#princess of the silver woods | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hcneymooners · 12 days ago

Text

⋆ arcane but it's a private university au ( for the girls: pt. i )

ice princess!f!reader x multi. f!characters. men & minors dni.

synopsis: private university!arcane headcanons but it’s really specific bc it’s based on my time at catholic private school except this au is just a private hold the catholic.

cw: this part contains scenarios for caitlyn, vi, & mel. the second part will contain sevika & ambessa bc i went a little crazy. suggestive content. notes: this was really fun to write. after part two, my attention will shift to answering the requests you sweet angels have sent me. i love you.

part two.

the road curved sharply as the gates came into view, their wrought-iron edges glinting in the low sweep of your headlights. beyond them, the school rose like smoke, its silhouette dark against the velvet sky, lit faintly by the soft gold of its windows. the building exhaled exclusivity, from the ivy climbing its stone façade to the manicured hedges lining the long gravel drive. you rolled down the window slightly for a bit of air. the breeze was scented faintly with pine and the cold, metallic promise of winter. you straightened your posture without thinking, your shoulders drawn back against the cool weight of your coat.

inside, the warmth hit you immediately, clinging to your skin like a lover's kiss. the chandeliers sparkled, their light soft and diffused, casting fractured shadows against the paneled walls. voices floated in the distance—low, murmured, intimate. you walked slowly, your boots clicking against the marble floors, eyes drawn to the oil portraits lining the halls. the faces in them were familiar in their arrogance: sharp jaws, heavy brows, lips set in expressions that commanded you to keep your mouth budded shut, like a flower.

your room was at the far end of the east wing, the door heavy and hinting at the beginnings of rot. the key turned smoothly, the lock clicking open with an almost luxurious softness. the space inside was all dark wood and rich fabrics, a fire already lit in the grate. you dropped your bag near the foot of the bed, its velvet coverlet cool under your fingertips. for a moment, you stood still, letting the atmosphere settle around you. outside, the wind whispered through the trees, and in the distance, you could hear faint laughter—a reminder that this place was alive, spilling with bloodlines as silver as the spoon in your own mouth. you wondered what they’d see in you, these strangers you were destined to meet. you wondered what you’d allow them to.

caitlyn kiramman: the academic rival.

୨୧ caitlyn was under the impression she’d be occupying a single suite. she strolled through the double doors, chin high, expecting the echo of her own footsteps in the vast, empty room. instead, she found you curled on the floor, the soft creature of your body lightly clothed, flipping through a thick novel with its spine already cracked.

୨୧ you, too, had assumed the room was yours alone. after all, there was only one massive queen bed planted in the center, framed by ornate lamps that cast a soft glow over the wood-paneled walls. the two of you locked eyes, the silence loud with polite hostility. and then, as if on cue, both your smiles snapped into place—brilliant, practiced, and so painfully fake they practically gleamed. your families would be proud.

୨୧ you managed to get housing on the line after some deliberation over who would cave first. 'apologies, girls,’ the voice crackled through the old-fashioned landline. ‘there’s been an overlap in scheduling renovations. west wing residents have been moved to shared suites in the east. it’s only for a few weeks—after winter break, your single rooms will be ready, and you’ll receive a refund for the semester.’

୨୧ you clicked the phone back into its cradle and turned to caitlyn, flashing another dazzling smile. ‘well,’ you said sweetly, gesturing to her suitcase, ‘shall we get you unpacked?’

୨୧ during this time, you took her in—shamelessly, ravenously. she was tall and impossibly willowy, her movements languid like she’d been raised to glide instead of walk. her hair, a cascade so black it caught blue in the firelight (‘[name] it is blue.’), was swept into a ponytail so bouncy it could’ve been sculpted. she wore a thick knit sweater, tailored trousers, and a delicate diamond pendant—a ‘C’—that caught against her collarbone. her perfume hit you in waves: sweet, salty, like the black licorice you’d once eaten to excess in scandinavia. beneath it was something warmer—vanilla and caramelized citrus. you clenched your jaw to keep from leaning closer.

୨୧ at first, the sharing was civil. one of you curled up on the bed each week while the other resigned herself to the chaise in the corner. but one night, you woke to caitlyn’s face above yours, pale and soft in the moonlight. her almond-shaped eyes glittered as she pressed a deceptively strong hand against your stomach to wake you. her perfume cloyed your throat as she murmured, ‘come on,’ her voice rich and clipped with her posh english accent. she slipped back into bed, her braid glinting in the dim light, and you lay there, swallowing hard before following her.

୨୧ the real challenge wasn’t the shared space. it was caitlyn herself—her maddening proximity. the way her soft thighs brushed yours when she shifted in bed. the way her body, willowy as it was, still seemed to migrate toward you in the night, tangling with yours like it was instinctual. you woke up more than once during those weeks feeling hot, bothered, and frankly mortified, especially during the cruel timing of ovulation.

୨୧ to make matters worse, she was your equal in class. the professor announced your tied scores, and you caught her turning toward you, her bright blue eyes sparkling with something like satisfaction. she smiled, clearly expecting camaraderie, but this was your achievement. your moment. you forced a tight smile in return, already plotting your next move.

୨୧ and yet, caitlyn seemed determined to treat you as an equal. worse, a friend. she was everywhere—every party, every recital, every lecture. she linked your arm and whispered terrible jokes that you begrudgingly laughed at. she told you scandalous rumors about your professor and her husband, her lips brushing your cheek as the crowd jostled you.

୨୧ the glitter from her gloss smeared your skin, warm and wet, and when she tried to wipe it away, you told her it was fine. she blushed, and you hated how much you liked it.

୨୧ she was infuriating. borrowing your curling iron to tease out her perfect curls, dragging you to track practice where she outpaced you with ease, leaving snacks on your desk during finals with notes written in her careful script. she was just so—so perfect, framed in silk and lace and lit by courtyard sunlight, her laugh clear as crystal and echoing in your chest.

୨୧ wait.

୨୧ winter crept into the suite on silent feet, frosting the windowpanes and painting the air with a chill that settled into your bones. the two of you existed in an uneasy truce, navigating the space like chess players plotting moves several steps ahead.

୨୧ you thought you had her figured out, until one morning you stumbled into the kitchen to find her brewing tea, hair tousled and cheeks flushed with sleep. she offered you a mug without looking up, the steam curling between you, and you took it—hesitating only for a second.

୨୧ for all her elegance, caitlyn was infuriatingly human in ways that caught you off guard. she hummed off-key while studying, left tiny notes for herself tucked into the corners of her textbooks, and cursed like a sailor under her breath when she stubbed her toe on the chaise.

୨୧ it wasn’t fair how quickly she worked her way under your skin, the sharp edge of rivalry blunted by moments like these. still, you refused to let her win, clinging to the fire that flared in your chest every time she smirked at you after a particularly cutting comment in class.

୨୧ the tension came to a head one evening in the middle of finals. you were curled on the chaise, poring over notes, when caitlyn waltzed in, hair damp from a shower and wearing nothing but an oversized sweater that skimmed her thighs.

୨୧ she plopped onto the bed and stretched, a picture of unbothered grace. ‘don’t you think you’re overdoing it?’ she asked, her tone almost teasing. your pen froze mid-sentence. ‘excuse me?’ you shot back, eyes narrowing.

୨୧ ‘i’m just saying,’ she continued, utterly unruffled. ‘you’re going to burn out if you keep pushing yourself like this.’ the concern in her voice was infuriating, and you snapped. ‘not all of us can coast by on professors' favor and good looks,’ you said, your words cutting sharper than you intended. her expression faltered for a fraction of a second before she schooled it into something cool and distant.

୨୧ the silence that followed was unbearable. caitlyn moved to the chaise later that night, leaving the bed cold and empty. you told yourself you didn’t care, but the knot in your chest tightened with every passing hour. finally, just before dawn, you slipped out of bed and crossed the room, standing over her sleeping form. her face was peaceful in the pale light, and you felt a pang of regret so sharp it left you breathless.

୨୧ ‘caitlyn,’ you whispered, your voice trembling. her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she looked at you like you were the only thing in the world. ‘i’m sorry,’ you murmured, your throat tight. she sat up slowly, her gaze searching yours. ‘i didn’t mean it.’ ‘i know,’ she said softly, her words a balm to the ache in your chest.

୨୧ before you could overthink it, you leaned in, your lips brushing hers with a tentative softness. she responded immediately, her hands threading into your hair as she deepened the kiss. the world melted away, leaving only the two of you tangled in one another, practically climbing into each other’s skin, the air thick with the heady scent of her perfume and the taste of mint lingering on her lips.

୨୧ the next morning, you called housing together. caitlyn leaned against the counter, her arm brushing yours as you spoke into the phone.

୨୧ ‘yes,’ you said, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. ‘we’d like to stay in the east wing for the rest of the school year.’ you hung up, and caitlyn turned to you, her smile soft and knowing. ‘looks like we’re stuck with each other,’ she said, her tone light but her eyes dark.

୨୧ you squeezed your legs together and let a finger sweep at the dip of her collarbones. ‘it wouldn’t be the worst thing,’ you told her. she smiled.

violet: the lacrosse prodigy.

୨୧ the first time you saw vi, she was slouched in a mahogany chair at your parents' alumni dinner, looking like rebellion incarnate. her suit was expensive but deliberately disheveled—probably borrowed, you'd learn later—with the top button undone and a black tie hanging loose around her neck like an afterthought. you noticed her instantly: the sharp cut of her jaw, the shock of pink hair (freshly dyed, still bleeding slightly at her collar), and the way she balanced her chair on two legs like gravity was merely a suggestion.

୨୧ she noticed you too. maybe it was the way you held yourself, spine straight as a ruler, chin lifted in that practiced way that screamed old money. or maybe it was the way your silver-blue gown caught the light, clinging to you like morning frost on glass. either way, when your eyes met across the room, her smirk said she'd already made you her newest fixation. you looked away first, but you could feel her gaze following you for the rest of the evening, hot as a bruise.

୨୧ by the time classes started, her reputation preceded her like a shadow. vi, the scholarship student who played lacrosse like she was outrunning her past. girls whispered about her in bathroom stalls and behind textbooks: how she'd grown up on the wrong side of the tracks, how she'd fought her way into this school with nothing but raw talent and a stubbornness that bordered on spite. how she moved like she had lightning under her skin, all barely contained energy and sharp edges.

୨୧ you'd dismissed her first attempt at flirtation—a low whistle and a comment about how your uniform skirt looked specially tailored. she'd winked, and you'd raised an eyebrow so cold it could have frosted glass before walking away. but vi didn't take rejection personally; if anything, your indifference seemed to delight her.

୨୧ each time you passed in the halls, she'd find new ways to try to crack your composure: a deliberate brush of shoulders, a murmured 'morning, princess' that lingered in the air like perfume.

୨୧ what she didn't expect was for you to show up at her first game of the season. you perched yourself in the middle of the bleachers, legs crossed at the ankle, oversized sunglasses hiding your expression. the autumn air was sharp with approaching winter, and you wrapped your cashmere scarf tighter as you watched her warm up. she nearly missed a pass when she spotted you, her double-take so obvious it made your lips twitch despite yourself.

୨୧ she played like she had something to prove that day—all controlled violence and graceful aggression. you found yourself leaning forward despite your best intentions, watching the way she moved across the field like she owned it, her stick an extension of her arm. when her team won, she shot you a grin that was all adrenaline and victory, her chest heaving and hair plastered to her forehead with sweat.

୨୧ you didn't smile back, but something in your chest tightened when she lifted her jersey to wipe her face, revealing a strip of toned stomach marked with old scars.

୨୧ it became a game between you—her constant pushing, your calculated resistance. she'd find you in the library, sprawled across a chair like she was posing for a painting, her lacrosse stick balanced across her knees. 'studying hard, princess?' she'd drawl, her voice rough like she'd swallowed gravel, and you'd glance up from your books, unimpressed.

୨୧ 'some of us don't get by on natural talent alone,' you'd reply, your tone sharp enough to draw blood. but she never bled; she just grinned wider, like your cruelty was exactly what she'd been hoping for.

୨୧ the weather turned bitter, and you started noticing things about her you wished you didn't. how she wore the same three sweaters in rotation, all slightly too thin for the season. how she'd blow on her hands between plays, her fingers red with cold because she refused to wear gloves. how she worked twice as hard as anyone else on the field, like she was afraid someone would realize she didn't belong here and take it all away.

୨୧ one evening, you found yourself alone with her in the common room, the fire burning low in the grate. you were curled into the corner of the sofa, a cup of tea warming your hands, when she walked in. she hesitated for a moment before sitting beside you, close enough that you could smell the sharp blackberry of her shower gel mixing with the leather of her jacket.

୨୧ 'you're quiet tonight,' she said, her voice softer than you'd ever heard it. you didn't look at her, but something in your chest unraveled slightly. 'just tired,' you replied, and when she shifted closer, you didn't move away.

୨୧ after that, the boundaries between you began to blur. she started walking you back to your dorm after late study sessions, her stride easy and long beside your measured steps. 'i don't need a bodyguard,' you'd say, but your voice lacked its usual ice. she'd just shrug, hands stuffed in her pockets. 'maybe i just like the company.'

୨୧ one rainy sunday, she convinced you to join her on the empty field. 'come on, princess, live a little,' she said, pressing her spare stick into your reluctant hands. your perfectly manicured nails looked absurd wrapped around the grip, and you gave her your best withering stare. but then she stepped behind you, her hands covering yours to adjust your grip, and suddenly you couldn't remember why you'd been protesting. her breath was warm against your ear as she guided you through the motion, her body solid and sure against your back.

୨୧ you missed every shot, but the way she laughed—not at you, but with you—made your cheeks flush with something other than cold.

୨୧ you told yourself it meant nothing. that she was just another scholarship kid trying to prove herself, that her attention was just another form of rebellion against everything you represented. but then came the night after her team's crushing semifinal loss. you found her in the empty locker room, still in her muddy uniform, staring at her hands like they belonged to someone else. without a word, you sat beside her on the bench, your expensive skirt soaking up puddles of field water.

୨୧ 'you played well,' you said quietly. she laughed, but it was hollow. 'not well enough.' you reached for her hand then, your fingers interlacing with hers, and neither of you mentioned how long you stayed there, sharing silence and something deeper.

୨୧ it happened during one of your late-night walks. the air was sharp with approaching snow, and the campus was quiet except for the crunch of gravel under your boots. she stopped suddenly, turning to face you with an expression you'd never seen before—all vulnerability and barely contained want. 'you know,' she said, her voice rough, 'you're not nearly as cold as you pretend to be.' before you could argue, she kissed you—hard and desperate at first, then softening when you gasped against her mouth. she tasted like cinnamon gum and possibility, and her hands were gentle when they cupped your face, like she was afraid you might collapse.

୨୧ the next morning, vi was back to her usual self, lounging against the dining hall wall with her teammates. but when you walked in, her entire face lit up, and the smile she gave you was different from her usual smirk—softer, private, just for you. you rolled your eyes but couldn't quite fight your answering smile, and when she fell into step beside you later, her pinky finger hooking casually around yours, you let her stay.

୨୧ you'd been raised to be ice—beautiful, untouchable, cold enough to burn. but vi had always run hot, all passion and impulse and raw honesty.

୨୧ and somehow, against all logic, against everything you'd been taught, you found yourself thawing.

mel medarda: the best friend.

୨୧ mel was your constant, like morning light through gauzy curtains or the first cherry blossoms of spring. she had been there so long you'd forgotten what it felt like not to have her around—her laugh echoing in your dorm late at night, her perfume lingering on your sweaters, her tinted lip balm marking coffee cups she'd left scattered across your desk like petals marking her presence in your life.

୨୧ you couldn't pinpoint when it started. maybe it was during those endless summer nights when you were sixteen, lying on her family's sprawling lawn watching satellites paint silver trails across the dark blue sky. or maybe it was in the quiet moments between lectures, when she'd fix your collar with careful fingers, her touch lingering just a heartbeat too long.

୨୧ all you knew was that mel had carved out a space in your life that nobody else could fill, and you weren't sure you wanted them to try.

୨୧ she moved through the world like she was made of starlight and ambition, all sharp edges and soft smiles. in business seminars, she was their star student, her neatly slicked baby hairs drawing the sunlight as she spoke about case studies and economic theory with the kind of confidence that made professors lean forward in their seats.

୨୧ but in your room, she was just mel—shoes kicked off, braids falling loose from their carefully styled updo, gesturing wildly as she talked about her latest thesis project while you pretended to study.

୨୧ you both had your rituals. every thursday night, she'd appear at your door with takeout from that little place downtown that knew your order by heart, and you'd share secrets like candy between your teeth.

୨୧ you'd curl up on your bed, papers spread around you like a hurricane of responsibility, and she'd listen to you complain about your upcoming presentations until your words turned soft and honest. sometimes, she'd fall asleep there, her head on your shoulder, her breathing steady against your neck, and you'd stay perfectly still, afraid to disturb whatever this was between you.

୨୧ it was the little things that undid you. the way she'd absently play with your fingers during long lectures, tracing the lines of your palm like she was reading your future. how she knew exactly how you took your coffee (one sugar, splash of cream and two extra pumps of vanilla, but only before noon). the way she'd look at you sometimes when she thought you weren't paying attention like you were a poem she was trying to memorize.

୨୧ you cataloged these moments carefully, storing them away like heirlooms.

୨୧ you told yourself it was nothing. that best friends always felt this way—heart racing when they walked into a room, breath catching when they smiled, skin burning where they touched.

୨୧ you convinced yourself that the ache in your chest when she dated other people was just protective instinct, that the relief you felt when those relationships inevitably ended was purely sympathetic.

୨୧ but there were moments when the pretense felt impossible. like the night she dragged you out dancing at that underground jazz club favored by grad students, her body pressed against yours in the crowded space, her breath warm on your neck as she whispered something you couldn't quite hear over the music.

୨୧ or the morning you found her asleep in your bed after a particularly brutal finals week, wearing one of your old silk robes. you stood in the doorway for too long, memorizing the way the early light licked her dark skin gold, how her braids spilled across your powder blue pillowcase like spilled ink.

୨୧ she wasn't subtle about her affection. mel had always been tactile with you—casual touches, long hugs, the way she'd rest her head in your lap during study breaks. but lately, there was something different about it. something charged.

୨୧ she'd trace patterns on your skin while you talked, her fingers leaving trails of electricity in their wake. when you'd dress for formal dinners, she'd zip up your dresses with agonizing slowness, her braids brushing against your back as she leaned close, her knuckles tracing your spine like a gentle claim.

୨୧ it was after one of the university's prestigious donor galas that everything shifted. you were both slightly giddy on champagne bubbles and shared glances, stumbling back to your dorm with your heels in your hands.

୨୧ mel was wearing dusty rose, the color melting into her skin, and there was something about the way the hallway lights caught in her hair that made your chest ache. she was telling a story about some legacy student who'd tried to copy her economics paper, her voice low and amused, but all you could focus on was the way her lips formed the words.

୨୧ 'you're not listening to me,' she said suddenly, stopping in the middle of the empty corridor. you weren't. you were thinking about how many years you'd spent memorizing her face, how you knew exactly which smile meant she was truly happy and which one she wore like armor in the halls.

୨୧ 'i'm always listening to you,' you replied, but your voice came out softer than intended. she stepped closer, and you could smell her perfume—something expensive and warm, amber and animalistic.

୨୧ 'then what did i just say?' she challenged, but her eyes were soft, knowing. you couldn't answer because you were too busy watching the way her pulse fluttered at her throat, visible above the delicate lace of her dress.

୨୧ 'mel,' you whispered, and it sounded like a prayer. like every secret you'd ever kept. like years of wanting something you thought you couldn't have.

୨୧ she kissed you first, or maybe you kissed her—later, neither of you could remember who moved first. all you knew was that one moment you were standing there, years of unspoken feelings hanging between you like morning mist, and the next her lips were on yours, soft and sure and tasting faintly of sugar cookie lip gloss.

୨୧ she kissed you like she'd been thinking about it for years, like she was trying to make up for lost time, and you melted into her with a sigh that felt like coming home.

୨୧ when you pulled away, her lip gloss was smudged, and you knew yours was too. she looked at you with something like wonder, her hands still cupping your face like you might disappear if she let go. 'how long?' she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

୨୧ 'always,' you answered, and it was true. it had always been mel, even when you were too afraid to admit it. she smiled then, brilliant and real, and kissed you again, softer this time, like she was making a promise.

୨୧ the next morning, you woke up tangled together in your sheets, her arm draped over your waist, her breath warm against your shoulder. the early light set her skin to flame, and when she blinked awake, the smile she gave you was everything you'd ever wanted but been too afraid to ask for.

୨୧ nothing really changed, except everything did. she still brought takeout on thursdays, still fixed your collar with careful fingers, still fell asleep in your bed. but now you could kiss her whenever you wanted, could wrap your arms around her waist from behind while she made coffee, could tell her all the things you'd kept locked away for so long.

୨୧ your love for her was reminiscent of wine spilled on silk, deep and permanent and impossible to ignore. and finally, wonderfully, you didn't have to try to scrub it out.

494 notes · View notes

hisfavegirl · 24 days ago

Text

Shadows - Aemond Targaryen x Wife!Reader x Aegon Targaryen.

summary : your marriage to aemond was based solely on his obsession and regret for not being able to have your sister, helaena. you were just a shadow of your sister in his eyes, and you were determined to make him realize that he was wrong.

You leaned your head against the headboard of your bed, fingers lightly gripping the book in your hands. The soft glow of the nearby candles illuminated the delicate pages, the words blurring slightly as your mind wandered. It was a gift from your mother, given to you on your 18th nameday just yesterday. Her thoughtful gesture had filled you with warmth, a rare comfort in the cold, stony halls of the Red Keep.

Your eyes shifted to the door as it creaked open slowly. For a moment, you thought it might be the wind, but then you saw one of your maids step inside, her eyes lowered respectfully. She curtsied, folding her hands neatly in front of her.

“Princess,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Prince Aemond has asked for you to come to his chambers.”

Your heart tensed at her words. It was late. The moon was high in the sky, and most of the Keep had retired for the night. For a moment, you considered refusing. You were tired, and the quiet of your chambers felt safe, peaceful. But you knew Aemond. He was not a man to be denied.

With a quiet sigh, you closed the book gently, running your fingers over its cover before placing it on the side table. The weight of duty settled over your shoulders like a heavy cloak. Your maid moved forward, ready to help you with your robe, but you raised a hand, stopping her.

“I’ll go on my own,” you said firmly, and the maid bowed her head, stepping aside.

The halls were dim, lit only by the flickering glow of torches mounted on the stone walls. Your footsteps echoed softly with every step, and with each echo, your heart grew heavier. The walk to Aemond’s chambers felt longer than usual, each step carrying with it a mix of anticipation and unease.

When you reached the door, the guards outside gave you a brief nod, stepping aside to let you in. You paused, taking a deep breath to steady yourself before pushing the heavy door open.

The warmth of the room hit you first — the glow of the fire crackling in the hearth bathed the chamber in a soft orange light. The rich scent of burning wood mingled with the faint hint of leather and steel. Your eyes scanned the room, searching for him.

There he was. Aemond sat in the large chair by the fire, legs spread slightly, one arm draped lazily over the armrest while the other toyed with the pommel of his dagger. His eye was sharp, focused, and his face unreadable, save for the slight curve of his lips — not quite a smile, but something close to it.

His eye lifted to meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. He tilted his head slightly, his silver hair falling over his shoulder.

“Come in, wife,” he said softly, his voice smooth and sharp, like a blade hidden beneath silk.

You stepped inside, letting the door close behind you with a soft thud. You didn’t move further, waiting for him to speak, to explain why he had summoned you so late. But he didn’t. He just sat there, watching you, his gaze as steady and unyielding as stone.

“You called for me, husband,” you said, trying to keep your voice even, calm.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he clasped his hands together. His gaze never left yours. “Is it so strange that I wish to see my wife?”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning you couldn’t quite grasp. Aemond was never direct — not with his words, not with his emotions. Everything he said, everything he did, had layers beneath it. And you had spent far too much time trying to unravel them.

“I was reading,” you replied, lifting your chin slightly, not wanting to seem small before him. “A gift from mother.”

Aemond’s gaze flickered, barely a shift, but you noticed it. His eye lingered on you longer now, sharp as a blade, as if he were trying to read you the same way you tried to read him.

“Our mother gives you books,” he muttered, leaning back in his chair. “I give you more than that.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You hated the way he twisted things, how every word out of his mouth was both truth and poison.

“Is that why you called me here?” you asked, your patience thinning. “To remind me of what you give me?”

A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, dark and quiet. He tapped the pommel of his dagger twice against his knee, his gaze never straying from you.

“No, my sweet wife,” he said, rising slowly from the chair. Each step he took toward you echoed in the quiet chamber, slow and deliberate. “I called you here to remind you of something far more important.”

Your heart began to race as he closed the distance between you. He stood before you now, taller, broader, his gaze pinning you in place like a hawk cornering its prey. He reached out slowly, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

“Everything you have,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin, “is mine.”

Your breath hitched, your chest rising and falling a little faster now. His fingers lingered on the side of your face, the touch deceptively gentle, but the weight of his words pressed down like iron shackles.

“You know that, don’t you?” he asked, tilting his head to look at you more closely. His eye, clear and sharp, searched your face for an answer. “Say it, wife.”

Your throat felt tight, your pride warring with the reality of your position. But you knew what he wanted. He wanted to hear it from you, to have you say the words so he could hear them aloud.

“Yes,” you whispered, barely able to force it out. “I know.”

His hand lingered on your cheek a moment longer before he let it fall away. His gaze softened, but only slightly. He leaned in close, his lips just a breath away from your ear.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Remember it.”

You stood there, your eyes fixed on the flickering flames in the hearth, your heart growing heavier with each passing second. The warmth of the fire did nothing to chase away the cold you felt within. You glanced at Aemond, his figure moving with slow, deliberate steps as he circled you like a predator stalking its prey.

Your patience thinned, your voice sharper than before. “Why did you call me here at this hour, husband?” you asked, turning your head to follow his movements. “I’m tired.”

He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze was steady, piercing, his lips curling into that faint, knowing smile that always made you feel as if he knew something you didn’t. His eye, sharp as a blade, watched you with unnerving intensity.

He reached out, fingers brushing against the loose strands of your hair. He toyed with it, twisting a lock of silver around his fingers as if it were silk. The gentle tug made you inhale sharply, but you stood your ground, refusing to let him see how he unsettled you.

“You shouldn’t leave your hair down like this,” he muttered, his voice a low hum, almost thoughtful. “It makes you look too much like her.”

Your breath hitched. Your eyes narrowed as you looked up at him, trying to read the meaning behind his words.

His fingers lingered in your hair a moment longer before he leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. He tilted his head, his lips brushing lightly against your forehead, an intimacy so gentle it could have been mistaken for tenderness — if only it had been real.

But then, he whispered her name.

“Helaena.”

Your entire body tensed. The name echoed in your mind, louder than the crackling fire behind you. You froze, your breath caught in your chest as if he’d driven a dagger through your ribs.

Slowly, you pulled back, just enough to see his face. His expression was unreadable — calm, cold, as if nothing had happened. But you knew. You knew.

All at once, it became so clear. Every glance, every touch, every moment you had tried to convince yourself that maybe he saw you — it was never you. It was her. It had always been her. Not because he loved her more, but because you looked like her. Because you shared the same silver hair, the same eyes, the same face.

Your lips pressed into a thin line as anger and something far more painful welled up inside you. You pulled your head away from his touch, your eyes burning with an emotion you weren’t ready to name.

“You called me here for this?” you said, your voice trembling with barely restrained fury. “To remind me that I’m just a shadow of her?”

Aemond tilted his head, his gaze cool and unaffected. “You are not a shadow, wife,” he said, his tone too smooth, too controlled. “You are the reflection of something I cannot hold.”

The words stung worse than if he’d slapped you. Your throat tightened, but you refused to look away from him. You would not let him see you break.

“Then perhaps you should call for her next time,” you said, your voice sharp as broken glass. “Not me.”

His eye flashed with something — surprise, anger, or perhaps amusement. It was always so hard to tell with Aemond. But you didn’t wait to find out. You turned on your heel, your steps firm and unyielding as you moved toward the door. Your fingers curled around the handle, gripping it tightly.

“You forget yourself, wife,” Aemond said, his voice louder now, commanding. “I called for you. Not her.”

You froze, your back to him, your heart pounding so hard it hurt. Slowly, you turned your head, just enough to glance at him over your shoulder.

“No,” you said quietly but firmly, your eyes burning with something far stronger than pain. “You called for the part of me that reminds you of her.”

His face hardened, his jaw tightening as his lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t deny it.

Without another word, you pushed the door open and stepped out, letting it close behind you with a dull thud. The sound echoed through the corridor, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the storm inside your heart.

You walked away, refusing to look back. This time, you wouldn’t let him see you break.

You walked slowly, each step heavier than the last as if the weight of Aemond’s words had settled on your shoulders like an unshakable curse. The cold stone beneath your feet echoed with every step, the silence of the Red Keep pressing down on you from all sides. Your breath was shallow, your chest tight with a storm of emotions you couldn’t quite name—anger, hurt, resentment, and something far more dangerous: love.

His voice lingered in your mind, his words like poisoned thorns that refused to be pulled free. “You are the reflection of something I cannot hold.” No matter how many times you tried to push it away, it echoed louder. A reflection. Not a person. Not you.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms, grounding you in the present. But it wasn’t enough to silence the flood of memories that surged forward.

You remembered the day you gave birth to your first daughter—his daughter. The pain, the exhaustion, and the overwhelming relief when you heard her first cry. You had waited for him, had told the maester to send word to Aemond the moment it was over. You wanted him to be the first to see her, to hold her, to tell you that you had done well.

But he never came.

You had waited for hours, lying in that bed with your newborn daughter cradled against your chest, her tiny hand clutching your finger. You had thought, he must be on his way. He’ll come. But he didn’t. Not that day. Not the next.

Later, you learned why.

He had been with her.

Your heart twisted in your chest at the memory. Your sister, Helaena, heavy with Aegon’s child, had been feeling unwell. He had stayed with her, comforting her, attending to her every need. Her. Not you. Not the mother of his child.

Tears stung your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now. You bit down on your lip, your head held high as you walked through the dimly lit halls. I will not cry for him. Not again.

When you reached your chambers, you pushed the door open with more force than necessary. The sharp creak of the hinges echoed like a scream. You stepped inside, slamming the door behind you, your breath shallow, heart pounding in your chest like a war drum.

Your eyes swept over the familiar room—the soft glow of the candles, the bed that suddenly felt far too large, the book your mother had gifted you still lying open where you’d left it. The sight of it brought a bitter smile to your face. Mother always said I was strong. She had believed in you, trusted in your strength. But right now, you felt so fragile, so breakable.

You leaned back against the door, sliding down until you sat on the cold floor, knees pulled up to your chest. Your arms wrapped around yourself as if trying to hold the pieces together.

Why wasn’t I enough? The question clawed at your mind, a whisper that grew louder with every heartbeat. Why her?

You hated how much it hurt. Hated how much you still wanted him. Despite everything, you wanted him to choose you, to see you, to love you for you. Not because you shared Helaena’s face, not because you reminded him of something he could not have.

But you knew the truth. No matter how many children you gave him, no matter how many times you stood by his side, he would never look at you the way he looked at her. She was his comfort, his light in the darkness. And you? You were just the shadow she cast.

A sob built in your throat, but you pressed a hand to your mouth, stifling it before it could escape. Your chest ached with the weight of everything you had tried to hold in for so long. The pain, the jealousy, the love you still felt for him even when you knew it was foolish.

Minutes passed—maybe hours. You weren’t sure. But slowly, the tears dried, and the ache dulled into something colder, something harder. Your breathing steadied, your heart slowed, and the storm inside you quieted into a sharp, bitter calm.

You lifted your head, your eyes sharp with a new resolve. If he wanted a reflection, if he wanted something he could never have, then you would show him exactly what he had chosen to ignore.

If he will not love me, he will fear me.

The morning sun bathed the garden in a soft, golden glow, but your presence outshone it all. Each step you took was deliberate, purposeful, the soft rustle of your gown trailing behind you like the whisper of a storm about to break.

Today, you were different.

The gown you wore clung to you in ways it never had before — tailored perfectly to your figure, the fabric flowing like water over your curves. The sleeves were sheer, the neckline daring but elegant, revealing just enough to draw attention but not enough to be called improper. The color was striking, a rich, deep green that matched the jewels on Queen Alicent’s crown. It was a choice no one could ignore, and that was exactly what you intended.

The whispers began the moment you stepped into the garden. Servants and ladies alike glanced your way, their eyes narrowing with judgment, their murmurs growing louder as you passed.

“She’s trying too hard.”

“Did you see her dress? How shameless.”

“She’s just desperate for attention.”

The words floated around you like gnats, insignificant and easy to brush away. Your chin lifted higher, your gaze fixed straight ahead as if none of them existed. You could feel their stares, sharp as daggers, but you refused to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

Let them whisper. Let them stare. They will learn.

Your steps were slow but steady, the click of your heels on the stone path echoing with every stride. You felt powerful in a way you hadn’t before, as if each glance thrown your way was feeding something inside you. For so long, you had felt unseen, unheard. But not today. Today, you would be seen.

Ahead, you spotted familiar faces—ladies of the court gathered beneath the shade of a large tree, their eyes darting toward you like vultures watching prey. Their gazes lingered on you with envy, disapproval, and a hint of fear. Good.

You didn’t look away.

Instead, you met their eyes, one by one, holding their gazes with quiet defiance until each of them shifted uncomfortably, their confidence faltering under the weight of your stare. It felt satisfying, far more than you had expected. Let them know who I am.

Further down the path, you spotted him.

Aemond.

He stood near the edge of the garden, speaking with Ser Criston. His posture was as rigid as ever, his hands clasped neatly behind his back, his gaze focused on whatever the knight was saying. He hadn’t noticed you yet, but you knew he would. He always did.

Your heart tightened in your chest, that familiar ache threatening to return. But this time, you smothered it before it could take hold. No more waiting for him to see me. No more hoping for something that will never come.

With slow, deliberate grace, you continued down the path. You knew the moment he noticed you. His head tilted just slightly, his sharp gaze flickering toward you. His one violet eye narrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line as he took in the sight of you.

You did not stop.

You did not lower your gaze.

You let him look. Let him see you.

When you passed him, you didn’t glance his way, didn’t offer him a word, not even a nod. It was as if he were the one invisible now.

You felt his gaze burn into your back as you walked away, each step as steady as the beat of a war drum. Let him stare. Let him wonder. Let him want.

Today, you had become something more.

And from this moment on, you would never let anyone, not even him, make you feel small again.

The soft, sweet voice of your daughter calling your name pulled you from your thoughts. You turned, and there she was — your little girl, her silver hair catching the sunlight like strands of pure silk. Her wide violet eyes, so full of warmth and innocence, gazed up at you with pure adoration.

A smile tugged at your lips, softening your expression as you knelt in front of her. You brushed a strand of hair from her face, pressing a gentle kiss to her round cheek. Her giggle was like music, light and pure, easing the weight you had been carrying in your heart.

“Mother,” she said, tugging lightly on your hand, her small fingers curling around yours. “Grandmother wants to see you.”

Her voice was so sure, as if she had taken it upon herself to be the messenger of important news. You nodded, letting out a small breath of amusement. Of course, mother would send for you.

“Then we shouldn’t keep her waiting, should we?” you replied softly, brushing your thumb over her tiny fingers. She beamed up at you, eyes bright with joy.

Hand in hand, the two of you walked together, her small steps quick and eager to match your stride. She hummed a soft, tuneless melody as she skipped beside you, her little feet tapping lightly on the stone path. You glanced down at her, heart swelling with love at the sight of her carefree happiness.

But then, you felt it.

A shift in the air, like a sudden chill despite the sun’s warmth. The weight of a gaze heavy on your back — sharp, unyielding, and far too familiar. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

Him.

Aemond.

His presence was as tangible as a blade pressed against your spine, the intensity of his stare burning through every layer of you. You knew that gaze too well — piercing, calculating, always watching. Your fingers curled just a little tighter around your daughter’s hand, grounding yourself in her warmth.

Don’t look back.

You kept walking, kept your chin high, your pace steady. You would not turn. You would not give him the satisfaction of seeing how aware you were of him. He always looks. He always watches. But he never comes closer, does he?

Your daughter’s humming continued, her small, soft voice unbothered by the storm that raged behind you. You envied her innocence, her blissful unawareness of the complexities that twisted between you and her father.

You could hear his footsteps now, slow but deliberate, following at a distance. His shadow lingered just beyond the edge of your vision, never too far away, but never close enough.

Always watching. Always waiting.

But you wouldn’t stop. You wouldn’t turn. Not today.

Today, you had more important things to do than worry about a man who only knew how to watch from the shadows. Your daughter’s little fingers tugged at your hand, and you glanced down at her, your heart softening all over again.

“Will Grandmother have lemon cakes?” she asked, her voice hopeful, eyes shining with excitement.

You smiled, leaning down just a bit to whisper, “I think she might, but only if you ask her nicely.”

Her giggle filled the air again, sweet and unburdened by the weight of everything you carried. And for a moment, just a moment, you let that warmth chase away the cold burn of Aemond’s gaze.

Let him watch.

You had more important things to hold on to.

As you stepped into your mother’s chambers, the soft hum of quiet activity greeted you. Alicent stood near the window, bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon sun. Her handmaidens worked around her, adjusting the delicate green fabric of her gown and brushing her auburn hair until it gleamed. The faint scent of sage and chamomile filled the air, bringing a sense of calm to the room.

Her eyes lifted from the embroidery in her hands as you entered, and a gentle smile tugged at her lips. “There you are,” she said, setting the embroidery aside. “Come, sit with me.”

She gestured toward the cushioned seat beside her. You guided your daughter to a nearby chair before taking your place beside your mother. Alicent’s gaze lingered on you, taking in every detail, her eyes filled with that quiet, watchful intensity she always had. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly as her eyes trailed over your gown — a gown that was different from your usual choices.

“You look… different,” she remarked, tilting her head, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. It wasn’t disapproval, but something closer to curiosity. “Is there something on your mind, dear?”

Her voice was soft, careful, but you knew better than to think it was a simple question. Alicent never asked without reason. Her eyes were trained on you like a hawk, waiting for any sign of weakness, any hesitation.

You shifted slightly in your seat, glancing at your daughter, who was humming to herself while playing with the lace on her dress. For a moment, you considered how much to say. How much to reveal.

“It’s nothing, Mother,” you replied, straightening your posture. “I simply wished for a change.”

Alicent raised an eyebrow, her lips pressing together into a thin line. “A change, is it?” she repeated softly, her tone thoughtful. She leaned forward just a bit, her gaze sharp as she studied you with that look you’d seen so many times before. It was the look of a mother who knew something wasn’t being said. “And who is this change meant to impress?”

Her words were pointed, though her voice remained calm. You could feel her searching your face for a reaction. She was too clever, too perceptive. She saw more than you wanted her to.

“No one, Mother,” you answered firmly, lifting your chin. “It’s for me.”

A pause lingered between you. Alicent’s eyes remained on you, unblinking, and you held her gaze. For a moment, you weren’t just her daughter — you were a woman who had learned to wield silence as a weapon, just as she had.

Finally, she leaned back in her chair, a small, satisfied smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Good,” she murmured, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “It should always be for yourself.” Her voice lowered, her eyes hardening slightly. “Don’t let anyone else dictate who you must be. Not your husband. Not even the king.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You felt the weight of them, knowing she spoke from experience.

“Now,” she said, her tone lightening as she glanced toward your daughter. Her face softened as she leaned forward, her smile more genuine. “And how is my sweet granddaughter? Have you been keeping your mother in line, little one?”

Your daughter giggled, her smile bright and innocent as she nodded. “Yes, Grandmother! Mother is always good.”

Alicent laughed quietly, her eyes crinkling with warmth. “Is she, now?” she teased, glancing at you with a knowing smile.

For a moment, the tension lifted, and the room felt lighter. You allowed yourself to laugh softly with her, the warmth of her presence washing over you like a shield from the world outside. But even in that warmth, you still felt the weight of unseen eyes on you — the memory of Aemond’s sharp gaze burning into your back earlier in the day.

But for now, you let it fade. Here, with your mother and your daughter, you felt a fleeting sense of peace — and that, for now, was enough.

You were seated beside your mother, watching your daughter play with the lace on her dress, her soft giggles filling the room like the chime of little bells. Alicent sat gracefully, hands folded neatly in her lap, a serene smile tugging at her lips as she watched her granddaughter with quiet affection.

“She has your spirit,” Alicent remarked, her gaze never leaving the child. “Bold, unyielding, and far too clever for her own good.”

You chuckled softly, glancing at your daughter. “She’ll need it,” you replied, your tone carrying the weight of experience.

Just as your mother was about to speak again, the sound of the door creaking open drew both of your gazes. The soft murmuring of servants hushed instantly, and the familiar heavy thud of boots echoed into the room. A figure stepped inside — tall, commanding, with silver hair that caught the dim glow of the chamber’s light.

Aemond.

He didn’t say a word at first, his single eye locked onto you with that unwavering intensity you’d grown used to. He didn’t look at Alicent, didn’t look at your daughter. His gaze was for you alone. There was something sharp in the air now, something unspoken but undeniable.

“Aemond,” Alicent said softly, standing from her chair, her brow raised in question. “Is there something you need?”

But Aemond didn’t answer her. His steps were slow and deliberate as he crossed the room. You didn’t move, didn’t speak, only watched him with wary eyes. When he reached you, he didn’t ask, didn’t explain. His hand wrapped around your wrist, firm but not harsh, and with a single tug, he pulled you to your feet.

“Come,” he said quietly, his voice low but commanding. “We need to talk.”

“Aemond,” Alicent’s voice came sharper this time, her gaze darting from you to him. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing that concerns you, Mother,” he replied curtly, still not looking at her. His focus stayed on you, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you like a storm cloud.

You glanced at your mother, searching for her guidance, her permission — but Alicent only watched you, her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes hard to read. She said nothing.

Heart pounding in your chest, you turned back to Aemond. “Can we not do this later?” you asked, keeping your voice calm, steady. “I’m with our daughter.”

His grip on your wrist didn’t loosen. His eye narrowed, sharp as a blade’s edge. “Now, wife,” he said with quiet finality. His tone wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be. It left no room for argument.

Your daughter’s playful humming faded as she glanced up, her little face scrunching in confusion. “Mother?” she called, her voice soft and unsure.

You swallowed the knot forming in your throat. Slowly, you turned back to her and forced a smile. “Stay with Grandmother, my love. I won’t be long.”

Your daughter hesitated, her small fingers curling into the lace of her dress, but Alicent approached her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Come, sweet girl,” she said softly. “Your mother will be back soon.”

With that, Aemond tugged you forward, leading you out of the room. The sound of the door closing behind you was louder than it should have been, sealing you both away from the warmth and safety of the chamber.

The hallway was colder, quieter, and somehow it made his presence feel larger than it was. His hand remained on your wrist as he led you forward, his pace faster than yours, forcing you to keep up.

“Aemond,” you said firmly, trying to pull your wrist free. “What is this about?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at you.

“Aemond,” you said again, sharper this time. You dug your heels into the floor, yanking your arm back with more force. It was enough to stop him, though his grip didn’t release you. Slowly, he turned to face you, his face shrouded in shadow, his sapphire eye gleaming like ice.

“Why do you wear that dress?” he asked suddenly, his gaze flicking down to the gown you wore.

Your breath caught in your chest. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he said, his tone colder now, colder than the stone walls around you. His eye locked onto yours, and for a moment, you saw something dangerous in him — jealousy, rage, something darker. “You know what I mean.”

You pulled your wrist again, and this time he let you go, but his eye never wavered.

“It’s just a dress, Aemond,” you said slowly, your eyes narrowing. “Am I not allowed to dress as I please?”

His jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together. “You know it’s not just a dress.”

Silence stretched between you. The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“Why do you care, Aemond?” you asked, your voice sharp and unforgiving. “You barely looked at me when I bore your child. You didn’t come to me. You didn’t see me. But now you care about a dress?”

His face remained stone-cold, but his eye flared with something fierce, something wild. He stepped forward, close enough that you had to tilt your head to look up at him.

“You are mine,” he said slowly, deliberately, as if daring you to argue. His gaze bore into you, unwavering and unyielding. “Not theirs. Not anyone else. Mine.”

A sharp, bitter laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. “Yours?” you repeated, your eyes flashing with defiance. “When have I ever been yours, Aemond? You love her. Not me.”

His nostrils flared as he leaned in, his face inches from yours. “Watch your tongue, wife,” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “Or I will remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you didn’t lower your gaze. Not this time. Not now. “Then act like it,” you shot back, your voice sharp as a blade. “If you want me to be yours, Aemond, then claim me. Stop looking at her. Stop leaving me in the cold. Stop pretending that I’m a shadow of her.”

His face twisted, his features caught between fury and something else — something you couldn’t name. His breathing was shallow, his lips parted, but no words came.

For a moment, you both stood there, silent and still, breathing the same sharp air that filled the hall.

Then, slowly, his eye softened, the edge of his rage dulling. His gaze lowered from yours to the floor. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He only stood there, his silence louder than any argument you could have had.

You stared at him, waiting for him to say something — anything. But he didn’t.

With a deep breath, you stepped back, lifting your chin high. “When you figure out who you truly want, Aemond, you know where to find me.”

You turned on your heel, walking back toward Alicent’s chambers with your head held high.

He didn’t follow. He only stood there, alone in the cold, just as he’d left you so many times before.

You stepped back into your mother’s chambers, closing the heavy wooden door behind you with a soft thud. The warmth of the room embraced you instantly, a stark contrast to the cold tension that had filled the hallway with Aemond. The soft glow of the fire illuminated the chamber, casting golden light onto Alicent’s face as she sat with your daughter on her lap.

Her gaze was sharp, searching, as she watched you cross the room. “What happened?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. Her voice was calm but firm, the way only a mother could be.

“Nothing, Mother,” you replied quickly, forcing a smile as you approached them. “All is well. There’s no need to worry.”

Alicent didn’t look convinced. Her eyes, as sharp as ever, studied you in silence. She had seen too much in her life, endured too many lies and half-truths, to be deceived so easily.

“Is that so?” she asked quietly, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. “Then why does your face look as if you’ve been at war, child?”

You felt your breath catch in your chest, but you didn’t answer. Instead, you turned your gaze to your daughter, who was watching you with wide, curious eyes. Her little hands tugged at the hem of Alicent’s sleeve, her small voice breaking the silence.

“Mother?” she called softly, tilting her head in that innocent, curious way children do. “What’s wrong with Father?”

Her words were like a dagger to the heart. You froze for a moment, your fingers curling into the fabric of your dress. You glanced at your daughter, her wide, expectant eyes staring back at you, waiting for an answer.

How could you explain it to her? How could you explain that the father she adored so much had left cracks in your heart that you couldn’t mend? That he looked at you but didn’t see you. That he touched you, but only as a reminder that you were his — not because he wanted you.

You crouched down in front of her, forcing a smile onto your face even as it strained the muscles in your cheeks. Your hands cupped her small face gently. “Father is just… tired,” you said softly, brushing a lock of silver hair behind her ear. “He has many responsibilities. It’s nothing for you to worry about, sweetling.”

Her brows pinched together as if she wasn’t fully convinced, but she nodded slowly, her little hands reaching up to touch your face. “Don’t be sad, Mother,” she whispered, her voice filled with childlike concern. “I’ll stay with you.”

Your chest tightened with emotion, and you pulled her into your arms, holding her close. “Thank you, my sweet girl,” you murmured against her hair, feeling the warmth of her small body pressed against yours. “That’s all I need.”

From behind you, Alicent’s voice rang out, quiet but certain. “He should not make you feel this way.”

You didn’t turn to face her. You didn’t have the strength. “It’s fine, Mother,” you replied, your voice muffled as you held your daughter closer. “It’s always been fine.”

But you both knew that wasn’t true.

You spent the afternoon with your mother and daughter, their warmth and presence offering you a fleeting sense of peace. But a restlessness settled in your chest, and soon, you found yourself longing to see your sister. The thought of Helaena brought back memories of simpler times, times when you both leaned on each other without the weight of politics, duty, and marriage pressing down on your shoulders.

So you left your mother’s chambers, your daughter staying behind under Alicent’s watchful eye. The hallways of the Red Keep felt colder than usual, the torches lining the stone walls flickering faintly. Each step echoed softly as you made your way toward Helaena’s room.

Her door stood ahead of you, the carved wood familiar, almost comforting. You raised your hand to knock, but before you could, a sound from inside stopped you.

Laughter.

Not just any laughter — his laughter.

Your breath caught in your throat, heart tightening with an uncomfortable pressure. You knew that laugh too well. Aemond’s laughter was a rare thing, something that had always felt like a secret meant only for a chosen few.

But he had never laughed like that with you.

You stood frozen in front of the door, hand still raised but unmoving. Your fingers curled into a loose fist, and for a moment, you debated walking away. Don’t go in, a voice in your head warned. You already know what you’ll see.

But curiosity — or perhaps something more painful — drew you in. Slowly, quietly, you pushed open the door just a sliver, careful not to make a sound. The sight before you made your heart sink.

Helaena sat by the window, her head tilted back with a soft, joyful smile on her face. Her laughter was like bells, light and innocent, as if she had no care in the world. And there, sitting close beside her, was Aemond. His gaze was fixed on her, his lips curved into a smile — not the cold, sharp smirk he often wore, but a true, unguarded smile.

He looked at her like she was the only light in the world.

You gripped the edge of the door tightly, nails digging into the wood. A bitter taste filled your mouth, something between rage and heartbreak. You had seen him smile, yes — but never like that. Never for you.

The urge to slam the door, to march inside and demand answers, burned hot in your chest. But what would you say? What could you say? That you were jealous of your own sister? That you hated how he looked at her like she was precious while you felt like an obligation?

Your breathing grew shallow, and you stepped back, letting the door close softly. You felt your heart pounding, a mixture of fury, sadness, and something else — something more dangerous.

Why her? you thought bitterly, turning away from the door. Why does it always have to be her?

Tears threatened to rise, but you refused to let them fall. You straightened your back, shoulders tense with the weight of pride and anger. If he wouldn’t see you, then you wouldn’t let him see you break.

With quiet, deliberate steps, you walked away from Helaena’s door, your face a mask of cold indifference. If love was a game of thrones, then you would play it too — not as a sister, not as a wife, but as a woman who refused to be forgotten.

You ran toward the gardens, your breath sharp and uneven as you tried to escape the storm brewing in your chest. The world around you felt distant, the soft rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds drowned out by the thudding of your heart.

Why her? Why always her?

Tears stung your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You couldn’t let them see you break — not him, not her, not anyone. The cool breeze brushed against your skin, but it did nothing to calm the fire of betrayal burning inside you.

You came to a stop near a large tree, leaning against it to catch your breath. Your chest rose and fell quickly, and you closed your eyes, pressing your hands against the rough bark as if grounding yourself to the world.

Then, a sound.

A low, familiar chuckle echoed behind you. It was sharp, almost mocking, but far too familiar to mistake for anyone else. Slowly, you turned, wiping at your face quickly as if to erase any sign of weakness.

There, leaning casually against a stone pillar, was your brother, Aegon. His eyes were half-lidded, his smirk lazy but sharp, like a blade hidden behind a smile. A cup of wine dangled from his hand, as always. He raised it slightly in greeting, taking a slow sip as his eyes watched you like a cat watching a bird with a broken wing.

“You look upset, sister,” he drawled, tilting his head with mock concern. “Did something happen?”

You didn’t answer, your lips pressing into a thin line. You hated the way he always knew. Aegon was many things — careless, selfish, and drunk more often than not — but he was never blind.

His grin widened as if he could read your mind. He pushed off the pillar and walked closer, his steps slow and deliberate.

“Let me guess,” he said, voice low, his eyes narrowing with amusement. “He’s with her, isn’t he?”

Your whole body tensed. His words hit harder than they should have, his casual tone like salt on an open wound. You hated that he knew, hated that he could say it so easily — as if it were obvious, as if it were inevitable.

“Shut up, Aegon,” you hissed, your voice sharper than you intended.

He raised an eyebrow, his grin never fading. “Why? It’s true, isn’t it?” He took another step closer, his eyes scanning you with slow, lazy interest. “Poor little sister. Stuck playing second to the precious Helaena. Must be exhausting.”

“Leave me alone,” you muttered, turning away from him, trying to put distance between you. But you heard him follow, his steps crunching softly against the gravel path.

“You think running will change it?” Aegon called after you, his voice carrying the cruel edge of someone who knew too much. “He’ll always go back to her, you know. Always.”

You stopped in your tracks, your fists clenching at your sides. Slowly, you turned to face him, your eyes blazing with quiet fury.

“At least I don’t have to drown myself in wine to forget who I am,” you snapped, your voice low and sharp like a dagger. “You’re pathetic, Aegon.”

His smirk faltered, if only for a second, but he recovered quickly. His eyes darkened, his grin shifting into something colder.

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug, raising his cup as if in a toast. “But at least I see things as they are, not as I wish them to be.”

You didn’t reply. There was nothing more to say. You turned on your heel and walked away, heart pounding harder with every step. His laughter followed you, lingering in the air like smoke from a dying fire.

“He’ll always go back to her.”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, tasting copper. No. You wouldn’t let that be true. You couldn’t. But as much as you hated Aegon, there was something far worse about the fact that his words had struck something you already feared.

What if he was right?

You turned to face Aegon, your eyes filled with a quiet sadness that even he couldn’t ignore. His grin faltered for a moment as he tilted his head, finally taking in the change in you. The way you held yourself, the way your gown clung to you with deliberate elegance, the fire in your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

He blinked slowly, his gaze sweeping over you like he was seeing you for the first time. Then, just as quickly, his grin returned, sharper now, more knowing. His chuckle was soft but cruel, cutting through the stillness of the garden like a blade.

“Well, well,” Aegon muttered, taking a long sip from his cup. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he lowered it, licking a stray drop of wine from his lip. “Look at you, little sister. Finally decided to remind him of what he has, hmm?”

You said nothing, your eyes narrowing as you folded your arms across your chest.

Aegon let out a louder laugh, tilting his head back, his silver hair catching the light of the setting sun. It was the kind of laugh that grated on you — not because it was loud, but because it was laced with too much truth.

“You think he’ll notice?” Aegon asked, stepping closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Men like Aemond never notice until it’s too late. He won’t see it, not until someone else takes it from him.”

Your breath hitched, your fingers curling into the fabric of your gown.

“That’s enough, Aegon,” you said firmly, your voice calm but laced with warning.

“Is it?” he asked, his grin widening as he leaned in, his breath reeking of wine. His voice dropped to a low, taunting whisper. “You know I’m right. You could dress like a queen, shine brighter than the sun itself, and he’d still be chasing her shadow.”

Your heart ached, but you didn’t let him see it. You lifted your chin, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“At least I don’t drown in my misery like you,” you shot back, eyes hard as steel. “I know my worth, Aegon. Can you say the same?”

His eyes flashed, a flicker of something like anger or maybe regret, but it was gone in an instant. He smirked, leaning back with that same lazy arrogance he always wore like armor.

“Careful, sister,” he said, pointing at you with his cup. “That fire of yours might just burn you first.”

“Then let it burn,” you replied coldly, turning on your heel. “At least I won’t waste away, watching from the sidelines like you.”

You didn’t wait for his response. You walked away, each step more purposeful than the last, your gown trailing behind you like a banner of defiance. You could still hear him laughing, the sound echoing in the garden like a ghost that refused to leave.

But you didn’t stop.

You wouldn’t stop.

If Aemond was too blind to see you, then perhaps it was time to remind him what he stood to lose.

You sat on the edge of your bed, the soft fabric of your nightgown pooling around you like a quiet storm. The room was dimly lit, the glow of the lone candle flickering against the stone walls, casting long, shifting shadows. But your mind was far from calm. Aegon’s words from earlier echoed in your head like a bell that wouldn’t stop ringing.

“He won’t see it, not until someone else takes it from him.”

Your fingers tightened around the edge of your bed, your jaw clenching as the realization settled in. You had spent too long waiting for Aemond to see you — to truly see you. You had given him everything: your heart, your body, your devotion. But it had never been enough. Not when her name was still whispered between breaths, not when his gaze lingered just a little too long on Helaena’s face.

Enough.

If Aemond would not see you for what you were, then you would make him see. And to do that, you needed someone who knew how to play the game better than anyone. Someone who had spent his entire life weaving lies, indulgence, and chaos into every step he took.

You needed Aegon.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you stood from the bed. The air in the room suddenly felt heavier, like it knew the weight of what you were about to do. The cold floor beneath your feet was a sharp reminder that there was no going back from this path.

Walking over to your mirror, you stared at your reflection. Your silver hair spilled over your shoulders, untamed and wild. Your eyes, once so soft and full of hope, now burned with quiet resolve. Slowly, you reached up and undid the loose tie of your nightgown, letting it slip just enough to bare the curve of your collarbone and the tops of your shoulders. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Enough to remind anyone — everyone — that you were not a woman to be overlooked.

Your gaze hardened as you pulled the fabric back into place. No more waiting. No more hoping. You would seize what was yours, even if it meant playing with fire.

Without another thought, you walked to the door. The cold metal of the handle sent a shiver up your spine, but you didn’t hesitate. The hallway outside was dim, but you knew exactly where to go. Each step echoed softly in the quiet of the Red Keep, your heartbeat matching the rhythm of your footsteps.

When you reached Aegon’s chamber, you paused. Your fingers hovered just above the door, your mind swirling with doubt for the briefest moment. Was this truly the way?

But then you saw Aemond’s face in your mind — cold, distant, always watching someone else. And suddenly, your hesitation vanished.

You knocked.

There was no response at first, but after a few seconds, you heard a shuffle from inside, a low grunt followed by footsteps. The door creaked open just a sliver, revealing Aegon’s familiar, half-lidded stare. His hair was a mess, his tunic loose and wrinkled like he’d just woken up. He raised an eyebrow at you, eyes scanning you from head to toe with a lazy sort of interest.

“Well, well,” he muttered, leaning against the doorframe, his grin already forming. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit, sweet sister?”

You didn’t flinch under his gaze. You stepped forward, just enough for him to see the determination in your eyes.

“I need your help,” you said, your voice steady but low. “With Aemond.”

That got his attention. His grin widened, slow and wicked, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous. He let out a soft chuckle, his gaze sharp as a blade as he leaned in, close enough for you to smell the wine on his breath.

“Oh, little sister,” Aegon whispered, his voice dripping with amusement and something else — something darker. “This is going to be fun.”

You stood still, your breath caught in your throat as you felt the cold brush of Aegon’s fingers against your back. The soft rustle of fabric filled the room as he slipped the cloak from your shoulders, letting it fall soundlessly to the floor. The air felt colder against your skin now, but it wasn’t the chill that made you shiver. It was him.

His eyes moved over you slowly, like a lion watching prey, but there was something else there too — something sharper, more knowing. He tilted his head, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Foolish brother,” Aegon murmured, his voice low and smooth like silk soaked in wine. “Blind as a bat, that one.” His fingers brushed over your bare shoulders, not rough but deliberate, each touch a claim, each glance a challenge.

You swallowed hard, refusing to let him see the tremble in your hands. You had come here with a purpose, with resolve. This wasn’t about Aegon. This was about Aemond. About making him see you. But you can't be sure now that he touched you like this.

“Does he even know what he has?” Aegon continued, his voice a soft hum as he circled you, his gaze heavy as it lingered on the curve of your neck and the line of your night gown. “All that pride, all that control… yet he can’t see what’s right in front of him.” He laughed, a short, breathy sound, bitter and amused. “Typical.”

Your eyes flickered up to meet his, and you squared your shoulders, refusing to look away. “Are you going to help me or not, Aegon?”

His grin widened, sharp and wicked, like a fox that had just caught the scent of a trapped hare. He stepped closer, his hand lifting to cup your cheek. The warmth of his palm against your skin sent a jolt through you — not of fear, but of certainty. He would help you. Not out of kindness, not out of loyalty, but for the thrill of it. For the game.

“Help you?” he repeated, tilting his head as though weighing the offer. His thumb traced the edge of your cheekbone, his eyes narrowing with mock thoughtfulness. “Oh, sweet sister, I’ll do more than that.” He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I’ll make him beg for you.”

You didn’t pull away. You didn’t flinch. If he thought you were afraid, he was wrong. You had been afraid long enough. Your heart pounded, not with fear, but with something fiercer, something that had been building for far too long.

“Then do it,” you said, your voice like steel wrapped in silk. You turned your head slightly, letting his breath brush your cheek. “Make him see me, Aegon.”

His eyes flashed with something wild, something dangerous. He laughed again, the sound rougher this time, more real. His hands slid away from you, and he took a step back, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Oh, sister,” Aegon said, his grin sharp as a blade. “He’ll see you. I promise you that.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as aegon took off your nightgown, you could feel his gaze filled with lust and passion. his hands lifted to cup your breasts and squeeze them gently, you moaned at his touch. He smiled slightly and whispered "you even have a beautiful voice, sister. Our brother is really stupid because he doesn't know what he's missing"

You closed your eyes as he started to kiss your lips, your hands found their way to his hair, tugging and squeezing it gently. He let out a small moan in between your kisses, he guided your body towards his bed. Laying you down without breaking the kiss, you sighed in disappointment as he pulled away from you, he laughed softly "You have to be patient sweet sister, isn't it unfair that you're already bare while I'm not?"

You stared at him as he slowly took off his tunic, his signature smile never leaving his face. After he took off all the clothes on his body he went back on top of you, he looked at your face with a soft gaze. You had never seen this look from aegon, he stroked your cheek gently. He slowly lowered his face to capture your lips again, his kiss was soft and more demanding.

His hands began to stroke your body, starting from your chest then down to your stomach, and ending in front of your wet core. You moan as you felt his hands stroke your folds, he looked at you. Your silver hair spread beautifully on his pillow, your eyes closed because of him, your moans that were heard because of his touch. Something inside him woke up, you sighed because of him, not your husband, not your brother. but him.

"Aegon, don't tease me. Please" You said softly, he smiled then slowly he inserted one of his fingers which made you moan softly. He could feel your walls squeezing his finger, you felt him kiss your stomach as his finger started to go in and out of your core. His finger movements were slow and intense, he then added a second finger and sped up his movements. You moaned at his touch, your body arching up as his finger hit that spot.

He stretches your cunt deliciously, you are already drunk even with just his fingers. How will you be if he enters you with his hardened cock? he looks at you and pulls his fingers out, again you sigh in disappointment as you feel empty. He licks his fingers that are covered by your Arousal, you look at him with lust. Maybe you ask him for help, but there is also a hidden intention.

"Are you ready?" He whispered in your ear as he rubbed the head of his cock against your core, you nodded and begged him to fuck you. "Please aegon, fuck me. Fuck me like i'm one of your whores"

He kissed your neck before finally sliding his cock inside you, both of you moaning together, feeling your walls stretching with pleasure. "You are not a whore, sister. You are a goddess worthy of being worshipped" he whispered softly in your ear.

He stretches you deliciously, his size is different from Aemond's. Aegon's is thicker than him, he fills you deliciously unlike Aemond's. He lets you adjust to his size, Then he guides your legs to wrap around his waist. With this position you can feel him getting deeper inside you, and you like it.

“you squeezing me tightly sister, fuck” Aegon’ low groan breaks the silence, he loves the way your clenching walls are tightening around his length.

The moans spilling out from your mouth only serves as further stimulus for Aegon to pull back and slide his entire shaft inside you before pounding you in a rough rhythm. Aegon doesn’t hold back, “All mine.”

You could see something in Aegon's eyes, lust, furry, — or something darker. He found your neck and chock you softly, you moaned. Your eyes rolled back in your head at the pleasure he was giving you.

He keeps fucking you like there's no tomorrow, you can feel his cock twitching inside you. You stroked his cheek gently, then you captured his lips and kissed him gently. The knot in your stomach tightened and was ready to be released as Aegon kept abusing your cunt.

He broke the kiss and pressed your foreheads together, "You are mine from tonight, if Aemond is too stupid not to claim you. then I will be the one to claim you." You who were blinded by lust nodded wearily, "Yes, yes, oh gods. Aegon." Aegon smiled and thrust his cock into your cunt again, before he spurted his seed inside you, you moaned softly feeling the warmth.

your breaths met, aegon slowly lowered his head to capture your lips once more. his kiss was softer and more meaningful, he slowly pulled out his cock which was starting to soften. He lay down beside you and hugged you from behind

The room was dimly lit by the faint glow of the dying fire, the soft crackle of embers the only sound breaking the silence. You lay beneath the warmth of the heavy blanket, the weight of it grounding you as much as the arm draped over your waist. Aegon’s breath was steady against the back of your neck, warm and slow, the rhythm of sleep just beginning to claim him.

His hand rested lightly on your stomach, his fingers brushing against your skin with a lazy tenderness you had not expected. His other arm was tucked beneath his head, his face buried in the curve of your shoulder. It should have felt wrong — it did feel wrong — but you didn’t pull away. You stayed.

Your fingers traced soft circles over the length of his forearm, feeling the rough texture of old scars and the faint ridges of muscle beneath his skin. It was a mindless motion, something to distract you from the weight of everything that had just happened. The air still smelled faintly of wine, sweat, and something sweeter — a scent you couldn’t quite name but now felt branded into you.

Your eyes flickered toward the ceiling, unfocused. No amount of darkness could hide the thoughts swirling in your mind. What have I done? The question echoed, quiet but persistent. You had made your choice. Aegon had been more than willing to play his part, and for once, you had felt seen — truly seen — even if it wasn’t by the one you had wanted.

The ache in your chest wouldn’t go away. You’d done this for him — for Aemond — but he wasn’t here. He was never here. And yet, in this moment, wrapped in the warmth of Aegon’s arms, it was easier to forget. Easier to believe, if only for a moment, that you had taken back some control.

“Still awake, little sister?” Aegon’s voice was a low rumble against your back, his lips brushing the curve of your shoulder. His tone was teasing, but there was an edge of knowing in it. He could always tell when you were lost in thought.

You didn’t answer right away. Your fingers stilled on his arm, your gaze still fixed on the ceiling. “I’m thinking,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Dangerous thing, thinking,” he murmured with a soft chuckle. His hand shifted, fingers curling slightly against your stomach, pulling you just a little closer. “Better to stay here. Warm. Quiet.”

“Is it?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. Can it ever be quiet again?

He hummed in response, his breath slow, lazy. He didn’t press you for answers, didn’t push. That was the thing about Aegon — he didn’t demand anything from you. Not your loyalty, not your love, not even your words. He just took what was freely given and gave as little as was required in return. And tonight, that had been enough.

Silence hung between you for a while, thick and heavy but not uncomfortable. You closed your eyes, letting your breathing match his. His fingers traced slow, absent patterns along your skin, his touch light but present, grounding you even as your mind wandered.

Will he know? The thought crept in like a shadow. Will Aemond know? Will he care?

You clenched your eyes tighter, willing the thoughts away. This was not about him anymore. This was about you. About being seen. About being wanted.

Aegon’s lips brushed the back of your neck, his voice low and drowsy. “Sleep, little sister,” he murmured, his words slurred with the pull of sleep. “No one can hurt you here.”

You bit your lip, the weight of his words heavier than he could have known. Slowly, you let your eyes drift shut.

No one can hurt me here.

Except, perhaps, yourself.

The sky was still a deep shade of indigo, the first light of dawn barely a whisper on the horizon. The Red Keep was silent, its cold stone halls eerily empty as you made your way back to your chambers. Your footsteps echoed softly against the stone floor, each step a quiet reminder of the night you’d just left behind.

The warmth of Aegon’s arms still lingered on your skin, a phantom sensation that refused to fade. His scent clung to you — wine, smoke, and something else uniquely him. For the first time in a long while, you felt… lighter. Not weighed down by longing or rejection. Not haunted by the feeling of being second to someone else. In Aegon’s arms, there had been no questions, no comparisons. Only touch, warmth, and the quiet, simple truth of being wanted.

You ran your fingers through your loose hair, attempting to tame it as you walked. Your gaze remained forward, unwavering, even as a few passing servants glanced your way. You could feel their eyes on you, hear the faint rustle of fabric as they bowed their heads. But you didn’t care. You didn’t shrink away. You didn’t lower your gaze.

Let them look.

You reached your chamber door and pushed it open with a slow, deliberate hand. The familiar comfort of your room greeted you, the soft glow of the dying hearth casting flickering shadows on the walls. You closed the door behind you, leaning your back against it for a moment longer than necessary.

Your heart was steady. No guilt. No regret. Only a quiet certainty.

This is what it feels like to be loved.

Not in whispered promises or stolen glances. Not in cold, fleeting touches or moments of duty-bound affection. But in the firm hold of another who saw you — truly saw you — and did not turn away.

You moved toward the vanity, catching sight of yourself in the polished bronze mirror. Your cheeks were flushed, your lips faintly swollen. Evidence of the night you’d had. You tilted your head slightly, brushing a thumb along the side of your neck where the faintest mark remained — a brand left by Aegon’s mouth.

Your fingers hovered over it for a moment before slowly dropping to your side.

You didn’t feel ashamed.

Let Aemond see it if he dares to look.

Your thoughts flickered to him then — your brother-husband. The man who was supposed to love you, to cherish you. But he had only ever seen someone else’s shadow when he looked at you. His gaze had always been for her. His heart had always been hers. No matter what you did, you would never be enough for him.

But for Aegon…

You breathed in deeply and turned away from the mirror, already untying the laces of your gown. It slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet as you moved toward your bed. Climbing beneath the sheets, you felt the soft warmth of the blankets surround you.

The sun would rise soon. Aemond would return to his duties. You would wear your gown and play the role of his wife, his shadow. But for now — for just a little longer — you would let yourself feel loved.

No guilt. No regret.

Only love.

The first light of dawn streamed through the window, casting a soft golden glow over your chamber. Standing before the polished bronze mirror, you carefully ran a brush through your hair, letting it fall freely over your shoulders in silver waves. No intricate braids. No pins or jewels. Just you — unbound, unhidden.

Your fingers hovered over the faint mark on your neck, the warmth of your touch bringing back the heat of last night’s whispers. “Let them see it. Let him see it.” Aegon’s voice echoed in your mind, his words dripping with mischief and certainty.

A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. Yes, let them see it.

For so long, you had played the obedient wife, the forgotten sister, the overlooked daughter. But not today. Today, you would be seen. Not as someone’s shadow. Not as an echo of another. But as you.

You set the brush aside, letting your fingertips glide one last time over the mark on your neck. It wasn’t large, but it was enough. Enough for curious glances. Enough for whispers. Enough for him to see.

The green gown you had chosen for the day hugged your frame perfectly. The sleeves draped elegantly down your arms, and the neckline was just wide enough to leave the mark barely visible — a deliberate choice. Not too obvious, but not hidden either. If someone looked closely, they would see it. He would see it.

With one final glance in the mirror, you tilted your chin higher, a quiet pride burning in your chest. You had spent so long waiting to be seen, waiting to be loved. But no longer.

Today, you would no longer shrink into the background. Let them whisper. Let them wonder. Let him seethe.

With steady steps, you left your chamber, your hair swaying freely with each step. The soft rustle of your gown echoed down the stone corridor. Servants glanced your way, their eyes lingering on you a moment too long, faces flickering with surprise — perhaps even shock.

You didn’t care.

Not today.

When you reached the dining hall, the air grew still. The sound of conversation quieted as eyes turned toward you. Aemond sat at the far end of the table, a goblet in hand, his gaze already fixed on you. His lone eye scanned you from head to toe, his jaw tightening the moment his gaze settled on your neck.

His fingers curled slowly around the goblet, knuckles turning white.

He saw it.

You stepped forward, meeting his gaze with unwavering confidence, your lips curving into a small, knowing smile. You did not bow your head. You did not avert your eyes.

For the first time, he was the one forced to watch you.

You moved gracefully toward the table, your gown flowing like water with each step. All eyes followed you, but you only paid attention to one. Aegon. He leaned back in his chair, a lazy grin tugging at his lips, his eyes half-lidded with mischief as he watched you approach.

You took the seat beside him, your movements slow, deliberate. His gaze lingered on your neck, and his grin widened knowingly. “Good morning, sister,” he greeted you, his voice smooth and soft, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Good morning, brother,” you replied, your tone just as sweet but layered with unspoken meaning.

Across the table, Alicent’s sharp eyes were already on you. Her gaze flickered to your neck — to the mark. Her brows furrowed, and her lips pressed into a thin line. She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing with that distinct look of a mother who knew exactly when something was out of place.

“What’s that on your neck, my dear?” Alicent’s voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the edge of suspicion in it. Her eyes darted between you and Aegon, her fingers tapping lightly on the edge of her goblet.

You blinked slowly, tilting your head slightly as if only now realizing what she meant. Your fingers lightly brushed over the mark, feigning surprise, before offering a soft, sheepish laugh. “Oh, this?” you said, glancing at her with an innocent smile. “I tripped last night while reaching for a book. I hit the edge of the table.”

Alicent raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. Her gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, eyes searching yours as if waiting for a crack in your composure. But you didn’t falter. You had spent too many years perfecting this mask.

“Clumsy of me, I know,” you added, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, knowing it would only draw more attention to the mark. Your smile didn’t waver.

Alicent’s eyes flicked toward Aegon, who sat far too quietly beside you. He took a long sip from his cup, his eyes glinting with amusement. When he met Alicent’s gaze, he gave her a slow, lazy smile, as if daring her to question it further.

The Queen’s lips pressed tighter. She knew something was amiss, but with Aegon grinning like a cat who’d caught a bird, she could only let it go — for now.

“Be more careful, child,” Alicent said finally, though her tone was colder than before. Her gaze lingered on you a moment longer before she turned her attention back to her meal.

You glanced at Aegon, your fingers resting lightly on the table. He leaned in, his lips brushing just close enough to your ear for you to hear.

“Careful, sister,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “Or you’ll end up with more marks for them to question.”

Your eyes flicked to him, meeting his with quiet defiance and hidden amusement.

“Let them,” you whispered back, your voice as sharp as a blade. “Let him see.”

Aegon chuckled under his breath, his grin growing wider as he leaned back in his chair, clearly pleased with your answer.

On the other side of the table, Aemond sat in tense silence. His knife sliced through his meat with slow, deliberate precision, his gaze never leaving you. The muscle in his jaw ticked as his eye trailed the line of your exposed neck, and you knew he had seen it.

Good.

You reached for your goblet, taking a slow sip, letting the silence stretch just a moment longer. You didn’t look at him — you didn’t need to.

He was already watching.

Alicent cleared her throat, breaking the sharp tension that had settled over the dining hall. Her eyes shifted between you, Aemond, and Aegon, her brow slightly furrowed in quiet disapproval. But as always, she maintained her composure.

“Come walk with me in the gardens after this,” Alicent said, her voice calm but firm, the tone of a mother who expected to be obeyed. Her gaze softened when it landed on your daughter, who was busy playing with a small wooden dragon on the table. “Bring her along. The fresh air will do her good.”

You glanced at Alicent, your heart slowing its wild rhythm. Her invitation wasn’t really a request — it was a command disguised as kindness. Still, you nodded, offering her a small, polite smile. “Of course, Mother,” you replied, brushing a gentle hand over your daughter’s silver hair. “I think she would love that.”

Alicent smiled at your agreement, but her eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, sharp and knowing. You wondered if she had noticed the mark on your neck. She must have. Her gaze was too calculating, too perceptive. But she said nothing. Not yet.

Across the table, Aemond’s stare remained relentless, cold fire simmering beneath the surface. His jaw twitched, and his lips pressed into a thin line as he continued to watch you. Let him watch, you thought again, straightening your posture with quiet defiance.

Your daughter tugged on your sleeve, pulling your attention back to her. Her big, curious eyes looked up at you, and she smiled with that innocent joy only a child could have. “Can we pick flowers, Mother?” she asked, tilting her head with that soft, sweet look she always gave you.

You smiled down at her, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “Yes, my sweet flower. We’ll pick as many as you like.”

Her giggle was bright, a sound that eased some of the heaviness clinging to your heart. You turned to Alicent and nodded once more. “Shall we, Mother?”

Alicent glanced at Aemond and Aegon one last time, her lips tightening into a small, unreadable line. “Yes, child,” she replied, standing from her seat with slow grace. “Let us go before the sun grows too hot.”

With your daughter’s tiny hand in yours, you followed Alicent out of the hall. You didn’t look back. Not at Aemond. Not at Aegon. But you felt them both watching you, their eyes like shadows following your every step.

Silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves swaying in the gentle breeze. The sweet fragrance of blooming flowers surrounded you, but it did little to ease the weight pressing on your chest. Your gaze remained locked on your daughter as she giggled and chased a butterfly through the field of blossoms, her silver hair shining like threads of moonlight. Her joy was a stark contrast to the quiet tension that lingered between you and your mother.

You didn’t have to look at her to know Alicent was watching you. You could feel it — the sharp, piercing weight of her gaze on the side of your face, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Her silence wasn’t aimless. It was deliberate, calculated, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

Your jaw tightened, your fingers curling into the fabric of your gown. You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to stay composed. But patience had its limits, and you were done pretending not to notice.

“If you have something to say, Mother,” you said softly but firmly, still watching your daughter twirl among the flowers. “Then say it.”

There was a pause. Long enough for you to hear the distant call of crows circling above the Red Keep. Alicent’s sigh was quiet but unmistakable, the kind of sigh that only a mother makes when she’s both disappointed and trying to be patient.

“I have always taught you to be careful,” Alicent finally said, her voice calm but edged with warning. “To be wise. But now, you walk the halls as if you want the whole castle to see you.”

You turned to face her slowly, tilting your head just enough to meet her gaze. Her green eyes, sharp as polished glass, met yours without hesitation.

“Is that what you think, Mother?” you asked with a wry smile. “That I want them to see me?”

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line. She stepped forward, closing the space between you. Her eyes flickered briefly to the faint mark on your neck — the mark you had left uncovered. Her gaze lingered for a moment too long before returning to your face.

“Do you think Aemond won’t notice?” she asked quietly, her voice like a knife hidden in silk. “Do you think he won’t care?”

You lifted your chin, eyes narrowing just slightly. “I hope he does,” you replied, your voice as steady as stone. “I want him to.”

Alicent blinked slowly, her expression unreadable. Disappointment, perhaps. Or maybe something else entirely. She studied you, her gaze sweeping over your face as if trying to decipher a riddle she hadn’t expected.

“You think this will give you power over him,” she said, her tone quieter now, almost sad. “But men like Aemond do not yield. They burn. And when they burn, they take everything with them.”

Her words hung in the air like smoke after a wildfire. But you didn’t flinch. You didn’t bow your head.

“Then let him burn, Mother,” you replied, your voice colder than before. “I am tired of being the ash.”

Alicent’s eyes softened just for a moment, a flicker of something like sorrow crossing her face. But just as quickly, it was gone, hidden beneath her ever-composed mask. She glanced at your daughter, who had plucked a handful of wildflowers and was now weaving them into a messy little crown.

“You have more to protect than yourself now,” Alicent reminded you, her eyes returning to yours with quiet intensity. “Don’t forget that.”

Her words lingered as she turned and walked away, her green gown trailing behind her like a shadow stretching long in the sun. You watched her leave, feeling the weight of her warning settle on your shoulders.

Your daughter ran up to you, holding the flower crown high with a proud grin. “Look, Mother! It’s for you!” she beamed, eyes wide with excitement.

You knelt down to her level, letting her place the crooked crown on your head. Her little hands patted it into place, her giggles filling the air like birdsong.

“Does it suit me?” you asked, brushing your fingers through her hair.

She nodded eagerly, her eyes glowing with love. “You’re the prettiest queen ever, Mother!”

You smiled at her, pulling her close for a hug. Your eyes drifted to where Alicent had disappeared among the trees, her words still echoing in your mind.

“Then let him burn,” you repeated silently to yourself, holding your daughter just a little tighter. “Let him burn.”

You walked slowly through the long corridors of the Red Keep, the soft glow of sunlight streaming in from the high windows. The sound of your daughter’s giggles and her tiny, delighted murmurs filled the air like a melody, bringing a rare warmth to your heart. Her little hand gripped yours tightly, her steps uneven but determined as she tried to keep up with you. Her silver hair shimmered in the light, so much like her father’s — a thought you quickly pushed away.

Your smile lingered, but it faltered as soon as you noticed him.

Aemond.

He stood at the far end of the corridor, his tall figure framed by the light behind him, casting his face in shadow. But even without seeing him clearly, you knew he was staring at you. His one eye was fixed on you with that sharp, unyielding intensity that had always made you feel so small. His steps were slow but deliberate, his boots echoing with each heavy step as he made his way toward you.

Your heart clenched. There was no mistaking the storm brewing in his gaze. It wasn’t rage — not quite. It was something colder, something that sat beneath the surface and lingered like frost on a blade.

You braced yourself, fingers tightening around your daughter’s hand. She didn’t notice. She was too busy humming a little tune to herself, blissfully unaware of the silent battle unfolding in front of her.

Aemond drew closer, his lips pressed into a firm line, his gaze flicking to you and then to the child at your side. His eye lingered on the faint mark on your neck — the one you hadn’t bothered to hide. His jaw clenched. You saw the muscle in his cheek twitch, and for a moment, you wondered if he would stop walking entirely.

But before he could reach you, another figure appeared.

“Aha! There she is!”

Aegon’s voice echoed down the hall, loud and lazy as always. He strolled toward you with a grin, his arms wide as if greeting old friends. You barely had time to react before he swooped in, his movements quick but somehow still unbothered.

“Come here, little dragon,” he cooed as he scooped your daughter up into his arms, lifting her high into the air. She shrieked with laughter, her small hands gripping his shoulders for balance.

“Uncle Aegon!” she squealed with delight, giggling as he spun her around in the air. “Higher! Higher!”

“Your wish is my command, little lady,” he grinned, his voice full of playful charm. He twirled her once more, her silver hair flying in wild loops around her face.

You blinked, momentarily stunned, but quickly recovered. “Aegon, careful,” you warned, your voice firm but not harsh. “You’ll make her sick if you keep spinning her like that.”

He glanced at you, flashing that devil-may-care grin that had gotten him into trouble too many times to count. “Nonsense,” he said with mock seriousness, lowering her only a little. “This one’s a Targaryen. We don’t get dizzy.” He tapped his temple with a wink.

You tried to keep a straight face, but your daughter’s laughter was too infectious. A soft smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.

But then you felt it.

That gaze.

Aemond hadn’t moved. He stood still as stone, his eye burning into the side of your face. His lips were pressed so tightly together that they had gone pale, his hands folded neatly behind his back, as if he was restraining himself.

His eye flicked to Aegon, watching as he cradled your daughter close to his chest, his fingers tapping a gentle rhythm on her back. Aegon wasn’t even looking at him. His attention was fully on you and the child in his arms.

“She looks just like you,” Aegon said suddenly, his voice quieter than before. He glanced at you, his grin still in place, but something in his tone had shifted. “All fire and pride.”

You tilted your head, unsure if he was complimenting you or mocking you. “She takes after her mother,” you replied coolly.

“Of course she does,” he agreed with a knowing smirk. His eyes met yours — and lingered a moment too long. A silent message exchanged. One only the two of you could understand.

Aemond saw it.

He saw everything.

You could feel his anger like a second heartbeat in the room, slow and steady but undeniable. His breathing was controlled, his shoulders squared, but the flicker of his eye betrayed him. He was seething.

“Enough,” Aemond’s voice finally cut through the moment like a blade. Sharp. Icy. Absolute.

The air grew cold.

Aegon raised an eyebrow, his grin unfading, but he lowered your daughter from his arms with exaggerated care. She pouted at him, disappointed that their game was over.

“Uncle Aegon will play with you later, little one,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Go with your mother for now.”

Your daughter nodded, still pouting, but she took your hand obediently. Aegon gave her one last playful wink before turning his eyes back to Aemond.

There was no laughter now.

The two brothers stared at each other in silence, the weight of unspoken words filling the corridor like smoke after a fire.

Aegon’s grin was gone, replaced by something colder, sharper. “Brother,” he greeted with mock politeness, tilting his head slightly as if offering respect. It was anything but.

Aemond’s lips barely moved. “Aegon.”

For a moment, you wondered if they might come to blows right there in front of you. But Aegon, always the one to avoid true confrontation, only shrugged.

“Don’t glare at me, brother,” Aegon drawled, his eyes half-lidded with boredom. “You should be thanking me. After all, someone has to remind her what it feels like to be seen.”

The silence after his words was deafening.

Your breath hitched, heart thudding in your chest. You didn’t know whether to be furious or grateful for Aegon’s boldness.

Aemond’s face was still, so still that it was almost inhuman. But his eye — his eye was a storm. His lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came out. The weight of his anger was like thunder rumbling in the distance, waiting for the lightning to strike.

You squeezed your daughter’s hand, forcing yourself to remain calm. You could not let them see you break. Not now. Not ever.

“Come, darling,” you said softly to your child, brushing your fingers through her hair. “Let’s not waste our time here.”

You didn’t look at Aemond as you passed him. You kept your head high, your chin lifted, your steps slow and deliberate. You knew he was watching you. You could feel it, the searing heat of his gaze following your every movement.

Aegon’s chuckle echoed behind you, soft and full of mischief. “See you at dinner, little sister,” he called after you, his tone light and carefree. But you knew better. His words were never as simple as they seemed.

You didn’t stop. Didn’t look back.

But you felt it.

The fire.

The storm.

The weight of Aemond’s gaze burned hotter than dragonflame, and this time, you didn’t run from it. You let it sear into your back like a brand, unyielding and undeniable.

If he was going to watch you burn, then so be it.

Let him burn too.

You walked down the quiet corridor with your daughter by your side, the soft click of your shoes echoing in the stone hallways of the Red Keep. The moonlight filtered through the windows, casting a silvery glow on the floor beneath your feet. Your appearance tonight was different—more daring. Your silver hair, usually left to fall in gentle waves, was now loosely braided down your back, and the dress you wore hugged your figure in a way that felt more bold than your usual attire.

As you reached the door to your mother’s private solar, you paused for a moment, steadying your breath. You had made the decision, and now there was no turning back. You were determined to stand tall, regardless of the consequences.

When the door opened, you were greeted by a mixture of expressions. Your mother, Alicent, stood in the center of the room, her eyes wide in confusion as she took in your appearance. Her gaze flickered to your daughter, who tugged at your hand, seemingly unaware of the tension in the air.

But it was the other two men in the room who caught your full attention. Aegon, leaning casually against the stone wall, stared at you with a dark, unreadable look in his eyes, his lips curling into a slight smirk. There was something almost predatory in the way he watched you. And then, there was Aemond. His face was a mask of barely contained fury, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

Aegon’s voice broke the silence, smooth and laced with an edge. “Well, well… someone’s feeling bold tonight.”

But it was Aemond’s glare that pierced through the air like a sword. His fists clenched at his sides, his expression darkened, and his voice came out cold, sharp. “What is this?” he demanded, his eyes never leaving you.

For a moment, you hesitated. The weight of their gazes pressed on you, but you refused to let it make you falter. This was your moment. You had decided this path, and no matter how much it hurt, you would not back down.

“I’m simply here,” you said, your voice calm but resolute, “to have dinner with my mother. Is that a crime?”

Aemond’s anger was palpable, and his voice came out with a bite that made your skin tingle. “It’s not your presence that’s troubling, it’s the way you choose to present yourself, wife,” he spat, stepping forward. “You think you can—”

You didn’t let him finish. You could feel the tension between you, thick and suffocating, but you refused to let it control you. “I am not your possession, Aemond,” you said firmly, locking eyes with him. “I don’t need your approval.”

There was a moment of silence before Aegon chuckled softly, the sound almost mocking. “Aemond, I think she’s made her point,” he said, leaning closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe you should stop trying to control everyone.”

Aemond’s expression tightened, and his lips curled into a thin, angry line. The room seemed to close in around you as the weight of his fury bore down on you. But you didn’t look away. You had lived in his shadow for so long, but now, you were ready to step out.

“I think we’re done here,” you said finally, your voice a low whisper. You turned to your mother, who was still standing, her expression unreadable.

“Let’s go, darling,” you said to your daughter, your voice soft, almost a comfort to her.

As you walked past them, you could feel Aemond’s gaze following you, sharp and unforgiving. But you didn’t look back. You had made your choice, and now you would live with it. You would no longer let Aemond or anyone else dictate who you should be. You would forge your own path, one that was yours and yours alone.

You approached Helaena, who was seated gracefully with her twin children playing at her feet. Her gentle smile greeted you like the soft glow of dawn, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of warmth.

“Go on, sweet girl,” you whispered to your daughter, nudging her toward her cousins. She glanced up at you with bright, trusting eyes before running off to join them, her giggles mixing with those of the twins. The sound was soft, innocent, untouched by the weight of the world around them.

Helaena tilted her head, watching you with that faraway look she so often had. “She’s grown so much,” she said softly, her voice like a dream. “She looks like you.”

You smiled, brushing a hand over your gown. “She has her father’s stubbornness,” you replied, your tone lighter than you felt.

You turned and made your way to the table, your steps slow and deliberate. Your eyes scanned the room, and you immediately caught the heavy gaze of your mother. Alicent sat straight-backed, hands folded in her lap, her eyes locked on you. There was no mistaking that look. It wasn’t mere observation — it was scrutiny. A silent demand for answers.

You didn’t falter. You met her gaze head-on, unblinking, unyielding. She raised a single brow, a silent warning, but you kept walking.

Aegon was already seated, one arm slung lazily over the back of his chair. His sharp eyes followed you as you approached, a grin slowly curling at the edges of his lips. He shifted just slightly, making space for you at his side.

“Looking radiant tonight, sister,” Aegon remarked, his voice thick with amusement. His eyes dropped briefly to your neck — to the faint mark you had chosen not to hide. His grin widened. “It seems you’ve found yourself in some mischief.”

You sat next to him, ignoring the way his fingers briefly brushed against your arm. He leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping lower so only you could hear. “He’s watching you,” he murmured, his eyes flicking toward the other end of the room.

You didn’t have to turn to know who he meant.

Aemond.

He choose to sit with Helaena tonight. His posture as stiff as ever. You felt the weight of him before you even glanced his way. He was quiet, but his presence was louder than the chatter of everyone else in the room.

He didn’t look at you directly at first. His gaze flickered from his plate to Aegon’s hand, which lingered a moment too long on the back of your chair. His jaw tightened. The muscle there tensed, his lips pressing into a thin, firm line.

“Brother,” Aemond finally said, his voice cool and sharp, like the edge of a blade. “You seem particularly lively this evening.”

Aegon chuckled lowly, tipping his cup of wine toward Aemond. “Why wouldn’t I be? It’s a fine night, after all.” He glanced at you, his grin widening. “And I have fine company.”

You felt Aemond shift beside you, his body leaning forward slightly, just enough to make his presence known. You turned your head slowly, meeting his eye. His gaze was sharp, cutting, filled with something you couldn’t quite name. Anger? Jealousy?

“Strange,” Aemond muttered, his gaze flicking briefly to the mark on your neck before returning to your eyes. “I didn’t think you’d need company outside of your husband.”

Silence fell over the table. Your mother’s eyes sharpened, her lips parting slightly as if to intervene. Helaena blinked slowly, still playing with her twins, as though she hadn’t noticed the shift in the air. But she had. You could tell.

Your heart pounded, but you kept your face calm, composed. You tilted your head, allowing a faint smile to tug at your lips. “A husband must first be present to be considered company,” you replied softly, your words carrying more weight than volume.

Aegon’s laughter broke the silence like shattering glass. He leaned forward, his eyes alight with mischief, his gaze flickering between you and Aemond. “Oh, she’s sharp tonight,” he grinned, shaking his head. “Careful, brother. You’ll cut yourself on her wit.”

Aemond’s gaze remained locked on you, cold fire burning beneath the surface. His fingers twitched at his side, his body taut like a bowstring ready to snap. But he said nothing. His silence was louder than any words he could have spoken.

Your mother cleared her throat, finally breaking the tension. “Enough,” Alicent said firmly, her voice cutting through the room like a queen’s command. Her eyes darted between you, Aegon, and Aemond. “This is a family meal, not a spectacle.”

Aegon only chuckled, sipping his wine with a lazy grin. You glanced at Aemond one last time, meeting his eye with the same unflinching defiance you’d shown your mother.

He would not win tonight.

Throughout the dinner, your attention remained firmly on Aegon. The two of you spoke softly, exchanging words only the two of you could hear. He had abandoned his wine tonight, a rare occurrence, and instead, his full attention was on you. His gaze lingered, sharp and knowing, a look that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

His fingers brushed over your arm every so often as he spoke, light but deliberate, and when you laughed at one of his quips, he reached up to tuck a loose strand of silver hair behind your ear. The touch lingered just a moment too long. Warm. Familiar. Intentional.

Your heart fluttered, though you did not show it. It wasn’t love. No, it was something simpler but just as powerful — being wanted. Being noticed.

Across the table, you felt his eyes on you. Aemond. He was quiet as ever, his knife slicing through his food with sharp precision. But he wasn’t eating. No, he was watching. His gaze was unwavering, fixed on the space where Aegon’s hand had rested on your arm. His fingers curled around the handle of his knife, grip tightening until his knuckles turned white.

He hated it. You knew he did.

The weight of his jealousy filled the room like smoke, thick and choking, but you didn’t flinch. Not this time. You straightened your back and leaned just a little closer to Aegon, letting out a soft laugh that carried just enough sweetness to turn bitter in Aemond’s ears. You didn’t even have to look at him to know. You could feel his fury like a storm brewing on the horizon.

Alicent noticed it too. Her eyes darted between you, Aemond, and Aegon, her lips pressed into a thin line. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. What could she say? What could anyone say?

Aegon leaned in toward you again, his voice low but loud enough for others to hear if they truly paid attention. “Careful, little sister,” he murmured, his grin sharp as ever. “He looks ready to start a war.”

You tilted your head just slightly, glancing at Aemond from the corner of your eye. His face was stone, hard and cold, but his eye told a different story. It burned with something wild, something raw.

You turned your gaze back to Aegon and smiled, soft and sweet. “Let him,” you whispered, just loud enough for Aemond to hear. “I’ve had enough of his silence.”

Aegon’s eyes widened with surprise before he threw his head back in laughter. He laughed so loud and so carelessly that even Helaena glanced up from her plate, blinking in confusion. Alicent frowned deeply, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

But you didn’t care. For the first time in a long while, you felt in control.

Aemond’s knife clattered against his plate, the sudden sound drawing everyone’s attention. His jaw was clenched tight, his chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths. He pushed his chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the stone floor.

“Excuse me,” he said, his voice deadly calm, his eye never leaving you. His gaze lingered on you for a breath longer than necessary before he turned and strode out of the room, his steps sharp and echoing.

Silence settled over the table like a heavy blanket. Alicent glanced at you, her eyes full of questions she wouldn’t dare ask in front of everyone. Helaena blinked, her gaze following Aemond’s retreating figure. Aegon raised his cup, tilting it toward you as if to say well done.

You only smiled, eyes fixed on the door Aemond had just walked through.

He had always been so composed, so controlled. But not tonight.

Tonight, you had won.

The warmth of satisfaction still lingered in your chest as you made your way to your chambers. The image of Aemond’s face at dinner replayed in your mind — the tightness of his jaw, the sharp flare of anger in his eye, and the way he stormed out, unable to contain himself. It had been so long since you’d seen him break like that. He finally felt it, you thought to yourself. He finally knows what it feels like to be ignored.

Your steps echoed softly against the cold stone floors as you approached your door. You pushed it open, expecting the quiet stillness of your chambers. But the moment you stepped inside, the air shifted.

He was there.

Aemond stood in front of the fire, the golden flames casting long, flickering shadows on the stone walls. His back was to you, his hands clasped behind him. His posture was as rigid as ever, but there was something different tonight. Something simmering beneath the surface.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you froze. Your heart gave a sharp, sudden thud in your chest.

“Aemond,” you said, keeping your voice steady. You raised your chin, unwilling to show even a flicker of hesitation. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer right away. The silence was thick and stifling. Slowly, he turned his head, his eye catching the glow of the fire. He glanced at you from over his shoulder, his face half in shadow, half in light. His gaze dragged over you slowly — from your disheveled hair to the slight crease in your gown. His gaze lingered on your neck. On the mark that you hadn’t bothered to cover.

His lips curled into a sneer.

“Enjoying yourself, sister?” His voice was quiet but razor-sharp, cutting through the room like a blade. He turned fully now, his gaze locking onto yours with the intensity of a predator watching its prey.

You felt the heat of it, but you refused to look away. “I don’t know what you mean,” you replied calmly, stepping further into the room. You untied the clasp of your cloak and let it slide from your shoulders, keeping your eyes on him the entire time. “I spent the evening with our family, just as you did.”

His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, his jaw ticking with tension. He took a slow step forward, his eye never leaving you.

“Do not play games with me,” he said quietly, each word deliberate, dangerous. “You know exactly what I mean.” Another step forward. “Do you think I didn’t see it? The way you clung to him — the way he touched you.” His eye darted to your neck again, and you swore you saw his teeth clench. “Do you think i'm blind, sister?”

You tilted your head, your fingers toying with the loose braid in your hair. “You never seemed to care before,” you said, letting the words drip with venom. “Why care now, husband?”

That struck him. You saw it in the way his gaze darkened, in the way his breath grew heavier. He strode toward you, closing the distance between you in only a few strides. He stopped inches from you, his height looming over you like a storm cloud.

“Careful,” he warned, his voice low, quiet, but full of danger. “Do not mistake indifference for mercy.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you did not back away. Not tonight. Not after everything. You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, your eyes as sharp as his. “And do not mistake neglect for loyalty,” you shot back, your voice unwavering. “You gave me nothing, Aemond. No love. No warmth. You treated me like a shadow while you poured your affection into her.” Your lips curled into a bitter smile. “So forgive me if I sought comfort elsewhere.”

For a moment, silence reigned. His breathing was heavier now, his chest rising and falling as he stared at you like he didn’t know whether to destroy you or claim you. His fingers twitched at his side, itching to move, to act, to do something.

“You think you’ve won,” he muttered, his voice laced with something dangerous, something raw. “You think you’ve made me jealous.” He leaned down, so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. “But jealousy is for fools. I do not envy Aegon.” His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he whispered, “I pity him.”

A shiver ran down your spine, but you held your ground. You turned your face toward him, so close that your noses almost touched. “Pity him all you want,” you whispered, your voice a deadly softness. “But at least he knows how to cherish what’s his.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The only sound was the crackling of the fire and the sharp rhythm of your breathing. His gaze darted to your lips for the briefest second before he pulled back, his face twisted with something like fury — or maybe something more dangerous than that.

Without another word, Aemond turned on his heel and strode toward the door. But before he opened it, he stopped, his fingers gripping the handle so tightly you thought it might break. He glanced at you one last time, his eye burning with cold fire.

“Be careful, wife,” he said, his voice laced with warning. “When you play with fire, it does not just burn — it consumes.”

Then he was gone, the heavy thud of the door echoing through the room like thunder.

You stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, your breath shallow and sharp. Slowly, you pressed your fingers against the mark on your neck, feeling the heat of it beneath your skin.

Let it burn, you thought. Let it burn us both.

You sit on your bed, your thoughts tangled and chaotic after Aemond’s words. The weight of everything pressing on your chest feels unbearable. You slip on your robe to cover the nightgown you’ve been wearing, your movements mechanical as you try to regain some composure. You need to talk to Helaena, to try and make sense of everything swirling in your mind.

You walk towards her chamber, the steady rhythm of your footsteps the only sound in the hall. But as you approach her door, something stops you.

A muffled gasp.

Your heart lurches in your chest, an icy chill running down your spine. You stop in your tracks, frozen, as you listen. Another sound follows — a soft, breathy moan. His voice.

Aemond.

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut. Your body tenses as you try to steady your breath. You want to move away, to leave this moment behind, but something keeps you rooted to the spot.

You recognize the sound all too well — it belongs to him. You’ve heard it before, in different contexts, but never like this. Not with Helaena.

Your head spun, and it felt as if thousands of daggers were piercing your heart. Your hands shook at your sides, nails digging into your palms. Part of you wanted to run, to escape the reality standing so plainly before you. But another part of you needed to know. You had to know.

You stepped back, breath shallow, heart thudding painfully in your chest. Your gaze was locked on the door, and though you told yourself to leave, your feet wouldn’t move. You stood there, caught between heartbreak and rage, unable to tear yourself away from the sounds beyond that door.

A soft laugh echoed from inside. It was Helaena’s. You recognized it instantly. Then came his voice — low, rough, familiar in a way that made your chest ache. His voice, the one that should have been meant for you alone.

“Aemond…” Helaena’s voice was like a whisper in the storm, soft but sharp enough to slice through you. Your hands curled into fists, nails biting into your skin as your lips trembled. You knew you should leave. You knew it was pointless to stay, letting yourself be shattered like this.

But still, you stood there. Letting it destroy you.

You bit your lip so hard you tasted blood, trying to stifle the sob rising in your throat. Your chest tightened with every breath, a wild mix of pain, fury, and disbelief. For so long, you had tried to convince yourself that maybe — just maybe — Aemond would see you. That one day, he would love you the way a husband should love his wife.

But he never did. He never chose you.

Tears welled up in your eyes, hot and unrelenting. You touched your chest as if you could somehow reach into it and pull the ache out with your bare hands. But it stayed, heavy and unyielding.

It was always Helaena. Always her.

You wiped the tears from your face, trying to steady yourself. Desperate gasps and quiet groans grew louder from beyond the door. You couldn’t bear to hear it any longer. Your legs, frozen moments ago, now felt as light as air. You turned on your heel, gown swishing around you, your footsteps quick and determined as you fled down the corridor.

The tears wouldn’t stop, no matter how hard you bit your lip to silence your sobs. Each step echoed with the weight of everything you’d tried so hard to deny. He will never love you. Not as he loves her. Not as he loves Helaena.

But as you moved further away, a single name came to mind.

Aegon.

You remembered the way Aegon had watched you earlier. His gaze wasn’t distant or dismissive. It was focused. He saw you. His lingering touch on your arm, the way he ran his fingers through your hair, and the way he smiled at you at the dinner table. He sees you. He sees everything that Aemond refuses to see.

You wiped your tears with a rough, angry swipe, your breathing still uneven. No more tears. Not for Aemond. Not for a man who never saw you as enough.

That night, you would not sleep alone.

With that resolve, you left your chambers, letting your gown trail behind you like the shadow of a queen who had been wronged. You knew where you were going. You knew exactly who would be waiting for you with open arms.

Aegon.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel guilty. Not anymore.

You rush toward Aegon’s chamber, your steps frantic and your heart racing, the tears flowing freely. When you reach the door, you throw it open without thinking, startling Aegon, who had been sipping his wine. His eyes widen as he takes in your tear-streaked face, and before he can speak, you rush into his arms.

Aegon hesitates for just a moment, then pulls you close, his strong arms wrapping around you as you bury your face in his chest. His grip is firm and comforting, but he senses the desperation in your touch.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs, brushing a hand through your hair. But you shake your head, your words muffled against him.

“I… I can’t anymore. I need you to make me forget,” you whisper, your voice fragile. “I can’t bear this pain anymore.”

Aegon stiffens for a moment, his breath hitching, before he gently pulls back, just enough to look into your eyes. His expression is soft, his own emotions carefully hidden beneath the surface, but the intensity of his gaze never wavers.

“Forget?” His voice is low, a mixture of concern and something else, something deeper.

You nod, your hands trembling as you reach up to touch his face. “Please… make me forget him. Just for tonight.”

Aegon stares at you, the weight of your words hanging heavily between you. He breathes in deeply, as if debating something internally, before he leans forward and presses his lips gently against yours.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, but as you respond to him, it deepens, his hands pulling you closer. For a brief moment, the world around you fades away, and you forget the pain, the heartache, and the betrayal. It’s just him, and it’s just you, lost in the moment, as though you’re both trying to escape the heavy burdens of your lives.

When the kiss breaks, Aegon doesn’t pull away completely. He holds you close, his forehead resting against yours, and whispers, “For tonight… I’ll make you forget, if that’s what you need.”

He lifted you up and laid you on his bed, he didn't say anything else. He wiped your tears and started kissing you, his kiss was soft, softer than yesterday. Without breaking the kiss he slowly stroked your breasts which were still covered by your nightgown, squeezing them gently which made you moan in your kiss.

he slowly untied your nightgown and revealed your breasts, his kisses started to trail down to your neck, kissing the marks he left last night. then his hands played with your nipples making you moan his name.

"Aegon" He went back down your body with his kisses, moving from your stomach, then his lips arrived in front of your cunt. He started kissing it and licking it making you arch your body and moan softly, your hands went to his hair and squeezed it gently. Your legs were on his shoulders as he began to eat you out, his tongue skillfully licking and sucking your wet folds.

"you taste so sweet, love"

He inserted a finger into you and pumped it slowly, his mouth still sucking on your swollen clit you spread your legs even wider to make it easier for him. When he added another finger you squirmed beneath him and he held your hips to keep you still, your body arched from the pleasure he gave you, a pleasure that Aemond never gave you.

"Fuck me aegon, make me round of your child. Fill me up with your seed, breed me until i can't take your seed anymore"

Aegon growled, the thought of you being heavy with his seed made his cock even harder. Without thinking, Aegon crawled over you and kissed you roughly, you could taste yourself in his mouth. Without warning, he thrust his cock into you, both of you moaning together. He stretched you out deliciously.

Aegon didn't hold back, he slammed his hips into you roughly and fast. Seeing you moan helplessly beneath him made him even hotter, your breasts shaking in time with his thrusts, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, your body arching as he finds that spot. You drive him crazy, crazy because of your body, crazy because he knows you are his now.

"tell me sister, did aemond fuck you like i did hm?" Your mind is too hazy, clouded by lust. your mouth was open but you didn't answer, you could only sigh continuously and it made him smile. "that's what i thought"

Your back arches up when the head of his member prods against your sensitive spot. “You take me so well, sister.” He groaned again as he felt your walls squeeze him, as if wanting to milk all the seed that was there.

“Gonna fill you up,” he growls. “With my cum until you’re leaking and breed you until I’m satisfied.”

You tries to formulate a coherent response, but your hazy mind betrays you and whines come out in response. Sweat dripping down your back as your hips rock back and forth, frantically seeking your own pleasure.

Laughter stumbles past Aegon’ lips as he delivers a sharp slap on your supple flesh, stroking it afterwards. “That’s it sister, let go.”

Your body shook as you felt your peak approaching, you screamed his name as you reached your peak. Aegon slammed his cock and spurted his seed inside you, he felt your walls squeeze him tightly and milking him until the last drop of his seed. He didn't let go of his cock, he hugged you and lay down with you. He kissed your back and let sleep consume the both of you.

And for a moment, just a fleeting moment, the weight of your world is lifted.

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

#aegon ii targaryen #hotd imagine #hotd aemond #prince aegon targaryen #aemond targaryen #hotd #hotd one shot #aegon ii fanfic #hotd x reader #aegon x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond x you #aemond fic #prince aemond targaryen #aegon fanfic #aegon smut #hotd angst #hotd smut #hotd alicent

534 notes · View notes

mymiraclealigner · 4 months ago

Text

Don’t be kind | RemusLupin x fem!reader

summary: Remus has come back to apologize.

tw: smut without much plot (+18), curse words

word count: 2,223

a/n: long time no see :) i have been thinking about remus so much lately... hope you like this and sorry if there are any grammar mistakes, english is not my first language.

The rain hit the window desperately. It banged the outside of the big house begging to come in. The weight of the mist creeped into the walls with ease, like a snake crawling through a dense field, almost invisible. The Black House was dark and moist, the majority of its habitants in deep, twitchy slumber.

A girl held herself up on her elbows, semi-asleep still. Some hair stuck to her temple, product of the sweat. The heat under her duvet contrasted uncomfortably with the cold atmosphere. She managed to sit on her bed to recognize the figure standing past her door. A small breeze sneaked through the gap between the creaky floors; a shiver walked across her.

“Remus?” A set of manicured fingers raised to rub her sleepy eyes.

The man remained still. Remus was counting in his head: one, two three, four… Hoping to go unnoticed around twenty. It wasn’t the first night he had entered her room to watch her sleep or something more. But it was the first time he felt embarrassed that he got caught. Twenty came around and she remained focused on the subject in her room.

The silhouette’s shoulders were moving up and down patiently and a few drops fell from his fingers to the floor: he was soaking wet, the rain caught him on the way back to the house. She knew it was Remus and not an illusion. In her dreams, he would have come to her already and he would have been dry, smelling like books and whisky, like he normally did. In her dreams, he loved her unafraid, he was certain of his feelings for her.

“So this is what you do, treat me horribly and come back to watch me sleep and wet my floors?”

“Sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to raise my voice at you,” he replied with a hoarse voice. “It’s the moon.”

The girl looked down, a silver, thick stripe on the floor marked the distance between the bodies. It was always the moon the one coming between them. Nature’s round princess was an animated object, playing with Remus’ head and emotions. The witch constantly asked herself how something so beautiful could do him so much harm –and to her, consequently.

She removed the comforter from her body, sitting at the edge of the bed. The moon’s pale light bathed her naked legs. She wiggled her toes against the cold wood, getting ready to stand up. Remus’ breathing quickened, her actions meant I forgive you, clearly. He tried to ignore the inevitable worry of when he would no longer be forgiven.

She moved like an angel towards him: messy curls framing her face, tired eyes shaping the world around her. Remus could have kneeled to her feet and kissed them as an act of gratitude. She was merciful like a virgin.

She first pushed the heavy leather jacket off his shoulders. The garment hit the floor with a hard thud, splashing cold water on her feet. His hands were immediately on her hips, his achy knuckles relaxed at the touch of her cotton shirt. She surrounded his neck and came so close to his face she could feel his warm breath on her forehead. He smelled like pines and smog.

“I’m truly sorry, you’re so important to me,” he whispered against her hairline. His hands trespassed the fabric and caressed her lower back, occasionally playing with the edge of her underwear.

Her hands massaged his nape, helping it get rid of the tension the incoming full moon had induced. She looked up into his tired eyes, the stripe of light reflected in his pupils. He truly couldn’t escape the moon.

“It’s okay, just take what you need,” she responded while pulling his lips closer to hers.

He wanted to correct her, he wasn’t there to take anything –even if it seemed like it–, but it was too late. She immediately kissed him and he forgot about anything that had ever happened in the world before that moment.

The rain suddenly stopped, the clouds took deep a breath.

Like a siren she pushed him slowly into her waters, discarding his clothes on the way. The first buttons of his shirt were undone slowly by her slippery hands; the lethargy of her movements heated Remus’ head. He interrupted the unhurried pace yanking the shirt open, fours buttons flew across the room. Her nails scratched the hair on his torso, fondling the scars with dedication; it made Remus moan.

At the halfway point, Y/n lost her shirt. A soft breeze hardened her nipples, right before the werewolf’s hand grazed them. Her lips, already red and bitten, opened to emit a small groan of satisfaction. She was desperate for him, but so mad at his ways. She brought her bare chest closer to his in a unbridled outburst; fuck you, she thought.

Y/n kept her backward walk until she was stopped by the feel of the mattress hitting her thighs. The girl palmed him over his wet jeans: he was rock hard under the rough material. She guessed he had been hard for a while now by the way his hips stuttered. Remus separated from her kiss to observe her moving hand; in a swift move he removed it holding her by the wrist and trapping her arm behind her back.

“My turn,” he announced lowly against her cheek. He let his words linger in the air; he wanted time to slow her breaths.

With the back of his scarred hand he caressed the curve of her face relaxing the frown that had settled between her brows. His stroke kept going down her neck, the pulse of her veins made his fingers slightly jump. Like on a mountain, his hand raised following the outline of her breast; he pinched the nipple maliciously, stealing a whimper from the girl. His hand slipped down until it sneaked below the only piece of fabric that covered her. Past the mound of hair he wet his digits on her pussy, going up and down, ignoring the crying bead on purpose.

“Pl- please,” she breathed out.

“Uh?”

“I- I said please,” their eyes met. His were determined and playful, hers were pleading.

With a devious smile Remus decided to put her out of her misery and roll measured circles on her clit. Remus knew Y/n was close when the hand held hostage behind her back started to twitch; she also tried to keep her thighs relaxed, but he knew that subtle trembling too well.

The werewolf kissed her neck while diverted his fingers inside of her. First one, then another. He pumped his long fingers into her enough times to open her up, ease his way between her legs. First shallow, then deep. She swore she could feel the protruding scars caress her inner walls.

Once again, in the verge of the orgasm, he let her go. Putting his wet hand on her hip and freeing her arm from his hold. Her hands flew to his belt to unbuckle it. He held her thin hands between his and grabbed his erect member, guiding her through the up-and-down movements. She looked down, embarrassed to be so enraptured in the action.

“Look at me.”

She held her head up, looking shy beyond his shoulder, disobeying his request deliberately. He knew, then: she still resented him. Before he could say anything to defend his case, Y/n turned around and pulled down her underwear. As the small fabric fell to the floor, she straightened up and grabbed the nearest bedpost with her ass perked up.

Remus put a firm hand on her shoulder and pushed her head to side with his, trying to make space to kiss. She could feel his wet tip hitting against her butt cheeks. His hips were rutting against her while his mouth was devouring her soft neck.

“Are you sure?” He whispered in her ear. Goosebumps traveled through her sides; she nodded.

“No, use your words. Come on”

The smallest “yes” came out of her lips. Remus knew he wouldn’t get anything clearer nor louder than that. Anchoring on her hips, he pushed her close to him and grabbed his cock to position it on her entrance.

Neither could keep a sigh of pleasure in at the first stretch. Remus thanked the Gods for her existence and her acknowledgment of his; never in his craziest dreams he thought he could be with someone like her. A long list was the one to enumerate all the ways she was perfect, far more noble and good than Remus; her pussy was in the top five.

He bottomed out and stayed still for a minute, letting her accommodate to his size. He inhaled the scent of her loose curls: fig and honey, his favorite. With a tortuous kiss on her cheek he started rocking inside of her. He held her between his hands like the fourth leaf of a clover, raising a hand to fondle her tits.

The witch could feel his love being poured in the swing of his hips. He was truly sorry (–or very drunk–), she knew, because this is what she had always asked of him and rarely received: to be a little vulnerable, to show her something more than a need to release. The way his breathing fell on her jaw, his arms surrounded her torso, his inhibited grunts matched the thumps… it was perfect, just not what she wanted now.

He treated her horribly hours before, denying her help with the upcoming full moon and talking to her like she was an ignorant idiot. He was so confusing: then, he wanted her far from his life, now, he was holding onto her with all the love and need. He was so mindful and delicate, his cock hit her spot over and over again and it felt so nice that she got mad. She wanted him to unload his frustrations on her, not protect her from already inflicted pain.

“Remus,” she used a hand to halt his movements behind her, “don’t be kind.”

Remus, who was drunk in pleasure, let go of wariness and the fear of hurting her and took a firm hold of the woman in front of him. His hips pounded in and out of Y/n taking the air out of her; he looked down and delighted himself with the view of her arched back and plump ass. Quickly, the slapping sound between the flesh was accompanied by a squelching one; Remus rolled his eyes and kissed the back of her head as she got wetter. The girl moaned his name like a prayer and stammered out scoldings and praises in an hushed erotic whisper.

He paused for a second to turn and lay down his witch on the edge of the mattress. He folded over her, keeping a steady, hard pace. His eyes looked for her, he was missing the connection, a glance to say there’s so many things that I feel that I can’t put words to, but she closed her eyes in feigned focus.

“Look at me,” he framed her face with his big hand. She turned a deaf ear and kept panting, concentrating on the pleasurable new angle.

“Come on,” nothing still. “You know, I–,” she squeezed him hard interrupting his sentence; the corners of her lips raised lightly. “I won’t let you come if you don’t look at me.”

Remus decreased his tempo, rolling his hips heavily against hers. Her eyebrows met and he knew he put her in trouble. A senseless murmur spilled from her throat in the sweetest tone, the werewolf almost melted. He rolled his pelvis closer knowing it would graze her clit and she immediately dug her red nails into his biceps; he smiled triumphant. Her moans increased and he watched her struggle to keep the composure, she needed permission to come.

Just like minutes before, her eyes opened painfully slow. This time, she was greeted by Remus’ glowing face, looking at her with serious devotion and the ghost of a grin. Behind him, an almost round, luminous circle peaked behind the window: the moon.

“Hey there–”

“Harder, please, I- I wanna come,” she begged breathless, dazed by his ministrations and the beautiful light behind his strong frame.

“Shh, don’t worry. I’ll let you come, sweetheart”

Remus increased the rhythm without taking his gaze off off her. She held his face between her hands and drew him closer to conceal her moans between his lips. Surrounding her legs against his torso Y/n asked if she could come and Remus replied with a simple “Yes, love, I’ve got you”. Immediately after, he came inside her with a groan, hiding his face in the gap between her shoulder and neck, her sweetest spot.

The clouds started weeping again, never covering the silver balloon, the protagonist of the night.

The moon looked at the girl laying sweaty on the bed. On top of her, Remus relished in the sole advantage of his condition: heightened feelings. He caressed her sides, looking to say I’m sorry, once again. She looked back at the moon and brought the werewolf to her lips for another round; tomorrow the man would be the moon’s, but tonight he was all hers.

563 notes · View notes

novaursa · 4 months ago

Note

You are an absolutely amazing writer and I adore all your stories.

If your requests for short stories are still open, I would like to request one with Cregan Stark and Targaryen reader where she is pregnant with their first child and gets jealous because Cregan is being secretive and she catches him few times talking to some of his closest men and mentioning an unknown female name. One day she can't take it anymore and confronts him. It turns out he found injured pregnant female direwolf and was taking care of her and her pups which he wants to gift to their child. (It would be fun if reader has already dragon but bonds with direwolf mom as well).

Daisy

Requests are closed!

- Summary: Heavy with your and Cregan’s first child, you get suspicious when your husband starts to sneak out to see Daisy.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: The reader is bonded with Silverwing. For more of my works, visit my blog. The first list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

You pace back and forth, hands resting on the swell of your belly, anxiety bubbling like a cauldron on a fire. Your gaze drifts to the furs on the floor of your chambers, the large bed that feels far too empty most nights as of late, and the flickering light of the hearth that does little to soothe the unease gnawing at your mind. Cregan has been… distracted. He leaves early in the morning, returns late, his excuses as thin as the northern air.

And Daisy.

You’ve overheard him whispering that name, hushed and guarded, always to his most trusted men. Every time you approach, the conversation stops abruptly, like the snap of a trap. It's enough to make any woman suspicious—especially a woman heavy with child, swollen with not only your firstborn but a mix of anticipation, anxiety, and perhaps a bit of jealousy.

"Silverwing," you murmur, glancing toward the small window. Though your beloved dragon isn't visible from the Keep, you know she’s nearby, perched on the cliffs, her silver scales glinting in the pale sun. "Do you know what he’s up to?" But if she does, she offers no response.

You frown. Even your dragon seems to be in on this secret. Traitor.

Another morning arrives, and Cregan departs before dawn breaks. The soft murmur of his voice filters through the stone walls as he speaks to his men again, and you catch it—Daisy.

That’s it. You’ve had enough. It’s time for answers.

You pull a thick cloak around your shoulders and storm down the stone corridors of Winterfell. The biting northern wind whips at your face as you march toward the stables, where Cregan is often found before heading into the woods. Your feet, swollen and heavy, protest with every step, but nothing can stop you now.

There he is, standing with a few of his men, his tall figure unmistakable even through the morning mist. You watch as they exchange low words, but the moment he spots you, they scatter like children caught stealing sweets. You fix Cregan with a glare that could burn the snow around you.

"What is going on, Cregan Stark?" you demand, hands on your hips, the weight of your belly only adding to the intensity of your stance. "And who is Daisy?"

He blinks at you, clearly caught off guard by your sudden confrontation. "Daisy?"

"Yes, Daisy," you repeat, not giving him a chance to deflect. "I’ve heard you speaking about her. And don’t lie to me, Cregan, I’m pregnant, not deaf."

He opens his mouth, closes it, and then rubs the back of his neck, a nervous habit you’ve come to recognize. "Y/N," he begins slowly, "it’s not what you think."

"Oh, it never is," you snap, your voice rising. "You're sneaking around, speaking in hushed tones, all while I’m here, waddling about, wondering if my husband has taken to… to some northern woman!"

"Some—" Cregan’s eyes widen, and for a moment, his usually serious expression cracks into a brief smile. He quickly wipes it away, knowing well enough that your temper is not to be tested right now. "No, no, love. You’ve got it all wrong."

"I do, do I?" you huff. "Then explain. Who is Daisy?"

There’s a pause, then he sighs, realizing there’s no more avoiding this. "Follow me."

Still seething, you follow him into the woods just beyond the walls of Winterfell. The snow crunches under your boots, and the cold air stings your cheeks. You consider demanding answers again, but before you can open your mouth, Cregan stops beside a small thicket, gestures for you to come closer.

He kneels, parting the branches, revealing a small, hidden hollow where something stirs. Your breath catches as you peer inside.

Lying there, curled up with her pups, is a massive female direwolf. Her fur is thick and silver, speckled with dirt and a few patches of blood—recent wounds from a hunt gone wrong, it seems. But even in her injured state, she exudes strength, a fierce protectiveness as she shields her young.

"This is Daisy," Cregan says softly. "I found her a few weeks ago, injured and alone. Her pack must’ve been killed, but she survived with her pups. I’ve been taking care of them, bringing them food, tending to her wounds."

You blink, feeling the confusion melt into something else. "...You’ve been sneaking out to care for wolves?"

"Aye." Cregan chuckles lightly, glancing up at you. "Not just any wolves, love. I wanted to surprise you. I thought… a direwolf pup would be a fitting gift for you and our child. A symbol of the North, something to protect the little one, like Silverwing does for you."

Your heart softens as you watch the direwolf, her eyes meeting yours for a moment. "So… you weren’t keeping secrets from me about another woman?"

Cregan grins, a lopsided, boyish smile that makes your irritation melt away. "No. Only Daisy here."

You cross your arms, feeling more than a little foolish now, though your pride won’t let you admit it outright. "And why didn’t you tell me sooner?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise," he says, rising to his feet and wrapping an arm around you. "But you caught on quicker than I expected."

You narrow your eyes at him playfully. "You know what’s worse? Silverwing knew, too. She didn’t say a word."

Cregan laughs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Ah, dragons and direwolves—more loyal to each other than to us, it seems.

You huff, but you can't help the smile that creeps onto your face as you lean into him, the warmth of his embrace chasing away the chill. “Next time, Cregan Stark, no more secrets. Wolves, dragons, or otherwise.”

“Agreed,” he murmurs, his hand resting on your belly. “I’ll share everything with you from now on, Y/N.”

As you both stand there, watching the direwolf and her pups, you feel a sense of peace settle over you. The North, with its biting winds and endless snow, feels a little warmer now—filled with the promise of new life, both yours and the wild creatures that will grow beside your family.

"Perhaps we'll name our child Daisy," you tease, elbowing him gently.

Cregan groans. "Gods, no. One Daisy in this family is enough."

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #cregan x you #cregan x y/n #hotd cregan #cregan x reader #cregan stark #cregan x

564 notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years ago

Text

Main Masterlist || Navigation || All works are F!Reader || All images sourced from Pinterest ||

SONGS THAT SOUND LIKE SEA-FOAM || Mini-Series || Completed

PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader

SYNOPSIS: In which a lone mermaid finds good company with a handsome fisherman who trespasses in her cove. But the word isn't what it used to be...hunting ships patrol the waters.