#queen of hearts burns king's landing to the ground

[english-history-trip]

Dan Meth is definitely the pen name you'd come up with on meth.

One of my favorite hobbies is thinking about the fucked up implications of this fantasy world map my parents got me for christmas

[Image ID: photo of a map. On the left side of the map is Middle Earth, with the Shire and Mordor labeled. To the direct right of Mordor is Whoville.]

[thebadboyfanclub]

I Will Never Leave You (Daemon x Reader)

I think this more a love letter to Rhaenyra than anything but I’m really proud of this one cause I adore writing characters like this, I hope you guys enjoy it

Rhaenyra adored her mother since she drew her first breath, yet the woman she admired the most and desperately seemed her nod of approval was her beloved aunt (y/n) Targaryen, the middle child of prince Baelon and princess Alyssa, the seat between the brothers suited her, (y/n) had the good heart and the bright mind of her older brother that went hand in hand with the wild spirit and the constant need to protect the ones she called her own that she passed down to Daemon.

(Y/n) had been by Rhaenyras side when she needed her the most, wrapping her arms around the shaking frame of the young princess burying her face at the crook of (y/n)s neck.

“Dracarys”

Even though the dragon was not (y/n)s, beautiful Syrax complied whilst Rhaenyra broke down at the arms of her aunt, (y/n) ran her fingers through Rhaenyras long hair to offer her comfort as she whispered the lullaby she would sing to her when she was little.

She had also been the one to almost harass her beloved brother and king to name Rhaenyra his heir.

“As much as I love my lord husband, he is not fit to lead, the weight of the realm will crush him until he bursts into flames, we can prevent this, you can prevent this”

“And name Rhaenyra my heir? A queen has not sat the iron throne”

“Why not name the princess your heir? She is the second born”

Otto had questioned, (y/n) side eyed the man before she looked down to collect her thoughts, the wound of her brothers digging their claws on that piece of metal had brought such mental combat between them, turning blood against one another, if she had taken a go at them then all efforts for a harmonious family would have gone to war ages ago.

“I am afraid it is too late for me to claim what could have been or some could argue “should have been” but the time is just right for my niece, Rhaenyra is the result of the love you shared with the late queen Aemma, you have already wronged her, do not turn your back on the only thing you have left of her”

(Y/n) and Daemon had wed a fortnight after Viserys and Aemma, their wedlock’s were as similar as the sun with the moon, Daemon and (y/n) mirrored one another, their fire burned bright and their thick skulls could cause the the strongest storm to lash, still at the end of the day they ended up in each others arms, holding each other tight and whispering words of love and admiration.

(Y/n) was the only one that could keep Daemon on a leash, staying by his side as he raged for the “disrespect” their brother had shown, in a delicate manner (y/n) would always grab his hand and bring it up to her cheek to ground him.

“I love you and your bravery, however I do despise when you let your rage overtake everything that’s good in you, let me fix this for you”

Daemon would always take her in his arms and kiss her lips with all the might he could master. (Y/n) was his life line, her eyes were like a much needed breath after a deep dive, her smile resembled the feeling of the brisk air on the early hours of a summer day, her hair was as soft as a birds feather as it brushed on his skin, and her touch, oh that touch of hers…like a soothing balm on Daemons wounded heart.

“What is the matter, my love?”

“We must fly to kings landing by the morrow”

“Has something happened?”

“Lucerys’s claim is at question by Vaemond, Lord Corlys has not even passed and they are already circling around Rhaenyra like crows”

(Y/n) half mumbled half explained whilst her fingers rubbed circles on her temples, (y/n) had never voiced it still a pang of guilt ate her soul as slow as the carnivores ate their dead prey whenever she exchanged letters with Rhaenyra, she gave up on her, she left her alone to fight against those Hightowers, withering away as the bastards started to tighten the rope around the heiress’s neck.

Daemon puffed out a breath, the conversation had always been the same, (y/n) would often bring up her concerns over Rhaenyras well being, asking Daemon if mayhaps they made a mistake by leaving her, fabricating elaborate scenarios of how things could have been different.

With caution Daemon approached his lady wife and once he reached her he placed his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs rubbing circles on her aching shoulders as she slouched back and a grunt of pleasure left her, the flames from the fireplace licking her face in such a complimenting light, had he not touched her he could assume she was just an extremely accurate portrait from the hands of an exceptionally gifted artist.

“Rhaenyra is strong, she will overcome this”

“Rhaenyra is alone, our brother is barely able to make a sentence, she cannot stand alone at court”

“And what do you think our presence will do? We have been cast away for far too long, no one will pay attention to what we have to say on the matter, besides, driftmark is none of our responsibility”

After the birth of their first born daughter Enora Daemon and (y/n) decided to leave kings landing and reside in Pentos, granting protection with their dragons they were gifted with land and lived like the Targaryens only knew how to live.

“It is under the Targaryen rule, our closests bond to old Valyria”

“Dragons are our bond, which we have our own”

(Y/n) stood up from her chair to face her lord husband, fury that intertwined with confusion painted across her face as her eyebrows furrowed and her lips half open from the shock that his dismiss had caused.

Daemon resented when they fought, he did not enjoy his love being cross with him, though he loved a battle he would hang on dear life on anything and say whatever to make her curl up in his arms with content.

“You do not want to come with me” (y/n) stated

“I do not believe we will change anything”

“You believe that? Out of all I thought you would be the one to get on your dragon the fastest”

“You are with child, our other children are happy here, must we indulge in that mess?”

“That mess? Our brother has been crippled, our niece tortured by the Hightower and now she asks for our aid and you think I will just ignore it”

“You are emotional”

“I am, and proud of it, I will fly to kings landing with my children, you can choose to stay and hide behind our thick and tall walls of this castle. I will not leave our legacy, our blood, to slowly perish. It is your decision at the end of the day”

Daemon puffed out of breath before he reached for (y/n)s arms to which (y/n) stepped back to avoid, her eyes that spewed fire starring right into his soul.

(Y/n) was the diplomat out of the pair, one can imagine the surprise of her stubbornness when it came to this, which also revealed how important this was for (y/n).

“You mustn’t get upset in your condition”

“That is something you should remember, I was fine until I saw that the years turned you into a coward”

(Y/n) spat inches away from his face, with hurried and swift motions she intentionally bumped his shoulder as she made her exit of their chamber, Daemon did not catch a wink of sleep, (y/n) had never slept at another chamber separately since they had wed.

As the sun started to shyly make its descent (y/n) was assisting her three children on their dragons for their journey to kings landing.

“Hold on”

(Y/n) looked over her shoulder to find her husband with his dragon walking towards them, she had to admit that leaving without him would have costed her a great deal, she wanted him by her side, to help her, to hold her, to have her.

“What made you change your mind?”

“My astonishing devotion to you and your stubbornness, I won’t leave you alone with the wolves”

Daemon reassured her before he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, a smile making its way to (y/n)s lips as she gazed at him with love, that sparkle of joy was what kept Daemon alive, he would risk anything to see her well.

A giggle that came from their youngest children interrupted their sweet moment, Daemon and (y/n) looked up as the twins sat on their dragons, admiring the deep affection that oozed out of their parents, Daemon only winked at his children in response and turned back to his lady wife.

“Allow me dearest”

A shriek was heard when Daemon swiped the princess off her feet and lifted her up at her green dragon Zephyr. The family landed unexpectedly since they had not given any information to their visit, Otto and Alicent were fuming upon their arrival, the pair would stir the pot and cause chaos all in the princesses name, Otto was certain of it.

However no one could expect the ever defiant (y/n) holding Viserys by his right arm and the stoic prince Daemon holding the king by the left.

“King Viserys of house Targaryen, first of his name, king of the andals, and the rhoynar and the first men, Lord of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm, with princess (y/n) Targaryen and Prince Daemon Targaryen”

Time stood still as they entered the throne room, (y/n) had persisted on visiting her brother, encouraging him to stand and back Rhaenyras claim, begging him to find his strength and sit on the iron throne.

“I will sit the throne today”

Viserys was able to say to Otto who only bowed his head and stepped aside. When (y/n) gently assisted her brother to sit comfortably his crown managed to move and fall, Daemon was the one that caught it and placed it back on Viserys head. As the pair took a step back (y/n) was the first to curtsy in front of him.

“My king”

She whispered before she smiled, Viserys managed to get a hold of her hand and bring it up to his deformed lips, as cold and slimy the weird texture of his lips left on her hand (y/n) looked back on that memory until the end of her days, as many times as they fought (y/n) held a spot for Viserys, one of loyalty and respect.

Daemon snaked his arm around her waist as they went down the steps and took their place next to a baffled and ecstatic Rhaenyra, (y/n) subtly nodded and side eyed Rhaenyra letting her know she is her for her.

As Viserys reaffirmed Lucerys claim and Rhaenys announced the betrothal of Baela and Rhaena (y/n) was ready to turn and hug her dear niece when Vaemond stepped in front of the king, interrupting the glorious moment.

“You break law and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir, don’t you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon, No, I will not allow it”

“Allow it? I do not think anyone hear asked for your opinion Ser…. Apologies I haven’t been at court in so long, what is your name?”

(Y/n)s words sliced through Vaemond like Valyrian steel and Rhaenyra struggled to hide her chuckle, Daemon stood proudly by her side though his grip tightened around her waist when Vaemonds eyes fell on her for a brief moment before he pointed to Lucerys.

“THAT! is no true Velaryon and certainly not a nephew of mine”

Rhaenyra as the mother that she is took a step forward to stand closer to Vaemond and in front of Lucerys, what no one had seen was an important question that (y/n) had whispered at her husband.

“Which side is your sword on today?”

“Go to your chambers, you’ve said enough”

“Lucerys is my true born grandson and you are no more than the second son of drift mark”

“You may run your house as you see fit, but you will not decide the future of mine, my house survived the doom”

“To which you owe it to much greater men than you Vaemond, men that knew their place and played their part in history, something that you refuse to do”

“And you think that you can tell me what my place is? Your brother skipped over you and gave the name of heir to your niece, the gods know what you have done to make him skip over you and your… husband, my name survived and gods be damned I will not see it ended on the account of this”

“Say it, say it”

Daemon antagonised the man, (y/n) assumed her position and slipped away from Daemons grip, her hand gliding from his back all the way down to his sword, dark sister, and pulled it out the sound of metal brushing against its scabbard was enough to make (y/n) grind her teeth in annoyance, thankfully no one seemed to pay attention to what she was up to.

Except Daemon whom had already a mischievous grin tugging at his lips as he internally thanked whoever blessed him to change his mind and was now going to be a witness on this wonderful event and as he viewed it “important milestone” in his lady wife’s life.

Vaemond was caught in his own fury and sense of entitlement to see his end coming, even if he had seen (y/n) with a sword he would pay her no mind, a man of such ignorance wouldn’t feel threaten by a woman with a swollen belly or any woman for that matter.

“Her children are BASTARDS and she.is.a.whore”

“I will have your tongue for that”

Daemon watched with pride as his wife lifted the sword and with one clean slice Vaemonds head was cut right above his tongue. Enora was taken aback by her mothers acts while her two siblings Alastor and Aelia hid behind their fathers legs to avoid witnessing the gruesome sight of the corpse at such a young age.

(Y/n) stood still as the sword touched the ground to support her, glaring down at the man that had so much to say, a man that thought himself as indestructible and yet he laid on the cold floor as his blood gushed out of him and pooled on the ground.

“He can keep his tongue, to explain his treachery to the gods”

“Disarm her”

Otto commanded as his voice boomed through the throne room like a proper king that would command his kings guards to obviously attack (y/n), though the real king -Viserys- had just opened his mouth to stop this when Daemon took only a step forward.

“Don’t you dare”

Daemon warned them, in a rather surprisingly composed way for the situation Daemon approached her and took the sword from her, wiping it away at his clothes lazily before he placed it back on its original spot, his hand brushed a few strands of hair that had moved and let it glide behind her shoulder, he preferred it when her hair was out of her face, so he can fully take in her beauty.

(Y/n) was seen smiling brightly, basking in her accomplishment that was so grotesque that some reported that a numerous ladies that had been witnesses had fainted or vomited at the sight.

“You must rest, my love”

“Before that”

(Y/n) proclaimed, she left her husbands side momentarily only to stand before Rhaenyra, her hands going up to cup her nieces cheeks and place a kiss on top of the heiress head, a gesture that held such affection and compassion, (y/n) had Rhaenyra in her heart and her mind as her own daughter, images of the princess running careless on the grass and finding refuge in (y/n)s hug flashed before (y/n)s eyes.

“My dear niece”

“(Y/n)” Rhaenyra breathed out

“I will never leave you, ever”

Requests are open!

[gloomwitchwrites]

Misunderstanding

Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, possessive / jealous Thorin, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, established relationship, table sex

Word Count: 1.5k

A misunderstanding gives Thorin cause to remind you that you're his.

A/N: For @protosslady

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

“My queen, how should we allocate these funds?”

You glance at the parchment and frown. With Erebor reclaimed, reconstruction has begun, but with it comes all sorts of complications and roadblocks. Most of Erebor needs serious repair and attention. The majority of the remaining population lives outside, something that Thorin is increasingly growing upset about. He wants his people back home, and that is admirable, but with Smaug previously making a home here, the structural integrity of some portions of Erebor are in question.

Sighing, you consider all the options before answering. “Let us focus on residential areas for these. When those spaces are suitable for habitation, we can begin moving people out of tents and into homes. That is priority.”

“Of course, my queen.” The aging dwarven men around you bow deeply, many of their long, gray beards brushing the ground.

As they straighten, the door to your private study bursts open. Thorin stands in the doorway. There is a fire in his gaze and his chest heaves as if he’s just run a mile. It’s startling. He’s upset, but you’re not sure why.

Everyone around you turns and bows toward their king.

Thorin’s gaze passes over each of them before landing on you. He strides into the room, purpose in every step.

“Leave us,” he commands, his voice ringing loud and clear in the room.

They all bow a second time before quickly collecting their things and making a swift exit. Thorin approaches, and you move toward him, reaching out once the last of them have closed the door behind them.

“Thorin—”

Your husband reaches for you, pulls you in by the waist until you’re pressed up against him. His hand is on the back of your neck, the small hairs catch in his fingers as Thorin slowly arches your throat.

The look of hunger in his eyes is different. He wants you—needs you, but there is something else swirling there, lingering in his heart, making you question this sudden intensity.

“I need to kiss you,” he says, and it’s almost a groan.

“My lips are right here,” you reply with a soft giggle. “You may always kiss me whenever you wish.”

Thorin shakes his head slowly. “I’m not talking about your mouth.” Thorin leans in, his lips almost brushing yours, but his free hand grabs at your upper thigh, indicating where Thorin is wanting to put this mouth.

“Oh,” is all you say in surprise.

The hand around your neck slides away, and then Thorin is gripping your hips, moving to the undersides of your thighs to lift you off the stone floor. You wrap your arms around his neck, and Thorin deposits you on a nearby table.

While he is careful with you, there is an underlying harshness you notice in his gaze. That fire from earlier is still there. It’s like Thorin needs to punish you, or consume you, make you bend to him until you’re nothing but a perfect, pliant thing under his hands. The idea of it warms you between your legs. Your thighs rub together and there is no hiding how slick you are.

Thorin pushes your legs apart and steps between them. He starts at your knees, then your thighs, hips, and up the sides of your body until his hands grip the front of your dress.

“I’m feeling impatient,” he says, before putting all his strength behind his next movement.

With two quick jerks, Thorin rips the front of your bodice open, tearing the dress cleanly in two. Before you can even utter a verbal protest, Thorin’s lips are pressing against yours in a demanding, hungry kiss.

“I’ll buy you more,” he murmurs before his hands return to your body, this time caressing bare thigh. His touch is a forge fire, and you burn, surrendering to him as you begin to fall back against the table, legs widening as he settles between them.

You moan as Thorin kisses his way up your leg and to the inside of your thigh. Every brush of his lips sends pulses of heat from his mouth to your pussy.

“Please,” you whimper as Thorin’s lips brush against the spot that’s aching for his touch. “Please.”

“Tell me,” he says, the pad of his thumb parting you. “Is this for me?”

“Yes,” you reply as you hear just how wet you are.

“Only me?”

“Yes,” you say again, voice nearly breaking as he strokes over you.

Thorin’s hands grip your hips and tug you closer to the edge of the table. Then he pushes your legs wide open until the insides of your thighs feel stretched. He drags his fingertips through your wetness.

Your soft moan becomes a strangled gasp as he licks a wide stripe up your sex. Mewling with pleasure, you grab at him, one hand tugging on the neckline of his tunic, the other digging against the table.

“Delicious,” he groans. The tip of his tongue circles your clit, and without thinking, you pull hard on him, ripping some of the fabric.

His hand snatches your wrist. Thorin guides it down to the side of your thigh. Then, he grabs the other one. Does the same. With one hand, Thorin keeps your hands from straying. His grip is unyielding, and while you tug a bit, you meet firm resistance.

Thorin shakes his head. Then his head dips back between your legs, and you’re completely lost to him. Your eyelids flutter shut as he sucks your clit and traces around your entrance with a free finger. Then he presses in, and you groan loudly.

“Mine?”

“Yours.”

Thorin is inserting a second finger, pumping them in and out of you as his tongue laps at your clit. The coiling tension within your core twists tighter with every drag of his fingers and each swipe of his tongue.

Thorin curls his fingers and your back arches off the table. You feel his grin, and then he stays the course, working you at that perfect pace until you fall apart around him, crying out his name, the sound echoing around the room.

Thorin retreats but he does not back away. Instead, his mouth is on your bare skin, biting and sucking, leaving marks behind as he trails up your body. They are harsh, demanding, possessive marks of ownership. Rarely is Thorin ever like this, but he does not stop until he makes it to your mouth, sliding his tongue inside so that you can taste yourself.

This lingering moment is short. The second Thorin breaks the kiss, he undoes the front of his buckle, and the two of you are desperately pushing it away.

When Thorin slides in, you both moan loudly. You fall back against the table, clinging to his arms as he sets a pounding, steady pace that rocks the table. Each thrust makes the wood vibrate at the legs scrape across the stone floor. This a frenzied mating. A dire need. Whatever has possessed Thorin makes him hungry for you in a way you’ve rarely seen him.

His next thrust hits deep, and the friction is intense, pulling the coil tighter again until you’re keening, leaning up from the table as your body squeezes around him. That orgasm breaks him. His resolve snaps, and then you’re trapped beneath him, your fingernails digging into his skin as Thorin takes for himself.

He groans, leans forward, forehead resting against your own as he finishes. You feel it pooling within you, threatening to escape the moment he pulls away.

“I heard that you spent most of the day with a man,” murmurs Thorin, his nose lightly brushing against yours.

The middle of your brow scrunches in confusion. “I don’t understand. Why would that upset you?”

“It was reported to me that the relationship seemed…close.”

Frowning, you think back to the events of the day. You consider every place you visited and everyone you talked to. As you shuffle through all the possibilities, you pause on one, and then laugh so hard you snort.

“What?” he asks, drawing back slightly.

“Did the person reporting on me mention that man was my older brother?”

The tops of Thorin’s cheeks turn a bright red. “They—no. They failed to mention that.”

While part of you is annoyed that Thorin would immediately gravitate toward the worst, you also know that he’s under immense stress, the kind that might tear away and chip at his own confidence.

“Next time, when someone tells you something like that again, what are going to do?”

“Talk to you first,” he replies, his cheeks growing even redder.

“Although, I did like this.” You emphasize your meaning by rolling your hips, moving along his softening length. “Perhaps I should be a little friendly with an actual stranger. What will that get me?” you tease.

Thorin drags you off the table and into his arms. “That’ll get you bent over the nearest surface.”

“Is that a promise, my king?”

“Willing to test me?”

You grin, knowing that you certainly will.

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @mrsdurin @therealbloom @ninman82

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

I wanted to ask, what would it be like if Fischl had an S/O who not only plays along with her, but is just as much as a Chuunibyou as her? I'd kinda like to see her reaction to that. Maybe see what the other Mondstadt folks think as well? Oh, and bonus points if the S/O does the whole Shining Finger thing. from Gundam. That "this hand of mine glows with an awesome powerrr!" thing.

(Genshin Impact/Honkai: Star Rail)

Fischl, Ayaka, Rosaria, Eula, Furina, Shinobu, Bronya, and Seele with a very dramatic S/O

YOU ACTIVATED MY SLEEPER AGENT KEYWORDS, YOU MENTIONED GUNDAM, AND SPECIFICALLY G GUNDAM

Fischl's eyes seemed to gleam when she first realized that her S/O not only indulged her antics, but even joined her!

Their title was almost as impressive as her own, 'The King/Queen of Hearts'!

(Fischl) "Tell me dear, S/O, how can the fabled 'King/Queen of Hearts' measure up to the Prinzessin der Verurteilung?"

S/O clenched their fist and raised it in front of their chest triumphantly.

(S/O) "You may have your electric arrows, but I have these GOLDEN FINGERS!"

Oz on the other hand was completely suffering.

Well, at least he didn't have to translate for S/O, they were completely blunt and to the point, unlike his master.

Fischl did adore S/O for how brave and caring they were, but it was during a battle that made her heart first skip a beat.

(S/O) "HERE I GO!-"

S/O's pyro vision flared up as their fists began glowing a flaming gold, catching both Oz and Fischl by surprise.

(Fischl) "W-What?! S/O was serious with knowing an ultimate technique?!"

(Oz) "I thought they were in a similar boat to you, mein Fräulein-"

(S/O) "THIS HAND OF MINE IS BURNING RED! IT'S LOUD ROAR TELLS ME TO GRASP VICTORY!"

They rushed past Fischl and Oz, who could only watch in awe.

(S/O) "ERUPTING, BURNING...FIIINGEEEEERRRR!"

Their fist immediately crashed through a Ruin Guard (somehow), and lifted them off the ground with one arm.

(S/O) "AND NOW, HEAT END!"

The Ruin Guard exploded violently afterwards, with S/O's fist going back to normal.

(Oz) "Wow, really?"

(Fischl) THAT IS SO COOL! "...Ahem, a fine display, dear S/O."

Everyone in Mondstadt thought that Fischl had just found another roleplayer that took things way too seriously and were somewhat dreading talking to them.

Only to realize S/O wasn't doing a bit, despite the fact they were just as dramatic as her.

They were just insane.

Ayaka knew her S/O was a bit on the...flashy side, to put it gently.

They screamed all their attack names at the top of their lungs, yet she knew no one was better and hand to hand combat than they were. Especially when they began actually glowing red or ignited into flames.

All that did not matter terribly much to Ayaka. S/O was someone she loved, for their caring and valiant nature.

But, someone like S/O was something she had never expected to face, and they both drove her insane, and yet brought contrasting calmness to her life.

Nothing however would ever compare to meeting S/O's master for the first time.

Ayaka and S/O were travelling down the streets of Inazuma, until everyone, including the guards were watching someone coming down the street.

(Ayaka) "...Is...that person standing on their horse?"

Suddenly, S/O's eyes widened, and rushed through the crowd, unintentionally leaving Ayaka behind. She quickly followed behind and saw a man standing perfectly on the horse as it trotted along the streets of Inazuma, arms crossed and an expression that was razor focused.

(S/O) "MASTER!"

The man's head turned to S/O, and both of them exchanged a glance before Ayaka saw their master leap off the horse, extending a fist as they landed perfectly in front of them.

(Strange Man) "Answer me, S/O! THE SCHOOL OF THE UNDEFEATED OF THE EAST!"

S/O knelt down as they struck a dramatic pose, answering their master.

(S/O) "THE WINDS OF THE KING!"

In the middle of the city, they began exchanging rapid punches that traded perfectly blow for blow, so fast that even Ayaka struggled to keep track of.

(Strange Man) "ZENSHIN!"

(S/O) "KEIRETSU!"

(Both) "TEMPA KYOURAN!"

Both their fists collided before their other arms extended outwards in sync, screaming once again.

(Both) "LOOK! THE EAST, IS BUUUURRNING REEEED!"

Ayaka watched with a strange mixture of horror, second-hand embarrassment, admiration, and jealousy.

(Ayaka) ...I-Is it possible for S/O to teach me how to do that too...?

When Rosaria first met S/O, she thought they were going to be a troublemaker.

She was correct, but they fought to keep Mondstadt safe as much as she did.

But while she did it with subtlety, S/O grabbed subtlety with their literal shining golden fingers, and made it violently explode, all while screaming their attack.

The first time she had watched S/O perform their "Shining Finger" attack on a treasure hoarder, she stood there completely slackjawed.

(Rosaria) "...Oh my Bratabos, you're completely serious."

Rosaria thought S/O was doing some kind of bit like this 'Fischl' character she had heard about.

No, they were just that dramatic for no real apparent reason, and they had the strength to back their nonsense up.

She even doubted that herself could take S/O in a straight fight.

In a strange way, it attracted her to them. They were clearly not afraid of what anyone thought of them, only caring if the people they loved were safe. She had respect for that.

But...why were they like this?

They couldn't just defeat their enemies normally, no, they HAD to explode. Every single one of them.

Sometimes S/O's Vision wasn't even active, she would just see them explode after they had shouted "HEAT END!".

(Rosaria) "You are both the best and the worst person I know of to clean up a mess of bandits discreetly."

(S/O) "Hah! The King/Queen of Hearts doesn't need to fight discreetly! I only fight with my fists!"

Honestly, as strange as this was, she also found it to be the funniest thing in the world. Maybe there SHOULD be more people like S/O and Fischl after all.

Eula couldn't exactly call anyone out for being "flashy".

But her S/O took that word to a whole new level. Especially with their manner of speech.

It made Eula look polite in comparison. S/O appeared to be playing the bit of a mysterious, strong, and rude warrior who only thought with their fists.

She had seen them become soft and loving, hell they were a couple, she knows they can become serious.

But after watching them fight a few times, she's starting to believe that S/O wasn't doing a bit like herself, and she did not know how to feel about that.

Eula watched S/O pull out a sword made of pure flames from their hands, wielding it in both their palms.

(S/O) "THIS HAND OF MINE GLOWS WITH AN AWESOME POWER! IT'S BURNING GRIP TELLS ME TO DEFEAT YOU!"

S/O slashed apart the Ruin Hunter with every swing, scorching the grass ablaze with their passion.

(S/O) "TAKE THIS! MY LOVE, MY ANGER, AND ALL OF MY SORROW! SHINING FINGER SWOOOOOOORD!"

With one final slash, the Ruin Hunter was split in half, with S/O leaping back as their pyro vision died down slowly.

Honestly, Eula didn't know if she should be impressed, cringing, or not be thinking that was one of the coolest things she had ever seen.

Probably a mixture of all three.

Honestly? Furina kind of gets it.

You spend so long doing a bit, it kind of becomes a part of you.

That being said, Furina isn't entirely sure if S/O's behavior was entirely theatrics.

But that's fine! It's a part of them after all, not like she had any room to criticize.

Whenever S/O wasn't in the room, she would be clenching her fists and throwing punches in the air, mimicking their tone.

(Furina) "How did they say it...? Ah, right! This hand of mine glows with an awesome power!"

Furina giggled as she said it out loud before putting on a 'serious expression' frowning as she concentrated.

(Furina) "It's loud roar tells me to grasp victory! SHINING, FIINGEEER!" giggle

As she turned to face the door, she nearly leapt out of her skin to see S/O watching her with a highly unamused face.

(Furina) "GAH! S-S/O! How long were you-"

(S/O) "The School of Master Asia cannot be replicated by simply mimicking my actions, Furina. It comes from within!"

Furina pouted a little.

(Furina) "It doesn't look that different from theatre, S/O! You're as dramatic as I am!"

(S/O) "Dramatic? Don't be absurd, I'm completely-"

(Furina) "You are not telling me you can say all that with a straight face every single time!"

(S/O) "...Can you not?"

...Either S/O was the best actor, or they lacked the self awareness that she (kinda) had.

Oh good Archons, please no.

Shinobu already had to reign in Itto and the others, now her lover was adding fuel to the fire.

Or more like an explosion to it.

S/O had taught Itto and the other members of the Arataki gang their strange dances.

Now instead of dealing with one, she had to deal with seven other idiots shouting about Erupting Burning Fingers.

(Shinobu) "S/O, you're a terrible influence."

(S/O) "Huh? What are you-"

(Shinobu) "Sara had just told me that Itto and the others were making a ruckus in the public square."

(S/O) "What ruckus can the dances my master and I-"

(Shinobu) "They're trying to match the speed of you and Master Asia, but end up only punching themselves in the face."

(S/O) "Hah! Looks like I need to train them harder-"

(Shinobu) "S/O."

S/O sighed loudly, adjusting their red headband.

(S/O) "Fine. I'll reign them in myself."

Personally, she thinks their nature is...strange, to put it mildly.

She has no idea how S/O and their master became so eccentric, but they meant as well as she and the others did so...Not too much harm could be done?

And admittedly, she did find it really cool that S/O's vision could make things explode in such a spectacular fashion.

But why did so many people in her life have to have some kind of screw loose with them?

There was only one word that could come to Bronya's mind watching S/O in action.

(Bronya) "What?"

She had been trained all her life to be noble, courteous, and elegant.

And here came S/O with all the elegance of a cannon.

S/O fought inside a machine that mimicked their actions 1 to 1. While the suit itself was strong, it was S/O who made it surpass the limits.

Their knowledge on martial arts was unsurpassed by anyone she had ever known.

But in a strange way, it made Bronya admire them. They wore their heart on their sleeve, with no one telling them how to live. That was really admirable.

And secretly, she found herself quoting S/O many times as she was training with her weapons. Much to her amusement and horror.

But the first time she watched them in action could not compare to anything.

The machine's wings flared out and formed an energy halo, with S/O's hand becoming a blinding fiery light.

Their chest opened up and revealed a large glowing orb, with the symbol of the King/Queen of hearts flashing in front of it.

Before Bronya could even question what S/O was doing, she watched them fly past all the Silvermane guards and save them by driving their robotic fist into the enemy.

(S/O) "BURNING, FIIIIINGEEEER!"

On command, the creature exploded into a brilliant light, making everyone recoil as their enemies fled in terror.

S/O turned around, their machine crossing its arms and standing dramatically on top of a hill, staring down at everyone.

(S/O) "Behold, THE SCHOOL OF MASTER ASIA! THE UNDEFEATED SCHOOL OF THE EAST!"

(Silvermane Guard) "...O-Okay...?"

Bronya had much of the same reaction, but a slight blush overtook her cheeks.

(Bronya) "That was...incredible!"

(Silvermane Guard) "Ma'am?"

(Bronya) "A-AHEM! Men, we continue onwards! Remember our training, and show that we are not to be surpassed!"

It was completely stupid how S/O shouted their moves but...damn, if it wasn't effective.

Seele sighs whenever she watches S/O in action.

Their moves were completely unnecessary, way too flashy, and the thing that annoyed her the most?

They worked. Like, there was nothing to counter S/O's idiotic moves, nor anything that could actually survive them.

It worked, and she hated that it did.

Seele simply steps out the way of an incoming monster part that had exploded spectacularly.

(Seele) "I will never understand how that machine of yours makes everything it touches detonate. It's like everything's made out of Natasha's grenades to you."

(S/O) "HAH! You are just watching the King/Queen of Hearts in action, Seele! Try to keep up!"

Her eye twitched. Oh now it was ON!

She had a great deal of respect for her S/O, truthfully. But it was dwarfed by her annoyance of them as well.

They would go on about complete nonsense, and yet when they were together, S/O could be a surprisingly normal and honest person.

Then she would watch them in the fight club and watch S/O in their machine grab someone's head, ready to make it explode.

(S/O) "Article 1: A Unit whose head section has been destroyed is disqualified!"

(Man) "H-HEY! THAT'S MY ACTUAL HEAD!"

(S/O) "Then I have won this fight."

Seele had never heard about these articles, or schools on this planet. Maybe it was an offworld thing.

...God, she hoped that whoever trained S/O wouldn't meet Natasha or the kids.

[crimxonwrites]

Blood-painted kisses | Aemond Targaryen x female!OC | Chapter 4 ❝Cruel and Vile❞

☽➛ Summary: Nothing satietes Maehrys Velaryon's hunger as well as revenge. Growing up at the Red Keep as the bastard of Rhaenyra Targaryen did not come trouble-free. Her childhood consisted of bitter words and repulsive looks from nearly everybody in the castle. As she grew older, Maehrys grew meaner. Once the Velaryons return to King's Landing to defend Luke's claim as Lord of Driftmark, Maehrys decides that it is time for the people who hurt her in the past to pay.

☽➛ Warnings: swearing, bullying, mentions of blood, overall 18+!!!!

☽➛ Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x female!OC ( enemies to lovers to enemies to lovers again?? romance is a subplot)

A/N: Surprise!!!!!!! It's been a year and half, but I'm still writing. TRIGGER WARNING!!!! I will continue this series in 1st person, I feel like this is the only way I can continue it xoxoxo. As always, english is not my first language, feel free to correct me!<3

Masterlist

Chapter 5

My grip tightens around the wooden sword, wishing I held a real Valyrian steel blade in my hand. Aemond’s face remains expressionless as I begin circling him on the training ground. We are alone; almost everyone in the Red Keep has left for supper. Ser Criston took his disgusting assertions and left as well, giving me enough reason to act on my anger. Suddenly, I feel no pain in my shoulder and no shame from Criston’s defeat moments earlier. It is just me, Aemond, and my thirst for a good battle, nay, a good victory. The white-haired man raises a brow. In the dark of the night, I think of Daemon and how Aemond resembles him, just a little bit.

I prime my sword, waiting for him to pick his up. “We are late for supper.” Aemond turns around, and my heart starts galloping. He shall not dismiss me, he shall not underestimate me, he shall not turn his back on me. How dare he? He owes me a fair battle, especially after he attacked me in the library, and my shoulder is clearly still wounded. Wounded, like my pride in this moment.

As a loud, guttural growl escapes from my throat, I swing my sword at the silver-haired man. Aemond quickly turns and avoids my blow, taking me by surprise. Not ready to accept defeat, I swing again and again, my vision blurred and my mind fogged with anger. My blows quickly become useless as Aemond avoids me yet again. Why won’t he fight back? I notice his patience wearing thin and take the opportunity, hitting him in the shoulder as hard as I can. “Enough!” he yells, gripping the wooden sword and pulling it from my hands with so much force that I wince in pain, my palms burning from the harsh wood. “I shall not fight a child.” With those last words, Aemond walks away swiftly without looking back.

I am left alone. Child. That word makes my stomach turn. He thought me a child, yet he was the one aimlessly harassing me in the library moments earlier. How could he be such a hypocrite? When I am sure Aemond is truly gone, I allow my exhausted body to rest, falling to my knees and placing my burning palms on my sweaty forehead. If only I had a dragon.

-

The air is so tense in the supper chamber, I cannot stand it. Every breath I take, imaginary fumes come out of my nostrils. I feel restless, as Aemond had defeated me twice, along with Ser Criston Cole, whom I have begun to despise. It is not the same hatred I feel for Aemond. No, I feel repulsed by Ser Criston, disgusted even, and there’s something in my gut telling me I am right to feel that way.

Aemond’s piercing look catches my attention. My whole family, along with the three silver-haired children and Queen Alicent, are waiting for my grandsire, Viserys, to make an appearance. I grow restless as my stomach growls in hunger. The only thing I have in front of me is a chalice full of wine, and I think about downing it twice. I dismiss that thought quickly, as Aegon is already drunk as a dog. He made a fool of himself in front of everyone just moments earlier. I do not want to make a fool of myself.

The doors open with a loud creak as the doormen announce His Majesty’s name. The smell of death and decay thickens the air, and soon enough, I lose my appetite. Viserys takes a seat between Alicent and Rhaenyra and starts to talk. His words are muffled in my ears as I watch Aemond exchange dirty looks with my brothers. Once again, I hold my head in my aching palms, and I cannot help but feel like I am back on the training grounds, left alone and ashamed after losing to him again.

A few drinks later, the King is carried away to his chambers, as his health does not allow him to continue supper. My stomach is still empty, as is my cup. I signal Jace to pour some more wine as servants carry a pig and place it in front of Aemond. Luke chuckles at Aemond, and I feel something I hadn’t felt in a while: sympathy towards my uncle. We both shared a painful childhood. I glance at his eyepatch, and then glance at my scar. The wine must have done a number on me because Aemond slams the table, suddenly getting up and startling everyone except me.

“A final tribute.” He raises his cup, keeping his eye on Luke. “To the health of my nephews and niece.” He moves his cold gaze towards Jace. “Jace, Luke, Joffrey.” And finally, his eye moves swiftly to me and remains there. “And Maehrys.” I try as hard as I can to keep my face expressionless. “Each of them handsome, wise,” he continues, and I know what’s coming next “and strong.” Fucker.

“Aemond—” Alicent’s voice is full of worry and authority.

“Come, let us drain our cups for these four strong people,” Aemond continues.

“I dare you to say that again.” Jace rises from his chair and takes a step towards Aemond. Intoxicated, my first instinct is to get up and follow my brother. I smell a fight.

“Why? It was only a compliment,” Aemond says, and I recognize his tone. He is playing dirty, just as he had in the library and on the training field, every time he faces me or my brothers. “Do you not think of yourself as strong?”

Aemond is interrupted by a weak punch thrown by Jace. I grin, eager to join the fight, but before I can take a step, I feel my mother’s hand on mine. She shakes her head and I sit back down, reminding myself that I must not make a fool of myself.

“Your sister’s punch hurts more than yours.” Aemond shoves Jace and walks away.

“I am still so famished,” I announce, throwing a ripe grape into my mouth.

After supper, Rhaenyra sends word for me to join her in her chambers.

“Have you not had enough food? Should I call for the cook?” Rhaenyra asks, her tone growing worried.

“No, Mother, these grapes are splendid.” I sit on the divan. “Why am I here?” I ask, looking at Rhaenyra’s slightly disheveled appearance.

“You never really knew your grandsire,” Rhaenyra starts. “Yet you share so many of his passions.” Passions? I never knew King Viserys loved combat and hated his uncles. “History, for example. You share his passion for the histories of the Seven Kingdoms.” My cheeks burn in surprise and a bit of embarrassment. It is true, I do love to read about history, but dragon history in particular, and, on some occasions, Old Valyria. I doubt that my grandfather’s passion for reading came from a burning resentment because he did not claim a dragon. After all, he had Balerion the Black Dread, Aegon the Conqueror’s dragon.

“You are my dearest daughter,” Rhaenyra says, moving closer to me. “And I love you immensely.” Rhaenyra signals her handmaiden to grab something. The handmaiden hands me an old book. “Tomorrow is your name day, and your grandfather wished for you to have this.” She hands me the same book about Old Valyria that I already read when I was younger.

-

I do not have the heart to tell my mother that I have already read the book my grandsire gave me, so I thank her and decide to go back to my chambers. We are to leave for Dragonstone tomorrow, and I cannot be happier. As much as the Red Keep fills me with nostalgia, I have grown to hate it in these past few days. Before I can reach my chambers, I see Alicent walking down the hall, accompanied by Aemond.

“Good evening, Your Grace.” I grip the book harder as I bow.

"'Tis late indeed to be wandering these halls unaccompanied, Princess," she says, and I nod.

“I was just about to retire for the night.” I speak, making eye contact with her. “We depart for Dragonstone on the morrow."

“Very well,” she says and begins to leave, but Aemond does not move. “Aemond?”

“May I have a moment alone with my niece?” he asks, and Alicent continues walking, leaving us alone. I hate the way he speaks. My niece, as if I am property, and not a person.

I thank the Gods that the guards to my mother’s chamber are not far, because I am unarmed, exhausted, and slightly drunk.

“How old will you be on the morrow?” he asks, and I take a step back, putting some distance between us.

"I believe the hour is past midnight, so it is now my seventeenth name day." I frown. “Why are you asking?”

Aemond sighs. “And yet, you remain unwed.” He takes a step closer, and my heart begins galloping. His face is slightly lit by the torches, and I cannot read his expression well. The corners of his mouth are downturned, and his eye is dark. He does look a bit flushed, most likely from the wine he drank during supper. By the tone of his voice, he sounds annoyed.

“What is it you are implying?” I ask, dazed and confused. Aemond shakes his head, and I cannot help but notice how perfect he looks. Despite our fight, despite Jace’s punch, despite everything that happened today, he keeps his appearance as clean as a dragon’s fire. In this moment, I think I do not want to hit him.

“When the King dies,” he starts, his voice low and a bit desperate. “If your mother sits on the Iron Throne,” he continues, “my mother will want us to wed.” Aemond whispers the last few words, and my eyes widen.

“First, when my mother sits upon the Iron Throne.” I correct him, whispering. “Second, why would your mother even suggest such a thing?” I continue. “I do not feel anything but hate towards you.”

He sighs, again, and this time I can smell the wine on his hot breath. “It is not about feeling, stupid girl.” He grabs my shoulders, but it does not hurt, and I drop my book on the floor. “It’s about politics, and how we are both unwed.” Aemond speaks to me like I am a child again. “You must find a husband before that happens.” He continues, and I smell desperation in his voice. I gather every bit of strength that I have left for today and slap him so hard that his head turns to the right. For a moment, he appears taken aback, but as the seconds stretch, a grin slowly spreads across his face. “You hit harder than your brother, still.” He wipes the blood from his lower lip and looks down at me.

“My mother would never allow me to be wed to such a…” I stumble on my words, and I curse the wine that has clouded my tongue.

“Handsome man?” he interrupts me, and my heart quickens in pace. How can he jest in this moment?

“Cruel and vile man,” I say, finding my words at last. His gaze remains locked on mine, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

"And yet, here we are," he taunts, his voice low and dripping with mockery. "Two souls bound by fate and disdain." Aemond must be drunker than I imagined.

I glare at him, my anger boiling over. "You think your arrogance and cruelty can sway me? You’re nothing but a wretched excuse for a man." Things are escalating swiftly.

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming. "You’re no prize yourself, bastard."

The space between us feels electric, charged with a mix of hatred and something more. My pulse races, not just from the fury but from the undeniable tension in the air. I can almost taste the animosity between us.

Without warning, he grabs my shoulders yet again, pulling me sharply against him. The intensity of his touch catches me off guard. Our faces are mere inches apart, and for a heartbeat, time seems to freeze.

"Perhaps it is the very fire we share that ignites this conflict," he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin.

My breath hitches, and my heart beats fast as his lips hover dangerously close. “You’re insufferable,” I manage, though my voice is almost a whisper.

"Yet you cannot deny the truth of it," he replies, his gaze locked onto mine with intensity.

In a sudden, reckless moment, I close the distance between us. Our lips crash together, the kiss fierce and consuming. The anger that once defined us melds with an unexpected, scorching passion. The taste of blood and wine lingers as our mouths move in a heated, desperate dance, challenging the very essence of our loathing.

As we finally pull away, breathless and disheveled, the fire in our eyes is matched only by the shared, tumultuous resolve. The hatred remains, but now it burns alongside something darker, something neither of us can ignore.

Also read on: AO3

Taglist: @watermel0nsugarhigh @ondereleutheromania @literishdegree99

[flowerandblood]

The Impossible Choice (22)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: angst, violence, domination ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

Aemond's journey on Vhagar to Winterfell, which would take a week on horseback, took him two days. The North was like a white, glistening wilderness to him, once in a while small, grey villages and the strongholds of minor lords could be seen on the ground.

When he finally reached his destination he had to admit that Lord Stark's fortress impressed him − his great stone fortress floated among the snow-covered hills.

Vhagar's arrival led to panic and the local population fleeing away from her resting place − Aemond ordered her to stay where he thought that her large body would do the least damage, on a hill away from the stronghold.

He was welcomed by the guards, to whom he announced who he was and to whom he was coming.

He was received with honours and hospitality; the young lord, Cregan Stark, sat with his advisors behind a long wooden table, looking at him with concern.

Aemond knew that the Starks had never broken their promises, and his father had sworn allegiance to his whore-sister.

He had to change his mind.

"My Lord." He said lowly, nodding. Lord Stark also nodded in response.

"My Prince. I must admit I am surprised to see a messenger from the Red Keep in areas so far from King's Landing. Explain to me with what matter you come with." He said calmly, but also with a kind of suspicion that he did not like − he knew that he had to be careful with his words.

"I come on behalf of my brother-king, who has expressed his wish for you to pay him homage in King's Landing, along with the other lords." He said matter-of-factly, not taking his eye off him.

He, however, did not lower his gaze either; he furrowed his brow, surprised, glancing quickly at the maester, who whispered something in his ear. There was a commotion behind the table.

He found with amusement that the word of his brother's coronation had not reached Winterfell before he arrived.

He thought this was a good thing, as he had taken them by surprise and could press them.

Cregan Stark grunted loudly, looking at him uncertainly.

"What of your half-sister, the legitimate heir to the throne established by your father-king?" He asked, trying to hide his nervousness and stress, his hand clenched into fist on the table in front of him.

He pressed his lips together, wondering how much he could allow himself with him.

He figured that the boy was about Jace's age.

"My father, on his deathbed, decided that he would not go against the will of his ancestors, and that his first-born son should sit on the Iron Throne." He said with certainty and smirked, seeing the commotion behind the table again, the tentative conversation distracting the young lord.

"Silence!" He called out loudly, raising his hand, the men around him fell quiet. Lord Stark hid his face in his hands, letting the air out quietly. He wanted to say something, but didn't have time; a guard stepped inside, bowing low.

"My Lord, forgive my boldness, but a messenger from Dragonstone has arrived." He said quickly, his heart pounding fast in anticipation, a cold sweat run down his back.

He prayed it was Luke.

He pressed his lips together as Jace was led inside; the boy stopped abruptly, clearly frightened at the sight of him − he felt like laughing at this pathetic sight. Jace, however, pulled himself together and walked closer, still at a safe distance from him, bowing to the young lord.

"My Lord. I come by order of my queen-mother to remind you of your father's oath of allegiance to her years ago." He said in trembling voice, straightening up.

This was something that he had not anticipated.

Lord Stark stared at them with his mouth open, himself not knowing what to make of the situation, horrified and confused. He shook his head, pressing his fingers together between his furrowed brows, letting the air out with impatience.

"I'm lost. Do we have a King or a queen then?" He asked, clearly upset and frightened by the fact that a skirmish was about to take place in his court that completely did not concern him. He grinned mischievously at his question, looking at Jace with a satisfied expression on his face.

"My bastard nephew is flying around the kingdom, trying to steal my brother's throne." He said lightly. Jace lit up with a blush of shame and clenched his jaw, looking away, intertwining his hands behind his back in an attempt to calm himself.

"My uncle and his family have committed treason, planting a usurper, drunkard and rapist on the throne." Said Jace, looking at the young lord.

Cregan Stark laughed at their words, shaking his head, clearly disbelieving what was happening before his eyes − his advisors also seemed confused, looking at them uncertainly.

He thought with rage that it had become a spectacle.

"After your whore mother, who should sit on the Iron Throne? You, Lord Strong?" He asked tauntingly; Jace almost threw himself at him but the guards stopped him, catching him under the shoulders. He laughed out loud, shaking his head, furious and amused at the same time.

"Laugh, uncle. Unlike you, Lord Stark and the North know what honour and loyalty are. The North never forgets. Luke will remind your wife's father of that as well." He said with satisfaction, as if he thought that he had found his soft spot and made no mistake.

He tried to do his best to restrain his involuntary reaction but couldn't, his eye widened in shock, his brow furrowed in concern.

Luke will remind your wife's father of this as well.

Luke flew to Storm's End.

He no longer cared about Lord Stark's decision, whether he would support his brother or not − he felt like rushing out and flying on Vhagar straight to Lord Baratheon's stronghold.

"Enough of this childish pushing. My father supported the heir chosen by King Viserys and I will not question his decision. Is there any document confirming the King's change of will or am I merely to take your word for it, my Prince?" Lord Stark asked him, and he pressed his lips together, turning his head away impatiently.

He had nothing to back up his words, because he didn't believe them himself.

He saw Jace throw him a look full of satisfaction and thought that he would pierce his skull with his sword one day.

"If my words mean nothing to you, Lord Stark, so be it. However, be prepared that when me and Vhagar return, not even a stone will be left here."

He left the stronghold angry and bitter; he thought that until Jace arrived everything had gone according to plan and cursed loudly at the thought that he would have to return to King's Landing reporting his failure.

His brother ordered him to return to the Red Keep immediately after his conversation with Lord Stark, but he made a different decision.

He ordered Vhagar to fly to the skies and headed for Storm's End.

Through the storms and heavy rains, the journey took him longer than he had planned and he wondered if he would still find his wife there.

He wasn't sure if it was a good idea to arrive unannounced, but he was too desperate to wait for her to return to King's Landing.

He would go mad if he had to wait any longer.

When he arrived the weather was similar to when he had come to choose his future wife; all wet, he called out to the guards to lead him inside, and they immediately obeyed his command, recognising him.

It was the middle of the night, and his unannounced visit had brought everyone to their feet − Lord Baratheon was waiting for him in the throne room, dressed hastily in his daytime attire, clearly unhappy to be awakened from his peaceful sleep.

"Forgive me this intrusion, my Lord. I wish to see my wife." He said quickly, water dripping from his wet, white hair onto the stone floor − only now did he feel that he was trembling all over from the cold.

Borros sighed heavily and ordered his servants to take him to his daughter's chamber.

As he stepped inside, his wife jumped up, terrified, looking at him with her mouth parted, lightning and heavy, gusty rain outside the window − it seemed to him that she was not sure whether she was dreaming or not.

"Aemond?" She asked quietly, uncertainly, and for a moment he could not move.

He looked at her gentle face, her large eyes, her loose, shiny hair wonderfully framing her soft cheeks; he could see the outline of her girlish silhouette through the thin material of her nightgown, a body that belonged only to him.

He realised with pain how much he wanted her, the separation of a few days had made his cock pulsate painfully in his breeches.

"Did you speak to him?" He asked impassively, looking at her as if he wanted to devour her.

He felt like throwing himself at her, but he needed to hear it.

To hear that she had obeyed, that she had done what her husband would have wanted her to do.

He saw her press her lips together and tense up all over.

He did not like it.

He felt his heart pounding hard and stepped closer to her; she moved back, looking at him pleadingly, sitting down on her bed.

"We only exchanged a few words, I didn't expect him to come here." She said horrified, clearly noticing on his face how slowly rage began to pulse through his veins − he felt that he was so tense that something in his body was about to burst.

"What did you discuss, sweet wife?" He sneered, a malicious, poisonous threat in his mouth, evidence of the madness that lurked in his mind and heart.

He saw that she feared him now, that she could already see right through him.

"I told him to send my condolences to his mother for the death of her child." She whispered quietly, trembling all over, frightened, waiting anxiously for his reaction.

He felt that if he could, he would have breathed fire with rage.

What right did she have to meddle in these matters?

What right did she have to sympathise with his enemies, to speak to the bastard who had disfigured him for life?

He felt all his frustration, the failure of his mission in Winterfell, his failure as brother and son crush him under its own weight, the fire that burned within him was as black as his heart, consuming even its light, turning everything into a void.

His lips curved in a dangerous, animalistic grin.

"I'd rather you concentrated on giving an heir to me, instead of considering the offspring of others. You're not very successful at it so far, are you?"

He felt his own heart stop when he heard what he left his mouth and he regretted his words immediately.

He saw in her gaze that she didn't believe it either − her face took on an expression that he had never seen before; her eyebrows arched in pain, her eyes looking at him in disbelief as if he had just his her in the stomach with all his strength, her body trembling on the verge of sobbing.

He wanted her to say something.

For her to say that he was a fucking bastard.

For her to ask how dare he speak to her like that.

"Forgive me for being a disappointment to you, my Prince." She said so painfully calm that he couldn't get anything out.

My Prince.

Not my husband.

He stared at her, unable to move, having a complete blank in his mind − his wife lowered her gaze, letting the tears of humiliation and pain leave the corners of her eyes and run down her cheeks.

He wanted to approach her, to wipe them away, to place tender kisses full of devotion and longing on her sweet, soft face, to tell her that he didn't think so, that he had said it in rage only to hurt her.

He couldn't get the words out.

He lowered his gaze, swallowing loudly, horrified by what he had just done.

He had destroyed everything.

Everything they had built together.

He had crushed her, hit her most sensitive spot because she had dared to show compassion to his nephew.

Because she wasn't as cold and calculating as he was.

Because she was a better person.

He saw her turn over on the bed, laying with her back to him; he knew that she was crying, that he had hurt her, stabbed her in the back.

He wanted to approach her and had already taken a step towards her when he heard her voice.

"− please, don't touch me −" She mumbled and he felt the cold flowing through his body, the tightness in his chest from which his brow arched in pain.

"− return with me to King's Landing −" He choked out pleadingly, wishing only that she would forget what he had said.

That he could go back to the moment that he had walked into her chamber and begin all over again, just throw himself on top of her, panting with longing as he had desired.

"− no −"

He stood for a moment longer looking at her with a blank stare, then turned and walked out, closing the door behind him.

He flew through the skies, screaming along with the lightning in the heavens, furious and distraught, pressing his face against his saddle.

He was a mere fool, a weak brat who destroys everything in his path.

He walked into the Red Keep furious, tired and discouraged, the thought of not seeing her for a few more days drove him mad.

He laid down on the bed in his chamber, trying to sleep, exhausted − however after moment his servant entered his chamber, saying that the King was expecting him.

He thought that in the state he was in now, without his wife being able to calm him down, he might have killed him.

Aegon welcomed him in his chamber, sitting at a large table, having just eaten his morning meal.

"Welcome, brother. Sit down and speak." He said lightly, taking a sip of wine, wasting no time since the morning.

He, however, just stood, looking at him indifferently, thinking on whether if he cut his throat now he would be able to throw it at one of his servants.

"Jace came to Winterfell right after me. Fucking honourable Starks don't forget their oaths." He said dispassionately − Aegon sighed heavily, stroking his chin.

"Grandfather will not be pleased." He said lightly, as if his younger borther had just broken a very valuable vase and was about to be punished for it − he chuckled under his breath at that thought.

"Of course. He's the one who actually wears the crown, not you." He hissed; Aegon looked at him warningly, and for a moment they stared at each other, tension hanging in the air between them. Finally, however, his brother grinned as if remembering something.

"I am sending you and Criston to Harrenhal." He said calmly, and he froze, looking at him in disbelief.

"What?"

"An uprising has broken out in support of our sister-whore. They've hanged our Lord Strong in his castle. You have to deal with it, because I don't think we want the other Lords to consider revolting as well?" He asked, plucking one grape from the bunch, taking it into his mouth with a loud crunch of juice.

He looked at him horrified and pale, unable to utter a word.

"For how long?" He asked uncertainly, and his brother laughed under his breath as if he found his question amusing.

"As long as you deal with it." He said softly, taking another grape in his hand. Aemond thought for a long time, looking at him.

"In this case, I'm taking my wife with me as soon as she returns from Storm's End." He said with emphasis, intertwining his hands behind his back, impatient.

He couldn't allow her to be left alone with his brother, much less after the way he had treated her.

He knew that he had to try to make it up to her, but he didn't know what could make her forget such hurtful words.

"You are to set off immediately." Said his brother in an unobjectionable tone, raising an impatient gaze at him. "Your wife will be safe here and will wait patiently for you."

He looked at him with his lips pressed together, his heart pounding like mad.

He was doing this on purpose.

He wanted to push him away from her, so that she would remain in the keep completely defenceless.

"No." He hissed low, squinting. "I will fly with my wife, or not at all."

Aegon stood up slowly, walking around the table, watching him closely. He smiled broadly.

"Be careful or I'll think you've fallen in love with her. Don't be silly. It wasn't a request. Do you want your wife to become a widow?" He asked lightly, raising an eyebrow, waiting for his answer.

He looked at him in disbelief, his lip parted slightly.

The power drove him completely mad.

He wondered what they had done, putting him on the throne, placing a crown on his empty head.

Aegon, seeing his lack of response, patted him on the shoulder, exactly like the day that he'd taken him to the brothel.

"Get that matter sorted out and go back to fuck your wife as much as you like, brother."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @tempt-ress @blairfox4 @crazymusicgirl104 @ahristata

[starogeorgina]

𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧

Warnings: Hints of violence, character death, swearing

Pairing: Aegon ii Targaryen × OC

1.11

As you stand atop the hill of Rhaenys, watching as the masses are hurled like cattle towards the red keep, you hear the distant roar of a dragon approaching. The sky darkens as Vhagar swoops in from above, her dark scales glistening in the sunlight. It was hard to believe that the she-dragon was once ridden by Queen Visenya Targaryen during Aegon’s conquest, and after she died of a sudden illness, Prince Baelon Targaryen was the legendary dragon's next rider, followed by the late lady Laena Velaryon. A war-hardened dragon such as Vhagar deserves better than to be ridden by a kinslayer.

As you witness the dragons finally land on top of another hill, a feeling of anger begins to burn inside of you. You think about all the lives lost, all the families torn apart, and all the destruction that has been wrought upon House Targaryen. Your heart aches with grief and rage, and you vow to do whatever it takes to protect your remaining children.

As the chaos around you subsides, you feel a wave of exhaustion and grief wash over you.

Aeron, Harys, Aegon, Lucerys.

The weight of the losses your family has suffered, including the destruction caused by your own brother—your husband—becomes almost too much to bear. You collapse to the ground, tears streaming down your face as you mourn for the lives lost and the damage done.

Aeron, Harys, Aegon, Lucerys.

You mount Dallax and fly closer to the keep. As you continue to witness the coronation about to start taking place in the carriage that Aemond would be in, your rage begins to consume you. You can no longer see reason or think clearly, and all you can focus on is your desire for revenge against Aemond, which overtakes all logic.

As you contemplate the weight of the news, a dark thought begins to take hold in your mind. The memory of your firstborn son, lover, and nephew being killed by your husband, the new ‘king’, floods your thoughts. He had taken everything from you, including the life of the only person who would truly understand your pain, the only person who would be able to reason with you.

Dallax circles the castle a few times, letting out deafening roars and belching plumes of fire that set the empty grounds below ablaze, and before your mind fully comprehends your next instructions, you direct Dallax towards the part of the castle where Aemond’s quarters are and utter the words no dragon rider should say so easily.

“Dracarys.”

—

You arrive at Dragonstone, where your sister's army is waiting outside, ready to sacrifice their lives fighting for their queen.

The silence is eerie, and the only sound you hear is the gasps of those who see you walking through the hallways with dirt, ash, and blood covering your clothes, face, hair, and body as you make your way towards the chambers of the painted table. Hopefully Rhaenyra would be there so you could confess the outrageous act of war you had just committed. When the wind begins to blow harshly, the smell of smoke and death fills your nostrils, making you gag. You try to push forward, continuing your search for Rhaenyra.

As you approach the door to the room, you see two knights guarding it, one of them being Ser Erryk. Soon as the knight notices you, he swings the door open and calls for Prince Daemon, announcing your arrival.

As you wander through the room, you start to notice that nobody standing around the painted table can make eye contact with you. Lords avoid you, and even Princess Rhaenyes and Lord Corlys seem to be shying away from you. You start to feel a sense of unease and wonder what has happened in your absence.

A lump forms in your throat, and your voice begins to crack as you try to speak. Tears flow down your face uncontrollably as you struggle to maintain your composure.

“Empty the room!” Daemon barks before coming to stand in front of you, "Theodora."

Your words turn to sobs as you explain everything that happened to the best of your ability. “It’s my fault they’re dead,” you croak. “I tried to save Lucerys; I did; I tried to reach him in time."

Overwhelmed by emotion, you fall to your knees and continue to cry. You feel a deep sense of despair and desperation; the only thing keeping you from completely losing your mind was the need to hold and comfort your daughters. Your body shakes with sobs, and you feel helpless and lost.

Daemon crouches down in front of you and tilts your chin up, forcing you to look at him. “When word of what happened at Storm’s end reached Dragonstone, Rhaenyra immediately left to search for her son's body, but fishermen recovered a boy from the sea, a boy they swear they saw fall from the sky before his dragon crashed into the water.”

You can hardly believe what you're hearing. After all the devastation and loss, the news that your nephew may survive brings a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness. But you know it’s nothing more than your mind playing tricks on you; Lucerys was dead. You saw him die.

“He unbuckled his belt and leaped from Arrax, but Lucerys has been unconscious since he was brought home. He still may not survive.”

Tears roll down your cheek. “He’s alive?”

Daemon nods slowly.

“My son? Is he alive?"

“He is, princess.”

You fall forward and let out a loud wail. Aeron was alive; you’d get to see your sweet boy again. “Thank the gods." You notice tears forming in Daemon’s eyes when you lean back again. “And Aegon?”

“Badly wounded, he used his body to shield—Aeron.”

You scramble to stand again, but the pain in your stomach prevents you from doing so. Daemon offers you his hand to help you stand. “How bad is it?”

“The maesters say it’s pretty severe on one side.”

You wipe your eyes, smudging the soot on your face. “I need to see Aeron and my girls. Where are they?”

“I think it would be best if you bathed first.”

Exhausted, you huff, “I do not care about my appearance, uncle; I just want to see—”

“And you will,” he says, cutting you off. Daemon calls two servants in, ordering them to prepare your bath and to summon the maester. “Trust me, you need to bathe and be seen by a maester first.”

“No, I need to see my children, then, Aegon.”

“Aegon is at high risk of infection; they won’t allow you to see him in this state." Although his tone is harsh, there’s a hidden pain behind Daemon's eyes. “Your children will be scared if they see you like this.”

“I need to see them before talking to Rhaenyra.”

Daemon steps closer to you, letting out a deep sigh. “You can explain setting parts of the red keep on fire once you’ve seen them and been checked by a maester.”

Reluctantly, you agree.

—

The prince consort grits his teeth as he stares at the table in front of him. How many of these houses would change their allegiance now that they knew what Aemond was capable of? The lords and ladies of Westeros would say whatever it took to save their people. Not that the prince blamed them; deep down, he knew he’d commit any sin or break any oath to protect his family.

“You didn’t tell her.”

Hearing the hints of a scalding tone in Princess Rhaenys’s voice, Daemon clicks his tongue. “No, I didn’t.”

“She will find out one way or another.”

“I am aware,” he says sharply.

Rhaenys has been the voice of reason many times during council meetings; however, the princess wasn’t shy about calling others out, and now wasn’t the correct time to approach the prince, not when he was trying to figure out the blacks next move.

“Why did she need a maester?”

Daemon turns to face her, the look on his face making it clear he was already disinterested in the conversation. “The princess—”

“The princess?” Rhaenys chuckles. “What was it called her before? An insufferable Hightower cunt, I believe?”

“That was before she sacrificed the life growing inside her to try and save Lucerys.” He looks over Rhaenys shoulder and watches as the sun dips below the horizon. “Theodora’s bump is gone, and as she doesn’t have the child with her, I'm presuming the babe died. So I thought it was best not to say anything until she’s seen by the maester.”

As Daemon’s words sink in, a fleeting smile forms on the older woman's lips. It's rare for anyone to see the prince's softer side, let alone in the midst of such turmoil and tragedy. But Daemon showing sympathy to a girl he once considered an enemy was a reminder that not all is lost. Although not for a second did she envy him, as shortly Prince Daemon would need to inform his young niece that her daughter and sister were dead.

[imfoive]

Crystal Bird - Chapter 1

Crown Prince! Chan x Princess (fem.) Genre: Royal au! Angst, Romance, Historical, hidden identity, slow-burn Warnings: mentions of blood, war, death, cursing, somewhat proofread WC: 6.3k A/N: First few chapters focus on childhood so a little slow paced (I like to ramble). Based on a dream. Feedback is always welcome, enjoy! ── MASTERLIST

Synopsis: The Crown Prince is saved by the Princess of a rival kingdom, and he swears his second life to his savior. A forbidden friendship no one knew of, grows deeper with every secret meeting. As the two are kept apart, memories of their sunset playdates by the serene river, begin blossoming into something beautiful. Cheeks blushed, stomach butterflies fluttered at the thought of each other. Years of yearning and imagining had only made them crave a sweeter reunion. And finally meeting at a Royal banquet, he could only stare at the now grown Princess, taken by her beauty, while she only watches as he gives his heart to the wrong princess.

Missed a chapter? - Prologue /

CHAPTER 1 ───────────────────

The Kingdom rejoiced with the birth of the First Princess. For three days, the realm erupted in celebrations—a riot of colors, music, and festivities that swept through every corner. Processions honoring the arrival of a long-awaited princess. Princess Sienna, the first daughter to the King and Queen of Elysium. Sister to the nation’s crown prince. 

How joyous.

Yet, the next day marked a stark contrast. Amongst the revelry, In a quiet chamber, the King's second daughter, Princess Y/N, entered the world almost unnoticed. Born of the King's mistress, her arrival lacked fanfare or ceremony. While the main palace buzzed with activity and gifts for Princess Sienna, little attention was spared for the second princess. 

Princess Y/N's fate seemed sealed—to live in the shadows of the first princess. 

The Elysium Kingdom, known for its intricate politics and noble traditions, applauded scholarly pursuits and thrived in trade. Despite its guarded stance towards neighboring realms, Elysium stands as a land of prestige and refinement. However, its greatest rivalry lie right next to them, posing as the Kingdom's greatest threat.

The Kingdom of Nightshade, ruled by the Bahng Clan.

Like its name, it was mysterious and whispers of its dark origins spread far and wide. They say that The Nightshade Kingdom had ancient ties with wolves. Their nature seems to elude as such, with tactics that mimic the beasts of the night, yet effectively defending against threats from all directions. Shroud in it's own darkness, and nestled within expansive mountains and lush landscapes, it was known for its formidable defenses and healing arts.

The Bahng Clan had led the empire for five hundred years. Once the most powerful nation, before some hundreds of years ago, a rebel had raised an army and conquered the land past The Grand Forest. 

That rebel was the first Elysium King.

So it was of no surprise that there was animosity between these two kingdoms with drastic differences. Despite past attempts at wars ending in failure, dark times for both realms, agreements for peace were made, spanning generations. Yet the underlying tensions never disappeared. These were fueled by historical grievances and their stark cultural differences.

Elysium prized intellect and social standing, viewing Nightshade's warrior culture and deep connection to nature as…primitive. In Nightshade, the highest honor one could achieve was to be recognized as a Nightshade Warrior—a protector and leader. Yet, Elysium's elite disdainfully labeled them "uncivilized" due to their rugged demeanor. The divide seemed insurmountable, leaving little common ground between the two nations. 

The history of these tensions was deeply ingrained in the minds of the royal and noble children of the Elysium Kingdom. Princess Y/N, however, grew up pondering this divide and their tensions. She couldn't help but question: If both realms followed similar paths and valued similar ideals, wouldn’t they have been a single empire then?

The second princess had always been a curious one, full of questions. Unlike her sister, who basked in attention and privilege, Y/N spent her time in the sanctuary of books. Picking up random pieces of knowledge. She wandered the palace grounds unnoticed, finding solace in quieter corners where she could contemplate the world beyond the palace walls. As a young child, she loved sneaking away into the kitchens and cellars to steal desserts and cheese. Getting bolder and bolder before finding herself under palace walls.

Y/N was great at slipping away unnoticed.

Not that her presence seemed to make a difference anyway. The young girls at the tea parties paid little attention to her. And when they did, it was to learn more about her sister. As she matured, Y/N gradually became aware of the stark disparity in treatment between herself and Princess Sienna. While Sienna effortlessly commanded attention and affection, Y/N observed from the sidelines, overshadowed by her sister's radiant presence. Sienna received everything she desired, and why shouldn’t she? She was second only to the Queen in importance, destined to lead women in society and set trends. Despite being pampered from birth, Sienna remained remarkably humble. She complimented her servants, greeted everyone with a cheeky smile and a booming voice, and adored her slightly younger sister.

Despite the stark contrast in their upbringing, Y/N harbored no resentment towards Sienna, finding solace in their occasional playful interactions. Sienna was oblivious to the disparities between them, while Y/N silently wrestled with envy, internalizing her feelings toward her sweet sister.

The Grand Forest stretched long and wide between the two kingdoms, its lush expanse often a buffer for the political tensions that defined Elysium and Nightshade. Somewhere in the middle, marked the border between the two rival nations. Within this strip of green, where trees stood tall and dense, and a river murmured its steady song, nobles from Elysium occasionally ventured for secluded picnics and gatherings. 

On one such occasion, Princess Y/N observed her sister's birthday festivities unfold. The weather had been perfect for a tea party, and although it was not officially Sienna’s birthday, the other girls of noble families wanted to host a small gathering by the river in early celebration. Though they claimed it was to celebrate both princesses. Sienna, surrounded by friends and admirers, received gifts that sparkled with enchantment of jewels and trinkets, while Y/N received modest offerings. 

Y/N did not complain, she was used to it, aware that she would probably get the things Sienna was not particularly fond of. Yet, as Sienna opened the small box and unveiled a delicate necklace—a crystal bird on a silver chain, Y/N's fascination stirred. The crystal’s iridescence captivated her, it's simplicity evoked charm. Her eyes lighting up in curiosity. Maybe it was the bright blue of the crystal. Or the fact that it was in the shape of a bird, almost three-dimensional. It was so small yet it made all the other girls “ooh” and “ahh” as it glimmered. It was something Y/N had never seen, and she wanted to feel the smooth silver of the chain in contrast to the stone. The bird dangled on the thin chain as Sienna’s maidservant clasped it around her neck, the young girl smiling widely in approval of the gift.   

    “Thank you, Lady Alyssa. It's absolutely beautiful.” Sienna exclaimed, radiant smile admiring the gift.

While Alyssa blushed shyly at Sienna’s words and the other girls encouraged her to continue opening gifts, Y/N's gaze remained fixed on the necklace. She longed to touch its smooth surface, to feel its weight against her palm. Her brows had narrowed and for the first time in a while, the envy she managed to contain, burst out a little. 

As the distractions of the gathering carried on—a game of ring toss initiated, laughter echoing through the trees. A maid began putting away all gifts, and Sienna’s nanny watched joyfully as her young lady laughed about. Y/N had lost a few rounds in, and stood at the side, watching as yet another young lady let Princess Sienna win. The almost eleven year old sighs, eyes glancing around at the wildflowers growing everywhere. The sound of the water streaming down the river not too far off, was loud even from where they were. 

Then Y/N’s gaze freezes, her eyes taking in the twinkling of the little thing on the ground. 

The crystal bird.

Her heart raced with a mix of trepidation and curiosity. Could it be true? Had Sienna lost such a precious gift amidst the revelry? Her eyes darted to Sienna, to confirm whether Y/N was actually seeing correctly. Sure enough, Sienna’s neck was bare, the birthday gift no longer dangling in its spot. 

It glimmered under the bright sun, as if it was calling her.

Y/N walked over with hesitant steps, while everyone was distracted with cheering for their center of attention. Her fingers picked up the small thing, finally getting a feel of its delicate craftsmanship in her hands. 

It should have been enough, her curiosity should have subsided once she had felt it. She should have handed it back. Yet, unable to resist, Y/N slipped away into the forest, clutching the necklace—a clandestine act born of both fascination and envy.

The second princess was great at slipping away.

Meanwhile, deeper in the Grand Forest a young boy cursed under his breath. Mutterings and mumble of words he can only say in the presence of no one grew louder as he made his way down the rocky path. Frustration boiled within him, evident in his kicks at stones and the slashes of his makeshift stick he picked up along the way, against the underbrush.

    “—Stupid teacher.” The boy muttered under his breath, kicking at dead leaves.

He’s scrawny and shorter than most boys his age, but it was clear from his attire that he came from a family well off. He walked through the forest with ease, as if he had been here many times. He glances towards the loud sound of the water flowing down the river, his brows narrowing. 

The young boy was already thirteen, yet unlike most boys his age, he was still unable to do a lot of things. Though he swore none of it was his fault. It was always, “the water was too cold”, or “the sword was too heavy”. Or that he was prone to getting sick quickly. 

    “Prince Christopher!” Another voice broke through his thoughts, accompanied by the sound of rapid footsteps closing in. 

His playmate and training partner, Han, appeared, panting heavily from the exertion of catching up. Christopher groans at the uninvited boy, his playmate less, training partner. Though, he was sure that this kid was put here to keep an eye on him and always be a pain in the butt. 

    “Your highness! We-we were told not to stray too far.” Han managed between breaths, his concern palpable as he surveyed their surroundings. 

Aware of the dangers lurking beyond their borders, Han's worries escalated as they ventured deeper into this unfamiliar territory. But Christopher only rolled his eyes, attempting to deflect Han's tense words with a casual remark.

    “How can you be out of breath already? Didn't you want to be my personal guard?” 

Han straightened, a mix of frustration and duty knitting his brow, keeping the words he truly wanted to say on the tip of his tongue.

    “We should not be here. Especially this deep into the forest.” He insisted instead, casting wary glances at the towering trees that obscured the sunlight.

    “You can't just run off every time you're scolded, Your Highness.” Han added, his voice tinged with exasperation as he tried to reason with the prince.

    “Whatever.” Christopher muttered dismissively, his irritation rose with a forceful jab of his stick against a nearby tree trunk.

His impatience grew, his mood darkening with each stomp into the unfamiliar wilderness while Han's concern escalated as he scanned their surroundings, a growing sense of unease knotting in his stomach.

He eyed the tall trees.

Wait. Where were they?

They didn't somehow cross over did they?

The thought lingered, fueled by a vague memory of a path they had taken—or rather he had chased after. A risky shortcut perhaps.

    “No way.” Han muttered to himself, trying to dispel the rising anxiety. 

He shook his head, attempting to regain his composure. But a rustle in the nearby bushes were enough to push him off his edge. Eyes widening, Han froze, gripped by a sudden fear that they had ventured too far—beyond the safety of Nightshade and into the precarious realm of Elysium. 

What if they were discovered by Elysium soldiers? 

What if Christopher, the Crown Prince of Nightshade, fell into enemy hands?

The consequences were dire, his mind racing through imagined scenarios of all the worst outcomes. A war would break out—and Han would have to fight only with the most basic training of a Nightshade warrior.

His thoughts spiraled, nearly overwhelming him with their intensity. Yet the Prince had vanished ahead, Han's anxiety peaked, and he couldn't contain a whispered exclamation.

    “Ahhh! Yo-your highness!” Han called out, his voice trembling with urgency as he sprinted in the direction Christopher had taken, eyes darting frantically in search for the prince amidst the dense foliage.

The sky was a vibrant shade of blue, the sun shining brightly, reflecting beautifully off of the water that came down the river. The young prince prances from one stone to another, and as he neared the river's edge, the view of rushing water had him captivated. The notion of swimming—a skill he had yet to conquer—taunted him. He approached the water hesitantly, the temptation to prove himself nagged at him, pushing him to the peer down, where he tested its depth with tentative prods with the wooden stick.

    “Swimming can’t be too hard.” Christopher muttered to himself, determination flickering in his eyes.

He was steadfast in doing something successful today. And he chose to master the skill of swimming. 

What a brilliant idea.

Not.

He drank water. 

Panic seized him as he struggled against the water's embrace, his stick lost to the rapid flow of the river, and fear gripping his heart. The currents, much stronger than he had imagined, were pulling him away. His hand instinctively grabbed onto a stone for dear life. The young boy began panicking, fighting for his life as he was forced to dunk under the cold water a few times.

    “H-Help!” He choked out, his cry swallowed by the river's roar

He was going to die today. He was sure of it.

But of course he doesn’t. In his moment of peril, a figure emerged from the forest's shadows. A young girl, her voice ringing clear as she rushed to his aid

    “Hold on! I've got you!” She shouted, determination etched across her features.

With a strength borne of urgency, she pulled Christopher to safety, her hands firm and reassuring. And after some struggle, both were on dry land. Christopher lay gasping, his body shivering from cold and fear. The girl knelt beside him, concern etched on her face as she patted his back gently, soothing his raw throat and chest, coughs not subsiding. His savior looks down at him in concern, towering over his drenched body. He’s unable to focus, staring at her through blurred vision. There’s water in his ears and he could barely make out what she was saying. Yet the loud shriek of someone in the distance was loud enough for him to catch. 

In this fleeting moment, a distant cry shattered their tensioned tranquility, a desperate call for “Princess!” echoing through the forest. The girl's head snapped towards the sound, urgency igniting her movements once more as she turned to leave, glancing back to look at him before disappearing.

Christopher, left alone amidst the aftermath of his near-drowning, grasped at the grassy earth, clinging to solidity as he shivered and coughed. His fingers brushed against something—a cold, pokey, stringy object—and he clutched it instinctively.

Han, who looked already spooked, had almost screamed bloody murder when he stumbled upon his master in such a state.

    “Pr-Prince!” Han's voice shattered the silence, his panic evident as he rushed to Christopher's side, his words tumbling out in a frantic rush. 

Han’s eyes dart around and he’s able to connect the dots—the river and his drenching Highness. Now how would he explain this to his teacher? How would he explain to the King? Han looks back towards the direction he had come from, cursing under his breath.

He had stumbled upon a gathering of the Elysium nobles on his search for his prince, and was swiftly able to conceal his presence as he backtracked. The earlier screech had dart back here. His crazy thoughts were true and they had in fact managed to cross over somehow. On Elysium land. And they should not be staying here too long, unless they wanted to get caught.

    “Don't… don't tell anyone.” Christopher pleaded weakly, his voice a whisper.

The urgency of their escape propelled Han into action. With Christopher barely conscious and shivering uncontrollably, Han lifted him onto his back, his resolve steeling against the weight of their situation. 

    “You’re going to be a warrior, Han. Don’t be scared.” He reassures himself, as he grunts to a stand with the prince dangling off of his body.

But Han was scared. The prince had fallen unconscious by now. His body was freezing and he was trembling. It also didn’t help that the plight back towards their side was a tricky one. Han's mind raced with the implications. They had breached the border, ventured too far into foreign territory. And of all days there had to be a Princess in the forest. The young boy makes a run for it. His already weak master was going to die at this rate.

Back at the riverbank, the cheerful atmosphere that had surrounded the ring-toss game now gave way to panic and concern, unfolding before Y/N's wide eyes.      “Princess Sienna!”

The desperate cry from Sienna’s nanny pierced through the air, sending Y/N's heart hammering against her chest. The once bustling scene was now a whirlwind of concerned maids, frantic shouts, and splashing water. A guard emerged from the river, cradling Sienna in his arms, while attendants and her nanny rushed to her side. The other girls, who had moments ago been giggling and playing, were now in tears, calling out to their beloved princess.

Y/N's anxiety spiked, and without thinking, she grabbed hold of a nearby maid who was on the verge of tears herself.

    “What happened?” Y/N's voice trembled with worry and fear, her eyes darting between the maid and the commotion surrounding Sienna.

The maid looked down at Y/N, her expression a mix of relief at seeing the second princess unharmed and fear for what had just transpired.

    “Where did you disappear to, Princess? If something had happened to you too…” The maid's voice trailed off, her eyes wide with terror at the thought.

    “Princess Sienna was looking for her Crystal Bird and she fell into the river.” The maid explained quickly, her words rushed and breathless.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat. The mention of the Crystal Bird made her stomach churn with guilt. She suddenly realized the necklace was no longer in her possession. Did Sienna's accident happen because of her? Was it her fault for taking the necklace into the forest?

Her mind raced with self-blame and worry, her hands trembling slightly as she processed the maid's words. ─────────────────────── Christopher’s eyes fluttered open to the familiar sight of the infirmary, its sterile smell mingling with the faint aroma of medicinal herbs. His head throbbed slightly, a reminder of his near-drowning experience. His training teacher and meticulous captain of the guards, Sir Elliot, stood beside him, concern etched on his usually stern face.

    “Prince Christopher!” His teacher ran at his side, eyes looking down at the boy in concern.

Christopher blinked, trying to piece together the events that led him here. Memories of struggling in the river flashed before him.

    “I’ll go notify King Bahng.” The healer darted out of the room, leaving Christopher and Sir Elliot in tense silence. 

Christopher’s gaze met his teacher’s, noticing a rare softness in Sir Elliot’s expression.

    “You scared us, kid.”

Christopher felt a pang of guilt. Normally, his teacher was quick to criticize and push him relentlessly. Today was different—his teacher’s concern was genuine. The same man that the young prince has been cursing all day.

The door swung open abruptly, revealing the imposing figure of King Bahng, his face etched with relief. He rushed to Christopher’s side, enveloping him in a fatherly embrace.

    “My boy.” King Bahng sighs. 

Christopher’s guilt intensified. All day, frustration had clouded his mind, directed at those around him who now stood here with nothing but care and concern. 

    “Where’s Han?” Christopher asks, pulling out of his father’s hug.

King Bahng’s expression darkened briefly as he glanced at Sir Elliot.

    “He’s being punished for letting him fall into danger, my king.” The teacher explains

Again, guilt gnawed at Christopher. He realized the weight of his actions—not just the danger he had put himself in, but the repercussions for those around him.

After ensuring Christopher was out of immediate danger, King Bahng left the infirmary, casting a lingering look at his son who was always a breath away from a tantrum.

King Bahng was not the tyrant his reputation suggested. He ruled with care for his people, respected by his subjects despite his clan’s fierce history. Christopher, his only son and heir, had been shielded closely until recent years. But per the late Queen’s wishes, the father held back on pushing Christopher into his duties. Losing his mother early had hardened the young prince against affection, a fact that weighed heavily on his father's heart.

    “Brother.” Sir Elliot places a hand on his shoulder, bringing the King out of his thoughts.

They walked the corridors in silence before the King spoke.

    “What happened today could have been dangerous. That boy had failed to prevent The Prince from endangering himself.” The King let’s put a deep breath,

    “But he also did his duty of bringing him back to safety. Don’t be too harsh on him.” The King advises.

    “Do not worry, Your Majesty. His punishment is modest. My son is overseeing that he is receiving it diligently.” Elliot reassured with a nod.

The King raises a brow, looking at his brother in wonder.

    “You mean your ten year old son?”

    “Even at such a young age he takes after me.” The training master hums, his pride evident as they walk, proud that his son already embodied the values of duty and discipline instilled in him.

Meanwhile, in the quiet of the training grounds, Han’s strained expression belied the punishment he endured. The young boy, overseeing him, groaned with boredom.

    “You can take a break. I’ll make sure Father doesn’t find out.”

    “Prince Felix, you’re supposed to be watching over me. Not encouraging me to slack off.” Han sighed, muscles trembling from the wall-sits.

Felix kicks at the dirt, sitting down on the wooden chair he had been in for the past hour while he supervises. His butt hurt and the evening brought cold winds, making the child shiver.

    “Wall-sits are stupid.” He mumbles rather unenthusiastically.

    “How is His Highness’ health? Have you heard anything?”  Han asks, looking up from his hovering position.

    “How would I know? No one tells me anything.” Felix grunts, crossing his arms over his chest.

Clearly a little upset the two older boys went out for an adventure without him (which was probably a good thing seeing the result). The sight of him is enough to prove that he was indeed Christopher’s cousin.

Their banter was interrupted by an aide from the infirmary rushing toward them, with Prince Christopher trailing behind, warmly dressed.

    “Chris!” Felix exclaims, his small body jumped up from his chair, startling Han who struggled to maintain his balance.

    “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be recovering.” Felix states, scowling at the poor aide, who clearly did nothing but follow orders.

    “I’ve come to receive my punishment for putting the Crown Prince in danger.”

Both Han and Felix stared in disbelief at the Crown Prince’s unexpected statement.

    “Your Highness…” Han’s voice trailed off, touched by Christopher’s unexpected maturity.

Chris ignores the stupid look on Han’s face, continuing to stare into the darkening sky.

As the evening wore on and the chill set in, Felix was sent back inside, while Christopher sat beside Han, mirroring his punishment. Unlike the prince who had just begun, the younger boy’s legs give out and he grimaces, finally collapsing onto the dirt. Groaning, he looks to his master.

    “You really don’t have to continue, Your Highness.”

And immediately Christopher also sits on the ground next to, making Han stares blankly. 

    “It wasn’t mandatory for me to continue.” He smugly states, and Han blinked, dumbfounded by Christopher’s declaration, a mixture of frustration and relief. He was still the pain-in-the-ass prince.

The playmate massages his thighs, and the Crown Prince watches with guilt.

    “I’m sorry.” He mutters, making Han’s eyes shoot up at him in surprise once again.

    “You’re younger than me, yet you were able to think quickly and bring us back to safety. While I—I’m so immature, I almost got both of us killed.” 

Han falls silent. 

It’s true that If the Crown Prince had died under his watch in that river, Han knew he'd face a punishment fit for the crime. Despite being only a year and a half into training and a few months as Christopher’s playmate, Han always had his hands full with the prince, yet weirdly the younger boy didn’t complain. Maybe it was his desperation to become a warrior, or maybe he had grown accustomed to the prince’s antics. The apology, however, was a first. The same kid who normally scoffed at him daily now apologizing brought a smile to Han's face.

    “It is my duty, Your Highness. I still want to be your personal guard in the future.” Han’s words echoed a maturity beyond his years.

    “Call me Chris. There’s no one else here.” The Prince smiles in return.

Han blinks taken aback.

    “How can I? It is not prop—”

We’re going to spend a lot of time together, especially once you become my guard. Do you intend on making it awkward after every friendly joke? Just Chris is fine.” 

    “Okay. Chris.” Han hesitated, but casually addressed.

A comfortable silence settled between the newfound friends. The sun had set, the night air growing cold. Han urges Christopher to return to his warm bed, while Chris helps the young boy up, sore from his punishment. As they walked, Han suddenly remembered something, halting in his steps.

    “Oh!—” He delved into the pocket of his shorts.

    “You had this in your hands when I brought you back.” 

His palm opens, producing the Crystal Bird, its azure hues catching the starlight. Chris eyes the piece of jewelry, taking the delicate necklace, its chain slightly tarnished and scratched but still gleaming. The memory of his savior—the mysterious girl who appeared and vanished—flickered in his mind. A part of him thought he had imagined it, but there had actually been someone there. A girl. She was…

    “A princess.” Chris mumbles.

    “A princess?!” Han’s eyes widened, glancing around cautiously.

    “Don’t tell me you met one of those young ladies from the gathering by the river.” Han's whispers were strained.

Chris furrows his brows in confusion.

    “What gathering?” 

Confusion mingled with shock as the two new friends realized they had much to discuss—stories to share from their separate but interlinked ordeals. The night stretched on, filled with conversations and revelations, the bond between Christopher and Han deepening amid the secrets they unraveled. ─────────────────────── Princess Sienna had fallen unconscious. Her condition stirred panic among the staff and nobles. The royal doctor’s frantic efforts to stabilize her continued through the night. The maids and servants present at the party were imprisoned in the dungeon, accused of negligence. The nobles whose daughters had been present at the tea party were standing around in fear. If anything had happened to the princess they would all be punished. Y/N was confined to her palace.

Princess Y/N lay in her bed, tormented by guilt over the stolen gift and the consequences that followed. The little child blamed herself for everything that had happened this afternoon. She simply wanted to take a closer look at the pretty thing. She had done nothing wrong. Her mother’s stern words echoed in her mind, emphasizing the need for secrecy.

Upon her return she had confessed her wrong doings to her mother, and her mother had scared her even more.

    “Do you understand what you have done?” Her mother’s cold gaze had bore into her teary eyes.

The tight grip of the older woman’s fingers on the child’s arms made her terrified.

    “You must never speak of this. You must never confess to taking that gift.” Her words were cold, awaiting for the trembling Princess to respond with what she wanted to hear.

    “If anyone asks, you simply have wandered off  following a rabbit, or a butterfly. You know nothing of what had happened while you were distracted. Do you understand?” 

Y/N broke out into sobs in her mother’s grasp. She was scared, for her sister, for the maids who were all going to get punished.

    “Mother, it’s wrong to lie.” She cries.

Her mother shuts her eyes in frustration, fingers digging deeper into the child’s arms.

    “It is but a white lie. One that will protect you.” The mother sighs, loosening her grip, slender fingers wiping away at her tears.

    “Princess Sienna will recover. As for the maids, they’ll simply be replace.” Lady Katherine continued, her voice softer but laced with underlying urgency.

    “But for you, my daughter, the consequences could be severe. If you confess or anyone even hears a word of if, you’ll be branded a thief. Your reputation will be ruined. No one will want to associate with you. Is that what you want?”

The child looked into her mother’s now warming eyes, a small smile on her lips. Pulling her into a hug, the mother pats at her hairs.

    “Mother just wants what’s the best for you.”

The child slowly nodded, her mother’s words enough to convince herself she did nothing wrong, her stern words cut through Y/N's resolve, shaping her perception of right and wrong.

Lady Katherine, once celebrated as one of the most beautiful women in high society, had a past marked by humble beginnings in a lower-ranking noble house. Despite her family's title, they lacked wealth, a circumstance that drove Katherine to leverage her beauty as her ticket to a better life. It was this charm that caught the eye of the nation's most powerful man—the King himself.

In the lavish court where the King entertained many women, Katherine swiftly became his favored companion. While she could never match the Queen in authority, Katherine secured her place by bearing the King's child—a daughter who would forever tie her to the royal family, ensuring their future amidst the uncertainties of courtly life.

The question lingered, however, whether Katherine's actions were born out of genuine concern for her daughter's wellbeing or driven by her own desire to escape a life of want.

Despite their lower status within the royal hierarchy, Y/N’s title guaranteed attention from elite suitors in her future. Safeguarding Y/N’s royal lineage shielded her from the uncertainties Katherine had endured in her youth. For Katherine, Y/N’s royal birthright represented a promise of a brighter future.

And that was enough for the caring mother.

As dawn approached, Princess Sienna’s fever finally broke, bringing a collective sigh of relief throughout the palace. The noble families, apprehensive during her illness, were allowed to return home. The maids and servants, deemed responsible, were dismissed from service. Just as Lady Katherine said would happen. Y/N’s thoughts raced. Sienna's recovery eased some of her fears, but guilt over the consequences weighed heavily on her conscience. All those people had lost their livelihoods because Sienna had fallen into the river while looking for the crystal bird. The crystal bird that was in her possession at the time. And on top of all that she had lost it while trying to save that boy.

Y/N's head snapped up from her pillow, her thoughts immediately returning to the boy she had rescued from the river the day before. Her mind wracked, dread gripped her as she wondered if he had survived or if he still lay by the water's edge.

For an idle princess, she had too many worries.

The next afternoon, while the court was busy tending to the still fragile Sienna, the second princess slipped out of her room, ignoring her mother’s instructions to stay put. Concern for the boy she had rescued from the river consumed her thoughts.

Dodging through a hidden hole in the wall she had discovered not long ago, the young girl brushed away dirt and clutched a crochet bag, its contents clinking softly as she ran. Emerging near the riverbank where she had found the boy, her heart raced with fear at the thought of finding him lifeless. Sunlight filtered through the forest, casting dappled shadows on the lush greenery around her. Critters scurried away at her approach. Standing by the river where left him, a sigh of relief escaped her lips, she hadn’t stumbled upon a tragedy.

    “Are you really a princess?” The sudden voice startled Y/N, nearly making her jump out of her skin.

She spun around, eyes widening as she faced the boy from yesterday—alive and well, a grin on his face.

    “Were you the princess that saved me?” He asked again, his gaze filled with nothing but gratitude and curiosity.

    “I...I suppose I was.” Y/N replied hesitantly.

Christopher's expression softened, his eyes showing genuine appreciation. Y/N observed the scrawny boy before her, noting his tidy appearance compared to their first meeting. Despite his wealth and status, he appeared unusually timid, nervously fidgeting with his fingers and glancing at her shyly.

    “I wanted to thank you, Princess.” He said with a warm smile. “You really saved my life.”

Y/N blinked, suddenly overwhelmed by his heartfelt words. She had never been thanked so sincerely before, and she didn’t quite know how to respond.

    “I-I have desserts. Do you want some?” She stumbled over her words, fumbling through her bag. 

Christopher’s eyes widened with curiosity as she produced bandages, sewing thread, and finally, a bundle of cookies.

    “They have raspberry filling.” She added, looking up at him with a mixture of nervousness and excitement.

His grin widened as he picked up one of the cookies, crumbs falling as he took a delicious bite.

The two sat down against a sturdy tree. Y/N ventured to ask how he had ended up in the river in the first place. Chris tried to explain but faltered into embarrassed silence.

    “I slipped.” He finally managed to say, a lie.

    “What about you? What were you doing all the way down here?” He takes another bite of his second cookie. 

Y/N hesitated, recalling her mother’s stern instructions.

    “I was following a rabbit.” She fibbed, her eyes avoiding his gaze.

Chris nodded, realizing she must be younger than he had initially thought.

    “I heard there was a birthday celebration for the yesterday. Did I ruin the birthday party?” His questioning gaze snapped Y/N out of her thoughts, still preoccupied with her little white lie.

    “Ah—birthday? My birthday isn’t until next week.” She quickly responds.

    “Oh! We must meet then. I know of this delicious cake that our cook makes. It’s the fluffiest. I’ll be sure to let you have a taste.” He exclaims, excitement written on his face.

Y/N felt a warmth spread through her. Her birthday was never a grand affair compared to Sienna’s, but seeing this boy so enthusiastic about celebrating her birthday made her heart swell with happiness.

After the cookies had been enjoyed and thank-yous exchanged, the two sat in companionable silence, wondering what else to talk about. Before Chris could speak, a soft “psst” came from Han’s direction behind a nearby tree. Chris glanced back at his friend, who signaled with hand gestures that it was time to go. 

Y/N narrows her gaze, wondering what he was looking at, unable to see from her spot.

    “I must head back, Princess. It was truly a pleasure meeting you again in better circumstances,” Chris said, standing and extending his hand to help her up.

Y/N took his hand gracefully, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Her heart fluttered with a mix of excitement and curiosity about their budding friendship.

    “Shall we meet again soon? I would also like to give something in return for the cookies.” Chris suggested with a warm smile.

    “Aren’t you going to give me cake?” She questioned.

    “Surely not in return for the cookies! The cake is a birthday gift. I wouldn’t take anything in return for it.” He chuckled, his eyes twinkling with sincerity.

The princess ponders for a moment, but of course agrees.

    “You must let me try one of your favorite desserts then. How about two days from now, at the same time as today?”

Chris nodded enthusiastically. “That sounds perfect! I’ll bring something special for us.”

After confirming their next meeting, Chris turned to leave, but Y/N’s sudden call made him turn swiftly.

    “Ah—you didn’t tell me your name.”

    “It’s Chr…” He hesitated, then decided, “It’s Chan,” grinning broadly.

    “Chan...”

Y/N repeated his name under her breath, committing it to memory, and nodded in acknowledgment as her new friend began taking backward steps. He bowed respectfully and after she returned his bow gracefully, both parted, minds swirling with thoughts of their meeting and anticipation for the next one.

    “Your Highness, you will surely be the death of me.” Han sighed, stepping forward with an exasperated expression.

    “You’ve said your thanks and had your fill of cookies. Can we please return now?” Han's voice held a hint of pleading.

Chris beamed at his friend, genuinely happy yet also amused by Han’s concern. He threw an arm over Han's shoulder, causing the younger boy to stumble slightly as they began walking away together.

    “Oh, my friend Han, don’t worry. I’ll be careful,” Chris reassured him, his tone earnest.

Han sensed that his anxiety would only continue to grow as he followed the energetic crown prince back towards the palace.

Poor playmate, resigned to the fact that Chris’s adventurous spirit was bound to keep him on his toes. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ to be continued.

── ask to be tagged! - @stayceebs97, @palindrome969,

[shady-tavern]

A Deal of Games

Requested by anonymous, I very much hope this story is what you were hoping for! Small warning ahead for brief, implied murder.

*.*.*

The warning came with an exhausted rider on the back of their sweaty, trembling horse. Bandits were coming over the mountains and not just any rogue group, but an entire, well organized and supplied warband. Armed and armored and trained and two villages were already burning.

"They’re going to be here by tomorrow, they want to challenge the king and queen," the rider rasped, lying in the arms of the local blacksmith. "Run, flee and warn everyone along the way. I just barely made it out alive."

The villagers exchanged fearful, panicked glances and you knew immediately fleeing would be the ruin of many, if not most of the people you knew. Many here were old and while they had rich, fertile land, they had very little coin. Most people you knew could not afford to leave their homes behind.

You could see it in your mind’s eye already, as did the people around you, considering their expressions. All those homes burnt to the ground, warm houses nothing but ash and rubble, cinder for some cruel heart to burn brighter.

Everything around you would be nothing but fuel for the flames of the greed that had driven those bandits to come here and attack everyone.

Already you could see some of the elder folks exchanging grim looks, before peering at their grandchildren, at the worried soon-to-be-parents of their families.

You could see the decisions they came to, silent and heavy, as though they had already kneeled and bared their throats for death’s scythe. Going quietly into the night, holding prayers for the survival of their loved ones in their hearts.

You could see the downright desperate determination of the strong and capable, the young and spry, who did not miss the way their old and sick family members looked.

The way fists balled in helpless anger, teeth grit in bitter fury and eyes grew dark with the fist bloom of heart-rotting, soon-to-be-born hatred. They looked as though they wanted to reach out and grip the strands of fate with all they had and force the weave of the world into submission. 

To take those strands and strangle whatever careless, unfeeling god was responsible for the world being just a little cracked. As if someone powerful had shattered a once loving existence and had used cruelty to glue the edges back together.

There were no fighters in the village, only two hunters who were indeed quite skilled, but they would fall swiftly should they even attempt to stop the bandits. 

Running into the woods and hiding until the warband was gone was not an option either, not with the creatures that lived there. Not with how deeply everyone would have to go to hide, to not be found.

They’d run from one death to straight into another. One that might end up being even crueler in the end.

But…you turned to look towards the mountains at the back of the village, that last, sharp jutting of stone and rock before the mountain range cut off entirely. If you turned the other way you could see smoke rising in the distance, homes already burnt to the ground. 

Where death marched towards your home with steel weapons and muddy boots and hearts that beat like war drums, filling veins and bones with the song of delighted blood thirst and greedy violence.

There was one thing you could do. Attempt to do, even if it was reckless and dangerous and might just cost you everything. But…everything was already lost and you had to try.

You had to try for old Miriam and Jamil, who had taught you the fine art of whittling and woodcraft, helping your hands shape beautiful things out of wood until your art was the envy of many a traveler.

For your elderly parents, your father who had complained about his sore back just this morning and your mother who had sprained her foot chasing the goose out of the house and slipping on a rag. For your friends and their families, who had always welcomed you to warm dinners and laughter around the fireplace.

For the home you loved.

"I’ll go speak with the dragon," you said just as the mayor, a rotund, quick-witted woman who had led the village through many troubling times, was about to speak up.

"We have nothing to offer," the miller cut in, bouncing his toddler on his hip, the little boy looking about ready to bawl at how tense and scared and angry everyone was. "And if you anger him, all of us will be dead before the bandits even arrive."

You knew your neighbor wasn’t wrong, that no one had been able to make a deal with the dragon ever since it had settled down on the mountain. People had tried, but had come back terrified and cowed. So far, as long as no one hunted in the dragon’s territory, he hadn’t shown up to eat your neighbor’s livestock either.

But the dragon was the only creature you could think of to ask for aid. The only one who had shown a clear 'do not bother me and I will not bother you' mentality, whereas the other creatures in the forest had been nothing but tricky and nasty and darkly hungry.

The village had no riches to offer the dragon and it hadn’t been interested in being offered any sacrifices in the past either, neither animal nor human. The dragon wanted nothing the village had, but maybe…maybe you could promise to get the dragon something else. 

You’d abandon your life, leave your parents and friends and neighbors and teachers behind to go on long, arduous journeys, if only it meant they all got to live.

So when everyone hurried to pack, calling out to children still playing in the field, whistling for the shepherd who had watched from a distance without leaving her herd, you slipped away.

It was easy enough to grab the plough horse of your parents, a patient mare named Rika who had let you learn riding on her broad, strong back. Nothing had scared her for as long as she had been on the farm and she was always friendly and steadfast, never so much as stumbling over stones or roots. 

She was the keeper of many of your secrets and had allowed you to cry into her mane after you had gotten your heart broken last year. She sensed your urgency now and watched closely as you got the saddle and bridle, feeding her a quick treat before you tacked her up.

"Son." Your father’s voice made you flinch in surprise and turn sharply on your heels. He stood in the entrance of the stable, frowning in grim worry. "Please, tell me you won’t do something foolish."

"Of course not," you answered. You had never lied much to your parents, they were always so loving and supportive of you that it simply wasn’t necessary, but in return, they never expected you to lie the few times you did. "I was just getting her ready so we can leave. Mama can’t walk after all."

Your father’s face eased in relief and now he just looked tired and scared. "Thank you, my boy. Go and put her in front of the cart, this way we can take a few more things with us. Maybe a neighbor or two too."

Though even as he said it, his gaze slid away guiltily. There would be few things your parents would be able to take along if they didn’t want to weight their mare down too much. Slow her down too much.

She’d get tired faster and even if she was strong and enduring, none of you knew how long you’d have to run, how far you had to flee, before you were safe again.

Your grip tightened on her reins and you nodded and your father turned around to hurry into the house. For a moment you considered staying where you were, putting Rika in front of the cart and helping your parents escape. If you did end up angering the dragon there was no hope for anyone, this way at least most people of the village would hopefully get to live.

But it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that just because other people were stronger, had the training and had the willingness to hurt and kill carved into their hearts, that you and your loved ones had to suffer. No, you wanted to help. You wanted everyone to keep the lives they had.

So you got on Rika’s back, took a deep breath and urged her out of the stable into the farm courtyard. She was smart and obedient and your urgency made her move faster than she usually did. You heard your father shout, but by then you were already galloping down the road and towards the forest.

More people shouted behind you, calling you back, asking where you went, if everything was alright. You didn’t stop for any of them and before you knew it, the shadow of the forest fell over you and you urged your horse to go faster. You had to hurry to reach the dragon, the sooner he might be willing to help, the better.

You were covered in sweat, as was Rika, when at last a rocky animal-trail came into view, leading up the mountains towards a cavern high up. The dragon’s home. It was probably terribly rude to just climb up and brazenly enter his den, but you had no idea if the dragon could hear you if you shouted from down here.

So you urged Rika onward and she climbed as swift and steady as she pulled the plough, her strong body hauling you along as though you might be a mere sack of grain and you held on, making sure to do your best to aid her and watch out for any trouble along the way.

She must’ve smelled the dragon as you neared the cave, for she grew restless and hesitant for the first time. You pressed a hand to her neck, steadying and calming her and she snorted before moving on. Trusting you to guide her, trusting your judgement to keep her safe. You hoped that trust wasn’t misplaced.

At long last you reached the entrance and slid out of the saddle, your legs nearly buckling. You hadn’t ridden that long or that hard in months and you were getting tired, but determination and worry and fear ensured you’d keep going for a while longer.

"Wait here," you whispered, throwing her reins over a rock as she caught her breath from the climb. You touched her nose and her ears perked, focusing on you. "Thank you, so much."

With those words you hurried into the cave, the air immediately growing cool as you left the sunlight and you could see marks of the dragon’s presence everywhere. For one, the walls had gotten worn down to look smooth and pretty lines and swirls and strange marks had been carved along the ceiling. The floor was the only rougher part of the cave, shallow claw marks left in the stone.

At the end of the hallway you could see the glow of light, too steady to be fire, but it couldn’t be sunlight either, not with how deep into the rock the dragon’s home was built.

"Who dares," deep, threatening voice rumbled along the hallway, making all your hair stand on end. "Steps too heavy to belong to a thief, too light for a knight and I can hear your breathing as though you were running, little intruder. Leave, this is your last warning."

"Please," your voice came out stronger than you had thought and you drew to your full height, heart pounding in your chest, hard enough to make you feel its beat in your very bones. "All I ask is that you hear me out."

A long beat of heavy silence, then an equally heavy exhale followed, almost a sigh. "Very well. Make it quick, I don’t have all afternoon."

You had no idea what dragons were up to in their free time, but you weren’t going to risk being rude and ask. You hurried forward and before you knew it you entered the dragon’s home properly. It was, in a way, breathtakingly beautiful.

Large, golden stones glowed along the ceiling and walls, looking as though someone had unearthed them with great care and then polished them to shiny perfection. They were set perfectly into place to illuminate everything, the massive, smoothed down cavern walls and domed ceiling decorated with more carvings, these inlaid with gems and shiny gold and silver.

And most of all, they illuminated the dragon himself. Imposing and impressive and frightening as he was, you still couldn’t help but think that he was beautiful. In the same way a silver-steeled dagger with a jeweled hilt was beautiful, the way a storm was mesmerizing in its wild power. 

He was breathtaking in a way you had last felt balancing along the edge of the tallest roof while tipsy, your friends egging you on until you had made a handstand right at the edge, feeling the pull of gravity. That almost-sense of nearly falling but keeping yourself balanced at the last second.

Eyes the color of molten gold were fixed on you and the dragon’s green scales shimmered like layered emerald and jade, veins of gold running through them and reminding you of the way sunlight fell through the canopy and danced along the mossy forest floor.

Gentle heat was emanating from the dragon, turning an otherwise cold cavern into something softly, comfortably warm.

"You are very brave, little one," he rumbled and with a start you remembered why you had come here and what for. The dragon shifted to peer down at you, lips lightly pulled back to reveal sharp teeth, while the tips of his claws lightly scratched across the ground, marking the floor so easily the stone might as well have been made of mud. His tail was lashing behind him in impatience and growing irritation.

"I’m willing to offer anything you want in exchange for your help," you hurried to say, almost stumbling over the words. "Bandits will attack and…and we can’t fight back."

The dragon’s face was unexpectedly expressive, you had to admit, when he exhaled in a near-scoff and leaned back as though the conversation was already over in his mind. "You have nothing of interest you could offer me. Leave."

As he turned, clearly dismissing you, you saw what had been shielded with the bulk of his body. His hoard, but where you had heard stories of massive riches, of enough gold to buy two kingdoms and immortality too if you felt like it, at first all you saw was wood inlaid with polished bits of stone. But, no, that wasn’t just wood, those were board games. Countless ones, ones you were familiar with and many you were not.

They were very carefully placed and clearly not for the dragon to sleep on top of, or everything would have turned to splinters after a single attempt. They weren’t in a pile either, but sorted in a way that actually allowed easy access to each and every one. As though the dragon used them, but as far as you knew, he rarely, if ever, had visitors. To your knowledge, other dragons visited only once every other year and the other monsters in the forest would be more inclined to steal things than sit down a round or two of gameplay. 

"I could be your board game partner." The words slipped out without much mind, a last-ditch effort that you were surprised to find you actually meant. 

You had a couple of board games at home yourself, but people rarely sat down to play with you, if ever. Your friends lacked the patience or the enthusiasm and preferred to visit the tavern and your parents were usually too busy and tired. 

You couldn’t count the amount of times you wished you had had someone to play with, a quiet longing you kept tucked into a lonely corner of your heart. A passion you couldn’t share with anyone but couldn’t give up on either.

The dragon’s head snapped around and his eyes narrowed dangerously and he snarled, "You can take your pity -"

"No one plays with me either," you said, immediately cringing inward when you realized that you had interrupted him. You might not make it down the mountain alive after all. But when the dragon just stared, you found yourself continuing, "My friends don’t have the patience and my parents are too busy most days and, well, playing by myself just…makes me sad."

Your voice had grown soft on the last few words. Sad and lonely. Some days you didn’t even want to look at your games, knowing you’d only get excited about them for no reason. And the following disappointment when everyone told you 'not today, maybe later' when you asked if they wanted to play with you would hit all the harder.

There must’ve been something on your face or in your voice, for the dragon’s tension slowly eased away as he watched you, eyes still narrowed but gaze more contemplative.

"One evening every week," he said and hope crashed into your chest like a thunderstorm, electrifying your veins and stealing your breath away, sweeping you along with a heavy, thrumming relief.

"Make that two," you said, a smile appearing on your face and the dragon threw his head back, laughing in startled surprise. It made the ground rumble and you couldn’t help but feel your smile morph into a grin.

"Deal," he said, easing down a bit to better look at you. He offered a grin of his own, all dagger-sharp teeth and nature-wild danger and the back of his throat faintly glowed with fire. "Where are your bandits?"

You told him and he rumbled, ushering you out of his home and telling you to go back to your village. And if, on the way back, you had to wipe a few tears of relief and gratitude away, there was no one but your patient, steady horse to see it. And she surely wouldn’t tell on you, she’d been keeping all your secrets safe for years after all.

Just as you left the forest to see the entire village in a flurry of panicked packing and tearful arguing, you heard a roar thunder across the sky. Everyone’s heads snapped up, yours included and you saw the dragon rise from his mountain, turning a slow half circle before he seemed to spot something, taking off into the distance.

Your breath shivered out of you in relief and you sagged onto Rika’s neck, briefly pressing your face into her warm mane that smelled like horse and hay.

Your parents were already waiting for you, packed bags and satchels at their feet and they grabbed you as soon as you got out of the saddle, pulling you into tight hugs.

"My brave, impossible boy," your mother whispered, tears in her eyes. "Did the dragon…" At your nod she briefly closed her eyes, relief and worry warring on her face. "What did you offer him?"

"I’ll visit twice a week," you said, gripping their arms reassuringly when worried frowns made their brows furrow. "It’s nothing bad, I promise. It seems I had something to offer after all."

You weren’t going to tell them what, not when it felt like the dragon’s loneliness was a sore spot to him. Not when it touched upon a sore spot of your own, that little corner of lonely sadness when you had no one to truly share your passions with.

Within two hours the dragon returned, roaring once and by evening another rider appeared, sweaty and exhausted but grinning fiercely.

"The bandits are defeated!" they shouted as they rode through the village, only slowing down long enough to deliver the message before moving on to the next place. "The warband is no more!"

The entire village celebrated like never before and you slept like a baby that night.

*.*.*

The first time you showed up at the dragon’s cave, things were a bit stilted and after a game had been chosen, you had almost let the dragon win. Until you remembered how much it sucked to not be taken seriously, to feel like playing games was a chore for the other person. To not be challenged when it was so much fun to not have to hold back.

The dragon was certainly challenge enough for you and with every meeting you noticed him relax more and more. Soon he was talking freely, letting you choose what games you’d like to try and teaching you the ones you had never seen before.

There was no need to bite back your excitement about the games around him, your enthusiasm and your love. If anything, he matched you beat for beat, the two of you getting lost in the shared joy for hours. It grew to the point where Rika had to neighing loudly because she was hungry and wanted to get home to remind you that it was getting late.

"I’ll come by again tomorrow," you said and the dragon blinked in surprise.

"You have already been here twice this week," he reminded you and you couldn’t help but snort.

"As long as I don’t bother you, I’m coming over. I’m having too much fun." Your grin was toothy, your entire being downright lit-up with how much you had enjoyed yourself.

The dragon blinked, head tipping to watch you, then he smiled. "Be welcome, then, whenever you wish."

"You’re going to regret that," you warned him, still grinning and he laughed, a rumbling sound from deep within his chest.

"Oh, I doubt it," he answered and the gold in his eyes seemed to glow brighter. "I highly doubt it."

So you came back the next day and before you knew it, you spent most of your free time with the dragon, your parents sending you off with fond smiles and your friends reminding you to still meet them on the weekend for your usual get-together.

Rika was long since used to the trek up the mountain and she walked swifter and faster with every time, carrying you without complaint.

As summer turned to autumn you realized you had made the most wonderful friend by approaching the dragon. What had started out as a mutually beneficial deal had grown to be so, so much more. You were happy every time you saw him and the dragon understood you on a level that no one else did. 

For as kind as the people in the village were, for as much as your parents loved you and your friends wanted you around, greeting you with grins and waving you over whenever they saw you, the dragon just…got you. 

All the parts of you that had fit kind of awkwardly before, all the little things about you that people had accepted but hadn’t known what to do with, all your secret little hopes and yearnings, everything seemed to have a place here. With him.

You realized you weren’t the only one who felt that way when you arrived at the cavern to see that a makeshift stall for Rika had been built outside, to keep her safe and dry. There was even quite the amount of grass piled up for her to munch on. 

And when you stepped inside you saw piles of pillows and blankets on the ground, decadent enough that they should have belonged to an emperor. There was a keg of water as well, a couple of bottles of wine and mead and a new shelf, holding dried meats and cheese wheels and herbs and bread and beside it stood sacks with vegetables and fruits.

"From my sister," the dragon said, rumbling at you in welcome. "She’s happy I found someone like you and when she visited last night she insisted on making you more comfortable."

If his sister had shown up after sundown it explained why no one in the village had noticed another dragon’s presence. She must have left while it had been dark as well and it made you wonder if the dragon had more visitors than expected if most of them visited at night.

"Thank you, that’s very sweet," you said and the dragon grinned, head perking in a pleased manner. "And thank you for caring for my horse as well."

"Of course," the dragon said like it was common sense. "I care about the things you care about."

He told you stories that day while you played. About growing up among his egg siblings and playful parents who had taught them all to defend what was theirs no matter what. Fierce and unapologetic.

He told you about his travels until he had found the perfect spot to settle down in, how his parents had been the ones to gift him his first game when he had shown little interest in the other riches they presented him with.

"It’s customary to help the hatchlings start their own hoard," he explained when you asked, curious about customs among dragons. "How to collect and care for it and develop a fine eye for what is worth keeping."

The way he looked at you when he said that made a giddy warmth rise within your chest. You smiled back at him and found yourself telling stories of your own. Before you knew it, you told the dragon everything, even the things you had only ever told Rika in the past.

He never judged you for anything and laughed at your jokes and always asked how you were doing, what your day had been like. He was so very genuinely interested in you and your life and the things you loved.

And as autumn became winter and the trek up the mountain took longer, he coiled around you to warm you back up every time. You leaned against his scales, swaddled in thick blankets and sitting atop your soft pillows and as you soaked up his heat, you realized that you had fallen in love.

You played together, forgetting the time and when you heard Rika grow restless, thick snowfall had begun to cover the mountain. It was too dangerous to ride back in that weather and it was getting dark too quickly.

"Stay the night," the dragon offered and showed you a spot where you could put Rika, so she’d be dry and warm and comfortable. You handed her an arm full of apples and some of the oats kept in a sack and she nudged your arm before eating.

The dragon seemed excited to have you over, nudging at the pillows and blankets over and over until he seemed satisfied and curled up around them. You had to laugh and sat down with him after grabbing yourself dinner and something to drink.

You talked for hours, until your eyes started to grow heavy and you couldn’t stop yawning.

"Sleep well," the dragon rumbled quietly, curling more around you until you were surrounded by heat and comfort. "I will guard your rest and your dreams."

He was so very, very sweet.

The next morning, while the dragon left to hunt, you put away the board game from last night and that was when you noticed something that had been carefully put away. A broken game. The top of the wooden casing was splintered and a number of the figurines and pieces used for playing were cracked apart inside.

It was such a beautiful game too, the wood painted carefully and the playing board was even inlaid with shining metals and polished marble and some of the game elements were carved out of horn and bone. You would have paid a fortune had you tried to buy that from a trader.

You heard the dragon return and straightened with the broken game in your hands just as he entered, carrying the satisfied air of a successful hunt.

"What happened to this one?" you asked and for the first time, you saw true sadness on his face.

"It was one of my first gifts," he said quietly. "From my grandparents, shortly before they were slain by knights. I was…rather upset. I accidentally destroyed it and I’ve been unable to let go of it."

"It’s beautiful," you said and he hummed, a low, subdued rumble. 

"Despite being broken it’s one of my most precious pieces," he added, gently nudging your shoulder. "Come on, put it back and get yourself something to eat, the weather has cleared enough for you to head home."

You set the game down with utmost care and the somber mood was soon replaced with chatter as the dragon asked you about your plans for the day. As you got read to leave, he briefly pressed his forehead to yours.

"Safe travels," he said quietly. "I will await your return."

You reached out to hug him and left with Rika soon after, arriving just in time to get ready for work. But even as the days passed you couldn’t bring yourself to forget about the broken game so loved your dragon couldn’t bring himself to throw it away. You ended up spending the night more often, especially when the weather grew bad or it was too late and you didn’t want to ride home in the dark.

Your parents just laughed and told you to introduce the dragon to them one day if he was growing to be so important to you. Considering the knowing looks they sent you, they had absolutely caught on to your feelings. You waved them off, though you couldn’t help but smile a little, feeling quietly happy and pleased.

And then the winter solstice came around and with it a festival to celebrate the end of long, dark nights. The point where winter would turn towards spring and even if it would snow for some time yet, you knew the weather would grow warm again before long.

It was your woodworking teachers who gave you the idea for a gift for the dragon and you hid your sketchbook in your coat when you visited and stayed the night. You waited until the dragon had fallen asleep before very carefully climbing out of the nest of pillows and blankets and over his tail, tiptoeing over to his hoard.

You sketched and measured everything, handling the broken game with utmost care and once you were done, you hid the sketchbook in your coat again and cuddled up to your dragon, who rumbled in satisfaction in his sleep. So very sweet indeed.

It thankfully wasn’t too hard to get all the necessary materials and while old Miriam and Jamil didn’t lend a hand they gave you a few pointers and tips and you spent hours bent over wood and bone, bugging the blacksmith for his help with metalwork. 

And then, on the night of the festival, you celebrated with your friends and family and just after the large fires had been lit, you snuck away, a wrapped parcel in your coat pockets. You had timed things well, arriving just as your dragon had left to hunt.

You pulled out the parcel and the broken game and carefully removed the broken top, replacing it with the one you had made. Afterwards you carefully took out the broken pieces and inserted the new ones you had made. In the end the game looked hale and whole and only if you looked hard enough could you see a difference between old and new parts.

You didn’t throw the old things away, that wasn’t your place. Instead, you left them on a silk cloth and set up the game in your usual playing spot, waiting for the dragon to return.

It didn’t take long and he called out your name in surprised delight before he even entered his cave, his golden eyes bright.

"I did not expect you today," he said with a warm rumble, only to still, those sharp eyes falling to the game set up in front of you. He was so silent you were unsure if he was even breathing at all.

"I, uh, hope I didn’t overstep?" you asked, suddenly feeling a bit unsure. "I just…I can put it back to how it was, don’t worry."

"You did this?" the dragon asked, his voice the quietest you had ever heard it as he slowly stepped forward, green and gold scales shining like a living forest in the glow of his golden stones. "For me?"

You nodded, picking up one of the pieces you had made, holding it out to him. "I know how much this game means to you and I wanted to make you happy."

The dragon eyed the piece in your hand, looking reluctant to reach out and touch it himself. He did at last, carefully turning it over between his claws.

"It looks just like I remember," he said, voice quiet and there was a near purring rumble underlining the words. "It’s beautiful. Who made all this?"

"I did," you answered and his eyes snapped to you, suddenly sharper and brighter and fiercer than ever before. You couldn’t help but smile. "I did tell you I’m a woodworker."

The dragon set the piece down ever so carefully, then leaned close to press his forehead to yours, your arms rising to hug his head as much as possible.

"Please allow me to court you," he said quietly, smelling like the winter winds outside, his heat warming your entire chest as his words made your breath catch. "I’ve been trying hard to hold back how I feel, but after this -"

"Yes," you blurted out, grinning and then laughing, closing your eyes and nuzzling your face against his scales. "Absolutely, yes."

The dragon rumbled, a noise that would have sounded fierce and intimidating hadn’t you known him so well. It was a sound of deep, bottomless joy and he pressed closer, his tail swinging around, the end coiling around your waist.

"Then I will," he said quietly. "I vow to bring you happiness and fulfill as many of your wishes as I possibly can."

You were smiling so much your cheeks hurt and your heart had grown wings of gold and light in your chest, soaring high and strong. "Keep playing games with me," you said quietly. "And hold my heart with care, that’s all I want."

"For all my days," your dragon vowed. "Will you accept mine in return?"

"For all my days," you answered, hugging him fiercer. "For as long as this life lasts."

You had every intention to share as many joys with this dragon, your dragon, as you could. To hold him and be held in return, to love freely and fearlessly and know you and your heart and soul would be held safe and secure. That there was someone who saw you as you were and wanted you exactly like that.

And deep down you knew, this life would be a very long and very happy life indeed.

*.*.*

Yo, want more of my stuff? Want to support my silliness? My nonsense? Please consider checking out my patreon! A new short story gets uploaded every month and every bit helps pay the bills and frees up more time for writing stories for you all =)

[eurydycee]

Winter's Thorn: chapter 1 echoes of duty

⚘ cregan stark x tyrell!OC

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Synopsis: Caught in the political machinations of Westeros, Lady Euphemia Tyrell and her brother Adlyn, Lord Tyrell, Warden of the Reach navigate treacherous alliances to secure their house's future. Summoned to King's Landing, Adlyn strikes a desperate deal with Lord Cregan Stark, unknowingly sealing Euphemia's fate. As winter approaches, House Tyrell must balance duty, loyalty, and survival in a realm fraught with danger.

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format: series (ongoing) word count: ~ 2k warnings: hint of medieval sexism ( realistic ) a/n: hello! this is my very first fanfiction...i currently will only write these series but requests and criticism are always welcome if you want to be tagged comment!! I really hope you will enjoy it as much as I have (english is not even in my top 3 languages haha)

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“Lady Euphemia and her brother the Warden of the Reach, Lord Adlyn Tyrell”

The doors of the Small Council opened for the Tyrell siblings, who were summoned to justify their actions during the Dance of the Dragons.

“Good day to you, my lord, milady,” 

“Your Grace,” replied the pair, bowing with trembling hands. Both were on the cusp of adulthood, grieving their parents, now laid to rest.

“So, if I am correct, House Tyrell supported the claim of…”Cregan, The Hand started 

“Neither, my lord Hand,” interrupted Adlyn Tyrell. “We—”

“That’s all we needed. You forgot your oath to King Viserys and shall now stand trial, along with your sworn houses that also broke their oaths.”

Adlyn clutched his sister’s hand to encourage himself and addressed the young king.

“Your Grace, our father, and House Tyrell chose not to entangle themselves in the Great War out of fear for our lands being burned.”

“Your lands burned?” questioned a council member.

“Indeed, our lands that grow your food, feed the animals you feast upon, and produce the grapes for your wines,” Adlyn continued, his voice rising. “Our lands were kept safe to avoid devastation and ensure the kingdom’s sustenance-“The freshly orphaned young Lord with a heavily pregnant wife started, “-we command the largest population and most fertile ground, and with winter fast approaching, our neutrality was a necessity.”

“Your traitor papa did this for himself, foolish boy not for the harvest.” retorted a council member

“Your Grace, my lords, if I may,” Euphemia interjected softly, her voice melodic and calming. “While we did swear an oath to your late mother the Queen, we also swore a greater oath to The Conqueror when he made us Wardens of the Reach, which was not to interfere during such wars. My father’s decision was not out of selfishness but out of prospects. Winter is coming, my lords” she said, her gaze fixed on the Hand, her words sweet but her expression resolute.

“She is correct, my lord. The winter that is to come will be harsher than any we’ve faced before. Thanks to their neutrality, the Reach survived the Dance with minimal damage, and now we may endure this winter with less difficulty.” Confirmed the Maester 

“If you speak the truth, Lord Tyrell, then your king finds it in his heart to excuse you. However, I expect you to resolve the divisions among your houses. And what of the widows of Hightower?”

“We shall wed them, feed them, and care for them. As for the traitor houses, we will send the men in command to the Wall or they will face the death penalty. Their women will be wed to the opposing houses.”

The Hand leaned forward, eyes sharp

“Very well see that you fulfill these promises, Lord Tyrell. Neutrality in war is no excuse for negligence in peace. The king’s pardon is contingent upon your actions. Do not disappoint him again.

“Thank you, your Grace, my Lord Hand”

The siblings stood, hand in hand, bowed, and departed from the Tower of the Hand.

Outside the chamber, Adlyn stopped in his tracks and turned to his sister, gripping her face so tightly that he felt her earrings pierce his skin. After planting a firm kiss on her head, he said, “You did well, sister. Thank you. Without you, I fear that Lord Stark would have had my head on a spike decorating his very own chamber.”

“Brother, you know I wouldn’t allow such things to happen. Over my dead body would that barbarian touch a single lock of my pretty brother’s head,” Euphemia responded fiercely, twirling a golden curl around her finger.

She then grabbed her brother’s hands excitedly. “Now, shall we finally return home? How I miss Highgarden.”

“Not yet, Coral, we must stay for the king’s coronation and the festivals that follow. Besides a hasty departure might raise suspicion. In the meantime, keep your guard up,” he reminded her, giving her hand a firm squeeze back. “As the northerner said, the king’s pardon is contingent upon our actions.” He then turned and walked down the corridor.

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Cregan Stark’s cheek met the ground of the training field after being struck by a shield.

“Apologies, milord. Didn’t mean to hit ya that hard. Thought ya could dodge it,” his sparring partner said, extending a hand to help him up.

It wasn’t that Cregan couldn’t have avoided the blow. No, his mind was distracted by a sound—not the clang of metal or the cries of battle, but a sweet melody drifting down from the chambers above the training grounds.

“No worries… it’s just that all that singing is making me lose my concentration, friend,” Cregan grumbled as he took the offered hand and stood.

“Oh, you mean the Tyrell girl? Yeah, that pretty girl from the Reach with a pretty voice, pretty brother. She has been making many lose their minds lately,” his friend replied with a chuckle.

Cregan paused, brushing the dust from his clothes. “Lady Euphemia Tyrell, isn’t it? The one who sings?”

“Aye, that’s her. A voice like an angel, they say. She’s really got a way of making even the toughest men turn into fools,” his friend said, shaking his head with a grin.

Cregan frowned slightly, the melody still echoing in his mind. “What is she doing here in King’s Landing?”

“Probably still here with her brother, Lord Adlyn. They’ve been invited to the coronation, haven’t they? A lot of talk about them organizing a tourney in honor of the King,” the sparring partner replied.

Cregan nodded thoughtfully. “Of course, they’ll host the tourney… they come from the fairytale land with knights and pretty girls in sheer gowns. But that voice… it’s hard to stay focused with that drifting down.”

His friend laughed. “You sound smitten, my Lord. Maybe you should go introduce yourself.”

Cregan shook his head, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “I have no time for such distractions. There are more pressing matters at hand.”

“Still, it wouldn't hurt to at least see her up close. You might catch a glimpse of what’s underneath that sheer gown ey,” his friend teased, clapping him on the shoulder.

Cregan shrugged his hand off and hung his spear on the rack before heading to his tower, ignoring his friend’s calls to stay and continue training.

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“My Lord Hand, Lord Tyrell wishes to speak with you,” announced a guard.

Cregan nodded, signaling the guard to let Lord Tyrell in.

“Lord Tyrell,” Cregan greeted him as the golden-blond youth entered the room.

“My Lord,” Adlyn Tyrell responded, both men acknowledging each other with a nod.

“I—I have come to ask a boon from you, my Lord,” Adlyn began, his voice tinged with nervousness.

“And what would that boon be?” Cregan inquired, leaning back in his chair, eyes sharp.

“Grant us forgiveness, and you shall have whatever you wish from me,” Adlyn offered, his words earnest but desperate.

“Forgiveness? So, you admit that you committed treason?” Cregan put down his pen, leaning back into his chair.

“Never, my Lord!… Let me rephrase,” Adlyn stammered. “Understand and sympathize with our actions, and you shall have whatever you want from me.”

Cregan considered this for a moment before replying, “I’ll grant your boon.”

“And… in return?” Adlyn asked, relief and anxiety mingling in his voice at how easily Cregan seemed to agree.

“The upcoming winter is harsh, as you said, and the North will endure one of the harshest winters in many years. I ask for more food from the Reach than is normally granted in exchange for this boon, and perhaps a little iron. The war has depleted your mines, has it not?” Cregan’s tone was matter-of-fact.

“Yes, it has,” Adlyn admitted.

“I have one last request… to close our deal,” Cregan continued.

“You mean a treaty?” Adlyn asked, eyebrows raised.

“Sort of. Tell me, is your sister’s maidenhead promised to anyone?” Cregan’s gaze was intense, piercing through Adlyn.

“Well… no, not officially, my Lord,” Adlyn replied hesitantly.

“Very well. All I ask is her hand. I will claim her for myself. Grant me Euphemia, and I’ll grant you your boon. I will treat her kindly and with honor. She’ll become Lady of Winterfell, and her children will be in line after my son, for Rickon, from my late wife, is already my heir,” Cregan stated, his voice firm.

“A hand for a head? Done,” Adlyn agreed, though his heart quivered for his sister. How would she feel being sold off to a man she did not choose, especially after being orphaned so recently? Would she see that her brother meant no harm to her?

Cregan watched Adlyn closely, noting the internal struggle. “You do what you must for your house. I understand that more than most. But rest assured, Euphemia will be treated with the respect she deserves,” he said, his voice softening slightly.

Adlyn nodded, his mind racing with thoughts of how to break the news to his sister. He hoped she would understand his intentions were for the survival and prosperity of their house.

———————————————————————------------------------- The twilight sky painted the gardens of the Red Keep in shades of purple and gold. Euphemia strolled along the flower-lined paths, her fingers lightly brushing the petals of blooming roses. Her brother, Adlyn, followed closely, his expression a mix of melancholy and determination.

“Adlyn, these gardens remind me so much of Highgarden,” Euphemia said, her voice tinged with wistfulness. “The way the flowers bloom, the scent of the roses... It feels like home.”

Adlyn nodded, his gaze distant. “Yes, it does. Highgarden’s beauty is unmatched, but this comes close.”

Euphemia turned to her brother, a soft smile on her lips. “Do you remember the summer festivals? Father would host grand feasts, and Mother would sing under the stars.”

Adlyn’s expression softened at the memory. “I do. Those were simpler times.”

They walked in silence for a moment, the evening air cool against their skin. Euphemia stopped by a fountain, watching the water trickle down the stone. “I miss it, Adlyn. I miss the laughter, the music, the sense of peace. I miss them,”

Adlyn swallowed hard, his heart heavy with the burden of what he had to say. He opened his mouth to speak but hesitated, the words catching in his throat. How could he tell her about the arrangement with Lord Stark? How could he look into her eyes and shatter her world?

Instead, he forced a smile and said, “Speaking of simpler times, are you looking forward to the tourney for the King’s coronation?”

Euphemia’s eyes lit up. “I do! I am sure it will be grander than any tourney in recent memory. Will we be presenting House Tyrell?”

Adlyn nodded, relieved by the change in topic. “Yes, we will. Our brother, Ser Crayn, will be participating. He’s been training tirelessly for a ’worthy’ tourney.”

Euphemia’s smile widened. “Crayn is a fine knight. He will do us proud.”

Adlyn couldn’t help but share in her enthusiasm. “And my wife wrote to me that she is due to give birth any day now. She wishes she could be here for the tourney, but she should remain in Highgarden.”

Euphemia’s eyes softened. “I’m sure she’s in good hands. And we’ll be back with her soon enough, with a new child to welcome.”

Adlyn nodded, though his heart ached with the weight of unspoken words when his sister mentioned their return… uninformed about her cruel fate“Yes, I hope so. The birth of our son will bring some much-needed joy to our house.”

Euphemia held his arm gently. “You’re going to be a wonderful father, Adlyn. Just like our father was to us.”

He looked at her, his heart full of love. “Thank you, Euphemia. That means a lot to me.”

As they continued their walk through the gardens, Adlyn’s thoughts drifted back to the conversation he couldn’t bring himself to have. He knew the moment would come when he would have to tell her, but for now, he cherished this moment of peace and the semblance of normalcy it brought. The serenity of the evening provided a temporary refuge from the storm that awaited them.

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don't repost, copy, or steal my work.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Rising of the moon and the revenant

Frollo x nuns! readers

warning : obsession, manipulation, drinking blood, murder happened (getting rid of a corpse), Frollo is a creep, no use of Y/n, fluff/comfort (as far as you can call it fluff)

Summary : The evening is over the night is here new prayers and the devil have laid on him. He wasn't punished he was promoted he got something he deserved for a long time. Her chaste heart doesn't know what shadow has fallen on her this night. Something that will become her dreadful nightmare.

info : The second chapter of the Frollo mini series i'm glad you liked the first part (thanks for any support) i had fun writing it and hope you enjoy reading it ;)

masterlist

Part.1, Part.3, Part.4, Part.5

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Faith makes you strong. Faith can mean many things: faith in oneself, in one's family and friends, faith in humanity, in the king and queen of the throne. Or faith goes into the writings of the great philosophers who changed the world with their words, the deeds of heroes who made the world hold its breath.

Or it was the belief in heaven and hell in which both God and the devil ruled and reigned. They were places of infinite redemption and infinite pain.

On the clouds dressed in pure white singing with the angels and being at peace or in hell burning in the stages of hell, bleeding and being torn apart by demons, devils and other creatures that overcame human understanding and knowledge. But faith gives and takes. It can give you strength by simply praying or faith can take everything away if you go against God's plans.

But while God seemed to be everywhere in every life he had created, even the earth itself, the devil was all the darker. In the shadows, in the sins, in the sins of the seventh death, in the bodies of whores and drunken men. In the shadows of the streets pervaded by murder and lust.

The cats, bats, wolves and rats dark creatures who obeyed him who obeyed his demons who obeyed a revenant.

Revenants, the once living humans who could not help it until a certain time when they let sin into their hearts. The bite of evil was enough to poison people's hearts and make them scratch the inside of the coffin after their death.

Scratching and screaming could be heard until the revenants were dug up and set free or, better still, left to rot in the ground. But there was always someone who could escape from their coffin, a creature, a monster, a creature that had to be wiped out, a revenant like the ones in the church books. But it was just such a creature that got free, which Paris chose as his hunting ground for a while.

For a world of decades and centuries he saw the construction, the wars, the royal families rise and fall. Until his time came and he grew tired of it all...but there was one last thing he wanted to do.

He wanted a successor, he wanted a monster, a creature that would carry on his deeds with even greater bloodlust. A bloodlust that he had found in someone who would not be more perfect.

The judge Claude Frollo, a man of power and duty for the entire city. But above all, it was a man who represented the other side of his coin. He was the side of the living and the monster was the side of the dead.

He had been given many names, but when he gave him the kiss of death, his teeth drew blood and the poison of his own blood spilled into his youth, it was done and the dark shadows continued to move across the lands.

But now he had it, Frollo had it all back, he had life, he had strength and he had power. More power than he could ever have.

This bite of his faith that had been his back then when he had taken Quasimodo in because he was in awe of God, of the holy ones and still had something on the word of the Archdeacon. But now, when he had tasted the blood after coming home, something was completely different.

It was more aromatic and more intense than any alcohol or food he had ever tasted. Everything seemed more intense, the creaking of the wooden floorboards of his house all the louder, the sounds of the night ringing in his ears and his own voice strange.

It was unusual, like waking up from a trance after satisfying his bloodlust. ,,What fascinating powers the devil can give," he murmured and wanted to look at himself in the mirror in his room to see if he looked like the creature himself, but instead he backed away.

The mirror, the large gilded mirror, didn't show him...or didn't seem to show an image. Putting his hand to the cool material he saw only what his eyes saw he could look down and see that he was not a mass of bats but perhaps it was time, the record of the revenants was old but he must still have it somewhere.

,,Like years before by the power of blood" he whispered his thoughts to himself as he saw how he didn't look the same as two decades ago but the traces of age seemed to fade slightly as he searched through the books in the private library.

His eyes flew over the pages at a speed that almost made him dizzy everything seemed different and yet pleasantly different. It was the gift of the devil, the demon who had heard his prayers and voices...he had heard his demands for her.

His beloved, his nun, his one and only, whom he had craved and wanted ever since he had laid his eyes on her. It was natural that someone so good as he had been doing his duties and his job as judge of the city for decades was rewarded with things beyond materialistic coins and other objects.

It was his reward from the god of the underworld, the hell that controlled everything dark and negative, who heard him because God was already in his heart. ,,He wants me to bring you to me, to ruin your sins," he wandered on with his thoughts, not realizing how he was almost effortlessly emerging into the shadows of his house without realizing it.

It was a power he had yet to realize, a power he had yet to harness, a power he had yet to use after he had gained it through work and his righteousness. He continued to teleport through the house in the dark until the cold smell hit his nose.

The stable boy. He had killed him just as the Judge saw it as he walked out of his house into the shadows still not quite sure what his power was but when he saw the bath the body parts scattered in the straw and the dark red looking black without the moonlight he wrinkled his nose at the smell of what he had done. Well, I'll take care of that later, he thought, but left Snowbald in the stable and let his hand wander over the animal.

The stallion was warm and full of life he listened to the quiet heartbeat even though Snowbaldd realized that something was wrong and nudged him which made Frollo smile, ,,You felt it, didn't you?" he asked the animal who just snorted and waited to see if an owner would come up. But why go up at night when he could do something much better, when he could do what he could only do during the day...he could finally get to her.

Turning away from his house, he looked around him, his neighborhood was a little further away from the common people anyway, from the rich only a few streets away, he was relatively alone. No one would see him, not even if he walked with the darkness, he knew exactly where he had to go. Where she lived. Where she slept.

Focusing on her location and a blink of an eye later he found her in the darkness neither it seemed like a simple shift but it was longer but before you realize it and the tingle appeared it was over. ,,Fascinating," he murmured and continued through the darkness, running and teleporting further and further, spared even by the light of the moon.

He was the darkness, he was the horror, he was now the evil Paris had to fear and he would use his new power to get it. His figure flitted through the night, sneaking from the streets to the alleys and houses until he arrived at the attic apartment below, where there was a flower store, pretty and colorful by day and dark by night. But he knew that she lived upstairs under the roof with the iron balcony that gave her a view of the cathedral.

Standing below, he concentrated on the balcony, knowing that he was coming up there. Concentrating again on the dark, he dissolved for a moment into the dark shadows and arrived at the top of the balcony. Looking behind him, he had to suppress a grin as he realized how strong he was, how good he would be, how powerful he was.

But his attention went to the room when he heard her heartbeat he was quiet she seemed to be sleeping maybe dreaming but most of all he didn't notice her when he went into her room and emerged from the darkness behind her curtains. ,,So innocent...blood-rich...heartfelt...so desired" Frollo mumbled as he saw her nun's robe folded on the chair but not the rosary that went to her bed a simple but sufficient for her he saw that she was holding something under the covers.

She was lying on her side, her eyes closed and her hair visible, which was usually hidden under the dark fabric. Feeling this newness in him, he wanted her even more than before, this time he wanted her completely from her body to her mind to her blood and her soul. He wanted her completely for himself.

Leaning over her, he placed his deathly cold hand on her cheek for the first time. He touched an angel for the first time, he seemed to feel the holy scripture, what he always wanted.

He had faith in his hand, the heaven he prayed for, he had her. Moving over her cheek he slowly traced the shape of her lips came closer to her his body moved to her bed quietly inaudible.

She slept in her sweet head, probably things were going on that would soon be filled by him. She smelled sweet not surrounded by incense or the scent of wax from the candles, no old beeb sides no she smelled sweet when she was not surrounded by the house of god. It was a sweet smell that radiated from her heart.

It was beguilingly captivating and he wanted it he seemed to want to hold it in his hands felt his fangs forming like when he had attacked the stable boy.

He could have her here and now, he could take her here and now, and yet as he came closer to her neck his hand held her even if she was asleep and didn't notice him, he wouldn't allow a disturbance. It would be easy to take her, to bite her, to drink the sweetness that attracted him next to her.

He came closer to her neck, his teeth scraping the skin, drawing blood slightly, but then he felt a sting. His hand, which had lifted the blanket, revealed her beautiful body adorned with a light white nightgown.

Her body so accessible he would have wanted to know when she was standing how she looked moving slightly back and forth in the moonlight when the wind blew around her.

But as beautiful as she was, the feel in his hand as he gripped her hand was real, it was something like it reminded him of his old life as if he had lived in this new existence forever.

Incredulous, he pulled himself back into the shadowed window and looked down at his hand in disbelief, a burn mark was visible but already healing. The rosary flashed through his mind as he approached her again and saw with a consumed smile that bared his sweet teeth that he was healing away from her.

In her hand was the rose cross, his gift of holiness before he engaged with the devil, it was pure irony. ,,You didn't know, dear?" he asked the sleeping woman and let his hands wander over her body once more, coming closer to her but shaking himself from the rosary, it was uncomfortable, it still seemed to burn slightly but it taught him lessons like a little boy, he had to start to understand it all.

Before he left her with a kiss on her lips, holding back his desire and unable to taste it, he would. He disappeared from her room, the street and the houses and went back to his own house.

He disappeared from the dark into his home again and spent the last hours of the night reading and writing things down in books and writings.

The hours went by and it seemed as if everything was passing all the more quickly, as if all life was passing all the more quickly. He was still lying in his room when the rooster's cry and the people's voices slowly became louder and more present.

,,The people are waking up again without knowing what has happened," he murmured as he looked out, his eyes having to adjust a little to the brightness, but as he held his hand in the light, not knowing whether it would burn or crumble to dust, it was extinguishable.

It was much warmer than usual on a late spring day but he could stand it as he didn't have to go outside that often. But something came to his mind when he saw the town guards patrolling and taking up their positions again, the stable boy.

The light one who happened to be lying brutally murdered with him, ,,It's a tragedy such a young life someone must be held responsible...search the wagons of the traveling people, search the bars and strengthen the guards in the poor parts of the city...I want honesty!" he told the commander of the city guard and saw that the blond felt sorry and uncomfortable as they stood in front of the judge's stable.

Froll had waited a few moments before running to the guard post, out of breath and shaken, he had told them what had happened, fearing for himself and his horse that someone was after him.

It was a simple matter for the guard to take the body and only a few hours later his stable looked like a new stable boy had been found and Phoebus was dealing with the case.

Once again his position of power proved to bring him more than just influence it was his control over the entire city. But he didn't have control over it much to his chagrin because after still having to deal with all the paperwork of his job he got on Snowball and rode to the church knowing she was gone knowing she came to the church from her job at the orphanage to help out where she could.

The church he called into his head on the stairs it was only hours ago was almost unbelievable if he didn't feel the bites himself. As he left Snowball and stepped into the church, a shudder came over him.

It was fear, discomfort and danger that told him he shouldn't be here it was completely different and yet....there she stood by the candles feeling them so that the people could mourn their dead.

He walked over to her, leaning on the benches and pillars every now and then when his body stopped in fear, the gazes of the angels and holy figures seemed to judge him. It was a shock, but she was his angel when he came to her, she revealed herself to him and came over to him.

But as soon as he came to him, he saw her wearing a second layer of fabric around her neck, ,,Good morning my dear, I hope you slept well...if I may, you look a little tired," he said and pointed to the bench to sit down, which she did, folding her hands in her lap.

He saw her pondering as her gaze went over the colors and finally to him, even though she always lowered her gaze, almost not noticing how formal and from she was.

Before she finally admitted, ,,Yes, I had a nightmare, nothing serious it seemed like shadows were plaguing me," she admitted and clasped her rosary that hung around her neck tighter around the expensive materials and prayed in silence.

It was the same tool that healed him from her and perhaps this was good for a moment, ,,I think the food at my place will give you a good night's sleep, can I expect you tonight?" he asked and slowly rose from the bench again, not only did he feel the fear leave him but his desire for his new food was gone and he had to strike again.

He saw the young nun stand up, let go of her rosary and move slightly, answering him with a ,,I'll be there at eight o'clock, Judge Frollo." She set a time that suited him, so he had plenty of time to prepare everything and feast on a new victim, blaming it on another accident or fugitive.

He turned away with a nod and said to her last, ,,Shadows are only shadows my dear they always surround us" before he left her back in the church and hurried out of the sacred building faster than he wanted to and was glad to be back with Snowbald on whom he mounted and took the reins.

The sun is getting too hot, he thought and ran his hand over his forehead as he looked up at the sky and steered his stallion back towards his house.

His new body had advantages, very good advantages, advantages that made him even more of what he was meant to be. The judge of the world a world full of sins.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@oceansrose2002 , @aliensthegreat , @siwucha , @sweet-lil-truffla

[writingintheshadowsforever]

Imagine being Namor's Wife and and stopping him from killing Queen Ramonda

Side Note: After Black Panther Wakanda Forever first came out someone posted. This fic idea saying someone should write it I was kind of inspired by never got around to it. Well here it is and to the original person who came up with it. I hope you enjoy.

Italics is english translation.

No one had seen where you come from. One minute it was the thick glass window between Namor and Queen Ramonda with the two locked into an intense staring contest.

Namor eyes filled with anger as his gaze turned to the young girl.

Queen Ramonda refused to back down reaching out a hand to move Riri behind her. Hiding the young girl from his prying eyes.

The action just fuel his burning desire for revenge and war even more. Namor let out a raging cry bringing his spare up, and Queen Ramonda stood her ground watching him preparing to stab through the window. She was confident the glass would hold and even if it didn't. The King of Talokan would still have to strike her down first before she let him touch the girl.

The spear was getting closer and closer to her face and then Namor paused his attack. The tip of his weapon resting inches from your nose as you stood before him arms crossed with a raised eyebrow.

"In yukanj" He whispered in surprise his eyes softening at your sudden appearance.

"Yes my love its me your lovely wife who entrusted you with one simple task. One that you promised me you could handle alone while I went off to lead the Americans astray to buy us more time." You scolded him shaking your head in disappointment. You wanted to be surprised by your husband's actions, but unfortunately you couldn't be. His hatred for mankind and the surface world had always been insatiable. It was your patience, his love and respect for you that kept those intrusive thoughts of invading world on land at bay.

You always hoped overtime maybe Namor would gain a new perspective on humans. But you should've known it was never going to happen especially with. The lack of sympathy after the events of Thanos invading Earth. Talokan had been affected by the snap as well, and you wanted to join the fight. Namor insisted that both of you stay out of it as it was a surface world problem. You should've seen all this coming your heart clenched at the sight of. All the destruction your husband and the Talokan's army had brought upon Wakanda.

It wasn't right. Countless lives lost for no reason. The murderous look you sent towards Namora and Attuma had both Generals cowering in fear. They called off the rest of the army and disappeared in the depths of the ocean without a word. You were going to deal with them later.

"Invadieron k otoch in yaakunaj kíins juntúul u le nuestros." He explained lowering his spear back to his side. They invaded our home my love killed one of our own.

Ti' ka' ta wuk'aj u princesa. Le k'áate' paal le Reina yéetel le ts'o'ok u internet ichil k'i'ik'el." You argued back pointing a finger over your shoulder at the woman behind you. After you took their Princess. The Queen's only child and the last of her bloodline.

Namor frowned. "Bix a wojel tales ba'alo'ob?" How do you know such things?

"Querías u Wakanda ka Talokan u convirtieran ti' aliados ti', máasima'. Tin tukultaj u sería útil mantener k'iin yéetel." You wanted Wakanda and Talokan to become allies right. I thought it would be helpful to stay up to date on information.

Namor scoffed earning a raised eyebrow at you. He hovered around you to land on the platform as well. "Wa k meentik u sometan ta To'one', Talokan yaan u sukbenilo'ob asab poderosa ti' le yóok'ol kaaba'. U yaalab le yóok'ol kaaba' le superficie caerá le kan k'iin." If we make them submit to us Talokan will be the most powerful nation in the world. The rest of the surface world will fall when the day comes.

A loud clapping noise filled the air and even the Wakandans heard it. As well as they witnessed your hand come up to smack Namor across the face. The stinging slap had his left cheek turning red.

His head snapped to the side from the force of it, and you waited for him to turn back to you with guilt in his eyes.

"Ku suponía u debías negociar jump'éel tratado Jets' óolal yéetel leti'ob. Utia'al u pudieran wáantik ti' le estadounidenses alejados ti' k wotoch. Tu cambio ta meentaj jump'éel rabieta bey juntúul chan xi'ipal petulante ka u negaron ceder." You were supposed to negotiate a peace treaty with them. So they could help keep the Americans away from our home. Instead you threw a tantrum like a petulant child when they refused to yield.

"In yakunaj" He pleaded with you.

"No Namor we talked about this" You said backing him away from him to run a hand through your wet hair. Your eyes drifted to the people standing before you. All of them regarded you with wonder and suspicion. The damage your husband caused wasn't beyond repair, but it was going to take a lot. For starters he had to be on the same page as you.

You went over to him to cup his face between your hands lifting his face back up. "Wakanda ka Talokan serán imparables wa k unimos bey juntúul chéen, ba'ale' ma' u páajtal meentik jump'éel alianza ichil le desconfianza yéetel le odio. Yaan k k'aax le bey chíikbesik." Wakanda and Talokan will be unstoppable if we come together as one, but you can't build an alliance off the back of distrust and hatred. We have to treat them as our own.

Namor closed his eyes and sighed "I'm sorry."

"You need to tell them that" You instructed nodding your head in the Queen's direction.

You took a step back watching as Namor turned to face Queen Ramonda, her daughter Shuri, and their guards. He laid his spear down on the platform and backed away placing the palms of his hands together and curling his fingers in.

Inside The Palace

Shuri reached out grasping her mother's arm. "I think he is surrendering."

"How can we be sure? Who is the woman?" Queen Ramonda questioned.

"The woman is his wife. He told she wanted peace between Talokan and Wakanda." Shuri explained meeting your soft eyes that seem to bore into her soul inviting her into your own world. She felt as if she could trust you.

You gave her a small apologetic smile and followed suit with giving her Talokan greeting.

"What does that mean?" Nakia asked this time a bit unsure.

"She's saying hello and maybe sorry at the same time. She wants to talk and I think we should listen." Shuri told them.

"I don't think that would be a wise idea" M'Baku voiced his concern.

Queen Ramonda watched as Namor stood by your side with his weapon still at his feet. Gone was the hatred in his eyes replaced now with shame as he barely met her gaze. You had that effect on him. If you were anything like your husband. She could possibly be injured or even worse dead by now.

"We will hear them out" She announced.

Everyone in the throne room let out collective gasps expect Shuri.

"Just one more question though" Okoye started waiting till Shuri turned to her.

"Where has she been all this time?"

[jacaela]

RHAENYRA AND SYRAX

She was bold as well, becoming a dragonrider at the age of seven when she took to the sky on the equally young dragon she had named Syrax, after an old Valyrian goddess.

Uncle and niece began to fly together almost daily, racing Syrax against Caraxes to Dragonstone and back.

With Driftmark and Dragonstone so close, Daemon and Laena oft visited with the princess, and her with them. Many a time they flew together on their dragons, and the princess’s she-dragon Syrax produced several clutches of eggs.

“That would leave King’s Landing naked and vulnerable. Nor will she risk Syrax, or that last sweet son of hers. Rhaenyra may call herself a queen, but she has a woman’s parts, a woman’s faint heart, and a mother’s fears.”

Six dragons remained in King’s Landing, but only one within the walls of the Red Keep: the queen’s own she-dragon, Syrax. A stable in the outer ward had been emptied of horses and given over for her use. Heavy chains bound her to the ground. Though long enough to allow her to move from stable to yard, the chains kept her from flying off riderless. Syrax had long grown accustomed to chains; exceedingly well-fed, she had not hunted for years.*

Syrax was the queen’s dragon. She had never known another rider.

The loss of both her dragon and her son left Rhaenyra Targaryen ashen and inconsolable, Mushroom tells us.

*Some complain that Syrax did not hunt and was fed. Completely forgetting that many Targaryen dragons were kept in a dragon pit/stables and were also fed.

In answer, King Jaehaerys descended the Iron Throne and bade Lord Rogar follow him. He led his lordship from the hall to the inner ward where Vermithor was being fed. A bull had been slaughtered for his morning meal and lay upon the stones charred and smoking, for dragons always burn their meat before consuming it.

"So he made certain they did not know, sliding from his bed at dawn whilst they still slept and stealing down to the outer yard where Vhagar and the other dragons were fed and stabled*. The prince had hoped to mount Vhagar in secrecy, but as he crept up to the dragon a boy’s voice rang out. “You stay away from her!”*

Rhaenys’s own she-dragon, Meleys the Red Queen, had grown lazy, but remained fearsome when roused.

[thevelaryons]

Something noteworthy about Addam is that he is always extra vigilant in regards to other people’s safety. There are several instances in the book which highlight this:

One by one the dragons made their descent. Sheepstealer lighted atop Visenya’s Hill, Silverwing and Vermithor on the Hill of Rhaenys, outside the Dragonpit. Prince Daemon circled the towers of the Red Keep before bringing Caraxes down in the outer ward. Only when he was certain that the defenders would offer him no harm did he signal for his wife the queen to descend upon Syrax. Addam Velaryon remained aloft, flying Seasmoke around the city walls, the beat of his dragon’s wide leathern wings a caution to those below that any defiance would be met with fire.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons

Alone of the four dragons on the field that day, Seasmoke had a rider. Ser Addam Velaryon had come to prove his loyalty by destroying the Two Betrayers and their dragons, and here was one beneath him, attacking the men who had joined him for this fight. He must have felt duty bound to protect them, though surely he knew in his heart that his Seasmoke could not match the older dragon.

This was no dance, but a fight to the death. Vermithor had been flying no more than twenty feet above the battle when Seasmoke slammed into him from above.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons

Despite the other dragonriders landing to safety in King’s Landing, Addam chooses to keep a watchful eye on them from above. When Addam & Seasmoke were locked in the midst of the battle with Tessarion in the sky, Addam was clearly keeping his attention on his men on the ground at the same time, so he immediately saw when Vermithor started attacking them and reacted accordingly.

I tend to think his heightened vigilance was the result of a previous incident in which he might not have been as careful as he later becomes.

When he stumbled from the dragon’s lair with his cloak aflame, only his brother’s swift action saved his life. Seasmoke drove the wild dragon off as Addam used his own cloak to beat out the flames. Alyn Velaryon would carry the scars of the encounter on his back and legs for the rest of his long life.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons

Addam did act quickly to save his brother’s life (and that he was able to act at all suggests that he was watching over Alyn during the Red Sowing) but Alyn was still injured in his attempt to claim a dragon. In this instance, Addam might have felt that if only he had been even more vigilant, he could have prevented Alyn getting burned altogether. This then results in Addam displaying a greater sense of vigilance as the story progresses.

[lint-beetle4]

Could you do a three way involving Wukong (switch), Macaque (ftm, sub), and Nüwa (mostly inexperienced, later dom)

Which essentially boils down to our two chaotic monkeys showing her the ropes and how love-making is supposed to be between partners, as her only experience involves her being coerced and sometimes SA’d by her abusive ex-husband (Fuxi).

(Bonus Wukong and Macaque use nicknames like jewel, starlight, and mango for Nüwa, and for each other they use King/Queen, sunlight/moonlight, and peaches/plum)

(I won't write any smut with Nuwa in it, but this request is a bit important to me, so I'm doing it in a more platonic manner with some details shifted around.)

Breaking Traditions (Nuwa-centric, Shadowpeach, fluff and angst)

Below discusses themes of abusive relationships and emotional+physical abuse. Be warned if you are sensitive to those topics.

Nuwa's hands were stained with clay, her hard work finally done as she dragged a stick through mud, watching as the final humans forms, looking at their world with hope and joy. The snake goddess laid in the heavens, watching over as her creations explored the large Earth before them. Time passed quickly, humans falling in love, making children, forming families and countries alike.

In that moment, Nuwa lowered her hand once more to five stones scattered across the earth. Four hatched one after the other in their own corner of the world, celestial primates with powers beyond anything the celestial realm could comprehend. The final stone was laid, left to incubate until its demise was ready. With sad eyes, Nuwa watched her newly created children left their stone egg, the thrum of power and intelligence running through them.

Slowly, the goddess grew lonely, watching as her creations interacted and mingled, battles creating friends and slaying loved ones.

The serpent goddess had longed for connection, the scars of her brother and partner still singed in her soul. Fuxi had left her long ago, a shell of the bright, nuturing person Nuwa once knew. He helped create humans, guiding lost souls and implementing their morals and social order. They were a duo, passionate and tender.

Yet, as humans became crueler, so too, did Nuwa's lover.

Her body hid away scars and faded bruises, yet the biggest wound would forever be in her heart as Fuxi left with nothing more than the words.

"Your heart is fat for the love of children, yet empty of your love for me."

Nuwa stayed in her corner of the universe, watching over children with newfound duty. She would ensure that they survive with what little they have been given.

The celestial monkeys had grown up, centuries of experience on their back with their own respective journeys. Humans had grown to a wonderful species--violence and peace in harmony. Nuwa had gazed down upon the Earth, watching as two celestial monkeys circled each other, laying their eyes upon each other with interest and surprise.

Nuwa witnessed how their life progressed, how the sun shone so brightly that the moon burned in its light. The sun's fire extinguished, only to be sparked anew as light entered the world once more. A journey west happened, the pillar nearly broke, yet here they were--Nuwa's little creations made of love and empty promises--alive and still thriving. The cycle was near completion, and the egg was likely still incubating peacefully, Nuwa thought.

The moon and the sun revolved around each other once more, both slightly dimmer and more broken than they were before, yet they still glowed happily in each other's shattered presence.

Nuwa felt a pang curiosity run through her-- a sensation she hadn't felt in a while.

Seeing her children were together alone, Nuwa summoned them, watching their surprised faces as light enveloped them. The two monkeys landed sounded on the ground, the two of them looking around before their eyes settled on the patient goddess.

"Oh, great. What now?" The ginger monkey--Wukong, she recalls-- growled at her. "Haven't you done enough?"

The Six-Eared Macaque--thankfully, he kept his name-- merely stared expectantly, eyes flickering the plane in a hidden show of nervousness.

"Children, I've watched you live your lives for eons now, watching through every cycle, every reincarnation, and yet, I have only but one question for you." Nuwa leaned down to them, trying to get to eye level of the two expectant monkeys. "How is it that you hurt yet fall in love again?"

"What?" The Six-Eared Macaque scoffed, a bitter, confused expression on his face. "You brought us here to ask us for--for relationship advice?"

Nuwa's face did not betray her, stony and relaxed despite the growing shame she felt--briefly, the snake goddess thought to send them back, to have questions unanswered; yet, she persevered, the hot lashes of her lover fresh on her immortal skin.

"Yes." Her tone was cold--it needed to be, lest her children gain an upper hand.

The two monkeys glanced at each other, silence questions and conversations shared between them before Wukong sighed with a nod.

"Fine, but that question of yours is loaded. Start with something simple--and don't take too much of our time, surely you know how time passes here."

Nuwa nodded, accepting the demand. "I will send you along your way after a few questions. I won't keep you here for long."

Pausing slightly, Nuwa's silence rang through the celestial harmonies along her plane, soon a question formed in her mind.

"Six-Eared Macaque, Wukong has hurt you, yet you come back to him. Why?"

Macaque huffed, his fur pricking slightly at the question before he sent a hesitant gaze to Wukong. At the sight of the ginger monkey's welcoming smile, one of comfort and acceptance, Macaque spoke.

"I was angry--at first. I heard he had a new student, decided to mess with his student. That was supposed to be last of our interactions, but...I owed someone a favor--a big favor, and that meant I had to go against Wukong again."

Macaque's eyes looked away, slight shame in his posture before Wukong laid a hand on his shoulder. Macaque's body relaxed, his shoulder's lowering.

"After I settled my debt, I just...Kept coming back. Whether it because I wanted to mess with Wukong, or his student needed help--I couldn't keep away for long."

Nuwa's eyes spelled interest, her serpent tail coiling into her body.

"Eventually, Wukong and I talked--through everything. We found a middle-ground, something to start off of. I still don't forgive everything that happened, but I know I made my mistakes too. I admitted to them, tried to make up for them, and I keep those memories in my mind, so that I can work on not repeating history."

Nuwa nodded slowly, her eyes clouding with certain memories. Perhaps she was the problem--too clingy, too passive; so much yin, but never enough yang.

Should she return to her husband, beg for forgiveness for things she knows not of?

Should she grovel at her lover's feet, worship him as human once did?

"Wukong, you allowed the Six-Eared Macaque back in your life as did he. You've killed him for trying to kill your master--an eye for an eye. Why is it that you keep him with you?"

"Didn't hear Macaque?" Wukong scoffed, restrained hatred clear in his expression. "We talked. We both made mistakes, some unforgivable, some that we've healed through."

"We worked on our issues, present and past, and when we were ready, we--we decided to test the water, to try and love each other again."

Macaque's eyes softened at Wukong, his tail secretly wrapping around Wukong's.

"We still fight, we still have to step away from each other, but we do so knowing that we have each other's back like we did before. We're trying to heal, and I know that Macaque is trying just as much as I am."

"So you two have accepted each other equally?" Nuwa finished with further intrigue. "How...strange."

Macaque raised an eyebrow, a silent question in the air that Nuwa couldn't avoid.

"I, too, have fallen in love." Nuwa's voice went quiet, a secret shared between the three of them. "A love that has scorn me like fire, as if I gotten too close to the sun and its rays had burnt away my scales and seeped into my skin."

Wukong and Macaque shared another exchanged glance, regret and surprise in their eyes as Nuwa continued.

"I was out-shined by my lover, and for my failures, the sun never soothed my wounds, instead it simply left with nothing more than words I could never forget."

Nuwa lowered herself further--a bow so low that she nearly prostrated herself in her pleas.

"I have one last question to ask of you: how are you able to return to a love that may scorn you once again?"

Macaque took a slight step back, his claws trembling as he clenched them into his hand. Wukong's shock was evident, his hatred turning into a burning pity that further prodded at Nuwa's growing regrets. Yet, it was the dark monkey that spoke, his voice near silent in the white noise of Nuwa's home.

"The sun has hurt you and left you to fend for yourself--tell me, do you wish to return to that life when the sun has given you nothing? Did his rays warm you? Did they merely burn? Have his words even soothed you, softened the blow of his action?"

Nuwa's only response was shame, her eyes avoid the angered stone monkey.

"Why should you return to a star that never shined for you? Why chose to be hurt when there's more to your existence than scars?"

Wukong nodded, his words overpowering the goddess.

"Did he ever say sorry?"

Nuwa shook her head, her eyes filled with sadness and despair. "I've abandoned him--too focused on the welfare of my children, never on him. He worked so hard to create morality and order, yet what have I given him?"

"Suddenly your work is now invisible?" Macaque hissed, eyes boring into hers. "You made all of us, and yet he's the person who put in work."

"It was in equal parts." Wukong argued to Nuwa. "You both have done an equal amount of work into humanity, yet he leaves? What has he done for you?"

"He's helped with so much. Surely, you've all heard." Nuwa held back a sigh, determined to keep her composure.

Macaque growled under his breath, stepping closer to the snake goddess as his whispered to her harshly. "What has he done for you?"

Nothing, the answer was clear. The two worked together, simply claimed the other as their lover. There was nothing between them aside from two lonely gods in an empty universe. Fuxi loved his humans as Nuwa did, yet outside of their work, nothing existed.

Nuwa lowered her head a simple shake of her head. Her heart was full of love for both Fuxi and her children.

Yet, did Fuxi see her as the same?

Were they nothing but shared words and empty promises?

Was his treatment out of irritation for Nuwa or their children?

"Let me repeat myself," Macaque's voice demanded, holding no room for question. "If the sun chooses to hurt you so much with nothing more than lashing fires and burning scares, why choose to chase after it? You, too, are a star yourself, are you not--burning bright with passion and giving warmth and life to those around you?"

Nuwa looked at Macaque with a mixed expression, her expression finally betraying her will, walls crumbling around her mind.

"You choose who you give your light too. Sounds to me like your 'sun,' was simply too proud to lessen his flames, to allow you to shine with him."

Perhaps. Yet, Nuwa couldn't accept it. She longed for her Fuxi to return, the thought of simply never seeing again was unbearable.

"You deserve someone who respects you, goddess or not." Wukong reasoned, his tone softening greatly. "Anyone who doesn't view you an equal is someone who shouldn't be with you, period."

Nuwa lowered her eyes, thoughts buzzing through her brain as she lifted her head, mending her broken expression as she simply released any tension in her with a sigh.

"You've given me much to think about, my children." Nuwa lifted her hands, watching as light sparked throughout the air. "I won't waste your time further."

"Hey." Wukong reached out, calling Nuwa one last time. "Don't settle for less. If you truly want to return to him, don't allow him to hurt you again. You deserve to be loved just as much as you love your creations."

Nuwa eyes widened, understanding rushing through her as a warm feeling replaced the bitter cold in her chest.

To love someone as she loved her children...An interesting thought, a fascinating comparison. Wukong faded into the light, brought back to the mortal world as Nuwa let her thoughts linger.

Such a warm, tender love...sounds so nice to experience.

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: A Requiem (End of the Fall, pre-war)

(A/N: A young Arya attends a very important event. This memory is eventually to be used in a future story series. I didn't reread this but I'll probably be doing edits over time.)

~~~

MODERN INHERITANCE: A REQUIEM

The sun was shining. For all things, it was a beautiful day. Golden beams lit the edges of floating forget-me-nots and set the throats of white lilies along the path burning with resplendent fire. 

But the birds did not sing. The insects that buzzed and hummed were silent. The only creature daring to bring noise to the forest was Blagden, a mournful, keening melody rising and falling as he perched atop the Menoa tree.

Mum’s hand was cold. Arya had to keep adjusting her grip, holding tight to limp fingers. She had already cried all she could, eyes wide and gritty despite washing her face three times. The tip of her nose and her cheeks felt raw from hours of trying to clear the tears, sniffling and gasping and hiccuping as the truth kept coming back.

“Evandar was felled on the Plains of Ilirea.” 

‘My Da is dead. He won’t wake up again. He won’t talk again. He won’t hug me again. My Da is dead….’ 

Mum had held her all night, almost too tightly to even breathe, silent, frighteningly silent. Never answering Arya’s sobbed questions of why, why, why.

Arya could not settle on if she preferred the hollow silence to the terrifying, ragged screams that came before. The wails of…of someone torn away. 

She had heard those sounds before. When others had been told. 

But Mum had never made those sounds. Mum had never…she had never needed to, Da was always back, he was always….

Arya looked up. Her mother’s face was white as the lilies. Her golden eyes no longer held the radiance of the sun, only the dim, feeble glow of an ember so dangerously close to sputtering out. 

She squeezed her fingers tighter, tried to rouse the woman walking beside her that felt so unlike the mother she knew. ‘Mum, be strong. Please. Please be strong. Da needs us to be strong, he needs us….’

They had all stopped now. Beneath the Menoa tree. A space between the towering roots, where all past kings and queens lay and gave their bodies to feed the greatest monarch of the forest. The casket holding Da slowed and gently settled to the needle strewn ground, the golden pinewood cradling his body as gentle as a mother with a newborn babe. Not even the clematis blooms draped and curling around the graceful engravings swayed, so soft was the care and reverence the gathered elves took with their fallen king.

He looked peaceful. Like the mornings Arya had crept into her parents quarters and clambered into bed with them, cuddled up to them as she remembered doing when so very small. Or the mornings that she bounced them both awake, proclaiming that the day begin with giggles and gentle bouts of wrestling with Da. A lion and his cub, a dragon with his hatchling. 

They had told her he would not wake. He was not sleeping. He was gone to the void, to the darkness that lies beyond. A few had told her his energy was now a part of the wider world. That he would still give to the forest with his flesh, would still be protecting her through that natural process to feed the Menoa tree, to give his lifeblood to the spells that protected their land. 

They had all told her she could not wake him, no matter how hard she tried.

It did not stop her from trying. It did not stop her from climbing over the curved lip of his funerary dais when no one was there.

She curled up against his side, and if she kept her eyes squeezed shut, her forehead pressed into his ribs, little fists bunched tight in the liquid smooth fabric of his most handsome tunic…she could pretend the crook of his arm was not limp against her back. Pretend that she could feel his heart beating. Could hear his voice as he crooned to her and rocked her to sleep. Pretend that he wasn’t cold, that his chest didn’t rise, that he didn’t move or speak or comfort her as tears leaked past scrunched lids.

Mother had been furious when she found her there. Arya did her best to not remember being yanked away from the deceptive pool of warmth her own body heat had created on her father’s skin, the collar of her tunic tight around her throat as she wailed in protest. Did her best to forget that her mother had screamed at her and shaken her and had dragged her away from the room where Da lay alone and cold before collapsing in the hall. 

Arya forced herself to remember only that Mum broke down in tears and pulled her close, cradled her in her lap as they both sobbed until Mum couldn’t any more. 

The singing was louder now. Sylvian voices rising and falling together through silent crying that streaked the faces all around them. Arya didn’t know the words. 

Blagden alighted upon the rim of the dais, white wings flared. He perched behind the crown of Da’s head, the white silver circlet with diamond and emerald and gold that once was the raven’s favorite thing to nibble and nip to bait his dear friend into focusing on his feathered companion now a reminder of loss. Blagden’s voice keened above them all, the sorrowful song of mourning constant since the battle’s end. 

Many words were said. Memories of her father from many people she did not know. Däthedr wept as he spoke, open and unabashed. So did the others. 

The entire time, Arya watched and listened to them all with wide, red rimmed eyes. So many people knew Da. She hadn’t realized just how many. He was just Da to Arya, not Evandar Könungr, just…Da. The one who tucked her in, taught her to skip stones, carried her on his shoulders, made flowers bloom at a single touch and caught her when she fell.

Then the talking was finished. 

Blagden took flight. The singing began again. 

For the first time that day, Islanzadí’s hand closed around Arya’s, her grip tight and fingers shaking. Arya looked up and saw the tears falling again, dropping to the needles at her mother’s feet as she joined the singing, a pain in her voice that Arya had only heard in her screams the days before. 

She could understand most of what they sang. An acknowledgement of loss, of an end, a new beginning for the elves, and, over all of it, a farewell.

This…this was goodbye? Already? Now?

The earth beneath the dais shifted, flowing away as a column of roots remained, supporting the casket above a gaping maw of darkness. The dais, Da’s body still ensconced so peacefully upon it, began to lower into the earth.

Arya knew he was gone. She knew, she knew that. That he was dead, Da was dead, he couldn’t talk to her anymore or hold her anymore or be him anymore but–

Mum was there, then. Kneeling, still singing her farewell, tears rolling down her cheeks. Hands on Arya’s shoulders, tight, stopping her from running forward. Before she could even suck in a breath to scream for her Da to not go. 

And yet, Islanzadí never looked at her. She kept her eyes fixed on her life-mate’s disappearing body, face white, tremors passing from her fingers to her child’s thin shoulders. 

The last piece he had left her. The only thing of Evandar truly left in this world.

The casket was even with the ground now. Arya saw her father’s face one last time. Peaceful. Cold. 

Arya squeezed her eyes shut. 

And when she opened them again, all that remained of her father was a bed of clematis flowers, lilies and forget-me-nots, sprawled out on the forest floor.

‘Goodbye, Da.’