon. No one else has wished me happy nameday, but you did, and provided me a thoughtful gift that I love very much,” she reassured him, teeth catching on her lower lip as the words visibly washed over him. She could feel the tension vibrating through him, as if he couldn’t quite believe she enjoyed the gift, or was waiting for something to drop, or a dozen other things. She felt him shudder and relax into her and Abby hummed, thumbs stroking along the apples of his cheeks. The furrow eased, the tension in his shoulders relaxed, his gaze grew softer as he turned his head slightly to nuzzle against her touch. Her belly was warm, fingers toying with the softness of his silver hair, affection surging through her. Abby pressed up on her toes to press a soft, innocent peck to his plush mouth. “I love you, Aegon.”

“I love you,” he whispered shyly as his cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink. Satisfaction and ease seemed to fill him as she pulled away and took her skirts back from his hold. He cleared his throat, tossing his hair back from his face and reached up to stroke the little white star on the mare’s forehead. “Now we can go riding together - properly have a good race.”

“You want to race? Well then, we’ll have to come up with some good wagers then, won’t we?” The prospect excited her, the planning for things they’d do once the wedding was over and they could just get on with the rest of their lives; away from the Red Keep, away from the politics and the eyes that constantly watched them, away from everything that chased them in waking and in sleep.

Another bright call sounded above them and they both looked up to see Sunfyre circling, his chirps and clicks echoing down to them. The mare snorted and backed away, shaking her head at the closeness of the predator. Two of the stableboys came hurrying over to help calm her. Abby backed away, not wanting to be too close should she rear up, feeling foolish that she was unable to calm her horse, let alone understand how.

“He missed you,” she said, and Aegon laughed, bright and happy as he always was when it came to his golden boy.

“He’s a smart one, isn’t he?” Aegon grinned. “I was…” He trailed off, uncertain, and Abby pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

“He would not abandon you. That menace broke out of the dragon pit to get to you, remember?” Not that Sunfyre had caused any damage outside of freeing himself from his chains, and would not return until Aegon had gone to retrieve him before they were dragged back to the Red Keep all those months ago.

“He would most certainly not.” Confidence returned to Aegon’s voice and he cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting words of Valyrian and gesturing north.

Abby’s gaze drifted from the sight to look out past the horses to the rolling moors past them. The mist still hung heavy along the ground, slowly burning away as the morning grew, lending a murky sight of the forest that obscured the sight of the God’s Eye.

A twisting sensation spooled through her chest as she watched the trees. There were oaks abundant along the road, and as they drew north, there were pines dotting the landscape as well. But the great, dark forest beside them was different. The oaks here were giant things. Once, as a little girl, she’d ridden out with Harwin into the Red Wood. There were a few red oaks in the Harrenhal godswood - massive things that shot past the great height of the walls. Here in the forest surrounded by them, it felt like another world. The trunks of the trees were as big as the family dining hall in the Kingspyre. Uncle Simon said that the great round table had been cut from such a trunk.

Ancient trees that had survived the great heart wound of Harren the Black. Spirits lived in the weirwoods; she remembered those stories, and the ancient sentinels remembered too. They were here long before and would be there long after -

“Hey!”

Strong, warm hands gripped her arms and shook her. Abby blinked slowly, feeling tired and confused. Aegon was looking down at her; face pale, confused, annoyed. “What’s gotten into you? I was calling for you, Abby.”

“But…” As she meant to say she had not moved, Abby realized that she could not hear nor smell the horses, and that the sounds of camp were softer than they had been before.

“You kept walking and I thought you were going to show me something but then you stopped speaking,” Aegon went on, but his voice sounded odd - strangely muffled and then clear. She reached for him but her hand missed his arm and he reached for it, tugging her to him. “Abby, you’re freezing.”

She was always freezing.

The crowd was deafening and the drum beats of the parade only added to the din. The chestnut mare, now named Stranger, trotted smoothly beside Aegon’s stallion as the royal procession made its way through Harrentown. The scouts and messengers had not lied.

The crowd was large, not only the townsfolk but filled with those who had traveled far and wide to witness the festivities and hawk their wares. As they approached her family’s castle, the fields field with colored tents sporting the banners of the noble houses that had made their way to the God’s Eye.

Harrenton was not an exceptionally large town although little was when compared to King’s Landing. It was a trading post, a crossroads at the mouth of the Riverlands. Trade and travel that came south from Darry would stop here, as well as the trade from the south at the capital. The buildings were white stucco and plaster with the red oak timbers from the Red Wood, tiered three stories tall with steeply pitched, clay shingled roofs. Many of the ground floors were made from red bricks. Mud was in abundance here, and pottery and bricks were their foundations of trade.

Abby tilted her head up to the banners hung across the thoroughfare, the tri color streamers of House Strong interspersed with the black and red ribbons of House Targaryen. Those who could not find space along the red brick road hung out from the leaded windows, waving flags and banners, throwing out handfuls of flower petals from the winter flowers in swirling dances of pinks and purples, whites and yellows. Young children on their parents shoulders, too disinterested in whatever people were on display, giggled and reached to try to catch the petals. The people yelled for House Strong, they yelled for the name of her father, they yelled…

They yelled her name.

‘Lady Abrogail! Lady Strong! Princess Abrogail!’

Her cheeks flamed, her grin both shy and beaming, unused to the attention being paid to her. Abby glanced over at Aegon, who preened beneath his own attention, the petals that were thrown about the air catching in his silver curls.

‘Prince Aegon! House Targaryen! Lady Abrogail! House Strong!’

His lilac gaze found her, his grin broadening, all teeth and bright eyes, dimples creased in his cheeks. The breeze caught in her curls, fluttering the delicate silver veil around her face. The flower petals drifted and swirled between them, caught in his hair, in the silver and red manes of their horses, and everything felt like a dream.

Now they left the main thoroughfare and made their way up the switchback to where the castle loomed, and as they made the turn, the world dropped out as the vast, glittering expanse of the God’s Eye filled the horizon. Abby’s breath caught in her throat and beside her, Aegon audibly exhaled, momentarily halting his horse beside her to take a look. Behind them, Abby could hear Daeron’s exclamation of wonder.

The God’s Eye ate the entire horizon, glittering like an aquamarine gem beneath the cloudless blue of the sky. The only thing that interrupted the site was the distant, hazy sight of the Isle of Faces, obscured by the haze and distance.

“It’s bigger than the Whispering Sound,” Daeron breathed. “Uncle Gwayne-”

“Aye,” the elder sounded just as surprised, just as awed. “Large enough for the eye of a god, isn’t it?”

Seagulls called along with other birds along the banks and Abby could just make out a few fishing boats tiny on the water. She rose up in her saddle to take a better look, vowing that she would never tire of the spectacular sight.

“I didn’t realize how I missed this sight.” She laughed, unsure if she might cry from grief or joy.

“It’s the color of your eyes,” Aegon said softly, his gaze firmly affixed to the sight before them. He wasn’t even looking at her, just caught in wonder. It was a new expression for Aegon, and Abby was loath to draw him from it. She reached over and he must have seen her, or maybe he’d been reaching for her hand at the same time. “It’s endless, like the sky.”

He squeezed her hand and with a gentle command, their party continued.

Harrenhal was a scar against the landscape, the black stone stark against the green and blue of the landscape. With towers shooting up higher than the tallest of Maegor’s Holdfast, Harrenhal loomed as its maker always intended: Ominous and impossible to ignore. The twisted, melted stone that capped the towers were vicious reminders of the violence in the past, but life bloomed amidst the ruins. Sentinels and oaks, vibrant and lush, shot past the tops of the stone walls from the large godswood that butted up against the shore. Harrenhal held a small household guard and several called out from the gatehouse.

Making the final turn, their party was greeted by the half shattered statue of Harren the Black, only his legs and rearing mount left above the bridge. It started with stone and then switched to thick ironwood that spanned the dry moat beneath, and, as if to welcome them home, Sunfyre of all things perched above the gates like an enormous, golden hawk, calling out and declaring that this was now his domain. Stranger whickered nervously, hesitating in approach until Abby urged her on with a gentle hand against her neck.

“Seven hells,” Aegon muttered, barely caught over the sounds of the hooves on the wooden bridge and the creaking of the carriages behind them. Whatever else Aegon said was drowned out beneath the sound of Sunfyre’s trilling. The golden dragon was singing and it was a haunting tune that echoed along the stone like water over river rocks. The sound of it sent dozens, maybe even a hundred or more, bats bursting from the ruined tops of the tower. Distracted by the creatures that took to the sky, he pushed off the gatehouse, the horses rearing as stone debris fell in their path.

Abby looked at Aegon, eyebrows raised. “He can’t keep doing that.”

He frowned, half-offended and mildly concerned. “It’s not his fault the stone is crumbling,” he said, but the defense was half-hearted as he eyed the broken stone being pushed out of the way.

Aemond and Daeron, Ser Gwayne and a few of the Kingsguard followed them, the guards taking a station at the gate until the king passed through. The rest of the party in their wheelhouses were held back until the stone was removed.

The gatehouse was a great thing cut through the thick, black curtain walls. The way was lit with torches, the echo of the horses’ hoof beats giving an uncertain cacophony as the sound bounced around the tunnel. Abby’s gaze drifted up, the ceiling of the tunnel shadowed but she remembered Larys telling her the frightening tale of the dozen murder holes where they would drop oil and poisonous spiders and venomous snakes down onto those who tried to breach the castle. She’d had nightmares for weeks.

Aegon said nothing beside her, and the look on his face was one of bewildered interest. She bit her lip, a smile playing. He had only ever known King’s Landing, after all.

Tears pricked her eyes as the strange longing sensation that had harbored for so long in her chest eased. It didn’t go away, but she could feel the hooked edges of yearning, the grief, the feeling that she did not belong, that something was missing, smoothing out into something bittersweet. Beyond the great walls of the castle, Harrenhal was full of life. Beneath the great shadow of the ruined towers, a reclaiming had taken place over the years, and the notion soothed that bramble within her.

As the party passed through the gatehouse into the outer bailey, Abby’s eyes darted over the crowd that had begun to gather. Over the years, some of the ruins had been dismantled and turned into proper staff quarters. A new granary, the stables,meant to house a thousand horses, had partially been converted to a barn. Before them, the Hall of a Hundred Hearths loomed, rebuilt through the reclaiming of the ruined Tower of Ghosts, now only a few stories tall.

The focal point of the hall was the ornate, stained glass window above the colossal entrance. Along the top half of the circle, a weirwood tree was carefully placed, the red leaves a border around the top, the cream colored branches reaching wide, and the sun behind it sported the tri-color stripes of her family’s sigil. Below the roots was a mound with seven circles - each portraying the sigil of each aspect of the Seven.

The Andals had spread their faith when they had conquered, but here in the halls of her family’s seat, and through the Riverlands, folk noble and small alike found a faith made their own - to mourn the loss of the weirwoods in their subjugation, and the comfort found in faces old and new alike. Especially here, on the shores of the God’s Eye, where the last of the southron weirwoods still thrived, where whispers and tales of the Children of the Forest outside the North clung like moss to the stilts of the houses along the riverbanks.

Fluttering fabric caught her eye and Abby looked up to see the banners of their house strung between the towers, interspersed every two with the black and red House Targaryen, and every ten with the blue and red fish of House Tully, their immediate overlords. In the front of the hall, where the crowd was thickest, the short, white hair and broad frame of Uncle Simon stood out; he was clad in a rich, black coat, Aunt Mya beside him, her dark curls thickly streaked with silver, her gown red. Her cousins were there too; Garret, with his strawberry blonde curls, not much older than herself, holding his three-year-old daughter, Gwenys, just as ruddy gold as her papa. His father, Ser Edric, leaned heavily on a cane on the other side of Uncle Simon. As she went down the line, she caught sight of Wylla, clad in Abby’s colors in a gown of deep blue with a sash of green and red, beaming brightly beside Alyn Hull, who looked dashing in a jerkin of deep, blood red and black pants tucked into shiny, polished boots.

“Welcome to Harrenhal, Your Grace,” Uncle Simon greeted Aegon before his warm gaze found hers. “Welcome home, Lady Abrogail.” The title address to her felt odd, but this was a formal occasion. Two stableboys glad in House Strong livery reached for the bridles of the horses, Aegon dismounting easily as Abby frowned in slight annoyance at the yards of fabric of her surcoat. She’d shifted to side-saddle before they’d entered the town in preparation for an easier dismount but it was still daunting.

“Allow me, my lady.” Alyn was there, grinning at her, his green eyes soft and Abby returned his bright expression with a relieved one of her own.

“Thank you, Mister Hull,” she said, grateful, and let Alyn help her from the horse and set her safely on the ground. She caught Aegon’s brief annoyance at being denied his gallant moment and she patted Alyn on the shoulder. “We have some things your mother and a Miss Bri had sent up to the castle.” Alyn’s friendly expression moved to a grateful surprise, and she could see the red coloring his tanned cheeks.

“And I thank you, my lady. I am most appreciative.” Abby felt a giddiness at making a good impression with Aegon’s friend, and she left Alyn to embrace her great-aunt and uncle, uncaring if it was improper. This was her family, and even though she’d only seen a few of them not long ago, this was different.

This was a homecoming.

The warmth of her Uncle’s hug made her chest ache further, and Abby tucked her head beneath his chin, squeezing him tightly, eyes shut and for a moment, allowed herself to pretend that there was no pomp and circumstance and that it was her father who embraced her. Uncle Simon would never replace him, but he reminded her so much of him that she would not feel guilty for clinging to the memory. He seemed to understand, for she felt him squeeze her extra hard before releasing her with a paternal kiss to her forehead and then allowed Aunt Mya, who exclaimed, “A chroí! Tá cuma álainn ort,” before she was wrapped in a cloud of softness and the smell of lilies from her aunt’s perfume. Her hands, shaking slightly with her arthritis, carefully touched the veil she wore and the carnelian necklace around her throat. “You’ve got that Westerland poise to you,” she observed, and though the words might have been taken as a slight, there was a fondness there. “Like your mother and that Lefford blood, but oh, you’ve got the wild river in you, don’t you.” Her hands gently cupped her face, and Aunt Mya’s dark eyes shone with tears. “They haven’t taken that from you. Good.”

“It’s good to finally be home,” Abby said, her voice thick with emotion. Joy, sadness, grief, relief, and a swirl of other things she could not identify. She cleared her throat, turning in her Aunt’s embrace to gesture to Aemond, Daeron, and Gwayne who had dismounted. “May I present Prince Aemond and Prince Daeron, as well as the queen’s brother, Ser Gwayne.”

“Ser Simon,” Gwayne said, sketching a bow. “I hope you do not mind my squire and I joining the household.” His grin was bright and disarming, his hand coming to clasp Daeron’s shoulder. “My sister hopes for us to keep an eye on my nephew, but I think it will be a good opportunity for my squire to also learn from a renowned knight such as yourself, Ser.” Abby bit her lip to hold in her laugh, appreciating the look of surprise and pride on her uncle’s face. “And Lady Mya, these are for you.” He produced from his green leather riding jacket a carefully wrapped package. “Your lovely niece shared with me how you once loved lacemaking. While this could not compare what you’ve made, I do hope you find use for this.”

“From the lacemaker who made my wedding dress,” Abby chimed in as her blushing aunt took the carefully wrapped package of lace. Aunt Mya’s features shifted into amusement.

“Oh, I like this one, Simon. You can sit by me at dinner, Ser Gwayne.” Uncle Simon rolled his eyes while Daeron stepped forward, sending a look at his uncle.

“And I brought this for Lady Gwenys,” Daeron said, not to be outdone by Gwayne’s flirtation. He produced a doll from his own coat, made from soft linen with carefully made brown yarn hair, and painted blue eyes with a felt crown on her head.

“Thank you very much, my prince,” Garret said, shifting Gwenys in his arms. “Can you say thank you to Prince Daeron?” Gwenys’ eyes were large in her face, gnawing shyly on her lip as she snuggled into her father, unsure of what to make of all the strange people. Daeron held the doll up higher, taking the little hand to wave at the child.

“Hello, Lady Gwenys,” Daeron said in a silly voice, blonde hair falling into his blue eyes, his own cheeks pink at all the attention. “Will you be my new friend?”

That drew the little girl out of her shyness, bubbling with giggles and reached for the toy with grabby little fingers. “Fank you!” she shouted, squealing as she clutched at the toy. Abby felt Aegon at her back and shivered as he leaned down to brush his lips against her ear.

“Was I meant to bring a gift?” he asked, his whisper harsh with anxiety. Abby pressed her lips firmly together to hold back her giggle and turned into his hold, a kiss brushed to his cheek.

“You’re fine. There’s plenty of time. I think it’ll have more meaning after the wedding.”

Abby’s gaze briefly took in the arrival of the carriages that held the king and queen, and the small council absent Ser Tyland. He’d left court with her grandfather to Castamere where his wife, Elayna, was ready to give birth to their children. Twins had been born, according to the raven that Abby had received from her cousin, and Elayna was sorry she could not bring them, but it would be nice to see her. Lady Elayna preferred the freedom of Castamere, and Abby could not blame her, not when being here among the half ruin of Harrenhal had revitalized her in a way she could not describe.

The crowd all lowered themselves in deference as the king was helped from the wheelhouse. Travelling had been difficult for him, and the progress had taken as much time as it could in order to keep him comfortable. He clutched his cane, squinting in the afternoon sun, the light catching upon his golden crown. The expression on his pale, mottled face was difficult for Abby to read, and she wondered if he was thinking about the last time he was here, when the lords of the realm declared him king over Princess Rhaenys and her son.

Larys appeared from the next carriage with Lord Jasper Wylde and the Grand Maester, a placid smile on his own features. “Uncle, you’ve outdone yourself,” he complimented. Abby noticed then that her uncle’s smile tightened, no longer meeting his eyes as he regarded Larys.

“It has been some time since our house has something so wonderful to celebrate. Not since Abrogail’s birth, I think. After so much tragedy, these halls benefit from the festivities.”

“We are looking forward to them, Ser Simon,” the queen smiled, her hand fluttering to the king’s arm. “It has been a long journey, and the king needs rest and recuperation. We shall reconvene for supper?” It was not a request. Alicent Hightower could command with a smile, and all the authority afforded to her as the mother of the realm.

“Of course, your graces,” Aunt Mya said with a smile. She clapped her hands and there was a flurry of activity, the king’s wheeled chair being brought out while Uncle Simon explained they had easily accessible rooms for the king so his time here would be comfortable.

Then there was a flurry of raven hair and blue wool as Wylla’s decorum barely kept her from completely barrelling into Abby and she clutched her friend, embracing her tightly and burying her face into her shoulder. She smelled of cinnamon and spice, familiar and comforting.

“Oh, I’ve missed you,” she cried, Wylla giving her a tight squeeze.

“I’ve missed you too! You look beautiful.” Abby pulled back and Wylla pinched her chin with a playful look on her fox features, the little scar along her mouth pulling at the smile on her face. She pushed her hand away with a shake of her head, hooking their arms together.

“As do you! Is this a new dress?” Wylla hummed in the affirmative and led the way across the tightly packed gravel. Aegon and Alyn fell in behind them, and behind them, the rest of her ladies followed. The king and queen and the rest of their immediate party were being led into the closest tower - what was ominously referred to as the Tower of Dread.

It was where Athair and Harwin had died.

As she watched the king and queen enter the tower, something ugly curled in her chest. ‘Good’, she thought savagely, though altogether unlike her. She hoped the ghosts that slept there would haunt them. The queen would not treat her so unkindly if her father were still here. The king? Well, he deserved a good haunting. Let the ghost of Lord Maegor Towers terrorize him during his stay.

The main hall at the foot of the Kingspyre Tower was a bustle of activity. Servants in the House Strong livery hurried to and fro from the small kitchens beneath the tower, sending out refreshment to the new arrivals.

“As soon as we had word of your arrival, I had a bath readied,” Wylla said. “There’s the bathhouses, of course, but I thought you’d like some private time.”

“That does sound nice,” she sighed, heading up the staircase. The next floor above the hall held the galleries and the library. Precious things that her father had loved, and his father before him.

‘What if fire seeks to claim me here? As it had them?’

The fear was ugly and painful and squeezed the breath from her lungs with its sudden onset. Wylla’s voice was muffled in her ears as she stood frozen in the stairwell.

“In the black of night, the dragon did rise.”

“What?” she choked out, turning to look through the open doors of the gallery. It was not Wylla’s voice. Abby could not even be sure it was a woman’s voice. She tugged away from Wylla’s hold to the open archway but a firm grip on her arm tugged her back. Aegon stroked her cheek, drawing her attention back to him. Abby’s cheeks colored. “I heard… I thought…”

“It’s just the wind,” he told her.

“Unfamiliar sounds,” Wylla chimed in, coming to her other side, although her eyes narrowed at her friend’s discomfort. “Come, we’ll get you settled into the bath and you can lay down. A lazy lie in.”

Abby nodded, mouth shut as everyone stared at her with worry and confusion. Catching the brief look Wylla and Aegon exchanged, Abby tugged away. She felt judged, as she had felt that morning when Aegon had shaken her out of whatever haze had taken hold of her. It was one thing to have such a lapse in front of him, but now here she was in front of their household, so many eyes on her, confused and curious. Gathering her heavy skirts in her arms, she soldiered forward, desperate to get out of her gown. If she could, she would have stripped from the surcoat in the stairway itself, but she would have gotten tangled in the fabric and likely tumbled down the stairs.

What an auspicious start to the festivities; a tragic bride felled by a broken neck.

She ignored the call of her name behind her, climbing past Uncle Simon’s apartments and office to the landing of what had once been her mother’s rooms. They were rooms that might have belonged to Rhaenyra Targaryen in another life, or Sabitha Frey or Alysanne Blackwood, or any dozens of young women in the Riverlands her brother could have taken to wife.

None of this should be hers. This castle, these lands, were not her birthright.

They were drenched in ash and screams and the knowledge of this was grasping her tighter with every step she took before she burst through the doors of her apartments. Afternoon light streaked through the large doors that opened out onto the multilevel balcony that went from her rooms up to Aegon’s chambers. Beyond would be the beautiful sight of the God’s Eye, but for now, it was the brilliant blue sky and the roses that crept along the stone and woodwork. Low couches littered the space, plush rugs faded with age, and before the fireplace and its merry flame, was the large tub draped in linens and ready and waiting.

The shadows beside the fireplace moved and Abby stilled, fear freezing her limbs until the face of the shadow appeared. The woman was older, older than the queen, mayhaps, with inky black hair that hung to her waist, a square face and storm gray eyes. In her hands, she held a woven circle of twigs, and Abby looked at the stick figure coming to shape in the center of it.

“Lady Abrogail,” she greeted, her accent like Wylla’s, like her Aunt Mya’s. “Did you leave the rest of your chattering ducklings behind?”

Buzzing filled her ears and Abby pressed her hands to her chest, fingers knotting into the fabric. “I… I… I can’t breathe.”

“If you could not breathe, you could not speak,” the woman pointed out, discarding her wood weaving on the chair. She closed the distance and grabbed Abby’s hands. “You speak, therefore you breathe. I hear your gasping. So keep doing that.”

Hands joined the woman’s to help her out of the surcoat and work the laces on her kirtle. Her vision was dark and hazy around the edges and she continued to heave and gulp for air. She swooned and arms caught her.

“What did she say, Alys?” she heard Wylla ask.

“A tincture from my chest,” was the answer. “The one in the blue bottle. And the smelling salts.” Alys River tsked and her face shimmered before her as she backed Abby to the low couch. “If we shove you in that bath now, you’ll faint and are liable to drown. A bride felled by her bathwater. What a tragic end.”

Abby blinked, her mouth dry. “What did you…”

“Alys likes to be cryptic,” Wylla’s voice drifted to her through the buzzing in her ears. She let herself be shuffled around and moved as if she were no more than a ragdoll onto the chaise, her legs propped up higher than her head on a pile of cushions. Time passed in a haze as the dizziness and the rushing passed. Alys sat on the couch beside her, holding a goblet to her mouth and Abby grimaced at the strangely sweet and medicinal taste of the thin, red liquid. Her limbs tingled and the drunken feeling gave way to a more relaxed sensation. Alys’ large, slate-gray eyes filled her vision and the elder woman tilted her head, appraising her.

“I cannot call you Little Lady anymore, can I?” she asked, but Abby didn’t think it was much of a question. “Although, you are still littler than me, wee beast.”

“Oh, so she calls you that as well?” Wylla’s voice drifted from somewhere behind the couch. “Do you feel like you can get in the bath now?”

Alys helped her up and held the goblet to her mouth once more, feeding her the strange liquid. “Someone should tell the princeling that his lady is all right, I can hear him pacing.”

“Hear him?” Sarra Frey’s voice chimed in, confused. Abby smiled wanly at Wylla as the elder girl helped her out of her chemise and into the tub. The water was still plenty warm, but not the scalding, steaming heat that it had been from when she first came into the room. “But he’s so far away.”

“You’re just not listening close enough,” Alys said and passed her the goblet. “Make sure the coinín beag drinks all of this.” The door shut behind the woman and Abby settled against the back of the tub, Wylla’ pinning her hair up.

“Doesn’t Aegon call you little rabbit as well?” she murmured against her ear.

Abby did not answer.

The confused look the servant gave Jace when he asked where the family crypts were was not something that would normally bother him, but there was no reason that Prince Jacaerys Velaryon should be asking where the family crypts of his host were.

The look in Ser Simon Strong and his wife’s eyes upon seeing him still stuck with Jace, and he tried not to keep looking over his shoulder as he strode down the gravel pathway through the family gardens. Torches were lit along the pathway, servants and guests still milling about, and the gardens were beginning to bloom as the seasons shifted. Lady Celeste’s mountain roses crept like a great, dark beast, along the outside of the Kingspyre tower, up to balconies above. Jace stole a glance up there, at the distant, flickering light behind the windows.

Abby should be here. She should be with him. This was more her family than his. Did he even have a right?

Jace straightened.

He did. He did have a right. Ser Harwin was someone in his life he cared for, who cared for him and his brothers. He had been gentle and kind - to them, to their mother.

Ser Simon looked at him as if he’d seen a ghost.

Goosebumps bloomed beneath Jace’s black tunic. Perhaps he was one.

The Sepulcher of House Strong was largely underground, but the entrance to it was a stone gazebo, just over a story tall, with seven stone pillars carved to mimic the twisting boughs of the weirwood trees. The branches held up the circular roof, the torchlight casting long shadows over the carvings of strange creatures. There was no door, simply smooth stone stairs leading into the torch lit crypts beneath.

At the foot of the stairs were a pair of doors, heavy ironwood etched with more of the weirwood motifs and little creatures that Jace realized from this close distance were meant to be the Children of the Forest. They were different from the drawings he’d seen in his books. These were spindly things, some with fins in place of ears, with large eyes and sharp little teeth. He reached to undo the latch but the door was partially ajar. Had Abrogail come down to pay her respects? Should he leave and return another day?

His mother would be here on the morrow, and as soon as Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen set foot in this place, Jace’s chance to come here would be lost.

The door made no sound as he pushed it open to slip inside and he blinked as his eyes tried to adjust to the deeper gloom. Braziers affixed to the pillars were spaced out every few dozen feet or so and as he quietly walked the path his ears could just make out the distant sound of rushing water, though he had no idea where it was coming from. Stone tombs were erected every few archways, and he paused in front of the tomb of Maegor Towers before he caught sight of the dragon relief nearby.

Targaryens were not entombed, they were burned on pyres, back to flame and ash from whence they came. But Harrenhal’s last lady was honored here.

In the stone alcove, a beautiful carved relief of Dreamfyre stood, raised on her legs, wings spread and her neck arched to call out to the sky. At her feet was a pedestal with an urn in the shape of a dragon egg.

Rhaena Targaryen, Queen of the Rising and Setting Sun. Mother of her beloved Aerea and Rhaella. Beloved by Prince Aegon, where their souls meet once more.

To always Chase the Sun.

The crack of a cane hitting the stone echoed violently along the walls and Jace choked on dusty air, panic taking over. The next tomb was that of Lord Osmund. There was just enough room to duck behind it and Jace crouched behind, his heart pounding in his ears.

“You are kind to accompany this night, Your Grace. I confess, when I extended the invitation, I was not sure you would accept.” The low voice of Lord Larys drifted through the quiet ghosts, otherworldly beneath the earth himself. Your grace… was grandfather also down here?

“Lord Lyonel was a good man,” the king rasped, his voice shaky with emotion. “The best of us, I think. No better servant to the realm than he.”

“Surely you yourself are the realm’s greatest servant, my king.”

“Mmmm, Lyonel offered good counsel. I did not listen to him as much as I should have.”

“My father served the realm with all the wise counsel of a Grand Maester and the knowledge of one of your vassals, my king. In the end, however… Even beneath his great wisdom, matters of succession were well out of hand.”

Heat burned along Jace’s neck and rushed into his cheeks. He pressed his face against the cold, stone tomb but it did little to calm him.

Driftmark. It always came back to Driftmark. It came back to screaming and blood. It came back to his words. Yes, the words of a child, but his words that he knew, without question, would prevent punishment.

‘He called us bastards.’

With such a simple sentence, Jace watched, clutched in his mother’s arms, as the king’s ire went from Aemond’s wound to the accusations that had chased Jace and his siblings all their lives. Words that he knew were cruel, that upset his mother, yet words that spoke true. Lord Lyonel had stood, struck and silent beside the Driftwood throne, and Ser Harwin had lingered by the door, unarmored and disheveled given the late hour it had been. As old as he was now, Jace knew. He knew. He knew.

Ser Simon had looked at him as if Jace were a ghost.

Jace reached up and gripped the edge of the tomb of his blood, feeling the burn of Vermax inside of him with every beat of his heart, loudly thumping in his ears.

“I did not want it to happen that way, Larys,” King Viserys finally spoke, his voice mournful and heavy.

“I know, my king. Only a Targaryen can truly master the dangers of flame. Mere mortals such as those who strove to follow your wishes could only wish to wield such understanding.” The sound of scraping metal grated on Jace’s nerves. He hit his head against the tomb and had to shove his fist in his mouth to keep from crying out.

“Only Ser Harwin-” the king began and then stopped. Jace could see the long throw of their shadows along the stone floor. They weren’t moving.

“Whatever tragedies befell, they have brought us here, my king. Have the wounds not healed as you had hoped? Your daughter and brother arrive here with their children after their long absence. Our houses will be joined in only a few days. The match you and my father discussed so many years ago is now far more advantageous, as is right, for the King’s first born son, given the unusual circumstances.”

“Perhaps you’re right, Lord Larys.” The scrape of two canes now. Jace pressed himself as far into the shadows as he could, straining to listen as the two men made their way back up the corridor beneath the eyes of the dead. He dared not breathe, he dared not make a single sound for fear of what might happen were he discovered. It felt like an eternity before the door shutting reverberated through the quiet.

Jace sat on the cold ground, frozen and still as Dreamfyre’s statue. His heart continued to pound in his ears as he tried to process exactly what he had just heard. King Viserys, a peaceful man, so afraid of any confrontation that his mother fled to Dragonstone to hide than maintain her presence at court. She’d sent him to do it for her.

He couldn’t escape the catacombs fast enough. His feet slipped along the damp stone as he raced towards the entrance. Ser Harwin would forgive him, he was certain. Now? Now, he needed to get away as fast as possible. He tripped hard up the stone stairs, his left knee and shin screaming in agony before he made it up and forced himself to slow down so as not to attract attention. What would it say to see the king’s heir racing through the gardens of Harrenhal? Jace’s lungs ached and he kept trying to remember to breathe. All he knew was that he had to get away.

How could he hold this? Should he tell his mother? What would she do? Nothing. She’d do nothing, forbidding them - forbidding him from speaking of Ser Harwin. Did he tell Abby?

It would destroy her.

Should he - Jace slammed into a figure, sending the two of them sprawling to the gravel.

“What the fuck, Jace!” Aegon snapped, aggressively shoving him off. He too was dressed for night in his own gray linen and breaches, dark circles beneath his eyes. It struck Jace, hard between his ribs, how much Aegon looked like Jace’s own mother in that moment. How much he sounded like his own mother. Jace’s palms scraped against the gravel and he heaved a breath. “What?” Aegon repeated.

Another breath and Jace felt the words strangling him, and could feel the tension in his face as he looked at his uncle, his childhood playmate, with wide, lavender eyes. Aegon stared at him and whatever annoyances were on his tongue fell. His brow furrowed. “What is it?” he asked again, less sharply this time.

Jace gulped once more for air and heard Aegon mutter something about panic attacks before the elder manhandled him up to his feet and towards one of the benches. “Get your head between your knees before you pass out,” he snapped, hand on his back to push him forward. In spite of Aegon’s annoyance, his touch was gentle, if firm.

Also like his mother.

“Breathe, you idiot,” Aegon said and sat down beside him, hand between his shoulder blades. Jace did as he was told, falling into the way things once were, where Aegon led and Jace happily followed. They could never return to those days, and Jace did not wish for it, but Seven Hells, it had been easier.

He did not know how long they sat there, listening to the lowing of dragon calls outside the walls and the shrieking of bats, the distant sound of water fowl amid the rushes outside the castle walls. He breathed in the cold air, let it ebb at the fire in his blood. He spat on the ground and finally sat up, aware that Aegon’s hand did not leave him until Jace settled against the bench.

“You said something but I couldn’t understand,” Aegon ventured with his brows raised in exaggerated curiosity. The quiet of the night filled the space between them, the gaps left when things had reached such a breaking point.

It always came back to Driftmark.

“The king…” Jace whispered, heat burning in his eyes. “T-the king, he… ordered the deaths of Lord Lyonel and… Ser Harwin.”

So... that was an ending. As always, I love that you're here, but the only way I know you're reading is if you comment! Comments let me know people are reading and are actively interested! So I'd love to hear what your favorite part of the chapter was, what your theories are, OR If you have no idea what to say, drop a tree emoji to let me know you were here <3 I promise, I'm glad you are. ALSO! I would LOVE to hear how you found this story! Was it through the AO3 search? Tumblr? Did someone recommend it? (if so, where?) (we might end at 24 chapters. I'm not quite sure yet, I'll have to see how the next few chapters go for pacing as I don't want to inundate y'all) Shoutout to @queen--kenobi for allowing me to borrow the lovely Elayna Reyne! Baby girl is here!

#fic rec #reblog fic!!#hotd fic #hotd oc #aegon ii fanfic #other people's ocs #oc: abrogail strong #oc: elayna reyne #oc: willa karstark

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queen--kenobi · 3 months ago

Text

Like a Cigarette (Drag Out, Never Quit) Part I

My entry in @hotd-bigbang for this year! The header, dividers, and the moodboard are all done by the wonderfully talented @ewanmitchellcrumbs

Fic summary

When the Greens realized Rhaenyra invaded King's Landing, Elayna, Aemond's wife and mother of his children, was among those who fled. Not trusting Larys, Elayna had made a plan with Tyland Lannister should the worst ever occur. Seven months later, freshly widowed Elayna and Tyland return to King's Landing. The pair of Westerlanders grew close in the intervening months, making many wonder what happened. King Aegon II decides to see for himself exactly how close the pair became.

Chapter summary: Having made their way back to King's Landing, Elayna has to deal with some personal matters.

Warnings: heavy discussions of grief, character death (not in fic), lots of angst. NSFT (m!receiving oral, f!receiving oral, PiV, some praise kink, and previous D/s dynamics referenced.) Also, dub-con. They both are given an out, but it's still there.

Word count: ~10.3k

Part 1 of 3

A/N: Thank you to both @emilykaldwen and @/ewanmitchellcrumbs for doing this year! I had a lot of fun with this, and y'all did a fantastic job putting this on.

Elayna closes her eyes.

Despite her exhaustion, she can't seem to find sleep. Every jolt of the carriage shakes her awake. The movements aren't what keep her from sleep but what they might do; the thought of her twins waking up is almost enough to bring her to tears. It took far too long to get either of them down for a nap. In theory, she knows she could give them to someone else. In practice, the idea terrifies her. An almost animalistic fear hits her at the thought of someone else handling them.

Aelon and Reynard are all she has left of Aemond, left of her old life. She'll be damned if she lets someone take that from her.

“You can go to sleep. I'll wake you if they do.” Elayna cracks one eye open at the sound of Tyland’s voice. He sits across the carriage from her. He could have chosen to ride with everyone else, but he chose to stay with her.

“I cannot ask that of you. You have already done far too much for me.”

Elayna wouldn't be alive if it weren't for Tyland. The twins wouldn't be alive if it weren't for him. If he hadn't managed to sneak her out of King's Landing just before Rhaenyra took the city, all three of them would be dead, and it wouldn't be a swift or painless death.

Aemond killed Rhaenyra's son.

Killing his wife and two unborn children would be one of the first thing Rhaenyra sought to do. Elayna cannot find fault with the logic; she would do the same for her children.

The carriage jostles almost violently. Elayna lowers her head to look at the twins, missing Tyland pursing his lips together at her statement. Aelon opens his eyes. Panic surges through Elayna. If he begins to cry, Reynard will surely wake as well. She tries to carefully adjust Aelon, wanting to better cradle him if he should start to cry. The adrenaline coursing through her combined with her exhaustion makes her movements sloppy, jostling the twins more than the carriage.

��Elayna...”

“Don't!” She snaps instantly. Elayna winces when she hears her tone. She tries her best to soften the edges when she opens her mouth again. “I... I know you mean well, but I. I cannot . I will not let anyone else take care of them.”

“At the expense of yourself?” Elayna frowns. She glares at Tyland across the carriage. It's all sheer emotions mixed with sleep deprivation; no true ill will sits in her gaze. Tyland doesn't flinch; he stares back at her evenly. “You can't keep going like this.”

“It doesn't matter if I can or not. I must.”

He sighs. Elayna looks away, cradling Aelon closer to her. One part of her brain sees how emotional and illogical she's being, but the majority of her brain refuses to look at it.

“I know you're right. But. How do I know she won't hurt them?” Elayna's voice cracks slightly at the last word. She swallows and clears her throat in an attempt to disguise it. Tears begin to collect along her waterline without permission. “I couldn't trust before, but now. How can I? How can I trust anyone to not hurt them?”

Her voice rises an octave without her permission. She slaps her hand over her mouth in an attempt to push the words back inside her body, but it's too late. The increased desperation in her tone finally triggers Aelon. He lets out a piercing wail.

The wave crests, and each member of Elayna’s family falls.

Aelon's wail causes the trapped sob in Elayna’s chest to burst violently from her. She has no idea if it's in solidarity or if it's because the sound of Aelon's crying makes her want to scream. Upon hearing both his mother and brother crying, Reynard joins. The look of alarm on Tyland’s face would be funny in almost any other circumstances.

“Elayna...”

Elayna tries. She tries to tell him she's fine, she's okay, she just needs a moment. All that comes out is a choked noise and then an unholy wail. Her cries mix with those of her babies. Tyland's eyes go wide. He opens his mouth to say something, most likely words of comfort, but nothing comes out. Elayna curls around both Aelon and Reynard.

A soft hand on her shoulder nearly makes her jump. Tyland sits beside her. His expression is equal parts alarm and concern. His fingers flex and curl, as if he's not sure if touching her is the right move. Elayna buries her face into his shoulder. Tyland stiffens at the contact. Elayna opens and closes her mouth, trying to assure him she's fine, it's fine. Nothing comes out.

“There, there.” Tyland rubs her back very awkwardly. He clears his throat. She hears three thumps on the carriage door. She feels the jolt as the carriage stops. Elayna wants to push away from Tyland in case people look in on them, but she doesn't have the energy. Instead, she pulls Aelon and Reynard closer while pressing herself further into Tyland.

The door to the carriage opens. Elayna panics. The thought of someone seeing her like this sends an intense spike of panic through her. She tried to push away, but Tyland keeps the one hand on her shoulders. She can't hear what he says to the servant who opens the door.

Elayna hears other voices. One of them gives soft commands. Tyland occasionally speaks, but she can't hear it because of the noise in her head and wails coming from her. Eventually, two other voices join, this time feminine. Elayna lifts her head from Tyland’s shoulder.

“No. No!” She shakes her head violently and clutches Aelon and Reynard closer to her.

“Elayna. Elayna!” Tyland takes a gentle hold of her shoulders. “It's okay. ‘Tis okay.”

“I don't. I don't want them to!” Elayna's voice cracks as it reaches a new octave. Tyland brings one hand to her face.

“ ‘Tis okay. It's okay. They're not going to hurt them. Aelon and Reynard will be fine.” Tyland wipes some of the tears from her face. “They will be watched. The nurse maids will have others around them. No one will hurt them. I swear.”

Elayna stares at him, her lip wobbles even more. Tyland clears his throat.

“You need to let them. You can't do this by yourself.”

“But I-”

“We'll call for them once you've calmed down.”

Tyland's logic makes sense. It goes against every instinct in her body, but it makes sense. She stares at him. Tyland’s movements are stiff and hesitant as rubs her back.

“Okay. Okay.”

She tries to stay calm as she carefully hands over Aelon and Reynard to the nurse maids. Both wail even louder when she passes them; it takes all of her self-control to not fall apart again hearing them.

It isn't until the carriage door closes again and she and Tyland are left alone that she lets herself break down once more.

This time, Tyland seems to expect it. He holds her, at first clearly unsure if he should. When she grabs the collar of his doublet, collapsing into him as she sobs, he pulls her closer. He doesn't say anything, just holds her in his arms and rubs a small circle on her back. The gesture brings more tears. Her body feels so heavy.

She's tired. She's so so so tired. Her entire being feels like a giant lead weight. The more she cries, the more sheer exhaustion creeps upon her. Elayna splits apart at the seams, everything finally too much to handle.

She wakes up warm.

Elayna sighs. She vaguely registers the sound of the carriage rolling over cobblestone now, the clack of horse's hooves against them. She turns her head with a grunt. Her left cheek slides against silk as she tries to bury her face. A light, soft sensation rests on her right cheek and neck.

The fabric doesn't give.

It takes Elayna a moment to realize the reason as to why. Her sleep addled mind slowly arrives at the conclusion. She struggles to open one eye, crusty from the salt in her tears. Red silk greets her first then a moss green velvet. Sluggishly, she tilts her head upward. In her periphery, she notices her head rests in the crook of someone's neck. She sees the lines of a jaw with a blond beard.

“Tyland...?”

Tyland’s eyes flick down to look at her.

“We should arrive at the Keep soon.” Elayna becomes aware of his arm around her, his hand resting on her shoulder. His hands seem broad against her. She idly admires his fingers. She wonders what his hands would look like against her bare skin, what colors bruises in the shape of his fingers would take.

“How long was I asleep?” Words float in and out of her brain. She lets her eyes close again.

“Half the day. I've kept Aelon and Reynard with us as much as I could.”

At the mention of her children, Elayna's eyes fly open. Before Elayna can even try to sit up, Tyland quickly reassures her.

“They're in here with us.”

Elayna still pushes herself up to look at the space. The sight makes Elayna's shoulders drop. She lets out a deep breath before slowly letting herself settle back down. Her head finds Tyland’s shoulder once more.

She should be worried what people might think if they saw the two of them. She shouldn't let herself relax. She needs to be on guard.

Instead, Elayna closes her eyes.

The two of them stay like that for a long moment, Elayna's head on Tyland’s shoulder and Tyland’s arm around her. At some point, Tyland’s hold moves. His arm rests loosely around her waist. Elayna sighs. She nestles closer to him, almost instinctively, at the change in positioning. They sit in silence. Elayna listens to the sounds of the horse's hooves and the creaking of the carriage. She listens to the soft rise and fall of her breath, of the twins's breath, of Tyland’s breath. She listens intently to a moment of peace she might never get again.

After a while, Elayna sighs. While she enjoyed the blissful break from the realities of her situation, she has to clean up the pieces.

“ ‘m sorry.” She manages. “For earlier. I didn't mean to... cause concern.”

Tyland sighs. It's not necessarily at her but more world weary.

“I imagine being a widow with two babes is difficult.” Tyland looks down at her. “You have help. Use it. Not everyone means you harm.”

Elayna doesn't say anything for a long moment. Instead, she stares ahead. He's somewhat right; not everyone means to harm her but enough people do she cannot risk it. The truth of the matter is the minute she married Aemond, both herself and any children they had were in danger. It wouldn't have mattered who won, she and her children were always going to be on the chopping block. They didn't afford any decency to Aegon and Helaena's children, why would hers be any different? If anything, Aelon and Reynard were more in harm's way, given Aemond's actions. Elayna tries to find the words to explain this, but they stay stuck inside her mouth.

“They're all I have.” She whispers. It's the closest thing she can come to getting him to understand.

“And they will have nothing if you continue on like this.” He counters. Elayna swallows. “They're children of a Prince. Aegon won't let anything happen to his nephews.”

Tears threaten to fall again. She doesn't try to fight them this time. Instead, she lets them fall. This time, her body grants her the mercy of them being silent.

“I... I know that. But ‘tis hard.”

Tyland stays silent. She fights to keep her gaze forward, not wanting him to know how much just saying those words aloud hurt her.

“Do you trust me?”

Elayna lets out a humorless little giggle. Tyland stiffens, but Elayna quickly turns her head up to look at him.

“Of course I do.” She smiles at him. The motion almost feels foreign to her. “If I didn't, I would have had your head for seeing me cry.”

Tyland raises an eyebrow at her. Elayna stares evenly back at him.

" 'Tis a joke!"

"I somehow doubt that." Before Elayna can react, he clears his throat. "Nothing will happen to them. I promise."

Elayna buries her face back into his shoulder. She wants to tell him he's too kind to her, but the words won't come. Instead, she presses herself more into his side.

They stay like that, Elayna's head in the crook of Tyland’s neck and his arm around her waist, until they reach the gates of the Red Keep.

Everything feels off, almost to the point of being tangible. She can almost taste something acrid and mournful in the air.

The greeting party was small; Aegon cannot move much without being in pain so his absence was expected. Queen Alicent, however, did not come out to see them. Elayna was under the impression she would until she was later informed Alicent doesn't leave her chambers for much of anything anymore.

She understands.

Elayna often thanks the Seven the twins were born before the news of Aemond's death reached her. She has no idea what the devastating news would have done to the twins if they were still inside her belly. Even then, it almost killed them. In the days after, Elayna stayed in bed all day, only getting out of bed to feed Aelon and Reynard. The thought of doing anything more hurt her deeply. It took both Johanna and Tyland to coax Elayna not just out of bed but out of her chambers. Guilt still eats at Elayna; Johanna had her own losses yet Elayna selfishly took all the space to mourn.

Perhaps the sight of Alicent's two new grandchildren may do the Dowager Queen good. Elayna tells herself this as she carries the twins to Alicent's chambers. When the guards open the doors, and Elayna sees Alicent, Elayna almost gasps.

She doesn't recognize the woman before her.

Alicent's curly hair sits tangled, almost in mats. Her eyes are sunken, red rimmed from crying. She almost curls in on herself, any and all previous confidence long gone from her body. Elayna hurts. She physically aches looking at Alicent.

“Your Grace.” Elayna steps forward. Alicent finally looks up to Elayna. She looks so much older than the last time Elayna saw her.

“Elayna.” Alicent's voice lifts with relief, but she doesn't smile. “You're alive.”

“Aye. Thanks to Ser Tyland.” Elayna clears her throat. “I am not the only one alive thanks to him. Your grandchildren are as well.”

The news of two grandchildren doesn't take all of the sorrow away from her, but it visibly puts more life into Alicent. She almost perks up. Her eyes brighten.

“Grandchildren...? You were with twins?” Alicent carefully stands up. Delight creeps into her voice, the delight of a mother learning they're a grandmother. At the sound, Aelon lets out a pleased giggle. Reynard coos softly.

“If I may present Aelon and Reynard...”

Alicent makes her way over to Elayna. Elayna gently maneuvers Aelon out of his sling as she approaches. Alicent stops just short of Elayna, as if waiting for permission. It almost seems as if she thinks Elayna will tell her no. Instead, Elayna cradles Aelon and hands him to her.

“This is Aelon.”

“Aelon.” Alicent repeats. She takes a moment to study him. Elayna watches as Alicent notices how light Aelon's hair is and how his nose matches Aemond's. Alicent looks up. Tears threaten to fall. “He looks like his father.”

Elayna does her the courtesy of pretending to not notice the slight break in Alicent's voice.

“He does. But he has my temperament. Nothing is ever quite right for him.” The subtle jab at herself makes Alicent shake her head. Elayna turns to Reynard. “This one looks like me, but I think he shall take after his father.”

Elayna lifts Reynard from his sling with a grunt. She cradles him close to her chest, positioning him so Alicent can look at his face.

“He has your hair but Aemond's eyes.” Alicent remarks almost absent-mindedly. Aelon babbles in her arms, a plea for attention. Alicent shifts him. He quickly grabs onto her hand with one of his own small and pudgy fists. Alicent almost smiles. Her face relaxes some, the harsh lines on her face easing up as she does so. Her eyes brighten a bit at the same time. Yet she still doesn't smile.

Elayna doubts Alicent ever will again.

Elayna steps close to her. Reynard reaches out to clasp one of the many strands of hair free of Alicent's braids. He looks at her, eyes wide.

“I...” Elayna begins. She pauses to take a deep breath. “Is it silly one of my wishes is I could have told Aemond we had twins?” Elayna wants to look at Alicent and meet her eyes, but she can't. All the strength to lift up her head leaves her body. Instead, she reaches across to smooth out one of Aelon's hairs.

“No.” Alicent manages. “No, ‘tis not.”

Elayna inhales shakily. This time, her head begins to hurt before her eyes water.

“I hope they become men their father would be proud of.”

Elayna's words make Alicent break first. She lets out a choked sob, placing her free hand delicately over her mouth. Elayna presses her lips together and averts her eyes.

“I... I miss him.” Elayna confesses. “I miss him so much.”

Alicent lets out a strangled sob, a noise Elayna is all too familiar with herself. The sob quickly turns into heavy crying. Alicent's shoulders heave with each attempt of an inhale. Silent tears fall down Elayna's face.

She can't hug Alicent properly because of the twins, but she tries her best. She stands as close to Alicent as she can and wraps her free arm around her. Alicent doesn't respond in kind but grips Elayna's arm. She almost seems as if she might collapse.

When Alicent does fall into Elayna, Elayna catches her as best she can. Elayna carefully guides her towards a chair. Once Alicent is close enough to lean on the chair, Elayna speaks.

“Here. Give me Aelon.”

Elayna shifts so she can take both infants. Alicent hands Aelon over. Elayna tries her best to carefully guide Alicent towards the seat of the chair, mostly to ensure Alicent doesn't fall. Alicent manages to get into the seat. Elayna kneels in front of her.

They stay like that for a moment.

Eventually, Alicent clears her throat. She looks at Elayna from underneath her eyelashes. Elayna nods.

“Would you like to hold Reynard now?”

“I would.”

Elayna hands Reynard over, cooing as she does so. Reynard kicks his feet but does nothing more in the way of protest. Alicent carefully cradles him in her arms. Elayna watches for a minute before Aelon, clearly upset with the lack of attention, lets out a high pitch scream. When Elayna looks down at him, he grins and giggles.

Elayna's summons aren't unexpected.

“The King wishes to speak with you.”

Elayna slowly stands. She turns to face Alicent, but she doesn't need to ask. Alicent offers before she can ask.

“I'll watch them.”

Elayna offers her a small smile. She trusts Alicent. The loss of two of her grandchildren and two of her children means she understands Elayna's pain, Elayna's fears. Alicent won't harm her children.

Elayna follows the Kingsguard. She expects to be taken to the Throne Room. Instead, the path leads towards the King's chambers. Aegon holding an audience in there feels strange in her mind. Perhaps he has yet to fully recover from his injuries. Elayna never saw him, at least, not the full extent. She had been willing to look at him if he wished, but she opted to give him privacy instead.

It wasn't out of disgust she did not look but respect. When she went to see him, his wounds were still fresh. The thought of another person seeing her as she might have seen him, weak and hurt beyond belief, meant she averted her eyes.

They stop in front of the doors. Elayna takes a moment to inhale and steady herself before the doors open.

Aegon sits in a chair in the antechamber of his rooms. Elayna notes the blanket covering his legs but opts not to say anything.

“Your Highness.” Elayna curtsies deeply. She looks up as she straightens back up. Aegon nods.

“Lady Elayna.”

The two stare at each other from across the room.

“I was glad to hear of your survival.” Elayna starts. She does mean her words. While the news of him being alive was entwined with the news of Rhaenyra's death, she finds herself more comforted by the fact Aegon survived. “I... I did worry.”

“Lord Strong planned well.” Aegon dips his head. “Almost as well as Ser Tyland. Getting all the gold and you away, that is a lot to keep track of.”

“And I'm thankful he was able to do so.”

Aegon scrutinizes her. He narrows his eyes and stares at her in an almost calculating way. Elayna shifts. It's not an expression Elayna has seen on him before, and it almost makes her nervous. Aegon seems to see what he wants because he leans back slowly. A playful smile makes its way onto his face.

“Did the two of you fuck?”

Elayna barely manages to keep herself from withdrawing in shock. Instead, her nostrils flare with indignation. Aegon tries to raise his eyebrows. The motion causes him pain; it makes his jaw clench and eyes screw shut.

Instinctively, she steps forward, wanting to offer help and ease the pain in any way she can. Elayna almost reaches out to grab his hand but catches herself.

"Well?" Aegon still sounds in pain. His question covers his slip-up. "Did you or did you not fuck?"

“No. We didn't.” Her words come out a hiss. Aegon nods. He doesn't seem entirely convinced.

“Do you want to?”

“That is not an appro-”

“ 'Tis a yes or no question.” Aegon looks at her.

“I...”

If Aegon were not so injured, he would raise his eyebrows and jut out his chin. He stares at her. Elayna screws her eyes shut.

“Answer me.”

She takes a deep breath.

“Yes.”

She tries to force herself to sound authoritative. If she owns it, it shan't feel so shameful. It shan't feel like a betrayal. It would be an answer to a question.

Instead, Elayna's voice comes out a soft whisper. It cracks almost. The single word rips and tears at something deep within her. Her husband has not even been dead a year, and yet, she openly admits to wanting another man. Shame swirls and screams in her brain.

She opens her eyes and looks back at Aegon. Aegon studies her, not quite detached but not necessarily in a familiar way. Her internal agony must show on her face because he speaks after a long moment.

“I don't ask to cause pain.” Aegon begins slowly. She can almost feel him roll his words around in an attempt to select the right phrasing. Eventually, he sighs. “The Small Council wants you to marry already.”

“They wish to get rid of me.” The words fall from her lips without thought. “They wish to get rid of the wife of a kinslayer.”

Aegon stays silent. He looks away for a moment. His throat bobs. Elayna needs no more confirmation.

“I know you love Aemond.”

The use of the present tense nearly brings Elayna to tears. Aegon doesn't seem to notice his slip up. Perhaps it wasn't a mistake. Perhaps the wording was intentional. Aemond may have di-

Is dead. Aemond is dead, but that doesn't mean Elayna's love for him died as well. Even if she herself feels as if part of her own soul passed the minute she was given the news, the love still lives on.

“I do.” She swallows. She blinks rapidly. The tears threaten to fall despite her efforts. Elayna turns her gaze to the ceiling and clears her throat. “His loss cannot be easy for you either. He is your brother.”

Aegon nods.

“He would want you safe.”

An idle question crosses her mind. She appreciates the warning about the Small Council's intentions, but to bring them up now seems strange. Tyland should be irrelevant to this conversation. Why does he feel like a focal point?

“What does this have to do with Tyland?” Aegon blinks with surprise at Elayna’s question. “You start by asking if I wish to sleep with him, and then speak of the Small Council and Aemond's wishes.”

“Nothing gets past you, dear sister.” Aegon nearly chuckles. The sound comes out weak. Elayna frowns. A small conversation such as this shouldn't be taking such a toll on him; it makes a small part of her ache to see him in such pain. “People need assurances. Especially the Westerlands.”

Elayna tilts her head. She regards him quietly. Each breath of his seems so labored. If she figures out what he's getting at, she can save him some agony.

“Aemond's children should grow up in their home.” Aegon rasps. Elayna studies Aegon.

“Are you... are you suggesting to marry me off to Tyland?” Elayna raises an eyebrow.

“You should have a husband you want to fuck.”

Elayna purses her lips and turns her head away, not because she finds herself disgusted with his comment but because she may laugh at it.

“I should.” Elayna decides on saying. Were she two years younger, she might have remarked on the fact most women don't get that choice. Instead, she holds her tongue. She turns back to face Aegon. “I accept.”

“Excellent.” Aegon raps the arm of his chair. He doesn't say what they're both thinking; Elayna's acceptance is just an illusion. The choice was already made. “You're dismissed.”

Despite the sun being above the horizon, the air grows cold as the chill of night begins to roll in. Elayna pulls her light cloak tighter around her shoulders. She's glad she thought to bring it on her walk in the gardens with Tyland.

It had become a daily ritual at Casterly Rock for the two of them to walk in the evenings. Despite what the maesters said, Elayna had refused to stay bedbound during the last months of her pregnancy. Tyland offered to walk with her after supper so she might get the movement she wanted while still supervised in case something were to go wrong. The ritual quickly became the favorite part of Elayna’s day.

“Aegon seems to have grown. He thinks more as a King should.”

Tyland nods his agreement. He keeps his stride even with Elayna's as they walk.

“I noticed much the same at the Council meeting. He's already looking forward to what the next year should bring.”

Elayna arches an eyebrow. “Had you told me two years ago that could even be possible, I would have called you a liar.”

“I'm sure it would not have been the worst thing you would have said of me two years ago.”

“No.” Elayna shakes her head almost violently. “Not you. Never you.”

Tyland raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything in regards to that. Instead, he turns back to look in front of them.

“The King thinks we may need to bring a more favorable image back to the Crown. He seems to have an idea in mind already since he was asking about our reserves.”

“Well, an easy way to do that would be a royal wedding, but he has to be careful. I wouldn't trust just any bride.” Elayna purses her lips. “He could use that to his advantage. While he cannot mourn Queen Helaena all his life, a certain level must be expected. so long as the wedding occurs within a year, I don't think people will be too upset.”

Tyland tilts his head slightly before nodding in silent agreement.

“That is a way to bring people together, yes.”

The two walk in silence for a moment. As they do so, Elayna studies him. He looks almost lost in thought. His eyebrow almost press together while his mouth stays in a thin line. No one else is present in this portion of the gardens. Elayna nudges Tyland gently with her shoulder.

“Anything you wish to share?”

“Aegon brought up an interesting proposal to me.” Tyland turns to face Elayna. “He told me it may be suggested I take a wife.”

“Oh? And did he have anyone in mind?”

“Yes. You.” Tyland looks Elayna in the eye. “He suggested it as if the Council thought of it themselves.”

“And you think he came up with it himself?”

“I do.”

Elayna nods. “I think so too.” At Tyland’s confused expression, Elayna laughs softly. “He spoke with me about it earlier today.”

“And? What did you think?”

Elayna feigns an indifferent shrug.

“ ‘Tis a sound plan.” Elayna watches Tyland, gauging his reaction. She wants, no, needs to know if he wants to marry her. She could live with it, she supposes, if he doesn't want to. The cold and sudden feeling of dread at the thought of him saying no tries to tell her otherwise, but she does her best to ignore it.

“That's not an answer.”

“Tell me what you think first. Then I shall give my opinion.” Elayna bites the inside of her cheek to keep from giggling at Tyland’s expression.

“You're acting childish.”

“Oh? How exactly am I being childish?”

“ ‘Tis a yes or no answer.”

“And I shall answer once you give me yours.”

Tyland sighs.

“I agree with the decision.” He phrases his answer carefully. Elayna hums.

“Luckily for us all, I also agree with it.”

Sleep evades Elayna that night.

She tosses and turns, doing her best to let slumber overtake her. It never comes. Eventually, after the Seven knows how many hours, she gets out of bed. She might as well take advantage of her wakefulness and do something useful.

The knock on her door almost doesn't surprise her.

“Come in.”

The guard from earlier comes inside.

“The King wishes to speak with you.”

Elayna raises an eyebrow. The temptation to remark upon the hour is strong, but she keeps it to herself. If Aegon summoned her at such an hour, it was no doubt important. She wants to ask if she has time to change into a more acceptable robe at the very least. Instead, she reaches down and tightens her robe more.

“Very well.”

The halls are almost eerily silent. Elayna remembers even at night, she could hear people, albeit speaking more softly than usual. People fleeing the Keep no doubt contributes to it; most still seem to think it unsafe still. It unsettles Elayna. Nothing is as it was when she left, and it breaks her heart once more to think of all the little things lost. Nothing compares to the pain of losing loved ones, yet the lose of familiar sights and sound, of laughter and whispered gossip, hurts as well.

When she and the guards round one of the corners, she's surprised to see another set of guards. Tyland follows behind them. Elayna raises an eyebrow. Why would Aegon summon both of them? And at this hour nonetheless?

They follow wordlessly behind the guards. Elayna has no idea what to say. Eventually, Tyland leans towards her.

“Did they tell you what we're being called for?”

“No.” Elayna shakes her head.

Once they arrive at the doors to Aegon's chambers, the door swing open. Both of them enter, Elayna stepping in before Tyland. At first, Elayna doesn't see Aegon. Her eyes dart around the room, trying to find him. She notices a large mound of cushions stacked in the corner. Eventually, she notices a gauzy curtain drawn across part of the room.

The doors shut behind both her and Tyland. Elayna turns to her head to look at Tyland. Tyland raises an eyebrow.

Aegon's voice comes from behind the curtain. In unison, the two of them turns towards the source.

“Are the two of you in agreement about the plan?”

Elayna looks to Tyland. She reaches her hand out to touch his. Her heart leaps into her throat when he takes her hand in his and intertwines their fingers.

“Yes.” Tyland speaks for both of them.

“Good. Then I shall proceed to the matter at hand. I want the two of you to fuck. And I want to watch.” Neither Tyland or Elayna move. Even though she can’t see him too well behind the curtain, Elayna knows Aegon makes a face and juts his chin out some. “Fornicate? Have sex? I know my dear sister knows how, but do you, Ser Tyland?”

Tyland genuinely looks offended. He pulls his head back and purses his lips. He doesn't manage to catch himself from twitching his upper lip with irritation and disgust. Elayna’s heart skips a beat for a second. His expression is endearing, not because it was a particularly attractive expression but because it makes sense for him.

“I do!”

“Excellent!” Aegon claps. “Then the issue is resolved.”

Heat rushes to Elayna’s face, embarrassment turning her pink. Tyland blinks.

“Your Grace, I'm not sure th-”

“Elayna has suffered enough misery. I won't stand by and let her suffer a husband who can't fuck her properly.” Aegon tilts his head. “Unless you can't get it up?”

“Aegon!” Elayna hisses.

“I do this for your sake.” Aegon tilts his head. “Would you rather take a chance on him not being able to please you?” He eyes the both of them. “If you are truly uncomfortable, you are free to go.”

Elayna meets Tyland’s eyes. Tyland stares at Elayna. He brings his hand up to her face. When he gently cups her face, Elayna's knees buckle at the tenderness of his touch. Behind the comfort and concern, Elayna sees a hunger mirroring her own. Tyland’s tongue darts out to wet his lips.

“We don't have to do this.” He whispers. “We can ask for oth-”

His genuine concern breaks her. Elayna closes the small distance between each other. She presses her lips against his. Tyland doesn't react for a minute. Panic begins to rise in Elayna for a second.

He kisses her back. The fear and anxiety evaporate.

Tyland kisses her as if he has wanted to do nothing more in his life. Elayna wonders if that's true. One hand finds the nape of her neck, fingers curling into her hair. Elayna responds in kind. Her touch isn't as gentle as his. She sinks her fingers into his hair. She traps the surprisingly soft and lustrous strands between her fingers.

If she's going to do this, she might as well do this as if it's the only chance she gets.

Experimentally, she tugs at his hair, not hard enough to truly hurt him but enough to see if he likes it. Elayna is no stranger to pain and rough treatment. Giving and receiving are as familiar as old friends. Either sets her body alight.

An idle thought crosses her mind. Tyland’s gentleness and consideration for her is the only instance where her body thrums as much as it did when Aemond manhandled her. It almost makes her want to provoke him. If she feels this way from him being caring, him being rough with her would turn her into a whimpering mess within seconds.

Elayna trusts him to build her back up once he breaks her. Hopefully he puts the same faith in her.

When she pulls again, Tyland lets out an unmistakable noise of pleasure. He squeezes her hip. Elayna grins into the kiss, following it with a nip to his lower lip. Tyland squeezes hard. He slips his free hand around to her back. She rewards him by scratching his scalp gently with her nails.

Elayna pulls away first. Tyland gazes at her with an almost dazed look. She likes it on him, how his lips are kiss bruised and how his eyes are dark yet gentle. He brings his hand from her back to her chin. He strokes his thumb over the curve of her cheek.

“Can I?” Tyland brings his other hand to the tie of her robe. From the look on his face, Elayna thinks the question isn't just about her robe. Elayna nods.

“Yes. Please.”

Tyland inhales. He undoes her dressing gown with deft fingers. The fabric slides off Elayna’s shoulders and hits the floor with a very soft, almost airy, noise. Her nightgown is a red silk, not as delicate or dainty as her robe. Elayna moves forward to kiss him again. One of his hands finds her hair while his other skates gently down her arm, his fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake.

This kiss is a little more desperate, a little more teeth and tongue. Her skin buzzes at every point of contact with him. She pushes against him, desperate for more. Her fingers dig into the fabric of his tunic.

“Take this off.” She pulls at the fabric. He nods. Elayna moves to give him space.

Tyland tosses his shirt off as Elayna turns behind them to the pillows she noticed stacked up in the corner. She grabs one of them and sets it on the ground in front of Tyland. Before she can lower herself down, Tyland leans down to kiss her. She almost giggles into the kiss.

“You don't have to.”

“I know. I want to.”

Elayna sinks to her knees. The plush pillow underneath her feels good. Her hands come up to begin to help him with his belt.

She pushes back onto her knees. Elayna moves with her intuition. She opens her mouth, sticking her tongue out expectantly. She hears two sharp inhales. Only one of them matters to her.

“Fuck. You have a gorgeous cock.”

Before she can be embarrassed, Tyland groans at her words. Elayna smirks up at him. She looks up at him from under her eyelashes.

“Like it when I compliment you? Do you like hearing how handsome you are? How gorgeous this cock is?”

Oh, fuck. Elayna actually watches his dick twitch. It almost slaps against his stomach. The sight makes Elayna squirm, spreading her knees ever so slightly. Tyland brings one of his hands down to cup her cheek.

“Do you think I can take it all?” Elayna purrs. She revels in this new found confidence. She pushes her braids back. However, when she goes to lean forward, Tyland stops her by pressing his thumb to her lips.

“Let me... let me help.”

Elayna tilts her head but nods. Tyland presses his thumb against her lips more insistently. She parts them, wanting to see where he's going with this.

Her gasp of surprise doesn't make it past her lips. Tyland slips two fingers inside of her mouth. He looks down at her, concern clear on his eyes. Elayna opens her jaw wider to accommodate for the stretch. She inhales through her nose and smells metal, no doubt from Tyland’s rings. Tyland presses down experimentally on her tongue. Elayna lets out a small noise at the feeling.

Elayna about chokes when he presses the pad of his fingers on the back of her tongue. Her eyes water. She tilts her head up more to try and let his fingers slide further down. Tyland places his palm on her cheek.

“Good girl.” He murmurs. Fondness covers every word. “Can you take a little more?”

She tries to reply. A bit of drool slips down her chin. Elayna nods. Tyland pushes his fingers a little further back. This time, Elayna gags. Tyland shushes her.

“ ‘Tis okay.” He assures her. He pulls back his fingers for a second before pressing them forward again. Elayna accepts them eagerly. She flicks her tongue upward and along his fingers. She looks up at him from underneath her eyelashes. She wants more, needs more.

Her eyes nearly roll back in her head when he moves his fingers. Tyland starts slowly, giving her ample time to get used to the sensation of his fingers sliding back and forth along her tongue and towards her throat. Elayna moans. He thrusts his fingers at a slightly faster pace. She tries her best to take him further. The idea of her lips touching his rings makes her squirm.

“Breathe.”

Seven above. The simple command makes her head spin. She inhales through her nose as best she can. Tyland brings his other hand to her cheek. He strokes his thumb along her cheekbone. The gentle touch sits at odds with the way he's outright finger fucking her mouth now. Elayna spreads her legs. Her hand sneaks down between her thighs without her permission.

Tyland pulls his fingers from her mouth. Elayna gasps for air. Spit connects her lips to his fingers. She looks up at him. Instinctively, she opens her mouth wider and presents her tongue for him. Instead of spitting into her mouth, he leans down and places a gentle kiss on her forehead.

She gasps at the contact. Elayna meets his gaze.

“You're doing good for me.” He praises. Elayna nods desperately. She wants him but needs to be good for him.

“Stick your cock in her mouth already.”

Tyland’s jaw twitches at the rudeness in the command. Nevertheless, he moves forward. Before he can even take his cock into his hands, Elayna pounces. She surges forward and licks the vein on the underside. Tyland chokes. Her free hand finds his base to keep him where she wants. As she traces her tongue along his length, she closes her eyes. She feels the tension in his body. Wordlessly, she reaches forward and takes one of his hands.

When Elayna pulls back, she opens her eyes.

“I don't mind.” Elayna carefully places Tyland’s hand at the back of her head. Tyland looks down at her. She gazes up at him from underneath her eyelashes. She tries to hide her grin. Tyland presses his thumb to her bottom lip. She opens her mouth in response.

Tyland takes himself in hand. Elayna flattens her tongue as much as she can. Carefully, Tyland pushes the tip into her mouth. Elayna works to curl her tongue around him. She watches as Tyland lets out a low hiss of pleasure.

She wants to hear more. She needs to hear more.

Tyland outright moans when Elayna pushes her head forward to take more of him in her mouth. She suction her cheeks as best she can. Her eagerness takes him by surprise. His fingers curl into her hair as she begins to move. Elayna brings her free hand up to work what doesn't fit in her mouth. Despite his length, she fits more into her mouth than she anticipates. After several minutes, she touches her lips to her hand.

The sounds in the room are positively obscene. All Elayna hears is the slick noises with every shallow thrust into her mouth, two sets of ragged breathing, and her own breath and heartbeat. Tyland begins to shallowly thrust into her mouth, still clearly trying to not hurt her. Elayna rewards him; she lets out a satisfied hum next thrust.

The moan he lets out goes straight to her head. She almost feels her eyes roll back into her head at the sound. Fuck. Listening to him makes her head spin in the best way. Elayna pushes her legs even further apart and rests her free hand on her upper thigh. Tyland tightens his grip on her hair. His chest heaves. His thighs tremble to keep himself in check.

She doesn't want that, she wants to see him lose control. She wants to see him lose control because of her.

Elayna looks up at him again. Tyland stares down at her. The look in his eyes almost makes Elayna whimper. He gazes down at her with an expression equal parts love and lust. A air of adoration lingers in his face, and the way he pushes her hair back gently just proves it. It fuels something deep within her. She pulls back to give herself a moment to breath.

When she goes back, Elayna takes him all the way to the base. She keeps her eyes locked on his. Tyland’s eyes go wide. His chest heaves, and he almost seems to struggle to breath for a second. Elayna doesn't stop until she feels her nose touch his skin.

“Fuck.” Tyland’s voice comes out as praise and want. In the single word alone, Elayna hears how much power she has over him. A giggle tries to escape her. Tyland throws his head back with a moan, fingers digging into her hair. “Don't...”

If she could, Elayna would smirk. She tries to relax her throat more around him. Tyland groans. His fingers tighten in her hair, and he pulls her back. Elayna looks up at him. The whine that escapes her even takes her by surprise.

Tyland kneels down to in front of her. He kisses her deeply once more. Elayna's eyes flutter closed at the sensation. His hands settle on her thighs. The sensation is muted against her because of her clothes. Elayna pulls away from him.

“Let me-”

“I've got it.”

Elayna pushes up enough off her knees and calves to pull the hem of her nightgown out from under her. Tyland's hands meet hers when the fabric comes up over her knees. She places her knees back down and presses more into a seated position. They work together to pull her dress up over her head and off her body.

“Beautiful.”

Elayna's skin heats up, from her chest to her ears at the compliment. He says it as if he wasn't even aware, as if the words just fell out of his mouth. Elayna's eyes find his. Tyland’s eyes are dark with desire.

“Lean back.”

Elayna leans back on the thick pillows, black with silver and red embroidery. Her chest heaves. Tyland grabs three pillows, two for him to presumably lay down upon. Having Tyland so close to her naked body makes her shiver. He has yet to look at her most intimate parts. The thought terrifies her. What if he is repulsed by her? Or doesn't want to?

Tyland’s hand on her hip brings her back to the present. She makes a small noise and turns her gaze to him.

“Up.” He taps her hip twice. Elayna presses upward; Tyland slides the pillow underneath her. The angle eases some pressure from her lower back. He pushes back, hands warm on her thighs. He pauses for a second to look up at her, expression soft. Elayna's heart pounds in her chest at the wordlessly check-in, and she nods.

“Yes. You can.”

She squeals when he grabs her thighs and pulls her to the edge of the pillow. The urge to pull away and hide herself almost overtakes her. She starts to pull away but before she can get far, Tyland takes careful hold of her calf. His beard brushes against the inside of her leg, just below her ankle.

Elayna gasps softly. He presses a gentle kiss to her skin. Her chest heaves. She stares at him with wide eyes. Tyland adjusts his hold on her and moves his lips lower. She lets her head fall back as he inches his lips down the inside of her leg. Her heart rate noticeable increases. She outright moans at the first contact of his beard and lips on her thigh. Her other leg falls out to the side.

When he reaches the top of her inner thigh, Tyland stares at her for a long moment. Elayna watches him. Her chest heaves, blood singing in her veins. Tyland wets his lips.

Her entire body erupts into flames. Heat surges through her. He hasn't even put his mouth to her, yet a keeping whine escapes her lips.

As soon as his tongue makes contact, Elayna's hands shoot out and find their way into his hair. Tyland starts with a slow, broad stroke. At the top, he stiffens his tongue to flick her clit.

“Fuck.” The curse leaves her as a sigh. Her hips follow the movement of his mouth. She tries to push up onto her forearms, but it isn't long before the pleasure racing through her means she can't keep herself propped up.

Tyland surprises her. He makes out with her pussy, not just eats her out. Every movement of his tongue is slow and methodical yet passionate. His mouth moves against her as if he was taking his time to kiss her. Elayna arches into it. When his tongue presses just to the left of Elayna’s clit instead of dead center, she moans.

Tyland notices. Of course he notices.

He turns his head slightly. The new position gives him better access to the spot. He puts a little more pressure there, not enough to hurt but enough to make every part of her body sing. Elayna's moans get louder. She grips his hair as she throws her head back. Pleasure surges through her with such intensity she almost tries to pull back. Her legs tremble around his head. Tyland doesn't let her escape, instead pining her down with one of his palms flat on her stomach.

“I-” Elayna tries to find herself, but the steady movement of his tongue against her makes all rational thought impossible. She nearly ruts against his face. All she thinks about is the feeling of his mouth against her.

She arches almost entirely off the pillows when he slips his tongue inside of her. Tyland curls his tongue up until he presses against something inside of her that makes her wail. Her whole body trembles. He moves his head, and the dam inside her breaks.

Tyland slowly makes his way up her body, his lips ghosting over her skin. The care with which he treats her makes her float as much as what he does. Tyland stops and hovers above her.

“You can.” She murmurs.

The stretch as he pushes inside her cause a moment of discomfort. It's the first time someone has been inside her since she's given birth. She breathes through it until he bottoms out.

Oh, she's missed this, this feeling of fullness, of slotting together perfectly. Elayna stares up at him. Eyes wide as she does so, she brings her right hand to his face. Tyland groans. He takes the silent invitation. His thrust start slow and unhurried. She rocks her hips into his. It feels good, pleasure coursing through her veins.

Still. She wants more. She needs more.

Elayna wraps her legs tight around his waist. She tries to encourage him to go faster by digging her heels into his low back. Tyland hisses.

“Elayna...”

“I'm not going to break.”

The encouragement makes his hips stutter. Elayna squeals when he shifts back onto his knees, bringing her hips with him. Her head stays down and back arches. The angle causes her eyes to roll back into her head.

“Fuck.”

Despite the change in angle, he keeps his movements slow and unhurried. The drag of his cock inside her, along her walls, sends a pleasant rush through her. Having her head down with her lower body lifted helps. Elayna whimpers.

“Harder.” The word spills from her lips unbidden, both a demand and a gasp at the same time. Tyland gives into her. It's still not enough.

Elayna doesn't want tenderness. Her whole body and soul aches for it, but she doesn't want it. She wants rough and hard; she wants to forget everything. Elayna craves the idea of being broken down into nothing.

“Fuck me like you hate me.” Elayna gasps out. “Like you should.”

She doesn't know how she means it. He should hate her, loathe her. What has she done but asked of him, taken and taken without ever giving? He should fuck her as he sees fit. Elayna wants that, to finally give.

Tyland stops. Elayna actually whines her displeasure. She stares at Tyland, fighting to keep both her confusion and hurt off her face. He's still hard inside her. She clenches around him in an effort to make him move, but he doesn't. Tyland lets out a low hiss but his hips stay still.

“Why'd you stop?”

Tyland looks down at her. His normal put together and slicked back hair falls in his face. His eyes trail over her face.

“No.” He murmurs. Elayna feels her bottom lip tremble. Tyland quickly shushes her, pressing his lips to her forehead. He swallows. “I... I've wanted this. Far longer than you realize.”

“I feel the same.” Her heart pounds hard against her ribs at the admission. This time, when Elayna bucks her hips, he matches her movement.

“Elayna. This is, mmhmmm, this is serious.” Tyland drops down onto one forearm. He presses the other between them and across her hips in an attempt to keep her still. “I... fuuuck, I want. To do this. I want to do this how I've been dreaming about.”

Fuck. She clenches hard around him. Tyland hisses. Elayna swallows hard. A longing, the ever present longing, rears its head. Hesitantly, she nods.

“I trust you.”

Each stroke stays slow yet intense. Tyland keeps his movements unhurried, as if he's trying to savor every moment. He keeps his gaze on her, watching and drinking in every expression on her face. Elayna finds herself watching him back. Even as she digs her nails into his back, her eyes stay on his.

Every noise falling out of Elayna’s mouth comes out soft yet sweet, a symphony she wasn't even aware she could make. She knows how loud she can be or how high pitch she can get. The noises coming from her almost feel brand new, different. They feel natural. Each breathy moan fits perfectly into the moment.

Elayna presses her palms flat on Tyland’s shoulder blades. The urge to dig her nails into his skin never appears. Instead, she clings to him. Her legs lock around his hips, ankles crossing over the other. He shifts slightly, and the angle makes Elayna tilt her head back with a soft sob.

He presses his forehead to hers. Elayna tries her best to keep eye contact with him, but between the building pleasure and tears, she struggles. An almost whine escapes her. Tyland adjusts, lifting his forehead to press a kiss to her forehead.

“I've got you.” He moves one hand and takes hold of hers. Tyland interlaces their fingers. Elayna gasps. The simple gesture makes her head spin in a delicious way. She finds an odd eroticism in it. Even now, his tenderness takes her breath away.

This time, Elayna doesn't fight it. She lets herself accept it. The thought she doesn't deserve such treatment never surfaces. She squeezes his hand back.

Tyland shushes her gently. Elayna realizes a second later she's crying. Tears stream down her face, not big fat ones she associates with sadness.

He kisses her.

Tyland kisses her, and her whole world collapses. Elayna nearly sobs as she crests, body trembling in pleasure. The edges comes slowly and gently at first. However, as it begins to wash over her, she feels it build. The pleasure goes from nice to intense as it continues. Elayna clings to him. She holds onto him as if he's her lifeline. When she squeezes his hand, Tyland rubs his thumb over the back of her hand.

He loves her.

The realization washes over her as her orgasm did, a steady and pleasant feeling that builds in intensity. Tyland loves her. He doesn't have to say it; she sees it now. The look on his face as he stares at her, lust and awe written on his face in equal parts, tells her as much.

He loves her.

Fuck. She loves him too.

The words almost fall from the tip of her tongue. She keeps them at bay. Instead, she buries her face into his shoulder, letting out a pathetic whine. She pulls him as close as she can, heels locked around his back and palms on his shoulder blades to pull him even closer. Tyland moves his hips in shorter movements. Elayna pants against his skin. Her mouth won't form words; she settles for kissing his neck.

That undoes him. He gives three more shallow thrusts before he stills. He collapses, trying his best to keep himself from pining her completely underneath him. After a moment, Elayna feels a small amount of cum begin to leak out of her.

Unbidden, the thought of her being pregnant again rises to the forefront of her mind. Elayna sees it so clearly in his mind, the way Tyland would hold her and dote on her. She'd want for nothing. She clenches around him, causing him to hiss.

A rustling catches her attention. Behind the curtain, Elayna spots movement. Aegon pulls away and pushes back. An undeniable air of shame comes from him. Tyland senses it too; he presses himself back onto his forearms.

“Go.” Aegon croaks from his unseen position. Elayna says nothing, just lets Tyland pull her up once he gets to his feet.

Her body sits heavy, exhausted yet satiated. Every bit of her feels boneless. A relief sits within her she hasn't felt in a while. Between her crying fit and finally feeling the touch of someone after months, every bit of resistance and ache in her body disappears for the moment. Everything from her legs to her jaw loosens, almost to the point of making her wobble.

Elayna almost feels fuzzy at the edges. Not in a bad way. If anything, she needs it. For too long, her walls have been up. She’s held onto her need to be a bastion, both for those around her and the idea of being seen as weak and wanting tears her apart. This need has only been detrimental to her; Tyland was right when he told her she couldn’t keep on as she has.

The walk back to her chambers takes a minute. Elayna makes a mental note of the look on Tyland’s face when he watches her; she can’t give him any hell right now, but she can at a later point.

Once back in her chambers, Elayna makes her way over to her vanity. She doesn’t need to look into the mirror to know her hair is a mess, multiple thick strands out of her braids. Carefully, she sits down at the vanity. Elayna undoes her braids. A quiet satisfaction builds within her body as she begins to brush out her hair.

It’s been so long since she’s done this. Elayna knows she can explain away her hair by citing bedhead, but she likes doing this. She always did it as a post-sex ritual when married to Aemond. She moves almost on autopilot.

She inhales slowly and then exhales slowly. She lifts her head to look at herself in the mirror. Elayna stares at her reflection. A smile plays about her lips. The woman looking back seems content, fulfilled. It's not a familiar sight but a sorely missed one.

Eventually, she stands and stumbles over to her bed. The sheets lay rumpled from earlier, but it's easy enough to make herself comfortable.

She falls asleep almost instantly when her head hits the pillow. Her sleep is dreamless.

Only when she wakes up does the reality of yesterday hit her.

She stretches slowly, the pleasant ache in her body reminding her of what happened. Based on the low light filtering through the curtains, she thinks it must be early morning. Her back cracks. Elayna smiles. She rolls over onto her side, preparing her speech as to why they should stay in bed the rest of the day instead of attending to important matters.

The other side of the bed sits empty and cold.

Tyland isn't there. Elayna frowns softly and reaches out into the empty space. She blinks. Despite no one being around to see her blunder, she feels silly, foolish. Of course he wouldn't be there.

Aemond should be the one there.

Aemond isn't either.

Aemond is never going to be there ever again.

Instantly, Elayna shrinks and curls in on herself, all good mood gone with a single thought. Even after all these months, she misses waking up beside him. It's been worse since the birth of the twins. The amount of times she's woken up, hoping against all odds it was a dream and Aelon and Reynard will be snuggled between the two of them is uncountable. Elayna sighs. She buries her head in her pillow.

Aemond isn't here. He'll never be here again. Elayna blinks back tears. An ugly voice rises amongst the wave of sadness hitting her. She thought first of Tyland when she awoke. She didn't think of Aemond, her deceased husband, but thought instead of another man. Not just another man but a Lannister.

She bites down hard on the edge of the pillow she curled around in a desperate bid to hide her face. Still, she doesn’t manage to muffle all of the wail wanting to break free from her. An almost detached part of her likens it to a wounded animal. Elayna wishes the thought hadn’t occurred to her; it feels as if she ripped apart a wound on her own and poured salt inside of it.

As she lays there, another thought begins circling her brain. This one is worse than the others. This one makes her want to puke, bile threatening to rise. It’s a summation of everything, she supposes, of every blunder and mistakes.

What has she done.

#hotd big bang 2024 #Tyland Lannister x OFC #Aemond Targaryen x OFC #oc: elayna reyne #NSFT #Persephone writes

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