#raven queen when i catch you!!

[vandersprodigy18]

Having now seen firsthand the vast difference in power between Level 20 Archmages and The Gods™️ (even while only at a fraction of their divinity), I am now even more perplexed and awestruck at the achievement of the mortal woman who became The Matron of Ravens.

Like how??

How did she do that?

We watched the brightest minds of the Age of Arcanum cast their most powerful magics that burnt away their very life essence, and it barely made a dent on the (avatars of the) Gods?? How??

The difference in power? The difference in hit points??? How did she get there? What did you do maam

[entitled-fangirl]

The middle of war.

Aemond Targaryen x Valyeron!reader

Summary: the reader was taken right under Aemond's nose. He's determined to get her back, no matter the consequences.

part 2

Masterlist

................................................................

Aemond was calm and calculated. 

Stern and Proud. 

But it all crashed violently when he returned from a dragon ride to see her gone. 

His wife. Gone. 

He growled at the guards to search the castle. 

She had to still be here. 

…

Y/n sat on the back of a horse with a hood over her head. She had her mother's silver hair, and the Strong curls that could be easily spotted from miles away, "He will have your head for this!" She said worriedly. 

"That is if he catches us before I get you back home," Jace said with a grin. 

"Jace, this is supposed to be my home," she reasoned. 

"But it's not. Your home is with us. With mother."

She leaned against his back, "She's going to be angry that you risked so much to get me."

"We will deal with it as it comes," he shrugged.

"And if Vhagar appears on Dragonstone's doorstep for me?"

When he doesn't answer, she continues, "Despite what you think, brother, I do love Aemond."

Jace stared straight ahead with a set jaw, "After all he's done?"

"Mother loves Daemon, does she not? He is hardly redeemable."

"Aemond killed Luke!"

"And Daemon had a child killed for it, Jace!" 

Silence swallowed the two as the horse rode on.

"But does he love you back?" Jace finally asked softly.

"I suppose we shall see, won't we?"

…

Aemond stormed into the throne room, "Brother!"

Aegon looked up from his friends with upshot eyebrows, "Aemond! Come join us for a drink!"

"Where is Cole?" Aemond asked coldly.

"I… I dunno, brother." Aegon shrugged. "Something the matter?"

He let out an angered chuckle, "'Something the matter?!' You sit here and drink while my wife is taken from her chambers."

Aegon's brow furrowed, "Taken? She's gone?"

Aemond couldn't sit by with idle chatter while she stayed missing. He turned on his heel and walked from the room. 

…

Jace had gotten them safely to Vermax, who had stayed miles away to avoid suspicion. Once the two mounted the dragon, the rest of the travel was easy. 

And they soon arrived at Dragonstone. 

Rheanyra's jaw almost dropped completely at the sight of her only daughter walking through the door. 

The entire council completely paused. 

"Mother," Jace smiled. "I have brought her back home."

Y/n braced for a scream. Yells from her mother. A stern talk. Something. 

She didn't expect a relieved hug. 

"Oh, my dear," Rheanyra almost sobbed into her hair. "I've been so worried."

Almost as quickly as the cooing had began, it had stopped. The queen slapped Jace on the shoulder, "What were you thinking?!"

"I've brought my sister- your daughter- home… and you're upset?" He asked confused. 

Her eyes narrowed, "Do you not think that Aemond will not wish to slay us all for this? It is an act of war!"

"Not if she came willingly," Jace shrugged. 

Daemon let out a breathy laugh, "That's not how Targaryens see things."

The entire council turned to Y/n, who could only stare. 

…

Word had quickly spread of the Princess's disappearance, and the truth had shown itself just as easily. 

A guard announced that he had seen a dragon fly off only a few miles from the castle.

Vermax. 

Aemond threw his chalice at the wall, not caring for the wine that spilled from it.

The entirety of Aegon's council jumped at the sudden display of the otherwise collected man. 

"We shall send a raven," Alicent reasoned. "They will return her."

"Or what?" Aegon asked. "What punishment do we possibly have to threaten?"

"I will retrieve her myself," Aemond growled. "I will not have her bartered for as if she is a prized goat." 

"And what if that's what they are expecting?" Alicent said. "They either attack you there and kill our greatest dragon, or they are planning to ambush us here while you are away."

"I will not merely sit around. My wife was taken from her bed!" He roared.

"And we will get her back," Alicent rebutted. "Just give us time to gain a strategy."

"Strategy?" Aemond asked with a calming grin. "I care not for it this time. Let them take all of King's Landing for all I care-"

"Please, my prince." Cole finally chipped in. "We must act carefully."

"Do not speak to me as if you did not abandon your post the day she was taken!" Aemond stood. He began to walk around the table with a calm facade, "Tell me why you would dare abandon your post, Sir Cole." He leaned down behind him, "What were you doing rather than guarding the people you are sworn to?"

"Aemond, enough," Alicent warned. "I'm just getting started," Aemond sneered. 

Aegon sighed and leaned back in his chair, chugging the wine in his cup.

…

"Mother, you know they did not talk to strategy with me. And even if they did," Y/n shrugged. "I do not wish to be in any of this war."

"You are in the middle of it now," Rheanyra said.

She looked to Jace and cocked her head, "That is not from any fault of mine."

Jace held his hands up, "You are my sister and you belong here."

"Do not force her to pick a side, Jace." Their mother reprimanded. "She is a Targaryen by blood and a Targaryen by marriage. Do not make her choose one now."

"And if Aemond comes looking for her?" Jace asked. 

Rheanyra looked between her children, "Then you will go back peacefully."

Jace's eyes widened, "You will not just let her be taken?!"

"It is not taken if she goes willingly!" Rheanyra sneered at him. "Is that not what you said only days ago?"

…

Aemond laid for the tenth night on the bed that she had once slept next to him in. 

He stared at the ceiling.

It felt cold. 

He let out a sigh before grunting and getting up in an angered huff. 

The sun would be up in only a few hours. 

Perhaps they wouldn't notice him until he's gone. 

…

Y/n couldn't sleep that night. 

She had woken up hours before the sun, getting dressed, eating an early breakfast and spent her time reading by candlelight in her bay window. 

The sun had began to rise and she welcomed the feeling of its rays on her through the window.

But it flickered for just a moment before she heard cries from the guards. 

"DRAGON!"

Her head shot up to look out of the window. 

Vhagar. 

She quickly got up, tying her shoes as quickly as she could and ran down the corridor, despite the yells from the guards at her door. 

They had all been caught off guard by the hour of Vhagar's appearance, and no one had proper defense against her. 

But strangely enough, Aemond had landed her not far from the doors to Dragonstone. He stood on top of her saddle patiently for Rheanyra to appear.

But when it was his wife running to him, he felt his heart jolt. 

He slid down Vhagar as quickly as possible and held out his arms for her. 

He grunted from the impact of her body against his, but it was far from unwelcome. 

One of his hands found purchase around her waist tightly and the other cradled the back of her head as she tucked her face against his neck. 

Only then did Rheanyra appear. 

She stood on top of one of the walls, overlooking the two. 

Aemond's hands did not move, but his head rose proudly, as if challenging her to defy him now. His voice was soft so only his wife could hear, "Mount Vhagar."

She pulled away and wiped her cheeks, "W.. What?"

"Mount Vhagar now," he commanded as he continued his glare.

Y/n quickly moved to the beast. Since Aemond had introduced her to Vhagar, the dragon had found a love for her. Aemond worried that sometimes his own dragon cared for his wife more than him. 

 But at this moment, he hoped that she truly did. 

Next to Rheanyra now stood Daemon with a bow and arrow in hand, the arrow notched and the string pulled back. It was aimed directly at him. 

Aemond felt a chuckle bubble from his throat. A single arrow against a dragon?

"Take her back, Aemond!" Rheanyra commanded loudly from the wall.

Aemond tilted his head with a light hum in thought. It was too easy. 

That's when Daemon moved his bow and aimed directly at Y/n atop Vhagar. 

"What are you doing?" Rheanyra muttered to Daemon. 

"Whatever I have to." He muttered back. 

Aemond felt a fire light behind his eyes. He studied mathematics quite a bit. If he were to call Vhagar to light the castle, would Daemon have time to release the arrow?

He feared that he did. 

But the girl's own mother wouldn't allow this to happen, would she? 

Aemond was beginning to think that she would. 

"Aemond, please." Y/n called from the saddle. 

"I do not retreat so easily, my love."

"It is not a retreat if you have what you've set out for!" She called back. 

He hummed as he thought over it before nodded and moving back to the dragon. 

He began to climb Vhagar. 

"You're lucky that worked," Rheanrya sighed. 

"I'm not done yet," Daemon smiled. 

"What do you mean?"

The man smiled, "You'll see."

Aemond now mounted Vhagar, set behind his wife as he had done so many times before. He tightened her ties to the dragon before tying his own around his legs.

He leaned forward to her ear, but never took his eyes off of the two atop the wall, "Are you alright?"

She nodded, "I'm fine."

He relaxed just barely at that. "Alright. Hold on now." He grabbed the ropes in a firm grip before shouting, "Sōvēs! (Fly!)"

Vhagar began to move, unfolding her wings and pushing from the ground. 

Y/n let out a surprised laugh, as she does every time, but Aemond is far from gleeful. 

Daemon had yet to drop his bow. 

Perhaps this war would be over if he just commended dragon fire on all of them now. 

But Vhagar made quick work of getting in the air, and only then did the Prince begin to relax. 

He made the dragon circle Dragonstone once with a smirk.

But Daemon's smirk grew. 

Rheanyra noticed. "What are you doing? Daemon don't-"

The arrow shot from the bow. 

Aemond noticed it at the last second, pulling at the ropes in an attempt to block it with the tough hide of the dragon.

When he didn't see it whiz past their heads, he let out a sigh. 

Y/n let out a gut wrenching scream. 

Aemond leaned forward immediately, looking over her shoulder to see the arrow that had lodged itself into her stomach. 

He let out a scream of his own, feeling his entire body flood with grief. 

He looked down as they passed Daemon, who held the proudest smirk he'd ever seen a human wear. 

But Rheanyra's hand was held over her mouth in horror. 

Aemond's eye flickered with a lit fire as he began to pull the ropes for Vhagar to circle again to kill them all. 

Y/n's hand moved up. It shook violently as she tried to will herself to touch the arrow in her. 

Aemond grunted at her, "Don't touch it."

She let out a whine in pain and frustration as her body leaned back against his.

He doesn't have time to release dragon fire on them all now. 

"Naejot! (Forward!)" He yelled at the dragon, who pushed forward past Dragonstone.

Every second had become precious. 

Aemond shouted at Vhagar every few moments in urgency, and only then was he so relieved that he had one of the largest dragons in the world for her quick travels. 

The woman's cheeks paled and her forehead had developed a thick layer of sweat.

Aemond was beyond panic. 

They landed a few hours later at King's Landing and he began shouting commands at guards as he untied her from the dragon.

…

Aemond made no move to leave her side. 

Still covered in sweat and grime and his riding gear, he stood in their chambers silently and watched as the maesters worked to ease her wounds.

Alicent stood not far behind from him, "Will she make it-"

"-GET OUT!" Aemond's voice cracked from the volume. He had practically lost it long before from commanding Vhagar so harshly. 

Alicent flinched, "A… Aemond, I-"

He turned around to her, "I said get out."

The queen regent moved to say more, but knew better, and nodded, leaving the room.

…

Two hours later, the maester finally spoke to the Prince, "We believe she will make it. There is no fever in the wound. If she survives the night, she will make a full recovery."

Aemond hums, "and what may I do to ensure that she does?"

The maester thought for a moment, "Maintain her temperature. Do not anger the wound. And when she wakes, do not let her move or get carried away in extreme emotions."

The prince hummed again, "Thank you."

The maester nodded, "Of course, my prince."

They all soon took their leave, leaving only the prince and the unconscious princess.

…

The night was torturous for the prince. 

He would never will himself to sleep. He worried that each breath could be her last. 

Deep into the night, she finally stirred. "Ae… Aemond?" She asked groggily.

He managed a smile and sat next to her on the bed, "Hello, my love."

She looked around before pushing herself up.

His hand quickly moved to her shoulder and pushed her down, "Woah, woah, woah. You must remain down."

She let herself fall back down on the bed, "It hurts."

"I know it does," he cooed. His fingers brushed the hair from her forehead. 

"I'm sorry I left."

"I'm sorry you were able to."

The two stared at one another for a while before Aemond stood. He opened the door and spoke to the guard, "Have a raven sent to Rheanyra. Tell her the princess will live."

He quickly returned to her side, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips. "I've never been scared before, my love."

"Me too" she hummed. "What if that arrow had hit you?"

He leaned back with a confused look. Of all things, she was worried for him? 

"You disappear from our chambers with no trace and then when I do find you, you have an arrow shot in you, and yet you believe I am worried that I may have been the one injured?"

She hummed again, "You should apologize to Vhagar. You shouted at her so harshly."

Aemond couldn't stop the chuckle from escaping him, "You worry for my dragon as well?"

"I cannot help it." She mused.

"If I apologize to Vhagar, will you promise me not to leave again?"

She considers his words, then nods.

He smiles and pulled her hand up, kissing the back of it, "Thank you."

Perhaps the two wouldn't choose sides to the war at all. It only ends in destruction and dragon fire for all who dare. 

And as long as the two had one another, they didn't believe that to be too bad.

................................................................

part 2

[thebibliosphere]

There’s a house near me that’s a beautiful old Queen Anne that I’d love to share with all of you but can’t because I don’t want to doxx myself, but you’ll just have to trust me when I say it's exterior is gorgeous. Just beautiful ornate gothic latticework. Think gingerbread Addams family house. There you go.

Anyway, I found out it went up for sale the first thing I did was look it up to catch a glimpse of the inside.

Now, this could just be the PMDD talking, but I think if you’re the type of person to gut an 1880 house of all its original features and replace them with faux white marble floors and beige farmhouse chic walls, I’m not saying you should be torn apart by ravenous wolves.

I’m just saying I should be allowed to eat your heart in the marketplace.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Cannibals [Chapter 6: Ladybugs and Dragonflies]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, a bit of sexual content (18+ readers only), references to war-related violence, pregnancy/childbirth/etc., Red and Jace should go on Marriage Boot Camp, Lady Caro tries to bond with her weird replacement daughter, a little animal abuse??

Word count: 6.2k

���️ All my writing can be found HERE! 💙

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus @mrs-starkgaryen, more in comments 🥰

🦇 Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🦇

“How many people has he killed?” you ask as Jace takes your arm—not like Aemond would, not crushing and bruising but gently as if you are a creature with thin fragile bones, a bluejay or a bat—and leads you out of the Great Hall. The men still gathered around the letter on the table glance at you without knowing what to feel. As Jace’s wife you are their princess, you are their future queen, and yet you are Aemond’s sister and perhaps much more than that as well. Why else would he have abruptly fled Dragonstone to ravage the Riverlands, leaving Criston’s army vulnerable and scrambling to catch up?

“Thousands,” Jace says. “And there will be many more who starve because he’s torched their granaries and livestock. He’s sending ravens to the noble houses swearing that the dying will continue until you are returned to him.”

Thousands of people? Women like Mother and Helaena, children like Jaehaera and Maelor. “Let me write to him. I’ll tell him that I’m safe in hiding and not to harm any more noncombatants—”

“You think the Greens care about them?” Jace snaps as he brings you into the castle library, sparse and dusty, and you cannot help but remember the long hours Aemond spent in the Red Keep studying history, war, suturing, High Valyrian, the heroes of legends, the secrets of your body. “Daeron and Tessarion are burning people alive in the Reach. The Lannister army is pillaging every town they march through as they make their way east.”

“Jace, please, let me try.”

“Aemond isn’t going to believe a letter just because it claims to come from you.”

“There are things I can say that no one else would understand, and so he’ll know it’s really me and that I’m not acting against my will—”

“You’re not writing to him!” Jace shouts, and then collapses into a chair of pale lavender velvet and rubs his face with both hands. And you know—because he’s not someone who can easily hide what he’s feeling—that Jace is not just exhausted and frustrated but afraid. Afraid of the devastation Aemond sows, afraid of the hold he evidently still has over you. “It’s difficult for you to love someone like me, I think.”

“Yes,” you admit softly. “But I’m trying.”

Jace glares up at you; you have disappointed him. You have proven his suspicions true. “I don’t want it to take effort.”

“Isn’t it difficult for you too, Jace? To have affection for me? To see me as your wife instead of a captive enemy?”

“No,” he says. “Not anymore.”

You stand in the small neglected library—dust motes wheeling in cold grey daylight, dim nausea still churning in your belly—and watch him, feeling disoriented, feeling guilty, knowing there is nothing you can say that will help. It’s just like when Mother or Grandsire used to hint at your relationship with Aemond, grimacing with revulsion; you cannot make the accusations go away, you can only deflect. “Why would Aemond think I’m in the Riverlands?”

Jace sighs deeply, slumps in his chair, and runs his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know. Maybe because Daemon’s at Harrenhal, and Aemond assumes he arranged your travel.”

Caraxes and Sheepstealer. Can Vhagar survive them both? “Aemond won’t try to take Harrenhal, will he?”

“He might!” Jace says, throwing up his hands with exasperation. “He’s reckless, he’s bloodthirsty, he’s insane, only the gods know where his lunacy will end.”

You don’t respond to this, though it is your instinct to. He’s not insane. He once promised to find me, and now he’s keeping his word.

“Isn’t he worried he’ll harm you?” Jace mutters, almost to himself. “If he’s attacking so indiscriminately, couldn’t he inadvertently burn you too?”

“He thinks he would be able to feel it if I was close by.”

Jace stares at you. “How would he possibly know that?”

“There are a lot of things you don’t understand.”

“About him?” Jace says spitefully, as if trying to decipher Aemond’s madness is beneath him.

“About us.”

Jace studies you. “What was the nature of your relationship?” he asks after a while, and then when you hesitate: “It must have meant a lot to you both. You’re still protecting him, he’s burning down the realm for you.”

“It’s in the past.”

“But it still matters.”

“I haven’t asked you about Baela.”

“She’s not a part of this war, she’s not here anymore. Aegon saw to that. He murdered her.” Jace’s expression softens, and his voice goes tender. “We need to learn to be truthful with each other. To respect each other, to be in harmony.”

“So you don’t repeat the sins of your parents,” you fling at him like a stone.

“Yes,” Jace agrees. “And because I love you.”

“Why do you keep using that word?”

“Because we’re married.”

“You don’t know who I am.”

“I want to. But you have to let me do it.”

“You won’t like the real me.” No one does. No one except Aegon, Helaena, Daeron, Aemond.

Again Jace asks: “What was the nature of your relationship?”

You look helplessly at the books stacked on the shelves, chronicles of plants, animals, ailments, battles, gods, heroes, dragons. Mounted high on the wall is Lady Forlorn, the Valyrian steel longsword of House Corbray, possessed by the elderly Lord Leowyn but no longer wielded by him. If you stood on your tiptoes, you would be able to reach it. Near the center of the room is a large globe of the world with the unknown reaches left blank. You walk to it, spin it slowly, stop when your fingertips land on the broken ruins of Old Valyria.

I wish we were still there. That’s where we belong. Aemond and I would be married, and Aegon would be unburned, and Jaehaerys would still be alive, and perhaps I’d even have a dragon.

“You and Aemond were close,” Jace says.

“Yes,” you confess.

“Mother said that Alicent told her you shared a flirtation.”

“We did.”

“And that entailed…what?”

“Just words, mostly.”

“You’re lying.” Jace stands and rages to you, his words halfway between a threat and a plea. “Stop lying to me.”

You can’t catch your breath, you can’t think. Your skull pulses hotly, your stomach roils, the scar on the left side of your chest aches where Aemond stitched you back together. Jace can’t hurt me, he can’t break our mothers’ pact and undo this marriage. Not if I’m carrying his child. “Jace, I don’t feel well—”

“You know about your body. The way you kiss, the way you move, the High Valyrian…you learned it somewhere.” And you can see in Jace’s face—the attractive yet unextraordinary face of a Strong—that he is terrified you learned it from Aemond. “What did you do with him?”

Your head feels like a shell struck with a mallet, splintering, shattering. Your arteries and veins have turned to currents of magma beneath the black volcanic rocks of Dragonstone. “Everything except what happened on our wedding night.”

Jace’s dark eyes widen, then drop to your breasts, your waist, your hips. “Everything…?”

“Except that, yes. What could result in a child was saved for my husband.” Aemond could never father a bastard. He would sooner die than debase himself like Rhaenyra did.

“You mean…surely you didn’t…” Still, Jace is gaping at you, his words slow and stunned. “I’ve heard stories from the soldiers, vulgar and wicked, strange ways of coupling, sins they commit with whores in brothels so they don’t leave children in their bellies to be murdered or abandoned…but…but you’re not…”

“Then you are adequately educated and we need not expound on it further. You got the truth you asked for. I hope you’re satisfied.”

Jace reaches for the sword at his belt, grips the hilt, then releases it. Instead he kicks over the globe—it hits the stone floor with a reverberating boom—and points to the door. “Get out of my sight.”

“Why are you mad at me?!” You are drained and dismayed, and then you’re furious. “I answered your questions, I was honest with you. You wanted to be in harmony and you believed this is what it would take. I tried to protect you from it. You insisted upon being hurt.”

“You told me you were a virgin.”

“And I was, you know that.”

“But he still fucked you,” Jace hisses. “In every other way. Things no decent lady would ever do. So that, what, he could rob your future husband? So he could degrade and humiliate you?”

“It wasn’t about that! He wanted to feel close to me, he wanted to please me, and perhaps you don’t care about pleasing a woman but I know for a fact Aemond did.”

Jace turns away from you. Again, his hand rests on the hilt of his blade. “You’re sinful, you’re disgusting. I can’t believe I’m fated to be bound to you for a lifetime.”

“You aren’t a Targaryen,” you seethe in High Valyrian, words you know he can’t comprehend, and you can feel your gaze scorching and cold mountain air on your bared teeth. “You can’t fathom the fury, the lust, the violence, the fire and the blood. We aren’t like the people of any other house. And we aren’t supposed to be.”

“Stop it,” Jace orders you.

“You’re not the blood of the dragon. You’re just some bastard built of ordinary things.”

“Get out!” Jace roars, and you flee from the library, from the castle, yanking on your boots and fox fur coat left by the entranceway and bolting out into the snow. It is halfway up your shins and coated with a layer of ice that crunches as you plod through it towards the tree line. You aren’t supposed to go into the forest of towering pines—not even with guards, and certainly not alone—but all your life you have been doing things you aren’t supposed to and it hasn’t killed you yet, and even if it did this time, what would be lost? Your imprisonment with a man who hates you? Cold snowbound misery here in some forgotten corner of the Vale?

I can’t save Aemond. Jace will never listen to me now.

Under the shade of the pines, so thick their dark green needles interlace like lovers’ fingers and blot out the sunless grey daylight, you find a felled tree and push snow off the trunk with the sleeves of your coat. Then you climb up onto it to sit, your boots swinging just off the ground, a frigid breeze billowing down from the Mountains of the Moon to make you shudder. Your right hand settles on your belly, where you are increasingly sure—now that you think back to how long it’s been since your last bleeding—that you are carrying Jace’s child. You don’t want it there, you have no maternal inclinations toward it whatsoever. You wonder if you can somehow sneak unnoticed into the storeroom of the maester here at Heart’s Home and find the ingredients for moon tea. But you don’t know how to brew it. You’ve never had any need of it before.

I’m not in the Riverlands, you think as loudly as you can, peering up into the trees and listening for the deep rumbling of Vhagar’s screams, the maelstrom of wind she stirs up. Aemond, I’m here in the Vale with House Corbray. Come find me. Come bring me home.

But you’ve never been able to make him hear you by your own volition, just like you can’t control your glimpses into his mind. And you fear Aemond wouldn’t want you back the way you are now.

Whether Jace or Aemond, either would be convinced the other ruined me.

You don’t feel ruined. You don’t feel like a different person at all; you don’t believe that any man has ever changed your strangeness, your desire, your love, your ferocity, your dreams of flying. But the world seems so fixed in its rules, and Old Valyria is gone, and perhaps now the Targaryens and their dragons are meant to be too.

There is the sound of crunching snow, and you look around expecting to see a bear or a shadowcat, something to maul you to death and drag your carcass away to be picked to the bones. Instead, it is Jace, and he has hurried outside in such a rush that he has forgotten his coat. He stops when he sees you and stands there silently in his black and red, the colors of his mother’s house, shivering but trying not to show it.

“You aren’t supposed to be out here,” he says at last.

“I know.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“And you’d be so devastated if I was devoured by a shadowcat.”

Jace sighs and pulls himself up onto the tree trunk to sit beside you. “My father had a temper,” he says, then flushes and gazes down at his own footprints in the snow, ashamed. “Harwin Strong, I mean. He had a temper.”

You are gentler with him now. It must be painful to lose a father who cares about you. “Yes, I’ve heard that.”

Jace looks over at you. “Did you have a choice in the matter?” With what happened with Aemond, he means.

Mother’s words echo in your throbbing skull: You don’t know better. You never had a choice. “It felt like I did at the time. Now I’m not so sure.”

“What kind of an answer is that?”

“Did you have a choice in loving Baela?” you ask, and Jace frowns thoughtfully. “She was your circumstances, she was beyond your ability to resist. But still you grew to love her as if she had been the wife of your choosing.”

“You loved him? That monster?”

“It’s very hard to explain.”

“Did he love you?”

“I don’t know,” you reply honesty. If he did, he never said it.

Jace reaches for your right hand and you let him grasp it. The motion is a bit awkward, but Jace is warm. Flurries fall from an overcast sky. “Neither of us wanted this match. I imagine we both fought against it with equal passion. But now it has happened, and nothing can unravel this bind we find ourselves in. We were wed in the eyes of the Seven. We consummated the marriage. You are my wife and I will never lie with another woman. And I don’t have any desire to. Whatever happened before, whatever we or our kinsmen did, we have to move beyond it. There was betrayal and death, and there was love too, and yet all of it must be worked through if this marriage is to succeed.”

“Not a simple task,” you murmur.

“No,” Jace says. “It isn’t. But I’ll try to do better. As your husband, it is my responsibility to protect and cherish you, not to be envious or cruel or wrathful. I shouldn’t have blamed you for what happened when we hated each other. I shouldn’t have ridiculed you for the effects of Aemond’s perverse influence. And I do want to know the real you, even if that hurts me sometimes.”

You watch the flurries whirl in the steel-colored air, feeling nauseous and dizzy and weary and fading away like the snowflakes melting into Jace’s dark hair. “I need to go lie down.”

Jace seems alarmed. “Are you ill?”

“I think it worked.”

He furrows his brow at you. “What worked?”

“Our efforts in the marriage bed. And in the stable.”

He blinks at you, startled, and then he smiles more luminously than you’ve ever seen him, and you think: I should be happy too. I should want this child. But I don’t, I don’t, I know I don’t. Jace rests his head against yours, his curls tickling your cheek, and whispers: “I am your family now.”

“Yes,” you say, a lie.

~~~~~~~~~~

Winter descends slowly, like a fever in reverse: cold that swims in your bloodstream, bone marrow turned to ice. Snow falls, ices over, melts on warmer days, is covered by a fresh blanket of powdery white. Daeron and the Hightower army wage war in the Reach. Aemond and the Lannister army besiege the Riverlands as Criston and his men march to join them. Aegon is missing. Sunfyre is presumed dead. Mother is still held in the dungeons of the Red Keep, along with Larys Strong, Tyland Lannister, Jasper Wylde, and a number of other political prisoners. Helaena is confined to her rooms but—as the result of Jace’s intervention—allowed to see her surviving children and walk in the garden under the supervision of armed guards. Rhaenyra rules over King’s Landing, a city that grows more restless and more hostile as Lord Celtigar’s taxes are levied and rumors of your disappearance spread. All over Westeros, people are starving and suffering and dying. And you are here, an island marooned in an ocean of mist and rocks, a remote land of the First Men and the Andals, earth you feel you do not belong on.

Jace and Vermax fly over the mountains and head south to King’s Landing, where Vermithor and Seasmoke circle high above the city and keep the riots from swelling to rebellions. You are left at Heart’s Home, and each night Sapphire flaps through the open window to visit you in your bedchamber when you are alone, and each morning you nurse your nausea and headaches in bed: mugs of cinnamon tea, toast with a thin scrape of butter and blackberry jam, nips of milk of the poppy that the maester allows you on particularly bad days.

“That is very skillful work,” he notes once when he spots your scar as he applies cold wet cloths to your throat and collarbones to bring down your fever. “Though I should not be surprised. I have heard that Maester Orwyle is among the best healers in the realm.”

“He is,” you say. “But Prince Aemond was the person who mended me.” After assassins sent by one of your Blacks beheaded a child and nearly killed me too.

But you know by the expression on the maester’s face—bewildered, disturbed, shrinking away from the unmistakable fondness in your voice—that you cannot speak of Aemond this way, that you should not speak of him at all, that no one here will ever see him as anything but the monster who murdered Luke and Rhaenys, who is presently raining dragonfire down on the Riverlands. And with each passing hour, day, week, month, you wonder if he really is a monster, and if you invented every soft moment you ever believed you shared, and if you would have chosen him if he hadn’t been the one who laid claim to you since birth.

By afternoon you are usually better, and Lady Caro drags you around trying to transform you into a woman of the Vale. She shows you how to tend to the goats and turn their milk into cheese and soap. She forces you to embroider dull scenes of snowcapped mountains and winding rivers. She sings—bellowing and off-key—the ballads of her childhood as you beg her to stop before it has some malevolent effect upon the baby. She brings you insipid-colored gowns tailored to accommodate your growing belly. She brushes your hair and tries out new styles constantly. She accompanies you for dinner each night and implores you to eat enough to make up for the breakfast and lunch you missed due to illness.

“I was horrified when my parents first told me I was to marry Lord Corbray,” she tells you one night as you dine on stew made from potatoes and peas and the meat of shaggy, black-haired yaks that roam the rugged terrain of the Vale, the fire crackling and her full cheeks ever-pink. Lady Caro is not one to ever run out of stories. She could have entire conversations all by herself, you are convinced. “I wasn’t even twenty yet and he was forty-five, and I thought that he was just…so…so old! But as it turned out, there are advantages to having an old husband. He treated me like I was the most beautiful woman in the world. He was too tired to chase after mistresses like all my sisters’ husbands did. And men with more experience…well…they understand how to please a wife in the marriage bed. Even if his male parts aren’t cooperating, he knows he has two hands and a tongue. And that’s all I’ll say!”

“I wish you’d say less,” you tease as you scoop up a spoonful of stew.

“And he was kind about it when we lost our children,” Lady Caro continues, soberly now. And she goes away, like she does sometimes, staring blankly at the window or the wall or the fireplace without seeing anything. “And then when Jessamyn was married and left for Seagard. Oh, that was an awful day for me.” Outside in the darkness wolves howl and owls hoot, and Lady Caro returns. “Do you know what Lord Corbray said to me last week?”

“What?”

“That my spirits are much improved since Prince Jacaerys brought you here. He thinks you remind me of Jessamyn, and so I get to be a mother again.”

“Did he really?”

“Yes! And of course I told him that he was absolutely mistaken, that you’re an odd and disobedient thing, always ruining your embroidery, sneaking off into the forest where you know you aren’t supposed to be, dodging all my kind words and soothing embraces. You’re nothing at all like my lovely sweet docile affectionate daughter.”

You smile mischievously. “I’m kind of like your daughter.”

Lady Caro snorts. “If you were my daughter, I’d walk straight into the ocean and drown myself.”

And you both burst out laughing, so loudly that Lord Leowyn Corbray overhears and ambles into the Great Hall to investigate the cause of the commotion.

When Jace returns, he is worn down: by the journey, by the tremendous suffering throughout the realm, by being overruled by his mother and her council. He tells you as you lie in bed together that night, Jace’s head resting on your belly and your fingers combing absentmindedly through his hair: “It never used to be this way.”

“Before the war, you mean?”

“Yeah,” Jace murmurs, kissing the place where his child lives. You wish you felt such devotion to it. You wish you felt anything. Mostly, you try to pretend it doesn’t exist. “We were able to speak kindly to each other. Mother was always reading stories and playing games with us. And Daemon…he and I were never especially close. But we didn’t quarrel. I respected him as my stepfather, and as the husband of my mother’s choosing. But he hasn’t earned that loyalty.” Jace is quiet for a while, and you assume he’s dozed off until he speaks again. “It changed all of us. Grandsire dying, Aegon trying to take Mother’s throne, Luke and Baela being killed. I suspect that in Nettles, Daemon sees Baela and my mother when she was young, and that’s why he’s grown so…attached to her.”

You wonder: Will Aemond find someone who makes him think of me?

Jace gets up to extinguish the candles. The window is closed so Sapphire can’t get in; you don’t think Jace would approve. Mosaics of the faces of your lost family hang on the walls, but when the candles are blown out no one can see them. You feel the feather mattress shift as Jace climbs back into bed and turns toward you.

“We don’t have to anymore,” you say. I’m already pregnant.

“No, you’re right. We don’t.”

But then in the darkness you reach for him—your body starving for passion, your bones cold—and this time it is slow and intense and brilliant, and Jace learns how to touch you, and although he is never as rough or as primal as you crave he does not leave you unsatisfied. And each time he and Vermax vanish into the mist-colored sky above Heart’s Home, you discover that you miss him more.

The Triarchy arrive with ninety warships at the mouth of Blackwater Bay—and you knew they were coming, but Jace didn’t—and the Sea Snake’s fleet repels them, but not before half his vessels sink to the bottom of the ocean and Seasmoke is killed by a bolt from one of the countless scorpions mounted on the Triarchy’s ships. Corlys, wounded in battle and having lost a wife, three children, a granddaughter, and a grandson, is unable to fight on and is brought to recuperate in the Red Keep. In the taverns of King’s Landing, Jace finds a Targaryen bastard called Ulf the White to ride Silverwing, who is claimed during a clandestine trip under the cover of nightfall to Dragonstone while Aemond is leagues away in the Riverlands. One less free dragon in the world, one more person judged worthy in ways you aren’t.

Without Jace’s knowledge or approval, Rhaenyra sends ravens instructing the loyal houses of the Riverlands to capture Nettles and bring her south to King’s Landing to be tried for treason. House Mooton of Maidenpool, fearful of Daemon’s retribution (as he and Caraxes are based nearby at Harrenhal), inform the prince consort of the plot. Daemon sends Nettles and Sheepstealer away—to where, exactly, no one knows—and then flies north to offer protection to Cregan Stark’s army so they will agree to invade the Riverlands. In his absence, Aemond and Vhagar take Harrenhal, and both the Lannister army and Criston’s men follow him there and dig in to wait for the Northmen.

When Jace is able to return to Heart’s Home to stay with you for a few days or a week, he tries to win your trust and show you that you have his. He tells you of the Blacks’ war strategies and that Rhaenyra has hidden Rhaena, Joffrey, and her silver-haired sons with Daemon, Aegon and Viserys, in the Eyrie with Lady Jeyne Arryn. And while Jace is here, you enjoy walking through the snow with him and visiting the horses in the stable, and at night you fall willingly into the shelter of his arms. But when he’s gone again, the pieces of yourself you have tried to smother come back to life.

You dream of being locked in a closet or a trunk and pounding on the wood for hours, but Aemond never returns to let you out. You startle when you see your reflection and don’t recognize yourself with your hair in the styles of the Vale. You recall Helaena placing ladybugs in your palms and watching them scurry up your forearms like blood drops. You feel your fingers yearning to swipe, to claw, to fight, to be pinned and overpowered. You remember when you taunted Aemond with words he once said in the garden of the Red Keep—“If I ran, do you think you could catch me?”—and he had bolted after you and chased you through the halls as you both laughed wildly, slamming each other into walls and doorframes as horrified onlookers gawked, dragging each other to the floor, until you had crawled on sore palms and knees into your bedchamber and Aemond finally caught you, rolled you onto your back, held your wrists to the floor as he climbed on top of you, and aching so badly it had put tears in your eyes you had begged for what you knew he could not yet give you.

You receive a vision through Aemond’s eye once, and only once, late on a night when Jace is hopelessly far away and you are petting Sapphire as he sits in your lap, his shiny black eyes gazing adoringly up at you and his fanlike ears twitching as they listen to your words. Abruptly you are in a different firelit bedchamber in another castle, and within Aemond’s skull is a turbulent sea of grief, fury, disgust, desire, and you see—who is that?—a flash of long dark hair.

Then Aemond is gone, but for only a few seconds he felt so close and so real that you are left breathless, broken, missing him more than you thought was possible now that you’re another man’s wife and carry his dark-haired heir in your belly.

Does he touch someone else? Does he love someone else?

You curl up on the cold stone floor and sob as Sapphire clings to your shoulder.

I can never go back to who I was before.

Then why is it so hard to forget her?

~~~~~~~~~~

Jace is gone again, and has been for weeks. You hope he is back before the baby is born. By custom, men do not enter the birthing chamber, but you still want him in the castle. It would make you feel less alone, here in the cold windswept Vale where Targaryens were never meant to be, here where an icy stream almost took your life when you were a child after Aemond pushed you in. Lady Caro and the maester say your labor will begin soon, but this seems impossible. The baby you carry has never felt real—not even when it kicks, not even when it puts aches in your spine and your hips—and you try not to think of it too much because what it makes you feel are only sinful things that anyone else would be horrified by: indifference, inconvenience, disconnection, disbelief.

You are in your bedchamber and Sapphire is here with you. He scrabbles clumsily around the floor as you work on your latest mosaic of shattered seashells. It’s the first one you’d made of Jace, and you are trying to figure out how best to place the black shards to mimic his curls. You are being a good wife. You are trying to believe that he is your family now.

The bedroom door opens and Jace sails in with his red cloak streaming out behind him, beaming now that he is home with you and his soon-to-be-born child. Before you can say anything, Sapphire takes flight and swoops at Jace, curious, benevolent, making new friends. Jace gasps and knocks him to the ground.

“Don’t!” you shriek, but it’s already happening: Jace stomps on the bat twice, but once would have been enough. Fragile bones are snapped and crushed, blood gushes out onto the grey stone floor. You’re wailing as you race across the room and cradle Sapphire’s limp body, his black and white fur a satchel of hemorrhaging organs and shifting bone splinters. His eyes are lifeless.

“What?” Jace is asking, desperate to help you but not realizing what he’s done. “What’s wrong with you? It’s a wild animal, it could give you diseases, it could harm you or the baby—”

“You know I love bats,” you sob.

“What?! No I don’t, what are you talking about?!”

“On the ship!” you shout, enraged now. “I told you on the ship when you brought me here!” When you trapped me, when you stole me.

Jace is blinking in disbelief. “That was nine months ago.”

He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t care. When he tries to comfort you, you push him away so violently his back hits the wall. You snarl at him in High Valyrian, words he cannot understand but a tone that is unmistakable: “You don’t listen to me. You don’t know me. Get out, get out, I don’t want you here.” And Jace storms out of the room simmering with his own disappointments, grieving that he will never have a wife who is sweet and compliant and comprehensible.

You want to burn Sapphire’s body so he can have the burial of a Targaryen, but the maids pour into your bedchamber and take him away as you try to fight them. They scrub his blood off the floor and make you change into a clean nightgown, and afterwards as you lie in bed with venomous tears snaking down your cheeks, you feel that everyone expects the person you were before to die and a new woman to reveal herself, but you can’t kill who you are—sometimes you wish you could, but you can’t—and there is a vague ache in your lower belly as you sink into dark, homesick dreams.

You wake at midnight in horrible pain, like the cramps you once had when you bled each month, but sharper and stronger and rather than letting up getting closer together until they are unrelenting. You stagger to the door, pink-tinged fluid leaking onto the floor, and call for the maids. They wake Lady Caro and the maester, then fetch linens and hot water and cold cloths. Lady Caro’s voice is calm, and her large hands are always there to seize with a crushing grip or help you stumble around the room. She tells you that Jace has been informed you’re in labor and that he is pacing in the library, where Lord Corbray is gamely trying to distract him.

I can’t be in labor. This baby isn’t real, this place isn’t real, I want to go home.

The maester thinks you should stay in bed, but you crawl down onto the floor and kneel there as contractions rip through you, and when he tries to urge you back into bed Lady Caro shushes him. The pain is very bad, and then awful, and then excruciating, and now you are convinced something has gone wrong and you cry out as your palms press into the cold stone floor.

“It’s not ladylike to scream,” Lady Caro says patiently, and you yowl at her and shove her away, and she laughs and comes back to cool your face with a cloth pulled from a bucket filled with snow. “It will be over soon. Right when you feel like you can no longer bear it, that’s when the baby will be born and the pain will subside.”

You look at her with sweated, exhausted terror. “Don’t pretend women don’t die doing this.” Rhaenyra’s mother Aemma did.

“Oh, they do, they do,” Lady Caro says. “But you won’t.”

Aemond would be here if I was his wife. “Please get Jace,” you tell her. “Can you bring him here? Please?”

Lady Caro glances anxiously at the maester and the maids. “Men aren’t usually permitted in the birthing chamber.”

“Please,” you moan. I’m dying. I’m afraid. I don’t want to be alone.

“Alright.” She squeezes your shoulder and then rubs your back reassuringly. “Let me go talk to him.”

It seems like Lady Caro is gone for a long time, but it must only be minutes. The maester is saying things you aren’t listening to, the maids are darting around franticly. It’s been a very long time since a baby was born in this castle. Then there are new footsteps in the room, swift and purposeful.

“I’m here,” Jace says, crouching down on the floor beside you. You clutch for him and he catches your hand, then kisses your knuckles. He chuckles nervously. “I don’t know what to do, but I’m here.”

“I’m sorry,” you whimper pitifully. “I don’t want to die with you mad at me.”

“I’m not mad,” Jace promises, and his lips travel to your cheek, your temple, your ear. “I’m not mad. I love you. I’ll get you new bats.”

There is unimaginable pain, and pressure, and blood too. Jace holds you as Lady Caro reaches beneath your red-stained nightgown and says you are almost done, a few more pushes and the baby will be here and the agony in the past; and while you still even now cannot fathom being a mother to anyone, let alone this child you cannot admit you don’t want, this encourages you. You shriek as the baby is born in a torrent of fire and blood, and Lady Caro catches him in a sheet that turns instantly from white to crimson.

“A boy!” Lady Caro is announcing, and the baby is crying as she and the maester clean him, and Jace is weeping ecstatically and asking to see his son, but you don’t even glance in his direction.

I don’t want this child, you think through the dissipating pain and the relief that the worst is over. I don’t want this life.

“Dear, you should hold him,” Lady Caro says gently, and before you can protest she places the child, no longer crying and wrapped snuggly in a blanket patterned with blue dragonflies, into your arms.

And although of course he does not look like a Targaryen—dark hair already twisting into curls, black eyelashes and Jace’s nose—when you gaze down at him it feels as if everyone you’ve ever lost has been returned to you, Aegon and Helaena and Daeron, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera and Maelor, a mother who understands you, a father who is present, Grandsire smiling proudly at you like he once smiled at Helaena, and even Aemond’s ghost (who haunts doorways and staircases, bedchambers and libraries); and when Jace marvels at the baby’s tiny wrinkled hands you know he is remembering Luke, and Harwin Strong, and Laenor Velaryon, and Baela, and he has forgiven you for all of it.

“We are your family now,” Jace says, and for the first time you believe him.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Snow Angel

Daemon's Version

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

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

Daemon Targaryen x Snow!Reader | 700< | cw: fem!reader, reader is Lord Rickon Stark's bastard daughter, canon divergence, angst, violence, blood, war, death, typos, etc.

A/N: renee rapp my beloved

Though you were his wife by law, you were not by heart.

It did not hurt you, at least not anymore. You understood your place. You understood your duty; your duty was to your house, to your family, to him.

This was how you found yourself in the crosshairs of peril.

Daemon had been lost for days on end. He'd not given word ever since his proclamation to seize Harrenhal for the Queen— for his niece, his beloved niece. You knew why he was so eager to act. He so badly wanted to win Rhaenyra's favor.

They had not seen eye to eye lately, and one could say it was your fault. You were getting in the middle of their relationship, you, his wife. It felt as though there was not a soul in Westeros who did not know of their relations, and yet even in that blatant shame, not once did you ever bring it up to your husband.

Not once.

Why?

Because he saved you when you were wed. You had been promised to an old lord known to be a wife beater. You were told that it was the best match you would ever get, but then you caught the interest of the prince of Dragonstone, even if for a fleeting moment.

You thought that what you had was akin to desire, if not love, but it seems he only married you to spite someone that truly stoked such a thing within him. And now, you were sent to the North to remind your half brother of House Stark's pledge to that person, to Queen Rhaenyra. Your kin did not take kindly to that. But it was not Cregan that found offence in your appearance, but his men, some five of them.

Daemon dreams about this in Harrenhal. He dreams of five direwolves pulling you apart, limb from limb. He wakes up in a cold sweat because of it. When he rouses with word that a raven came telling of the conditions of his wife, he did not need to read its contents to be inspired to saddle Caraxes.

He makes his dragon land inside Winterfell and demands, "WHERE IS MY WIFE?!"

Cregan runs and meets him once he dismounted, leading him to your room.

His expression falls when he sees you. You were badly cut and beaten. You looked like you were ready to greet the Stranger. He grabs Cregan by his furs and hisses, "where are the men that did this?"

"I've sent them to the Wall," Stark raises a hand, indicating he did not want to fight.

"The Wall?" he shoves him away, "their heads should be on a sp-"

"They are my men. I will do with them as-"

"They outnumbered and ambushed my wife! You think they deserve the honor of keeping their heads?!"

Daemon was about to draw Dark Sister, until he heard a soft voice call his name. He turns to you, catching the way you stirred, and immediately comes to your side.

You weakly reach out a hand and he takes it. He is warm, a complete opposite to you. You feel lethargic but you manage to pull your lips into a semblance of a smile. You whisper, "you've come."

Your husband stares at you. He clutches your hand in both of his.

You rub his skin with your thumb.

He shakes his head, "I will exact your injuries of your attackers. They will regret the day they left their mothers' cunts."

You no longer have the energy to respond. You weakly smile at him before closing your eyes.

He stays with you until you fall asleep. He stay with you until he is told your eyes would no longer open again. He had to be subdued before he killed the maester that announced the news.

Cregan could do little to stop the prince and Caraxes from flying off to the Wall. He all but threatened to burn the whole of it down if your attackers did not come forth. And when they do, Daemon tells them to fight him or be fed to his dragon.

And so the fools attacked him, and were slain, and were fed to his dragon anyway. He flies back to Harrenhal after, and you haunt him in his dreams.

[silverryuan]

Ace Trappola with Ice Bear reader

• You and Ace did NOT have great first impressions. His recklessness reminds you of your older brother, Grizz, but even HE has boundaries of "fuck around and find out". He tends to belittle and jokingly insult you from time to time just because you're different. You favor Deuce more than him.

• You knew that this guy would ditch window cleaning, so you stood outside the his classroom door and clean the nearby windows. After a while, the students that are excited to leave the boring lectures flooded the hallways to the point you couldn't see him.

• You crawl up the wall without being seen and scanned the hallways... There he is! You dropped down, grabbed Grim, and then bolted to Ace. Ace somewhat sensed your murderous aura and ran the other way. You guys chased him until the moment you reach one of his classmates.

Ace, running: "Hey! Outta the way! This monster's trying to kill me!"

Deuce: "Huh?!"

Ace: "Do something!"

Grim: "Don't fall for it! He's ditching his punishment!"

Deuce, panicking: "UUUUUHHHH!"

• Before Deuce could take out his magical pen, you tackled Ace to the ground and wrestled him into submission.

Ace: "OW OW OW OK FINE I'LL WASH THEM JUST LET ME GO!"

Ice Bear: "����"

Grim: "Fnyahahahah! Good job, my henchman! That'll teach ya not to ditch the cleaning punishment the headmage gave ya! Now ya better wash those windows!!"

Ace: "Ugh, seriously? Can't you two just clean the windows by yourselves? Those one hundred windows should be squeaky clean by now!"

Grim: "Shaddup! It's not something me and my henchman can do in a flash!"

Deuce: "Woah... a monster- i-i mean... What did he do for the headmage to force him to wash a hundred windows?"

Grim: "He charred the Queen of Hearts statue."

Deuce: "YOU WHAT?! Ahem, I mean, that's the most horrible and the most offensive thing you did! You definitely deserve that punishment!"

Ace: "Easy for you to say...er...who are you?"

Deuce: "You don't even remember your classmate's name! It's Deuce, Deuce Spade! You must remember that next time...uhh..."

Ace: "Wha- you don't even remember mine, Juice! It's Ace Trappola!"

Deuce: "It's Deuce, not Juice! Deuce! And... You must be the magicless monster I've heard about."

Ice Bear: "Ice Bear is not monster. Ice Bear is nice bear 😠."

Deuce: "Oh, you can talk! I'm sorry, who's Ice Bear?"

Ace: "WAIT A SEC THAT LITTLE GREMLIN IS GONE!"

• Should've guessed this was gonna happen. Ace dragged Deuce along with you guys although you didn't want anyone to be involved. You chased the little monster all the way to the cafeteria and ADeuce decided to do something stupid. You were gonna crawl up the wall but they shattered the chandelier before you could catch Grim, resulting with you having minor injuries after the fall. Luckily, you got up and check if Grim's still conscious so you could smack his head.

• You got up and walked to Ace. If the headmage hadn't intervened, Ace would likely to get punched by you. The Dwarf's Mine is the only chance of redeeming your stay. You made the others come, even if you're gonna do all the work by yourself.

• You guys went to the Dwarf's Cottage. Can't find anyone there, you just went to the mine. You realize that the Overblot monster is guarding the magic crystal and ran outside. Ace and Deuce argued, you decided to take matters into your own paws. You don't have time for arguements so you snapped them back to reality by carrying both of them back to the mine. You made a plan and a makeshift axe (you really miss your fire axe). You order the three to bait the monster out so you can finish it off. After the fight, the ADeuce realize that you mean BUSINESS and take absolutely ZERO SHITS from nobody.

• Ace also realized that maybe he's been judging you wrong. You helped him avoid punishment. You gave him a second chance. You really do deserve to be called a student at Night Raven College.

• When he ate Riddle's tart without permission, you let him stay inside Ramshackle. You even prepared treats for him but a he's a bit offended when you won't let him in the kitchen. You clean the dust off the couch for him and straightened the sheets so he could sleep better. He's gotta say, he was gonna thank you but stopped when he saw you stepping into a broken down refrigerator.

Ace: "Woah... Th-thanks, man. I didn't think you'd-"

Ice Bear: "Ice Bear says goodnight."

Ice Bear steps into the refrigerator

Ace: "...Eh? WHAT THE HELL?! H-HEY, WHERE DO YOU SLEEP? THERE'S A THING CALLED BED! WHY DON'T WE-"

Ice Bear: "Ice Bear sleeps in cold."

Ace: "Oh... I think I've seen a documentary on TV saying that polar bears live in really cold environments. I didn't think the same thing would go with monsters-"

Ice Bear: "Ice Bear is not monster 😠."

Ace: "Alright, I get. But... You sure you're gonna sleep in there? The fridge is barely running."

Ice Bear: "Ice Bear fix fridge tomorrow."

Grim, yawning: "Fnyagh, are you two just gonna talk all night? I'm tired, let's sleep already!"

• Ace and Deuce don't tolerate the other students insulting you. So when Ace punched Riddle in the face after the redhead insulted you, Ace really means it. He still teases you when you say something weird or cute in third-person.

• You gain some respect from him when you fought those territorial Savanaclaw students in a game of Magift. You guys ended up in a tie. Ace also learned that Bears are lot stronger than he thought.

• Sometimes, Ace couldn't help but complain every time you offered to help him and Deuce study in upcoming exams. For a talking polar bear, you're really knowledgeable. He really should have seen your disappointed glare after he signed the contract with Azul. After you save him a second time, he doubles the amount of respect.

• He notices that you don't use a phone despite the headmaster already giving you one. You said that you'll only use that for emergencies. He definitely traveled all the way to Scarabia with Deuce just to see if you and Grim are okay.

• During VDC, Ace now thinks that having this much talent is cheating. He knows that you never made a deal with Azul other than the time where you did just to free him, Deuce, and Grim. So why the hell are you so talented? Deuce says that he's overthinking too much and told him to brush it off. You're actually pretty hard to read...

• After this much thinking, he decides that whether you're magicless or not, you're still one of his best friends.

[sicutpuella]

Midnight Rain | Jacaerys x OC x Cregan

Chapter One.

Summary: Betrothed since childhood, Lady Aelyria Velaryon and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon journey to Winterfell under Queen Rhaenyra's orders; however, upon meeting Lord Cregan Stark, Aelyria finds herself torn between her duty to Jacaerys and an unexpected desire for the Northern lord. Now, she must choose between love, honor, and duty at a critical crossroads.

Series Masterlist [Previous Chapter, Next Chapter]

When Cregan was informed via raven that Prince Jacaerys, along with his betrothed, Lady Aelyria, was to visit the North for diplomatic affairs, he readied his castle with great care. He spent hours ensuring there was more than enough food for the feast that night; the day was consumed by his fussing.

As evening approached, word came that the Prince and his bride-to-be had arrived. He descended to the castle yard, where the entourage awaited.

"Prince Jacaerys," he said, "welcome to the North. I hope your journey went well."

Cregan first took in the prince’s appearance—tall, with sharp and refined features, brown curly hair neatly styled, and a strong nose. There was an unspoken elegance about him, a stark contrast to Cregan’s simple yet rugged looks.

Then he saw her—Aelyria. Her back was turned to him, long silver hair in a few braids. She was momentarily distracted by the children waving at her; they gawked as if she were a fairy from a tale.

When he saw Aelyria, his eyes widened; her beauty and the elegant way she carried herself took him by surprise. She seemed like a vision, a goddess incarnate, too perfect to be true. Her silver hair, cascading down in intricate braids, shimmered in the Northern sunlight; each strand catching the light like spun moonbeams. Her eyes, a vivid brown, held an allure that was both mesmerizing and intimidating. The children around her gawked as if she were a fairy from their tales, and Cregan could hardly blame them!

He had never seen anyone like her before—so unattainable, so ethereal. She was a true Valyrian beauty, embodying ethereal essence of her houses in every elegant movement. He felt his heart quicken, a sense of awe and reverence overtaking him. This was no mere woman or mortal, rather; she was a living legend, a dream made flesh.

He took a moment to look at her before speaking, his mind a little clouded.

"My Lady," he said finally, his voice low and hoarse.

Unknown to him, she too marveled at him. There he was, broad shoulders cloaked in a fur coat; the simple attire did nothing to hide his powerful frame. His longsword loomed behind his back, a silent testament to his strength. His brows were furrowed, as if analyzing her, his rugged looks captivating despite the absence of a beard. His eyes were a piercing gray, like the stormy skies of the North.

Aelyria felt her heart stop; he looked so... so masculine. The raw power he exuded, the sheer presence he commanded—every inch of him screamed strength and resilience. She was utterly smitten, drawn to him in a way she had never experienced before. This was a man forged by the harsh northern winds, tempered by the cold, and she found herself undeniably entranced by him.

Cregan's heart began to beat faster once more; an unfamiliar feeling stirred within him. He couldn't help but admire her beauty—her slender figure, the silver braid, the soft features on her round face, the way she smiled at the children…

He was taken aback by his own reaction. He had seen many beautiful women before, but none had affected him like this. Perhaps it was her Valyrian blood that made her so mesmerizing, or the way she radiated an aura of kindness and grace.

"You are more beautiful than I imagined," he said, his voice low.

"Oh… she truly is." Jacaerys interrupted his thoughts, walking closer to Aelyria, his hands intertwined with hers.

Cregan's eyes flickered to their hands, a pang of jealousy stirring within him. He knew she was betrothed to the prince, but it didn't stop him from feeling a sharp jealousy at seeing them so close.

He forced a smile, though it felt cold. "Indeed, my Prince. You are a lucky man."

"Truly." Jacaerys' hands gripped hers.

"Good afternoon, my Lord." Her voice, like honey; she bowed gracefully.

Cregan couldn't help the way his heart skipped a beat when she spoke. Her voice, soft and sweet as honey, mesmerized him. His gaze lingered on her, taking in every detail.

He bowed back, a bit awkwardly, feeling out of his depth. "Good evening, my Lady. I hope your journey here was pleasant."

"It was… My Prince and I enjoyed the sights."

Cregan felt a pang again; his eyes darted to their intertwined hands once more.

"I am glad to hear that," he said, his voice coming out a little gruff. "We have prepared a feast tonight in your honor. I hope you will both enjoy it."

"You are far too kind, my lord," Jacaerys spoke.

Cregan forced a smile. "It is the least we can do, my Prince. You are our honored guest, after all."

His eyes flicked to Aelyria again, taking in her soft curves and delicate features. He could see why Jacaerys was so besotted with her.

Lord Cregan gave them a tour of the place, hoping Aelyria would not be too bored. She seemed to enjoy it—or was she merely being polite? Why was he overthinking it?

The tension lingered. As much as he tried to ignore it, Cregan could feel it every time he looked at them together; how easily Jacaerys' hand found her waist; the way they shared brief moments of laughter…

Cregan subtly shook his head, as if to banish all those unseemly thoughts of the lady.

She is to be wed, Cregan! Pull yourself together.

Yet, despite his attempts, Cregan found himself unable to keep his mind from wandering back to the lady. He tried to focus on the conversation, to ignore the way her eyes seemed to shine in the light of the corridor; the way her laughter filled the air; and the way her hand fit perfectly in Jacaerys’.

He found himself lost in a confusing mix of guilt and longing, his mind at war with his heart. He tried to remind himself constantly that she was betrothed—to his guest of honor, no less…

Cregan’s hands were slightly nervous upon shaving his growing beard. He wanted to maintain some semblance of youth, even though the Lady and the Prince were close to his age—or perhaps it was an effort to look presentable in front of the Lady? He shook his head as his hands continued to shave. He ensured his guests of honor had time to prepare and rest before the dinner.

“Fuck.” He inhaled sharply; he cut himself, just a tad bit.

His fingers rubbed the cut, feeling a pang of frustration at his own clumsiness.

He looked at himself in the mirror, taking in his appearance. He was handsome, strong—a true Northman. That was how he had always thought of himself. Yet now, as he stood there in the mirror, he couldn't help but feel a pang of self-doubt. He had never felt this way before, never before had he cared so much about how he looked.

“Damn it…” he muttered to himself.

He was first in the dining hall, ensuring all was well for tonight’s dinner. His guests were of royal, Valyrian blood, after all.

The dining hall was meticulously prepared for the occasion. The tables were set with the finest china and silverware. Fresh blooms adorned the tables, filling the air with a pleasant fragrance. The food was a feast fit for royalty, each dish a testament to the North's bounty and hospitality.

As Cregan waited, his thoughts kept drifting towards her. The Lady Aelyria, with her silver hair and brown eyes. He couldn't shake off the memory of her soft laugh and her sweet scent.

The door was slowly filling in with his bannermen, his guests, his squires. The doors to the dining hall opened, and the room slowly filled with the sounds of hushed conversations and the clinking of silverware.

His bannermen were in attendance, their proud, stern figures a stark contrast to the lavish setting. They took their seats, whispering amongst themselves, their eyes discreetly flickering towards the door. Cregan stood near the head of the table, his eyes darting to the entrance, waiting for the arrival of the Valyrians.

Then— The door opened. All eyes turned towards the door as it opened. Cregan's heart skipped a beat.

There she was, just as beautiful as before, but now she was dressed in a gown that seemed to accentuate her feminine curves. She looked like Valyrian royalty; her silvery hair cascaded over her shoulder in waves; her eyes sparkled with a soft light.

Cregan watched as she walked towards the head of the table, accompanied by the prince. Jacaerys was a gentleman—a true, well-mannered royal. Aelyria and Jacaerys politely greeted everyone in attendance. As Aelyria and Jacaerys greeted each person in attendance, Cregan found his gaze drawn to her. He watched as she smiled politely, her voice soft and pleasant as she spoke to each guest.

Her elegance was undeniable; every movement she made seemed graceful and poised. He felt a pang as he saw the prince’s hand on her waist, pulling out her chair like a true chivalrous prince. Cregan clenched his jaw.

“Good evening, my lord… my, the dinner is truly magnificent,” she smiled, the reds in her dress bringing out her eyes.

“Good evening, my lady,” he managed to say, his voice a bit hoarse. He was aware of the other men in the room, some of them stealing glances her way as well.

“Lord Stark,” Jacaerys greeted, his voice smooth and courteous. “Thank you for your generous hospitality. The feast looks splendid.”

Cregan inclined his head, acknowledging the prince’s words. “It is our honor to host you, Prince Jacaerys. I trust your chambers were comfortable?”

“They were,” Jacaerys replied with a smile. “We rested well. Your keep is as warm and welcoming as it is grand.”

Cregan nodded, satisfied. “I’m glad to hear that. Please, take your seats.” The three of them settled at the head of the table.

“Aelyria here enjoys fish,” Jacaerys mentioned, pointing out the plate of fish to Aelyria.

Cregan’s eyes followed his gesture to the plate of fish. For a brief moment, his mind wandered to the idea of personally catching and preparing a fresh fish for Aelyria. But he quickly pushed the thought away, realizing how ridiculous it was.

“Ah, fish…” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “We have the finest salmon from the streams of the North. I hope it is to your liking, Lady Aelyria.”

“We rarely get good salmon in Dragonstone, so this is truly wonderful for me.” She smiled, her eyes lighting up with excitement as she looked at the salmon.

Cregan felt a pang of pride at her words; he couldn’t help but feel pleased that he could offer something new and special to her.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, his voice a little gruff. “We Northerners take pride in our fish, especially salmon. It is a staple in our diet, especially during the winter.”

“Then, Aely, I suppose you should vacation here during winter,” Jacaerys smiled at her.

Cregan's mind briefly imagined Aelyria visiting Winterfell during winter—dressed in furs, cheeks flushed from the cold, laughter in her eyes. He quickly pushed away the thought, feeling guilty that he was indulging in such fantasies.

“Yes, the North is quite a sight during winter,” he said, forcing a smile. “But the cold is not for the faint-hearted.”

“I have a dragon… it can make me a pyre,” she jested.

Cregan chuckled, surprised by her jest. The sound of her laugh echoed in his ears, making him want to hear it again.

“Ah, I suppose that is true,” he said, his smile widening. “With a dragon to keep you warm, the North wouldn’t seem so cold after all.”

The dinner was splendid. Cregan enjoyed it—but he enjoyed looking at her sweet smile even more. He enjoyed Jacaerys’ company as well; the prince was quite intelligent and dignified despite being young. He truly was made to be a prince.

Throughout the dinner, Cregan found his gaze drawn to Aelyria again and again. He hung on every word she spoke, every time she laughed, every gesture she made. He conversed with Jacaerys as well, finding the prince to be a good conversationalist. Despite his young age, Jacaerys was intelligent, charming—a true prince. Cregan couldn’t deny that he was a good match for Aelyria.

Despite his best efforts to enjoy the dinner and the company, Cregan found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything but Aelyria. The sound of her laughter, the way she smiled at Jacaerys—it all filled his mind, making it hard for him to focus on anything else. He couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as he watched them. They looked so perfect together, a true match, a future couple destined for greatness. The thought sent a pang of pain through his chest.

Cregan and Jacaerys quickly found a comfortable understanding, their banter flowing easily as they sipped their mead.

"You Northerners certainly know how to brew a fine drink," Jacaerys commented, raising his mug in a toast.

Cregan chuckled, raising his own. "Aye, we have to. The cold makes a man appreciate a good, strong drink."

They exchanged stories, Cregan sharing tales of the harsh Northern winters and the battles fought against the Wildlings; Jacaerys spoke of the courtly intrigues of King's Landing and the fierce loyalty of the people of Dragonstone. The prince's laughter was infectious, his wit sharp and easygoing, making Cregan feel more at ease than he had in years. As the evening wore on and the mead continued to flow, Cregan found himself growing more unguarded. He was drinking a little more than he should; the alcohol made him feel a bit loose and unguarded.

"What is it like living on Dragonstone?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of slur.

“Salty,” Aelyria spoke first. “If you stand still enough, you’ll taste the salt on your tongue.” She added, her tone light and playful.

Cregan chuckled at her answer, imagining Aelyria standing still, tasting the salt in the air.

"Ah, so it's quite the salty place then," he said, his eyes studying her face. "I imagine the castle must be built to withstand such conditions… after all, the Targaryens have called it home for centuries."

Jacaerys shared more about Dragonstone, painting a picture of a strong, proud, and ancient castle. As he spoke, Cregan listened intently, his eyes flickering between Jacaerys and Aelyria.

“You should visit one day,” Aelyria spoke softly.

Cregan's heart thudded at her words. Her soft, sweet voice was like a caress, making it even harder for him to think straight.

"Visit Dragonstone?" he repeated, his voice rough. "I… I would love to, my lady."

The thought of seeing her in her home, seeing her on her own turf, stirred something in him. It was a dangerous idea.

Unknown to Cregan, Jacaerys’ hand squeezed hers tighter.

“Tell us more about the North,” Aelyria continued, her eyes following him.

Cregan felt his heart race at the sound of her voice, her eyes fixed on him. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

"The North," he started, his voice still a little shaky. "It's vast, unforgiving, and beautiful. We have endless forests, snowy mountains, and icefields. It's the coldest region in Westeros, but the Northmen are hardy folk. We thrive in the cold—it's in our blood."

"Then there is the Wall," he said, his voice growing softer. "A colossal structure of ice that spans the length of the continent. It's the first line of defense against the Wildlings and the terrors from beyond it. The Night's Watch, an ancient order sworn to defend the realm from those threats. It's a formidable place—cold and harsh, just like the North itself."

“Terrors?” Jacaerys nearly chuckled.

Cregan gave Jacaerys a wry smile, realizing that tales of White Walkers might sound like a strange concept to a man from the South.

"Yes, terrors. Creatures from beyond the Wall, creatures of ice and cold. They are called the White Walkers, or the Others. They are said to bring with them the cold and the dark—a darkness that can last for years."

He paused, his eyes flickering to Aelyria's face, hoping she wouldn’t belittle or laugh at him.

Aelyria’s lips pursed, clearly in a bit of thought.

“Oh, you humor me, my lord,” Jacaerys witted.

Cregan bristled at Jacaerys’ comment but held his tongue. He knew that the prince was jesting, that he didn't believe in the tales of the Others. Many in the south didn't, and Cregan couldn't blame them; it all sounded like legends and fairy tales.

But the thought of the prince dismissing it so lightly made him feel another pang of… something he couldn't quite name.

“Darling, if dragons exist… surely there might be something else?” Aelyria looked at Jacaerys, then at Cregan, seemingly agreeing with the lord’s tales.

Throughout the dinner, Cregan found his gaze drawn to Aelyria again and again. He hung on every word she spoke, every time she laughed, every gesture she made. The sound of her laughter, the way she smiled at Jacaerys—it all filled his mind, making it hard for him to focus on anything else.

Cregan felt a strange sort of relief at Aelyria's words. Her agreement made him feel a little less foolish, a little less like the northman whose tales were seen as barbaric and primitive. But another part of him bristled at the endearment she'd used for Jacaerys—"darling." He found himself gritting his teeth.

"You see, my lady understands," Cregan said, his voice betraying a tinge of irritation.

He watched as Jacaerys placed his hand on Aelyria's waist again; that casual, familiar gesture set his teeth on edge.

“But, let’s not hope such terrors become our priority,” she added.

Cregan nodded, his irritation slightly quelled by her words. "Indeed. We should not hope for such horrors to come to pass."

He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the strange mix of emotions swirling within him.

“I pray that they get lost by the snow somehow,” she chuckled.

Cregan couldn’t help but smile at her soft, musical laugh. It sent a little thrill through him; he found himself wanting to hear it again.

"Ah, perhaps the snow will confuse them. They’ll wander around in circles until they get so cold they’ll simply freeze to death."

"Or better yet, maybe they'll try to attack a polar bear and get their heads bitten off." He chuckled at his own joke, hoping to get another laugh out of her.

“Prince Jacaerys!” A bunch of young boys came upon him, eager to show the prince something.

“Well, the young need me,” Jacaerys chuckled, and left a kiss on her cheek, sighing as he stood up to face the young boys, “I’ll leave you to the company of Lord Stark.” Jacaerys smiled at Aelyria first, then waved them both farewell.

Cregan watched as Jacaerys left, his eyes narrowing slightly at the kiss Jacaerys left on her cheek. He found himself clenching his jaw again, his jealousy flaring. With Jacaerys gone, he turned his attention to Aelyria, a sense of nerves and desire stirring within him. He was alone with her, and he couldn’t deny the thrill that gave him.

"So… now it is just the two of us," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. He glanced around, seeing that the others around them were engrossed in their own conversations, paying them no mind.

“Oh yes…” she smiled; he could sense she was a bit nervous as she sipped some of the wine.

Cregan took note of her nervousness—the way her fingers fidgeted with the stem of her goblet, the way she avoided his gaze. Knowing that she too was feeling the same tension he was only heightened his own desire.

"Are you enjoying yourself, my lady?" he asked, his voice lower than usual.

“I have been enjoying myself,” she smiled. “Your people’s and your hospitality is lovely.”

"I'm glad to hear that," he said, his heart thudding in his chest as her smile made him feel a little breathless. He leaned a little closer, drawn to her like a magnet, wanting to be nearer.

"Is there… anything else you have been enjoying?" he asked, his voice a little gravelly.

“Ooh! The food, yes… the salmon was delightful—I think I may have overeaten.” She smiled.

Cregan chuckled, amused by her description. "You enjoyed the salmon, did you?" he repeated. He found himself enjoying just listening to her talk; her voice was so pleasant to listen to. He reached out to refill her goblet, his fingers brushing against hers for a moment.

He liked hearing her talk… about anything.

“Oh… and the pig too,” she smiled, continuing.

Cregan took a sip from his own goblet, his eyes never leaving her face. Her smile was enchanting, her cheeks slightly flushed from the wine and the heat of the fire.

"The pig, of course," he echoed, his voice lower.

He wanted to touch her, to reach out and pull her closer to him, to feel the heat of her skin against his fingers. But he held back, not wanting to be too forward.

"You seem to have enjoyed quite a bit of our food," he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

He took another sip of his wine, watching her over the rim of his goblet.

"I suppose that's a good thing, it means you're not… unsatisfied with our hospitality."

“Oh, you are all so kind… the customs and attitudes are definitely different from the south— but it’s not a negative one. But rather, better,” she said with a diplomatic tone.

Cregan raised an eyebrow at her comment. Better, she said.

"Better, you say?" he repeated, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He found himself amused by her diplomatic tone, but also strangely pleased to hear that she preferred the North to the South.

“I suppose, I’ve been used to the courtly manners of acting kind upfront while being a monster behind you,” she chuckled candidly.

Cregan nodded, understanding her point perfectly. He had never much cared for the politics and scheming that were so common in the South. He preferred honesty and directness, things that were valued in the North.

"We don’t have much use for fake pleasantries in the North,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “We say what we mean and mean what we say."

“There’s always a hint of fakery and dishonesty down south.”

Cregan chuckled, her words making him feel even more comfortable in his own skin.

"Sounds exhausting, having to put on a false facade all the time," he said, his eyes tracing the line of her jaw, admiring her profile in the firelight.

“Oh, and you cannot— I repeat cannot make a mistake. Even a spelling writing in your parchments will surely have everyone questioning your intelligence,” she chuckled.

Cregan chuckled along with her, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Question your intelligence over a spelling mistake?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “We’ve got more important things to worry about in the North, like not freezing to death."

He leaned in a little closer, his voice lowering again.

"We don’t sweat the small things here, it’s not worth the effort."

“I suppose… perhaps the pampered life has over sensitized us…”

Cregan chuckled again, his eyes glinting with humor and something else. He liked her more and more, the more they talked.

"That’s what it is. You Southerners are too soft, too used to living a pampered life," he teased. "You’d never survive a northern winter."

“I have a dragon. I think I’ll manage Lord Stark.” She smiled.

Cregan chuckled again, enjoying her clever response.

"Ah, yes. Your dragon," he said, his eyes roaming over her face, taking in her every feature.

He found himself wondering what it would be like to ride a dragon, to feel the wind through his hair as he soared through the sky. But he pushed the thought aside, focusing on her.

"Yes, a dragon would keep you warm, I suppose. But you’d still have to eat northern food… and drink northern ale."

“I’d love to eat northern salmon all day… everyday… the ale? I cannot say positively about it, I get drunk rather fast.”

Cregan laughed heartily at her admission, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"You get drunk fast, eh?” he said, a bemused smile on his lips. "You might want to be careful then, our ale is strong enough to knock a grown man off his feet."

“When I turned 15… my granduncle Corlys gave me dornish wine… he had to carry me 4 flights upstairs because I passed out!” She laughed.

Cregan couldn’t help but laugh along with her, picturing the image she painted.

"Dornish wine, eh? No wonder you passed out," he said, his tone light and teasing. "That stuff is strong, but even I wouldn’t give it to a girl who’s just turned 15."

“Oh and I vomited on a few maidens…”

Cregan’s eyes widened in surprise, a burst of laughter leaving his lips.

"You vomited on your handmaidens?" he repeated, still chuckling. "Ah, that must have been quite the scene."

“Oh Granduncle Corlys still won’t let me forget… even Jacaerys who was one of the poor audience of my drunkenness.”

Cregan chuckled, imagining the look on Jacaerys’ face.

"Poor Jacaerys, having to witness your drunken escapade," he said, his tone playful. "I can only imagine what his reaction must have been."

“How about you my lord? How are you when you’re drunk?” She smiled.

Cregan chuckled, his eyes meeting hers.

"Me? I can hold my liquor well enough, if I do say so myself," he said, a hint of pride in his voice.

He paused for a moment, studying her face again, feeling that familiar stirring in his chest.

"But sometimes... when I've had a few too many ales, I tend to get a bit... bold."

“Hmm? Like… how? I know some men who tend to start a fight.”

Cregan chuckled, shaking his head.

"Oh no, I’m not a brawler. I’m just... more honest when I’m drunk," he said. "I say things I wouldn’t normally say, I act on my impulses more."

He paused, his eyes roaming over her face, his gaze lingering on her lips.

"I might... say things I wouldn’t normally say to a lady I'm interested in," he added, his voice lowering.

“Ooh… pray tell… which lady here has caught your eye?” She could tell she enjoys gossiping.

Cregan smirked, enjoying the playful lilt in her voice.

"Ah, well, there is one lady..." he said, playing along.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, as if he was sharing a secret with her.

"She is beautiful, intelligent, and kind. She has eyes as deep and dark as the night sky, and a smile that could rival the stars themselves."

“My lord, I believe you are… drunk!”

Cregan chuckled at her response.

"Perhaps I am, my lady," he said, a hint of sheepishness in his voice.

He took a sip of his ale, his eyes roaming over her face.

"But I am still perfectly aware of my thoughts and feelings," he added, his gaze growing a little more intense, more heated.

“Please do not vomit all over my dress, the silk came from Essos.” She sighed dramatically.

Cregan laughed, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

"Oh, I’m not that far gone, I assure you," he said, lifting his ale-filled goblet in a toast.

He paused, his gaze moving from her eyes, down to her dress, drinking in the soft material, the way it hugged her curves.

"Wouldn’t dare ruin such a lovely dress with my vomit."

He took a moment to collect himself, his eyes moving back up to her face.

"Besides, it would be a shame to ruin something so... beautiful," he said, his voice lowering again, a hint of huskiness in his tone.

"Red and black..." he repeated, his eyes roaming over the dress again.

He was even more aware of how closely it fit her frame, how the color brought out her eyes.

"It suits you," he said, his voice lower than usual. "You look... stunning."

“Oh… thank you, my lord.”

Cregan felt a pang of desire shoot through him as she thanked him in that sweet, polite tone. He took a mouthful of ale, trying to calm himself, but his eyes kept straying to her, taking in every little detail of her face, the way her silver hair cascaded over her shoulders, the fullness of her cheeks. He found himself wanting to say something more, something bold, something that would express exactly how he was feeling in that moment.

He had never felt this way before, this intense, almost overwhelming desire for someone. He was a northern lord, after all, used to living in the cold, unforgiving North.

And yet here he was, sitting next to a southerner girl, a dragon rider of fire, blood and the sea, whose eyes could disarm him with a single look.

He took another large gulp of ale, trying to steady himself, but he could still feel the heat radiating off his skin, the way his pulse drummed in his ears.

“Jace is taking a bit too—“

“You look incredibly beautiful,” he interrupted.

“Huh… oh?… oh.”

Cregan chuckled at her flustered response, his eyes flicking over her face again, taking in her cheeks slowly turning pink.

“Did I surprise you, Aely?” he teased, a smirk on his lips.

“I did not expect you to be so… bold.”

Cregan chuckled again, the sound low and rumbling in his chest.

"You have no idea how bold I can be," he said, leaning in a little closer.

He was taking a risk, he knew, but he was feeling a little tipsy, a little more confident than usual. The ale and the heat in his veins had given him a certain... recklessness. He loved looking at her perfect face. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her face, the perfect shape of her cheeks, the rosy color on her lips. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to feel the softness of her skin under his fingers.

He took another sip of ale, trying to calm himself, but the heat in his veins was only growing stronger.

“Is there something on my face?” Cregan thinks he might have stared a little too long.

Cregan chuckled, a hint of sheepishness in his expression.

"No, nothing on your face," he said, shaking his head. "I was just admiring your beauty."

He let his eyes roam over her face again, taking in every little detail, the curve of her lips, the flutter of her eyelashes. He knew he should stop staring, but he just couldn't help it. He couldn't get enough of her. He sees the way her expression changes.

Cregan raised an eyebrow at her reaction, sensing a subtle change in her expression. Was he being too much? Was he making her uncomfortable? He leaned back a little, giving her some space, but his gaze was still fixed on her face.

"Is everything okay, Lady?" he asked, his voice low.

“I’m fine…” she spoke, he noticed a little tinge of anxiety.

Cregan furrowed his brow, sensing the hint of anxiety in her voice. He knew he needed to be careful, to tread lightly. He set his ale goblet on the tabletop, giving her his full attention.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his tone softer now. "You look a little... uneasy."

But he couldn’t be bothered. He didn’t care that she was betrothed. The thought of her being betrothed didn't sit well with him. He knew he was a northern Lord, and she was a southern dragon lady. It was completely improper for him to have these feelings for her.

But the ale had made him bold, and the desire that was coursing through his veins made it difficult to care about propriety. He wanted her. He tried to push the thought away, but it kept resurfacing, like a wave breaking against the shore.

“Gods, I wanna kiss you right now.” He blurts, his words slightly slurred.

Cregan's eyes widened as the words left his lips before he could stop himself. He had not intended to say that out loud, but the ale had loosened his tongue, and the desire that had been building within him was too strong to ignore.

He studied her face again, seeing the surprise and the hesitation in her eyes. It was not a polite thing to say, certainly not to a betrothed girl. But he couldn't take the words back, and a part of him didn't even want to. Her eyebrows furrowed, her mouth dropped.

“My lord… you are… so drunk!” She nervously laughs, and her body faces away from him.

Cregan chuckled at her reaction, the slight slur in his voice more apparent now.

"Aye, I may be a bit drunk," he conceded, his eyes roaming over her face, not quite able to look away.

He noticed her body turning away from him, and it sent a pang of disappointment through him. He had overstepped, and now she was pulling away. He reached for his ale again, taking a long gulp to soothe the dryness in his throat and the nerves in his body.

"But... " he said, his voice low and a little rough. "I meant what I said."

The ale had made him reckless, and he was past caring about propriety or what was right. All he could think about was the way her lips would feel against his, the way her body would feel in his arms.

“I should go look for Jace…”

Something in him flared at the mention of Jace’s name, a pang of jealousy. He didn’t want her to go looking for the other man. He wanted her to stay with him, to keep talking to him. He reached out, his hand darting out to grasp her arm, gently but firmly.

"No, wait…" he said, his voice low, his grip tightening, preventing her from leaving.

Cregan's hand was still gripping her arm, holding her in place. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin material of her dress, and it only served to intensify his desire. He leaned in closer to her, his face just inches away from hers. His ale-soaked breath fanned over her face as he spoke.

"Stay with me a little longer," he said, his voice a soft, commanding whisper. Cregan's heart thudded in his chest as she sat back down. The knowledge that she was staying, that she wasn't leaving to find Jace, made his pulse race. He released her arm, but kept his gaze fixed on her face, his eyes roaming over her features like he was trying to commit them to memory. The ale had made him bolder, more confident, but it had also heightened his desire for her. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to take her in his arms, to kiss her senseless.

“Just for a few minutes… I want to know if Jace is alright.”

Cregan's eyes narrowed a bit at the mention of Jace again, but he tried to push the annoyance aside.

"Aye, a few minutes," he said, his voice a little gruff.

He took another long swig of ale, trying to calm his racing heart and his restless hands. He wanted to touch her, to pull her closer, but he knew he had to restrain himself. For now. She remained silent, self-conscious as Cregan drunkenly looked at her. Cregan's gaze lingered on her face, his eyes tracing the curves of her jawline, the slope of her cheeks. He was drunk, and the ale had made him completely forget about propriety and what was appropriate. He had never wanted anyone so badly in his life.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his words a bit slurred. "Can't take my eyes off you."

His hand reached out, seemingly of its own accord, his fingers brushing lightly against her cheek. The skin was soft, as soft as he had imagined. He wanted to touch more, to explore every inch of her body. But he knew he couldn't, not yet. He needed to maintain some semblance of control, no matter how difficult it was with the ale coursing through his veins.

“Thank you, my lord… perhaps you can keep your hands to yourself?” she smiled as she pulled away.

Cregan's hand froze in mid-air, hovering a few inches from her face. He felt a pang of disappointment as she pulled away, but he couldn’t deny the fact that he had overstepped.

"Aye," he muttered, dropping his hand back down to his lap. "Forgive me, Lady. I’m afraid the ale has made me a bit… forward."

“It’s fine…” she sighed.

Cregan took another gulp of ale, trying to steady himself. He had come on too strong, too fast. He should have known better, but the alcohol and the desire he felt for her had clouded his judgment. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a slow exhale.

"I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable," he said, his voice sounding a bit more clear now. "I just… I can’t stop thinking about…"

He trailed off, his eyes roaming over her face again.

“Please don’t be inappropriate again…but it’s alright... just not again.”

Cregan nodded, realizing that he was once again overstepping his bounds. The ale was still coursing through his veins, making it difficult to think clearly, but he tried to rein in his impulses.

"Aye, I understand," he said, his eyes downcast. "I’m sorry for being so forward."

He took another sip of ale, trying to control his trembling hands. He wanted to reach out and touch her again, to feel her skin under his fingers, but he knew he should keep his distance.

“I must remind you that I am to be wed to the prince…” she spoke.

Cregan's expression darkened at the mention of her betrothal to Jace. He had nearly forgotten about that for a blissful minute. He clenched his jaw, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his tankard. He knew he had no claim on her, no right to harbor feelings for her.

"Aye, I’m aware," he said, his voice gruff. "But that doesn't stop me from wanting you."

Cregan realized his slip too late. His words had been more honest than he had intended, and he saw the look of surprise in her eyes. He stared down at his hands, his fingers trembling slightly. It was all so damn frustrating. He wanted her so badly, but he knew he could never have her.

"It's not fair," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Then, the doors opened, revealing a rather happy-looking Jacaerys.

“My loooove,” he sang out, clearly tipsy enough to miss the tension.

Cregan's heart sank as Jace burst into the room, looking all too cheerful. The sight of him only served to fuel the fire of his jealousy.

He watched as Jace sauntered over to her, his arm wrapping around her waist possessively. Cregan clenched his jaw, his hands balling into fists as he fought the urge to punch the other man in the face.

He noticed how immediately relaxed Aelyria looked…

“My dear. How’d it go?” She smiled again, the tension from her face disappearing slightly.

Cregan watched as Aelyria leaned into Jace's embrace, her body relaxing against his. He could see the affection in her eyes as she looked at him, and it made his heart twist with jealousy. He took a long gulp of ale, trying to calm his racing heart and his growing anger. But it was difficult to ignore the pang of jealousy that stabbed through him every time he looked at them together.

"It went well," Jace replied, his voice a little slurred from the ale. "Everything is all sorted out."

He tightened his arm around Aelyria, pulling her closer to him. Cregan couldn't help but notice the possessiveness in the gesture, and it only fueled his jealousy more.

Cregan's grip on his ale tankard tightened as he listened to their playful banter. He could feel his jealousy growing stronger with every word. He wanted to be the one she was laughing with, the one she was leaning into.

“Did the kids make you drunk?” She giggled.

Jace chuckled. "A little bit," he admitted, his voice still slightly slurred. "They were relentless in their drinking games. I had no choice but to join in."

Cregan's grip on his ale tankard tightened as he listened to their playful banter. He could feel his jealousy growing stronger with every word. He wanted to be the one she was laughing with, the one she was leaning into.

“Come… we should go upstairs.”

"Aye, good idea," Jace agreed, his arm still securely around her waist.

Cregan watched as the pair prepared to leave the room, his heart sinking lower with each passing moment. He knew he had no claim on her, but it didn't make the pain of watching her leave with Jace any less painful.

"Wait," Cregan blurted out, the word leaving his mouth before he could stop himself.

“Oh yes— my lord, me and Jacaerys will be going upstairs now?” She spoke.

Cregan's eyes flicked between Aelyria and Jace, seeing the possessive way the other man held onto her. It only fueled the jealousy that burned within him.

"Aye," he muttered, his voice low. "Go on then."

He couldn't bring himself to protest further, knowing it would be pointless. He watched as they turned to leave, his heart heavy with unfulfilled desire.

“We’ll see you tomorrow?”

Cregan forced a tight smile onto his face, trying to hide his jealousy and hurt.

"Aye," he replied, his voice gruff. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He watched as they left the room, his eyes following them until the door closed behind them. He was alone now, with only his jealousy and unrequited feelings to keep him company.

He could only imagine what the two will be doing tonight… and he gripped his tankard so hard the wood chipped at his nails.

Cregan's mind began to race with images of Jace and Aelyria together, in each other's arms, in a tangled web of limbs and desire. The thought only made the jealousy and anger burn hotter in his chest. He took another long swig of ale, trying to drown out the images and the unwanted thoughts in his mind. But even the strong ale couldn't completely erase the pain and longing in his heart.

He threw the tankard across the room. The tankard hit the wall with a loud thud, sending splinters of wood and droplets of ale flying everywhere. Cregan sat there, breathing heavily, his body tense with anger and frustration. He clenched his hands into fists, his nails digging into his palms.

The sound of the shattering tankard echoed through the room, Cregan runs a hand through his hair… “fuck.”

All photos sourced through Pinterest, dividers made by @cafekitsune

Previous Chapter, Series Masterlist, Next Chapter (coming soon!)

Taglist (reply and @ to be added!): @nsr-15 @beebeechaos @bbygrlxaden

[slaytheusurper]

⭑ House of The Dragon Masterlist ⭑

𐙚 Smut - ☾ Angst - ✧ Fluff

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Aemond Targaryen

Name day celebrations 𐙚 Summary: Your name day could only be a big celebration as your brother the king loved you so much. And both him and your husband made it their mission to give you a night to never forget.

Our sweet sister 𐙚 Summary: Aemond has been waiting for years to marry his favourite sister, Aegon agreed it was the only way of keeping her close of making sure she only belonged to them. But her being given away to a dornish prince changes everything.

In the middle of the night 𐙚 ☾ Summary: Being married to Aegon brought you no pleasure, especially when it comes to the bedroom and you were still without an heir. However your sweet brother Aemond is willing to help you out.

Under the eyes of the seven 𐙚 Summary: After years of leaving King's Landing, you go back to fight for your brothers inheritance, but the tense energy grows stronger when you meet you uncle again. So what will happen when your mother Rhaenyra betrothes you to him?

Between the pages 𐙚☾ Summary: Both you and your brother are restless, comforting words are spoken, inappropriate questions are asked, arousal hangs thick in the air and Aemond finally claims what is rightfully his.

Heartache ☾ Summary: Once best friends now turned against each other, will their betrothal mend their rift?

Between the pages 𐙚☾ Summary: Both you and your brother are restless, comforting words are spoken, inappropriate questions are asked, arousal hangs thick in the air and Aemond finally claims what is rightfully his.

Ānogar ānograro 𐙚 Summary: Aemond was obsessed with his niece, and now she was officially his, his to breed, his to claim and the entire Red Keep gets to enjoy it too!

Family secrets 𐙚 Summary: Aemond finds it hard to control his sick desires for his niece and can't help but play with her.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Aegon Targaryen

Name day celebrations 𐙚 Summary: Your name day could only be a big celebration as your brother the king loved you so much. And both him and your husband made it their mission to give you a night to never forget.

Our sweet sister 𐙚 Summary: Aemond has been waiting for years to marry his favourite sister, Aegon agreed it was the only way of keeping her close of making sure she only belonged to them. But her being given away to a dornish prince changes everything.

The prince of pleasure 𐙚 Summary: You and your uncle always had fun growing up and when you see each other years later, he knows just where to take your for some real fun.

Redamancy 𐙚 Summary: During a brief walk at night you catch your eldest brother in a comprimising position with one of the servants. He obviously has to be a good brother and show you what that pleasure feels like.

Better when you're here 𐙚 ☾ Summary: Sad and needy Aegon just needs mummy to make him feel better :((((

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Jacaerys Velaryon

My dear betrothed 𐙚 Summary: After years of not seeing each other, you are to be wed to your cousin Jace, but can you hold off your desires for each other before the wedding?

I am yours and you are mine, whatever may come 𐙚 Summary: After your mother Rhaenyra ascended the iron throne you were finally able to wed your betrothed. But with a royal wedding comes a bedding ceremony.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Daemon Targaryen

The dragon and the princess 𐙚 Summary: Your name day was celebrated lavishly and after you and your uncle have a heated conversation, so you try to get off when you are finally alone in your bedchamber, or so you thought.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Benjicot ("Davos") Blackwood

The ballad of the raven and the dragon 𐙚 Summary: Being the only daughter of queen Rhaenrya and the heir to the throne is not easy, after convincing your mother to let you patrol near the riverlands you come across a battle where you meet the infamous Bloody Ben.

This is more than a sick love story (Pt. 2 Tbotratd) 𐙚✧ Summary: Returning home after that evening was harder than you thought, the risky letters don't help either. Would it really hurt to meet again?

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Hi!

I love your writing and I have a small (really small more of a blurb) request for Jace, like a small scene between him and reader like we had last episode between him and Baela but I’d love to see how Jace feels about Harwin not just what he remembers of him but like what he feels about being a bastard and if he cares (or cared) for harwin, I’d love to see him trust the reader enough to really get into his feelings about being a bastard bc that’s definitely something that really affects him but it’s never vocalized yk? And I’d love to see the reader comfort him and tell him that harwin absolutely loved them BC HE LOVED THEM SO MUCH 😭😭😭

Thank u sm!!!

Request: Jace and Dornish reader talking about fathers and her asking about Ser Harwin like Baela did.

Warnings: mention of character death (past),

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

A letter came by raven from your father. It was a long way from Dorne, you didn’t receive them often. You thought it would brighten your day after the horrifying news and accusations about your Queen that came from King’s Landing, but instead it made you sad. To see his handwriting, to hear the words in his voice — in your head. 

You missed him — and your mother. 

Dragonstone was your home now. It was Jacaerys’ inheritance as heir. It’s where you would raise your children and spend your life until it would be his turn to take the Iron Throne. 

The sound of waves crashing against the rocks brought you to the beach. You sat on the sand, watching the waves ride up the shore. It was the only part of the island that connected to Dorne. You missed swimming in the gardens, the feeling of the warm sun on your skin, the fruits that grew. 

‘’You missed supper,’’ the voice of Jacaerys informed, coming from behind you. 

‘’I wasn’t hungry.’’ 

You heard his footsteps on the damp sand, accompanied by the sound of his sword rubbing against his breeches as he walked. 

‘’I don’t think anyone was, really. Too many empty seats.’’ He dropped down onto the sand beside you, and nudged your shoulder. ‘’Have you seen any whales?’’ 

You turned and gave Jacaerys a look. ‘’Whales?’’ you repeated. ‘’There is no whales here.’’ 

He laughed, well aware and only jesting. His jests usually made you smile, but a sad pout was etched on your face. ‘’What’s on your mind?’’ he asked, placing a hand on your knee. 

‘’I received a letter from my father.’’

‘’Your father?’’ Jacaerys’ smile dropped slightly, now replaced by a concerned look. ‘’Is everything alright?’’  

You gave him a small nod. ‘’Yes. All is well. I just…miss him dearly.’’ 

A quietness fell between you. The salt-laden breeze rustled through your hair as you fought the tears brimming your eyes. 

‘’What do you remember of your father?’’ you asked, breaking the silence.

‘’He taught us to catch fish. And sing sailor shanties,’’ Jacaerys said, a grin tugging at his lips and his eyes brightening with fond recollections.

You chuckled, the sound mingling with the rhythm of the waves.

‘’He had a weakness for cake,’’ he added. 

‘’And…Ser Harwin Strong?’’

Although you agreed to turn a blind eye, you knew the truth of Jacaerys’s true parentage. He bore the name ‘Velaryon’, but there was no Velaryon blood in him. 

Jacaerys stiffened at the mention of Ser Harwin, having not heard his name in so long. His mother never spoke of him after they returned from Laena’s funeral.  

‘’He was gentle. And fierce,’’ he finally said, his eyes meeting yours. There was a veil of sadness in them, missing the man who left too soon. ‘’They called him ‘Breakbones’.’’

You laughed softly, and Jacaerys mirrored you. It felt good to talk about Ser Harwin. 

‘’He loved us,’’ Jacaerys continued, his voice quieter, almost unsure. ‘’I think.’’ 

‘’Of course he did,’’ you quickly reassured, covering his hand on your knee with yours. ‘’When did you suspect he was your father?’’ 

‘’A part of me always knew he was our father,’’ he admitted, his eyes distant as he recalled his memories. ‘’He was always looking out for Luke and I in the training yard, and making sure we would behave around Mother. He taught me how to hold a sword, how to strike my opponent.’’ 

He paused, a particular moment sparking his mind. 

‘’One day, he defended me in the training yard during an unfair match: me against Aegon. Aegon was taking his anger out on me and playing foul while Ser Criston turned a blind eye. Ser Harwin noticed Aegon’s tactics and pulled me aside to give me advice, but Aegon was older and stronger. He kicked me to the ground and angrily swung his wooden sword at me. Ser Harwin intervened, taking Aegon away from me.’’

‘’He was protecting you.’’

Jacaerys nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He remembered the fight against Criston Cole that followed. The fight that got Ser Harwin dismissed from the City Watch and sent to Harrenhal. He also remembered the horrible news he woke up to days later: Lord Lyonel Strong and his son, Ser Harwin Strong, had died in a fire.  

Being from Dorne, you had never met Ser Hawrin, but he sounded like he was a good man, a devoted father. 

‘’What did he look like?’’ 

‘’He was tall with broad shoulders. He was the strongest man in the Seven Kingdoms,’’ he said, his voice tinged with pride. ‘’He had dark curls and eyes—’’

‘’Like you,’’ you interjected with a soft smile. 

The dark curls that framed his face were the first thing you noticed when he stepped down his dragon in Dorne. As he got closer, his eyes caught yours and his stern face lit up, mesmerized by your Dornish beauty. Before he spoke a word to your father, you were already scheming your way into his heart — and breeches.

Jacaerys smiled, a faint reflection of his father in his expression. ‘’Like me.’’

‘’He would be proud of you. Of the kind and honorable man you’ve become.’’ 

Your words made his cheeks flush, the color deepening as you reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. He was so beautiful. Your hand lingered on his cheek, your thumb gently caressing his lightly freckled skin. 

He drew in a breath and looked down. ‘’I miss him.’’

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard@domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios@lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale@mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron  @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08  @mymultiveres  @secretsthathauntus  @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas  @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit

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[droopycoquette]

WAG Life || Lucy Bronze x Reader

Summary: Lucy’s obsessed with the idea of you being her WAG

Warnings: established relationship, smut, strap-on, lucy having a domestic kink

Word Count: 2.6k

|*|

The plane rocked back and forth due to turbulence as Lucy scrolled through her Instagram feed and her heart stopped when she saw her girlfriend. Instantly liking it, she thumbed through the photos of the recent post. It was mainly pictures of you at the women’s World Cup but she felt herself pause when she saw one; a photo of you cooking. She could feel herself heating up but it all came to a point when she read your caption: 

Living my best WAG life.

She had always liked the idea of you being her little wife in the stands cheering her on and not having to work for anything. Only taking care of her, never wanting for anything, and relying solely on her. It was enough to make Lucy combust. You had no idea what you were doing to her, playing right into her fantasy without even realizing it.

"Fuck," she mumbled to herself.

As she scrolled through your posts, she noticed that you had posted a lot more homemaking content. Pictures of you cooking, cleaning, or rearranging things. If she didn't know better, she would think you were doing these things on purpose.

"Lucy, we're touching down soon," Millie called.

"Okay," Lucy mutters, not taking her eyes off her phone, off of you.

Lucy's need to see you doubled. She couldn't wait to get to your shared apartment and just be with you. You were all she could think about when the plane touched down. You were all she could think about when she was driving to the apartment. And you were all she could think about as she walked up the stairs.

Her insides tingled as she approached the door, unlocking it quietly and entering the space. She could hear footsteps on the hardwood floors before she could see the person they belonged to.

"Lucy!"

"Darling!"

You flew into her arms without a second thought, forcing her to drop her luggage to be able to catch you. Lucy automatically brought her hands under your butt to support you, groaning when she realized you weren't wearing pants

"You're home," you sighed into her neck.

"Damn right, I am."

"I missed you," you mumbled into her skin.

"I missed you," Lucy grinned, making her way over to the kitchen counter. "You know what else I missed?"

She could feel you shake your head.

"Your kisses."

You brought your face out of her neck finally and looked at her.

"I missed kissing you," you confessed, bringing your lips closer to hers.

Lucy couldn't take it anymore, softly placing her lips onto yours. The kiss was sweet and gentle as if you both were afraid to break the other. Lucy softly set you on the counter, the cold marble against your bare skin causing you to shiver.

As the footballer breaks the kiss, she looks around the apartment.

The last time Lucy had been in the apartment, you both had just bought it. It was empty save for a TV, a sofa, and a queen bed in the shared room. Now, it looked completely different. It looked like a home.

"You've been working," Lucy gawks.

"Do you like it," you ask shyly. "I wanted you to come home to something nice. You've worked so har-

She cut you off as she connected your lips once more, not being able to be away from you for long. Lucy could feel her insides melting at your words. This is everything she ever wanted.

"Everything is perfect," Lucy whispered in between kisses, rubbing your bare thighs. "It's beautiful."

Lucy watched as you beamed at the praise, a smile gracing your features.

"I was about to get started on dinner," you began. "Is there anything specific you want?"

Lucy almost moans at your question, "No, anything you make will be good."

You nod, giving her one more peck before getting to work and shooing her off to put her luggage away.

When Lucy returns, she can't keep her eyes off of you. The raven-haired woman was forced to watch as you hummed and twirled around the kitchen, cooking for her. You were cooking for her. It was enough to drive her mad.

"Luce, do you want to help me," you ask with a smile.

"No. I enjoy watching you," Lucy says simply.

"Okay."

As she watched you it dawned on her, you were wearing her old kit, the number 2 and the name "Bronze" showing proudly on the back. You really did have no idea what you were doing. Completely out of touch with how much you were turning your girlfriend on. Lucy could feel herself growing wetter and wetter by the minute.

"I think I'm going to go take a shower, love."

"Okay, I think everything should be in the shower caddy on the side. And the towels are in the cupboard under the sink," you explain, turning around and wiping your hands on a towel.

Everything you were doing was doing something to Lucy and it kind of annoyed her. She needed you so bad.

"O-okay," she stuttered walking off to the bathroom.

As she undressed, Lucy couldn't help but continue to think about you. Your words, your actions, your touch, all of it made her want you more and more. She turned the water on and stepped under the warm spray, closing her eyes and letting out a deep sigh. It felt amazing to be home and with you again.

She can't help but replay the scene in her head. You were cooking for her, taking care of her. She couldn't believe how lucky she was to have you in her life. The steam filled up the bathroom as she lathered her body with soap. After a little bit, she hops out and quickly dresses in a sports bra and sweatpants.

She rounds the corner with her hands in her pockets and is greeted with a set table and you doing the dishes. She leans against the wall and watches you for a bit, nipping at her bottom lip and adjusting her glasses as she thinks. You hadn't noticed her yet, your attention focused on cleaning. So focused that you didn't notice her coming up behind you until you felt her hand around your waist and the other around your throat.

"Hello," you smile, the hand around your neck forcing you into an arch to face her.

"Hello," she smirked back, pecking your lips. "I was hoping you would join me in the shower."

"I'm sorry," you frown. "How about we take one tomorrow morning."

If you can walk, Lucy thought to herself.

"I love you being like this," Lucy sighs, releasing your neck and allowing you to turn and face her.

"Like what," you asked confused, loving the feeling of her arms around your waist.

"Like my little housewife," she sighs. "I love that you don't have to work and that you can just be home, taking care of me."

"I love doing it," you reply, wrapping your arms loosely around her neck.

After a beat of silence, you ask, "What are you thinking about?"

"You," Lucy whispers.

Her eyes stayed on yours as your breath hitched. You raised yourself up on your toes to shyly peck her lips, your hands loosely playing with strands of her hair Her hands trail from your waist to her shoulder blades.

"Jump."

You obey and wrap your legs around her waist, your lips automatically finding hers in a rough heated kiss. She devoured you, her tongue intermingling with yours as she did. She carried you to your shared bedroom, setting you down against the wall.

"What are you doing to me," Lucy asked, her accent thick.

You stared at her with doe eyes, confusion clouding them.

"Fuck, you've ruined me. I can't describe it. But, you've ruined me for anyone else."

You groan as she kisses your neck, her body pressed against yours firmly. Your moans only fueled her as she descended down to your core. Glancing up at you, she smirks as your brain begins to fizzle out, she can see it.

"What's got you so worked up, love," Lucy asks, her nose rubbing against your clothed slit. "Tell me."

"Fuck," you whimpered, your back pressing against the wall.

"I won't do anything until you tell me."

You gasp as her thumbs press against your hip bones, her hands holding the small of your back.

"Fuck," you whimpered. "I love being your housewife. It makes me feel really good."

Lucy moans into your thighs at your confession, her own thighs pressing together. Still kneeling, she raises herself up to kiss your stomach. Placing little pecks on your skin causing you to buck forward.

"Yeah? What else?"

"And, I love," you gasp as Lucy's tongue drags against your clothed core. "I love how you take care of me and how I don't have to think when you're around."

Lucy watched as you began to grind yourself onto her tongue, your hips shaking as your clit caught on the ridge of her wet muscle. She couldn't move as she watched in pure shock and awe. How were you so perfect? It was as if you were reading her mind.

Lucy's fingers hooked on your underwear as her eyes found yours. A smirk found its way onto her lips as your eyes quickly looked somewhere else, unable to handle the intensity. Cute.

Lucy slowly pulled your underwear down your legs, flinging them somewhere over her shoulder. You began to take your shirt off.

"No, love. Keep it on. Please keep it on," Lucy begged.

Your hands dropped the hem of the kit immediately.

"Love seeing you in this, baby," Lucy breathed, lifting one of your legs onto her shoulder. "Can't wait to fucking make you a Bronze."

You shuddered against her as her nose rubbed against your clit, sending jolts of electricity up your spine. Your hands moved to her hair, gripping it, keeping your girlfriend in place as her tongue lapped at your clit. You couldn't stop the sounds coming from your mouth, your head falling back against the wall.

You whimpered as your hips bucked up into her face. Lucy cooed at your embarrassment, smirking as you brought your hands up to your face.

You were the cutest little thing ever, your mouth open as you threw your head back against the wall. Lucy's fingers finally entered you, stroking your walls in a way that had your juices running down her arm.

"Look at that," Lucy groaned, lips still coated in you. "Did you need me that bad?"

"Please," you whimpered, hips bucking into her face.

"Please what," Lucy panted. "Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you baby. But you have to tell me."

"Hm? I can't hear you, love. You're gonna have to speak up."

"Fuck me, please," you gasped, as Lucy tapped on your clit.

Her muscles bulged as she stood, now towering over you.

"That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

She lifted you up, wrapping your legs around her waist before connecting your lips. She was sure you felt it, the bulge in her sweats. Just to be sure, she began to grind her hips into you, loving the way you moaned into the kiss.

You knew Lucy loved wearing her strap around the apartment so you don't know why it shocked you. You had missed this feeling. Her tongue entered your mouth, wrapping around yours and deepening the kiss. You didn't know whose breath was who's.

You whimpered as she sat you down on the edge of the bed.

"Get on all fours for me," she commanded her accent coming out even more. "Don't fucking make me wait."

You're breath hitches at her roughness, immediately complying. Slowly moving to your knees in the the center of the bed. Your chest rose and fell rapidly from the anticipation as you felt the bed dip from Lucy's weight.

Lucy couldn't stop the warmth that spread through her chest at the sight of your eager submission to her. The way you slightly wiggled your hips in need, you didn't even realize you were doing it.

The older woman stroked the black silicone toy, groaning as if she could feel it. Tapping it on your entrance, she watched as a string of your juices connected the toy and your core.

"You don't even know how fucking hot you are, love."

You both groaned as Lucy pushed into you slowly, your back arching.

She began to pump into you, her hips grinding into you at a pace that was slow, yet deep. She loved watching your head hang and your hips push back against her in ecstasy at her slow but hard thrusts.

The defender leaned down to kiss your nape, her skin burning yours. She could hear your sharp and breathy whimpers and it drove her to pound into you.

She had missed this dearly. Your sounds and need for her. She missed her ability to touch you whenever she wanted, claiming you as hers.

"I don't know how I went this long without you," she groaned into your ear, her fingers reaching down to your clit.

You bucked up against her at the sensation, your stomach beginning to tighten. Lucy watched you with fervor, gazing as you took what she gave you. You were perfect, just for her.

Her fingers continued to rub against you and her hips rocked slowly.

"Please cum," she begged. "I want it so bad."

Your back arched as her fingers got rougher.

"Fuck," you groaned, throwing your head back.

Lucy's thrusts began to quicken, becoming harsher. She needed your pleasure and wanted to see you come undone. Lucy had always put your pleasure above anything else and right now was no different.

"Give it to me, my love."

Her begging continued to spur you on, your gut reaching its boiling point. You came harshly, Lucy's hips milking your bliss and lengthening your orgasm.

Her movements didn't stop. Instead, she flipped you over, your body slamming into the bed.

"I'll never get over watching you cum," she moaned, her clit catching on the strap.

Her hands gripped your hips, pulling you down to meet her thrusts. Her fingertips dug into the fat of your hips, loving the flesh between them.

You watched her arms flex as she held you down, her biceps on display. Sweat rolled down her quivering abdomen as she continued to pleasure you.

"Please," you groaned out, your body still spasming.

"Please what, sweetheart," Lucy smiled, her hips continuing to slam into you, leaving a burning sensation on the back of your thighs. "Tell me what you want. Do you want me here?"

She allowed her fingers to return to your clit, tapping gently against the small nub. You gasped out at the overstimulation.

"You always were so needy," she grinned. "And I've always loved it."

"Lucy, please," you babbled, your body writhing beneath her. "A break, please."

She pouted mockingly and continued to thrust in and out of you.

"You want to be my little WAG in the stand, right? My little trophy wife?"

You nod, your cheeks heating, "Yes."

"Well, then you have to keep me happy. And what would make me really happy, baby, is for you to keep taking this cock."

[bellrose]

A Kindness

Summary: Your brother has been lost to the flames at Rook’s Rest and the anxious whispers of the Court do not give any consolation. However, the words of a knight in green do. How you wish you could give him a kindness in return.

Gwayne Hightower x female reader

Warnings: Angst. Loss of a family member. Descriptions of injuries by dragon fire

Word count: 2.615

The host had returned to Kings Landing with a fanfare akin to a funeral march. 

The flies buzzing like bees amongst the rotten flesh of Meleys a song for the dead. Vhagar had been there on the battlefield, the King himself fallen from the sky, and the hope you held close to your heart and in prayer had been a child’s dream.

Your brother isn’t among the men climbing stiffly from their horses. Nor the men carrying the banners with their ragged edges, specks of rusty brown marring the King’s crest. He won’t drink with his fellow brothers in arms, revelling together in their victory until the cups double in their quantity. He will never smile again. A crooked smile, for he had lost a tooth during a tourney right before attaining knighthood.

No, he will never return.

You’d known when Father received the raven and his hands shook to hold the message. The sight of Meleys’ severed head being paraded through the streets a finality. It is an omen, the folks whispered to themselves. For who dares to slay such a formidable creature? Your brother laid rotting like the mighty beast and the hapless mass of fallen soldiers. Overlooked by Sisters guiding them through their final hour, if they were lucky that is. 

The dead don’t speak. They wait to be reunited with their families. Or to be lost in a field. 

Nameless. Forgotten.

Turned black like coal at the bottom of the hearth they’d whisper. Faces molten into an eternal scream they'd hush behind fans flapping away the noon sun. I heard they fed the remains of those poor boys to one of those beasts, for the sheep had fled. How awful!

There are others who share your grief, who barely leave the Sept or gorge themselves on any rumour that might bring reprieve. The Ladies of the Court give you their pity, their condolences, though it is half-hearted and they refuse to look upon you truly. You do not blame them. 

Rumours cannot explain the seven hells that had opened up on those grounds, and with the King’s condition a barely kept secret, they grow less sensical by the day.

Father would know, for he wakes up with a tome in his hand and an age old tale on his tongue. Surely he must know the truth? You wish he would speak to you, but he has thrown himself into his duties and refuses to receive you in his small chambers. 

Ladies smile demurely and sip politely on sweet reds. They don’t scream. There are no more tears to cry. You’ve exhausted your grief to the point your eyes feel dry and brittle. Like parchment, and you wonder how long it will take until you, too, shall crumble underneath the dragon’s might.

“Lady Waye says the Queen has shadows underneath her eyes as deep as the night,” Edeva murmurs to your right, low enough that only your ears catch it. “That her whispering has returned tenfold.”

“I think her Queen’s Ladies in waiting should put their grave concerns into action instead of turning to gossiping,” you bite, a bit louder than intended, only it gets lost in the clamour of tinkling glasses and a bard playing the lute. 

Edeva has been your companion, a good friend to turn to in the halls of the Keep, and you feel ashamed for pushing her aside. She tries to distract you by pointing out the dish full of lush summer fruits being set upon the table by a servant. However, the sight of their ripe, glossy skins makes you nauseous.    

Without announcing your leave, you slide past the gowns and grapes further into the Keep. You have no destination in mind, other than it has to be anywhere but here. 

The stairs blur beneath your heavy skirt. Every breath locked high in your throat. You turn a corner, another, the colourful tapestries twirling in your periphery. The stories they tell a mockery. A servant leaps out of your way. Another step of stairs, and then - the sound you keep hidden escapes into a shocked huff when you collide against something solid.

A hand grabs your wrist to steady you, warm through the dark brocade.

It does not take long to recognize who stands before you. The tower spewing flames engraved on the leather doublet telling enough. His ruddy hair brings forth the invitation to a dance, that same hand guiding you over gleaming stone to the cacophony of a summer ball away in the past. Father telling another tale of a tourney. That dreadful day when the Stranger took Queen Aemma and her newborn son, when Prince Daemon drove him to the ground on his black steed.

You will never claim to know him well. Only a flash of red and green through the years when your paths crossed before taking residence in the Red Keep. Like so many faces he is out of your reach, a familiarity, but not an acquaintance.

Ser Gwayne Hightower's face does not bear any scars of Daemon’s lance. These are the nicks and scratches of a different battle.

He had been there. He had stood on the field where your brother met his grisly demise.

“Apologies Ser,” you whisper, voice cracking around the syllables. You retract your hand and slowly bow your head and knees in curtsy.

“The apologies are all mine, my Lady. The halls of the Keep are mighty. I fear my feet get lost in their splendour,” he says, the hint of a smile on his face a tad tight-lipped.

The steps of the seat of the Hightowers can be more daunting, and the structure itself grander than the Red Keep could ever be. You feel there is more to the white lie, a contempt.

There is a horror hidden in the ashes stubbornly clinging to the grooves and fibres of his clothing. His face has been scrubbed clean on the road, but the dirt of travel still sticks in his hairline, a little smudge behind his ear. You imagine you can smell it, even if leather and the natural musk of men try to hide it so. The stench of dragon fire; of burnt flesh and desperation, of loss - and if you cannot smell it you can see it in his eyes.

Gwayne does not possess the doe brown of the Dowager Queen. His eyes shine brighter. Like the precious gems Lady Nelda likes to wear around her neck whenever the occasion arises. On another day they would have been inquisitive. A bit haughty. Now they are exhausted. Duller. Something unsettling swirling in those depths. You are hit with a different kind of familiarity, one of understanding.

“My Lady,” he bows.

The moment is gone. Gwayne averts his gaze to a point further down the hallway and you wish he would look upon you again.

The knight in green has taken but a few steps before you find your voice.

“My brother... Ser, I-”

He halts. The expression on his face is a mystery, though his shoulders stiffen.

“Was he in the company at Rook’s Rest?" he asks lowly.

Your nails bite in the palm of your hands. “Yes. He was.”

Gwayne turns back around. A scrutiny in those dimmed gems when they rove from your balled fists to your face, and you cannot start to guess what he finds there. The despair bottling inside overflows into a torrent.

“The men- They say dragon fire melts the flesh like wax. Turns the bones to dust, to scatter in the storm. That there is nothing left of their prey but soil to grow our gardens.” Something changes in his stance, the dullness receding and it encourages you even more. “Is that what is left of my brother? Dust? We cannot bury what is lost on the wind.”

“I do not know, my Lady.” Gwayne takes another step forward. “I do not know of the fate of your brother. I wish I could give you that amenity, to ease your mind.”

“Does it ease your mind, Ser?” you ask, aware how your tone is rising in pitch. Shrill. “To have witnessed the dragons dance and live to tell the tale?”

And how dare you pose such a question? When it is loud and clear he has witnessed the unspeakable that the fiery beasts left in their wake? But he is here, standing, breathing, and he sees.

“I wish it were that easy,” he answers, wavering before he rightens his shoulders, clenching his jaw. “We need to be brave, my Lady. Be brave for your brother. Be brave and find it on your own, as I cannot give you the solace you seek.”

“It is not solace that I seek. I-”

He cuts you off. “You want answers. You want an elaborate summation of his gruesome faith, is that it?”

Gwayne takes another step forward, closer now, and you have to lift up your chin to follow. At first you believe it is rage that meets you, anger at your accusation. It is helplessness instead.

“Many good men died at the foredoor of Rook’s Rest. The dragons tear off each other’s limbs in the clouds, trampling them all underneath their feet and breath. What folly…”

He drifts off, his attention now on one of the many tapestries adorning the walls. A wry chuckle bursts from his lips. “It seems the many days on the road have disrupted my manners.”

“I fear there is no propriety in grief Ser,” you confess quietly.

Gwayne tilts his head sideways, considering your words, before he smiles once more. A real one this time, still edged in a shared sorrow, but it’s warmer.

“I guess not.”

“I do not know what I seek.”

“Then stop seeking.” His eyes find yours again, and his next words are spoken earnestly, kindly. “Do not tarnish what is the memory of your sibling, my Lady. He would have wished to be remembered whole, for then he cannot be lost to the winds.”

Gwayne grabs your right hand, unfolding the balled fist. His thumb stroking over the indents your nails left behind and turning the palm downward. His lips are warm when they touch your skin, lingering for a moment too long.

“A good day, my Lady.”

“Good day, Ser.”

You watch him go. Steady steps carrying him down the hallway. His words mulling over in your mind and for the first time in the past moon, ever since your brother left the Keep, you feel a peace.

The stone steps underneath the soles of your shoes are still a bit damp, the ground forth uneven where hoofs have trampled and disturbed the earth.

There’s a flurry of activity in the yard. Green with golden dragons on shields and banners, knights gleaming like silver coins rolling on a hardwood table. For a fleeting moment, you expect to see another face, one with a crooked smile who belongs only in your dreams now. 

And then you see him.

Dressed in his armour bounding towards his horse, as if he cannot wait long enough to leave. As if Kings Landing is worse than what awaits outside its seven gates. Perhaps it was, or he would rather not delay the inevitable. And what is that? A quick death? No.

Ser Gwayne offered you a kindness with his understanding, and you wish to understand him in return. To offer something steady in a world that is tilting on its axis the longer the war continues.

Deep in the pocket between the fabrics of your skirt, your hand grasps the hidden piece of cloth. The stitches tickle your skin. It steadies you, dousing the nervous thoughts that have been following you all morning. 

It’s not a handkerchief. Not in the traditional sense. You found it among the garments in the chest of your quarters. Dark green, almost blue, and the moment you touched it, an idea would not leave you alone.

The needle still feels clumsy at times between your finger tips, as you were never the patient pupil your mother had wished you to be and rather spent your time learning the harp, but the flowers they bore are delicate. Pretty. Refined. White petals with a core of deep orange; the colour of the sun peeking over the horizon. Your Septa would have been proud. Though, she would admonish the purpose behind it.

A kindness. Be brave.

It is that sentiment that moves you forward, past the guards standing sentry near the stairs and interweaving through the crowd filling the yard. His destrier, standing out with its magnificent armour, shining on the morrow, is in the hands of a squire. Gwayne does not see you coming, too busy speaking to the boy. Voice short and clipped.

“Ser Gwayne?”

The squire bows and runs off. Gwayne watches him go for a quick second before his gaze lands on your form. There’s surprise in the way his brows raise, the corner of his mouth turning up just so.

“My Lady,” he says, loosely gripping the reins of his horse. The destrier noses the pauldron at his shoulder. “How may I help you?”

Promise me to return all these men to their families, to come back, but that would be too much to ask and too forward, as if bestowing him with your needlework isn’t daunting enough.

“I sincerely regret not thanking you properly for what you said to me that day,” you state politely.

His head tilts down in understanding. The sun catches the red in his hair like honey. “Your regrets are misplaced. You do not need to thank me.”

“You misunderstand me Ser, I do.” Bolder now, you fish out the embroidered cloth from the hidden place of your dress. “You will be in my prayers, but please take this as a token of good fortune.”

He accepts the cloth mutely, brows rising further and gloved fingers studying the wreath of flowers you stitched along the edges. For a moment you fear the gift is too unbefitting after all, that the warmth that you had felt besides the kiss upon your hand a figment of your imagination. That he will reject it. 

He’s quick to crush those doubts, but not quick enough to halt the blush of regret that is slowly blooming on your nape. 

“I will cherish this gesture my Lady,” he says, eyes glittering. “But do not trouble yourself with concerns on my behalf, there are much more important matters to ponder.”

“This I cannot promise you Ser,” you answer honestly. “I’ll be awaiting your return.”

“That sight alone might make me forget the pungency these streets carry,” Gwayne parries, a hint of smugness that is purely in jest, and studies the cloth again. “White Lelas... They grow near Goldengrove, do they not?”

“Yes. My late mother used to put them in my crib when I was a mere babe, as my father tells me.” You think of the washed white stone of your grandfathers’ Keep and tall grasses holding a vast array of flowers. Too many to count. “I barely remember what they smell like, but I always thought they were quite charming.”

“Quite indeed,” Gwayne hums, though he is not looking at the cloth anymore. He turns towards his horse, looping it around a buckle on the saddle in a strong knot. The fabric will sway against his leg with every step the steed took. It will be with him when he confronts the enemies of the Crown.

A memory, a constant. 

“I hope the day will be upon us soon my Lady,” he says and the kiss on the back of your hand is a farewell.

For now.

Did I purposefully mirror the phrasing of “turned to dust” from Cole's we're-all-going-to die-anyway spiel for possible parallels and continuation purposes? Why, yes. Maybe. It was never my intention to write this anyway but the brainrot is real. Damn you, Freddie!

Thank you for reading

[catsteeth]

The Caged Bird & The Leased Dog

Sandor Clegane x reader Ko-Fi

+:✿ Chapter - 17 ✿:+ Beginning of The End 

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King's Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won't admit it. 

CW: MDNI, SMUT, fingering, NSFW themes, Sandor “my wife” Clegane, misogyny, angst, VIOLENCE emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, mention of death, blood, threats of violence, mentions of arranged marriage, pregnant reader Word Count: 5.3K

It was early morning. The cold air of the North lingered in your chambers, nipping at your nose and your cheeks. But you found warmth under the thick furs of your bed, and the warm body of your husband who’s arms never left you. You never slept so soundly as when you were in his arms, you always knew you were safe in his arms. 

Sandor however never slept well. When he was without you he worried too much for you, and when he was sleeping with you he worried about keeping you safe. No matter how well the castle you slept in was guarded. 

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK three raps upon your door woke Sandor. 

You groaned, stirring slightly from the noise. Sandor’s arms around you tightened slightly, “It's alright, it’s alright.” He soothed you as gently as he could, but for a man with a voice as deep as his it was hardly gentle. Sandor then tilted his head towards the door, “Who is it!” He barked,

His loud shout waking you even more “Sandor…” You whined, pouting your lips and closing your eyes tightly as you curled back up into his chest.   

“Ser Leon, my Lord. Pardon the early hour.” Ser Leon said, making Sandor groan, “Lord Tyrion has requested the Lady (Y/N)’s presence.” Ser Leon said cautiously. 

Sandor sat up slightly, “What does he want with her?” his voice rumbled in his chest.

“Tis the first meeting of her Lady’s council, my Lord.” Ser Leon said,

That alone woke you up completely, you sat up as if you’d been awoken by a bad dream. You looked over to Sandor, “My-” you began, speaking softly, in disbelief. “My council?” You corrected your tone, beckoning out to Ser Leon beyond the door.

“Yes, my Lady. Queen Daenerys has offered the support of her advisor.” Ser Leon said, his tone lighter now that he was speaking with you. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ 

After running around your chamber, throwing on the first gown you saw, and forcing your husband to lace it for you. You and he made your way to the great hall. 

When you entered you saw Queen Daenerys and Tyrion sitting at the large council table.

You joined them at the table, and your husband stood by your side. As he always did. 

The Queen smiled upon you, “I’ll allow the Northern soldiers to aid your fight. And Tyrion will advise your moves. Though I still have my reservations to allow my dragon to go near it.” Her smile faded, “I’ve lost two of my children, I won't lose another.” 

“I can understand that.” You nodded, though hoped she would change her mind. 

“Well, now that we've settled. What is your plan of action for any surviving Knight of the Vale? Certainly you’ve had time to think this out.” Tyrion began, 

“If I should take the Eyrie,” You leaned forwards, leaning your elbows onto the council table, “I want no harm to come to the opposing knights who survive. They’ll leave any limb they lose as payment for their lives and their betrayal.” You looked up at Tyrion, “They shall leave their positions dishonorably, and work as hedge knights. No house will wish to take in a knight who turns on their oaths.” 

“A merciful conclusion.” Tyrion nodded. 

You nodded in return, then turned to Ser Leon, “Send a raven, to Littlefinger. I’ll meet with him to discuss final terms.” 

“And what are those terms?” Tyrion asked, 

You turned back towards Tyrion, “My land and titles, or I take his head.”

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ 

After your meeting, you and your husband returned to your chambers. You paced the floor, thinking of what possible next steps you would take. 

Your husband however sat in the chair of your room, and drank from a pitcher of wine in your chambers. “You’d let the cunts who betrayed you live?” He grumbled, 

“Some of them are held captive. Some are confused. Some are just ignorant. None of which are a crime.” You said as you paced the room. 

He shook his head, “You should take their heads for it.” He was far too accustomed to the Lannisters' way of punishment. 

You stopped your pacing, and faced your husband “That’s not the way I am doing this.” 

“And what way are you doing it?” He rasped.

“My own way.” You stepped closer towards him, “You served the Lannisters. The people who took heads for rumors. How much loyalty did it earn them?” His mouth twitched in irritation, “The ones who wish to fight for me will. The ones who don’t, will die in battle. When the battle is won, they’ll be turned loose. Forced to make their own way as a knight who usurped their land and lost. What house will want them then?” You stepped even closer to him. 

His eyes trailed over you, and over your swollen belly. “You’ll need people to love you, but that’ll be easy enough. What you need is for these cunts to fear what might happen to them.” 

You sighed, “I don’t wish to tyrant over my Land, like a Frey.” 

“Do the Freys people love them? Fucks sake, you need both.” He said leaning forward in his seat, “Don’t tell me you never thought of what you’d have done to those cunts who snicker at you. The cunts who talk over you.” He shook his head, “You look at them like you’d like to gut them. I saw that look in Kings Landing enough to know.” He said with a smirk.

“Perhaps.” You huffed,  “I mislike when you speak sense.”

“You don’t like being wrong.” He reached out and grabbed your hand. He ran his thumb over your knuckles, “You’ve fed a man to dogs. People won't forget that. But they shouldn’t forget that.” 

You placed a hand atop his that held yours, “I lost myself, when I lost you. I did things I shouldn’t have done.” You shook your head.  

“It felt good though didn’t it?” He pulled you closer to him, “I can see it in your eyes.” He smirked at you, liking that bit of you, even if you didn’t. “What will you have done to Littlefinger?” 

You thought of it for a moment, “Justice.” you said matter of factly.

He shook his head, “There is no justice.” 

“There will be retribution.” You said impassively. 

Sandor sat back and chuckled to himself. Not that he didn’t take you seriously, but that he did. He knew what you were capable of and was eager to see what you planned to do. 

You however paced again. This time thinking if this war was worth it. What if you were not capable of being warden? Of being the defender of the Vale, and the keeper of the Moon Door? Your father did not prepare you for such duties, though he always promised he would. As Hand of the king he was busy attending to the Realm, and not his daughter. Not that you could stop what you started now, but the doubt still lingered in your mind. 

Your pacing stopped, “Sandor?” You said softly. 

“Mm?” He hummed as he drank from his pitcher. 

You turned around to face him, “Do you think I’m not worthy of it? Inexperienced, ignorant, or like those knights murmur.. a whore?”

He got up, and marched over to you with haste, “Don’t you ever say that.” He snapped at you, his tone low and dark. He grasped your jaw in one hand, gentle but firm. He made you look at him in his eyes. If you were anyone, other than you, he would have broken your jaw for saying what you did. “You hear me? You are none of that, and I’ll kill any foul pious cunt who tries to tell you that.” His eyes were wide. “You understand?” You nodded, you’d never seen him like this with you before. “Say it.”

You furrowed your brows, unable to understand why he felt so “I understand.” You said in a plain and cold voice. You were no longer interested in whatever fears you had about the opinions of others or your ability to rule. All that was gone. Now you stared at the face of your husband, somehow surprised by his commitment to you, and his belief in you. It stretched beyond what you thought possible. “Come here.” You whispered, pressing your forehead to his own.

He placed a hand on your swollen belly. You smiled to yourself as he did. Even though your belly had swollen so much, his hand was so large it nearly engulfed all of you. 

“Would you be terribly disappointed if it were a girl?” You asked softly, your head still resting against his forehead.  

“I don’t care what it is.” His voice rumbled softly in his chest, “I couldn’t be disappointed.” 

You placed a hand at the back of his head, holding him close to you “Tell me the truth, are you happy?”

“Do I look unhappy?” He sighed. 

“You always look unhappy.” You said softly

He couldn’t tell you how happy he truly was. He couldn’t because he knew that this was never meant for him. He was born to fight and die for the Lannisters. He did none of it. He chose love over duty no matter if he admitted it or not. He couldn’t tell you he would love that child in you more than anything in this world. He couldn't allow himself to be so soft, even in front of you. The only time he would be is when you slept, and his hand on your swollen belly would feel the babe kick. He would smile to himself and feel his cold demeanor fade. He rubbed your belly once more and sighed, “I don’t deserve it, and I might be shit at it. But I’ll keep it safe, cock or no.” 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You rode into the point where the Vales Reach ended, and the Riverlands began. An empty field, a proper place for final negotiations. 

You wore a blue riding cloak, as to not allow the men who opposed you forget who you were. Your husband rode in with you of course. Wearing the black armor you had fitted for him. And accompanied by twelve of your men, ten of Jons, and of course Ser Leon. The ride was hard on you, and the babe. You were coming along well in your pregnancy now. Riding did not agree with you in such a state. 

As you approached Littlefinger, you felt your stomach turn. You’d not seen him in so long, and the meer sight of him made you sick. You wanted to jump off your horse and vomit but you’d not let them see you so weak. 

“Look at you. You poor thing. Child bearing certainly does not seem to agree with you. Would it be so hard to turn yourself to domestic pursuits rather than a needless war.” Baelish said mockingly. 

“Shut your cunt mouth.” Your husband grumbled. 

“I see you’ve brought your lap dog to bark for you.” Baelish smirked.

“I speak for myself.” You said, your voice dark and deep. “Terms are simple. Step down now, leave the Eyrie, and return to the Fingers or Kings Landing whichever you prefer. That I have no interest.” Though that might not have been the whole truth. If he did leave, you would have your knights seize him. And he would be dragged to the moon doors to be tried for his crimes. 

“And if I do not comply?” Baelish sighed, not taking you quite seriously. 

“Your head.” You spoke with venom. 

A brief but uncomfortable silence passed, “Bloodshed is unnecessary. I don’t wish for this wedge between us any longer. I gave you a proposal before you were wed, but I don’t wish for war, so allow me to make another. You and your…” Baelish eyed the  giant man beside you, who sneered back at him. “Husband may have the fingers. You’ll have the estate, live your lives comfortably.” Sandor scoffed under his breath, “If you should bear sons they’d be my heir so long as I don’t have my own, they’d learn under me, be my ward, begin their instruction of how to lead. If it’s a daughter… Well if I had my own sons she’d marry one of them.” He stated, as if it were a most judicial proposal.

“I’d rather let my sons learn from the whores in your brothels than from a craven cunt like you. And my daughters would eat your sons alive.” Sandor said, his voice dripping with contempt. 

After a moment, Baelish looked at you with a smirk, “Charming isn’t he? I see how you fell for him.”

“My first born child regardless of their gender will be heir to my titles. There is naught that will stop you. You won’t stop until one of us is dead. You won’t be content to have me living in Winterfell. Or the Fingers. Or even in Braavos… No… because as long as I live and breathe your station will never be secure. I am the challenge. My child is the challenge. they will always pose a challenge to you as well.” You placed a protective hand atop of your belly, “You won’t stop.” 

Baelish looked at your swollen belly, feeling a tinge of jealousy. “A trade then. I give you something of great value-.” 

“I know what a trade is.” You sneered, making your husband chuckle under his breath. “There’s only one thing worth more than the East.”

“What is that? Whatever it is, you shall have it.” Baelish asked enthusiastically. 

“I want my family back. Jon Arryn, Elorie Arryn, Edmure Arryn, Eddard Stark, Catelyn Stark, Rickon Stark, and Ser Varys Cole… I want them back.” You said, rage fueled grief dripping from your voice, and your eyes, “Do you have that?” 

Baelish did not speak for a moment, simply staring at you. Unsure of what to say, 

“She asked you a question.” Your husband asserted.

Baelish looked at your husband then back at you, “What you’re asking for is impossible.” 

“Then she’ll have your head.” Sandor said with a scowl, 

you began to pull your horses reins but then Baelish spoke again. “(Y/N) I beg you once more. I was appointed by the King-“

“That King is dead. And I feel this conversation has become circular and I find no reason or desire to continue it.” You said apathetically. 

“Perhaps the reason you and I were not intended. Wasn’t because your father found me disagreeable. Maybe it was because my reign, unlike your own, would outshine his own.” He said boldly, but soon his confidence dwindled, “I don’t wish for your death, nor the death of the babe in your belly.” He shook his head, “I love you (Y/N), just as I loved your aunt Catelyn, just as I loved your mother-” He looked at you with desperation.

You did not speak, only looking at Baelish wishing you would drive a blade into his heart. And your eyes gave away your desire.

“You speak to my wife like that again and I won’t wait for the war to tear your throat out.” He nearly growled at him as he tugged the reins of the large black horse he sat on.

“Very good, Husband.” You smirked and stifled a laugh as you pulled the reins of your own horse, turning away from Littlefinger.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

By the time you’d arrived back in Winterfell it was once again time to have another council meeting. You sat at the head of it, with once again your Husband standing beside you. 

Joining the table were some Lords you held no regard for, and of course Tyrion was there to advise you. 

You leaned against the table and spoke with confidence, “Northern men, and Eastern men. Together we break even with Littlefinger's men. Assuming he does not employ the aid of other eastern or southern houses.”

“Assuming.” Tyrion said, prompting you to think deeper. 

“So we must employ the aid of the eastern houses. They all swore oaths to my house. If they keep their promises we’ll out number Littlefinger easily.” You were confident in your words.

Tyrion nodded but then leaned forward, preparing to add something new to the conversation. “There is one cause for concern in your alliances in the Vale. The hill tribes have steel weapons now.”

“Yes they do. And who provided those to them?” You nodded with a sarcastic smile, then your smile faded. “With my men, the northern men, and the houses of the Vale together, I believe the Eyrie can be penetrated.” You shook your head, “I don’t need the hill tribes blessing to do any of that.”

“Still, with their weapons they’ve become a growing threat towards the people of the Vale, and travelers. If you could neutralize them, you’d gain the support and respect of the other houses”  Tyrion explained

“What do you suggest? We kill them all?” You asked stifling a laugh, thinking it was a ridiculous thought.

Tyrion shrugged, “It would be easy enough.They are of little value and have very little experience in warfare. But no. They could be used as a weapon. First we persuade them with honey.” 

“The fuck is he talking about?” Sandor rasped, not wanting to hear anything that might be offensive to your honor. 

Tyrion spoke cautiously, “The Hill Tribes despise house Arryn. Despise you. But they despise outsiders as well. And I would wager they despise the fact Littlefinger managed to usurp an Arryn before they did.” 

You sat back in your seat with a huff. You crossed your arms, “Do you know how many there are? Black Ears, the Burned Men, the Howlers, the Milk Snakes, the Moon Brothers, the Painted Dogs, the Redsmiths, the Stone Crows, the Sons of the Mist, and then there’s the Sons of the Tree.” You sighed, “All of which hate one another. More than that they all hate me and my blood. I am sure this perversion of a succession has only served them as a great jest.” 

Tyrion began more passionately in his argument, “Offer them Lands. The Pebble, The Paps, Witches Isle-“

“All of which are homes of seated houses sworn to the rule of House Arryn. If I send fleets of tribesmen to their door, I start a new war. And lose any possibility of alliance.” You said intensely. 

“Then what would you decide?” Tyrion huffed. 

“You speak of offering the claimed land of people sworn to me to people who wish me dead.” You stifled a laugh, “If you suggested a massacre I’d be more willing.” You looked down, taking his words into serious consideration, “The sisters have been a place of loose hold. Write to all three. Offer protection in return for their alliance. If not then that is where we shall send them.” You finished, about to leave the chamber before a voice interrupted you.

“What of your brother?” Lord Royce said, making his presence known. “He is a boy of five and ten now. And he misses his elder sister dearly.” 

You turned to face him, “We were never very close. Hardly a family.” You said stoically

“And yet, all the family he has ever had.” He said. You felt a sting of guilt, having never really given him a thought. “I would suggest, humbly, you seek him out. He would be a powerful ally to have in the eyes of the eastern houses. One ancient house united against their usurper.” Lord Royce said confidently. .

You huffed, “Perhaps you are right.” you said with a somber nodded.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ 

As you left your small council meeting, you and your Husband took your steps nearly in tandem. A formidable pair.

“My Lady-” Ser Leon said in haste as he approached you quickly, cut off by the brick wall that was your husband who raised an eyebrow at the man as he glared at him. 

You looked behind you, noticing him “Ser Leon.” You said in a huffed greeting, looking forward as you continued to walk.

“My Lady-” He continued attempting to ignore the intimidating presence of your husband, “Might I suggest that I represent yourself within meeting the Hill Tribes, and perhaps even in meeting with young Robin as well.” 

“I’ll speak to them myself.” You said dismissively, sure of your ability. 

“My Lady I am unconvinced that plan of action is the wisest, nor the safest.”

You stopped in your tracks annoyed and frustrated you turned to Ser Leon. You sighed letting your annoyance go. “Very well then. Explain your concerns.” You said with a calm voice and hard eyes.

“I do not doubt your will, my Lady. However I believe the offer may be taken with more confidence, and seriousness if delivered by a Knight.” 

Your eyes narrowed, stepping closer to him, “And why would my own words not be taken with seriousness?” 

He shifted uncomfortably, and began cautiously “It is only… the gentler sex is-“ 

You raised your hand, and slapped him across the cheek. Sandor reached for the hilt of his sword.

You stepped closer to him, staring him down, “I fed a man to dogs.” You shook your head. “I am not gentle.” Ser Leon nodded and looked down, “As your lady I encourage you to question my logic but do not ever misjudge my sex.” Your tone was cold as you hissed your words at him, “I am the challenge.” You placed a hand on your stomach, though not taking your eyes off of him, “My child, is the challenge. If you wish for me to allow a threat to my child to breathe and live you’re wrong.” You tilted your head, “If I send a Knight to go and do my bidding, how much of a challenge do I appear to be?”

Without allowing him to answer, you turned and continued to walk. Your husband following behind you.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・

Not long afterwards, as you and your Husband were walking up the halls, Sandor pulled you into a room. As he closed the door, confusing your men on the other side. You looked around the small chambers. It must have been a room meant for spare inventory of supplies. 

He pushed you against the cold stone wall, holding you by the scruff of your neck. 

“What’re you-Awh” Your words were cut short by his rough and calloused fingers running up your thighs underneath your skirts. As his fingers haphazardly moved your small clothes to the side, they began toying with your cunt, “Mphmm” was the only sound you were able to make before his mouth crashed against yours. Drinking in your moans of pleasure. Both to keep you quiet and because he couldn’t control himself when you used your authority so well.

His fingers entered your core, the feeling so intense you bit down on his lip. But he relished in it. The pleasure was so great as his fingers pulsed against the soft spot inside of you. “You make me proud to be your husband, you know that?” His fingers did not relent continuously pushing in and out of you, “So- fucking- proud.” He growled against your ear. 

Your body gave into its pleasure quickly. Being so unprepared for such stimulation. You felt yourself shake as you reached your climax. And thank the gods your Husband was holding you close.

You looked at him with half lidded, relaxed eyes. Wanting to please him the way he did you. You reached for the ties of his breeches. 

He grabbed your wrist and tisked at you, “Not now,” He rasped. “Don’t worry, I’ll fuck you good and hard later.” he groaned as he pressed his hardened cock against your thigh once more. He fixed your hair for you as you caught your breath, “Go on then.” He said with a pat on your ass. 

As he opened the door for you, and you stepped out. You looked at the men who waited for you. 

“My Lady.” Ser Leon said with his head bowed apologetically. 

You looked at him briefly, now with a clearer head knowing what you’d done was wrong. “Apologies.” You muttered before continuing on. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You rode into Runestone, with Lord Royce, Tyrion, and of course your Husband. Though now you were now confined to a carriage as your pregnancy progressed. You weren’t happy with it, but Sandor insisted. 

As your carriage came to a stop. Sandor opened the door. He helped you out of the carriage, nearly picking you up. You placed a hand on his chest, “I’ll speak to my brother alone.” You said softly, “If he’s anything like how I remember him, he listens best when spoken to softly.” 

Sandor nodded, and watched you as you walked down the hill, making your way to your brother’s training. 

“I’ve heard the saying to never give a wench a sword on her blood, but what of one with child?” A tall Royce guard said to the other guards. They all snickered, but your Husband did not. 

Sandor turned towards the Royce guards, “The fuck did you say?” He grumbled, as he walked towards the men. 

“A bad joke.” Tyrion said, attempting to ease the situation. 

The Royce guard however did not take Lord Tyrion's grace, further antagonizing your husband. “The King commanded a man to rule for a reason.”

“Fuck the King. He’s dead. His command is dead. And Littlefinger is a cunt.” Sandor nearly growled. 

The man scoffed, “Might be a cunt. But I know she has a cunt. She is a-”

“Careful.” Sandor hissed, “Careful how you end that.” His eyes narrowed. 

A smaller guard stepped towards the taller one, “You heard what he did to that knight in Winterfell. Broke his jaw clean off the hinges one blow.” The smaller guard warned. The taller man however, looked back to Sandor, as if he had a chance at besting him. 

“I’d listen to them.” Tyrion said, not wanting a physical fight to occur during your first attempt of creating an alliance. 

The man however, did not listen, continuing, “The Arryns have long stood with the Baratheons, the Lannisters, the Crown. Obeyed their orders. Now, she’s let Valemen die for the Starks after the Lannisters sided with the Botlons.” 

“Enough-“ Tyrion began,

“Let him talk.” Sandor said calmly, his eyes staying on the man.

The man took a confident step forward, “You abandoned your duty to the Lannisters. And she abandons her duty as a woman twice now. Only giving in now. Some think of it as peculiar.” He said with a mocking grin. 

“And what do you think of it?” Sandor stepped forward, biting his lip. Begging for the man to give him a reason to do what he so desperately wanted to do already.

The man grinned, stepping forwards “She’s not a Queen. She cannot do as she pleases. I bet you bloodied that pretty white cloak with her maidenhead. No, she is no queen and now she’s no lady, she is a whore.” 

With a growl and his armored fist, Sandor punched the man in the mouth. He did just as he had done before, with one blow he broke the man's jaw. But with the next blow he shattered the man's nose, and his last blow breaking his teeth.

꒰ ୨୧ ─

As you walked down the small hill, you saw your brother sparing with another boy near his age. You were thrown off slightly by how much he had grown. He was nearly a man now. You felt dread, you never felt close to Robin, and never even felt related. But now at a time like this, you needed to make this alliance. 

“Brother.” You said beckoning out to him. 

He turned around quickly at the sound of your voice. “Sister!” Robin said with a smile, he dropped his wooden sparring sword and ran into your arms. 

You were somewhat startled by the gesture, “I did not think you would be happy to see me.” 

He looked down, feeling somewhat guilty, “I was an awful child. Weak, and sheltered.” 

“I was an angry child.” You smiled softly at him, you looked him up and down, noticing how tall he has grown, “You are nearly a man grown it would seem.” 

He smiled, though his smile soon faded. “I should tell you.” He said more stoically, “Baelish has come to me. Offering to make me his heir.” 

You rolled your eyes as you stifled a laugh, “Funny, he offered my unborn child the same.” You smiled at him half heartedly, attempting to find the humor in such a situation. 

Robin however did not smile back. His expression was a guilty and worried one. He pulled out a dagger from his belt, previously covered by his cloak. “He gave me a dagger to kill you with if you ever came to see me.” 

You put your hand on top of his, making him halt his actions. “If my husband sees you pull a dagger out he’ll kill you before you can explain why you have it.” You said with narrowed eyes. Slowly you removed your hand. Extending it towards your hand towards him, “Give it,” You commanded, he hesitated, “It’s alright. I will not hurt you.”

So he obeyed you. Placing the handle of the dagger in your hand. He huffed disappointed in himself. “I did not wish to hurt you, sister.” He shook his head, “I also have no desire to hold power over the Vale.”

You took the dagger and placed it in your belt, “That is a relief.” You sighed. You looked at Robin who was still looking down, shamefully. You placed your hand on his cheek, “Robin, we’ve only one another now. And a pretender has driven us out of our home. Either to ward for house Royce, or attempted through a marriage to the Boltons.” You continued, “I’ll have Ser Leon, knight you. And once we kill the pretender you shall be Lord of the Fingers.” 

“Baelish offered me the same.” He said, clearly uncertain of what the right choice was.

You spoke slightly harsher, “Robin, you’ve no reason to support me. But I believe that Baelish has no intention of making you or my child heir, or lord or lady of any land. He’ll do to us as he did our father, and your mother.” You said with hard eyes,  “I believe that if I have your support, I can get our home back.” You asserted. 

He nodded, “You have it,” he said confidently. His eyes wandered behind you, seeing a large and tall man off in the distance. Looking down at you and your brother. A man with half his face burnt, and his knuckles bloodied. “Is that your husband?” He asked with a frightened expression. 

You looked behind you, seeing your Husband. You smiled softly, “Yes he is.” You looked back to your younger brother, who still looked frightened. “He’s not so bad once you get to know him.” you placed a hand on the cheek of your brother. Looking at his face, studying it slightly,  “You look so much like father.” You said softly with a smile, to which he then wrapped his arms around you once more. 

Perhaps this alliance would not be such a difficulty. 

Atop the hill where Sandor stood, watching down upon you protectively. Tyrion approached him from behind. 

“Seems the man will live.” Tyrion said with a sarcastic cheerful tone. 

Sandor huffed, “If I’d an ax I'd have his head.” 

Tyrion tilted his head and furrowed his brow, “Not sure that would be the wisest option.” 

“Not going to let some cunt in armor spew foul shit about my wife.” Sandor sneered.

“That little scene could harm how the Valemen see her.” Tyrion explained passively.

Sandor looked at Tyrion defensively, “Hope so. Now they’ll know to hold their tongue.”

“Perhaps you should show a little more restraint.” Tyrion said cautiously. 

“I showed it when you stumbled to our table drunk. When you shouted about the babe in her fucking belly.” 

Tyrion squirmed uncomfortably for a moment, “If I bother you so much why don’t you just cut me down? It’d be easy enough.” 

“There was a time I would have. She wouldn’t like it.” Sandor sighed, disappointedly. 

“You must love her.” Tyrion said, looking at the Hound as if he were a riddle to solve. 

Sandor looked down to Tyrion, “You have your honor. And I have mine.”

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

NOTE:

is this too heavy on war? idk anymore yall. And srry for the short smut scene. it’s just smth sweet for the readers.

K love you, xoxo

Bambi

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@childofheresy

[averagewriter-inthedark]

A Golden Rose 🌼 | Alicent Hightower Headcanon

GOT/HOTD Masterlist

Alicent Hightower having a secret relationship with the daughter of Lord Tyrell would involve:

Becoming a lady-in-waiting to the young queen early on in her marriage to King Viserys after you were sent to King's Landing upon the request of his Grace. Leaving the Reach and your family for the capitol, where you would remain indefinity. You'd only been in the proximity to the royal couple once on the day of their wedding, though you never exchanged words. It came as a surprise when two years later at ten and seven the raven arrived to accompany the Queen as she nears the end of her term. Pending the birth of her second child.  

It was pretty much love at first sight for Alicent, who was drawn to your beauty and personality. The sharp wit and charm of a Tyrell, you had her a blushing mess nearly every day. Alicent requesting your company more often rather than all her ladies. Pretty much leaving them to the winds. You didn't mind. In fact, you relished in the attention. 

You clocked onto her affections early on, not blind to her lingering gazes, soft smiles, and how her eyes drew to you each time she entered a room. Walking closely beside you, while the other ladies trailed behind. It only took four months for you to confront her, as you developed strong feelings for the Queen and no longer had the strength to keep them hidden. "My Queen, forgive me for speaking freely, but I cannot go another day with us not saying what we so desperately want. I know what you feel for me, and I want you to know I feel the same." 

Yeah, she was a goner. Her heart soaring with happiness...and fear. Of course you two could not explore a relationship openly. She was married--to the damn King! And you were a lady-in-waiting expected to marry a nobleman or knight. If anyone found out about your relations, you'd be exiled or facing the sword. Alicent surely would face the King's wrath, and neither of you wanted to picture that. 

So, you both did what you had to do: you loved in secret. Behind closed doors and wondering eyes. Gifts of sentiments on namedays, brushing hands when passing teacups, seeking one out in a crowded room, walks in the garden. Anonymous notes of admiration, kisses at night when the Keep was asleep. Reading to each other in the library, picking flowers to put in the other's hair. Saving sweets from lunch and supper to share later on in your chambers. And on most nights, you'd run your fingers through Alicent's soft hair to lull her to sleep.

The love you shared blossomed like the golden rose that represented your house. Growing stronger by the years. You and Alicent had the biggest secret in all of Westeros. One you would go to war to protect. 

Viserys was always occupied with King duties and entertaining his council to see what his wife was up to. Otto kept a close eye, and you often felt his suspicious gaze on you at events, but never once did he comment. Though you'd never admit it to Alicent, you were grateful when he was dismissed as Hand. It was one less person you had to worry about. The maids and guards turned a blind eye, all except Criston Cole. Once he became Alicent's sworn protector, he followed you two like a dog on a leash. And when he did catch you two in a compromising position roughly a year after she had Aemond, Alicent made him swear on his life to be silent. 

Rhaenyra was....complicated. For one you knew of her friendship with Alicent prior to her marriage to the King, and the love they shared for each other. Admittedly, you were slightly jealous, but got over it once Alicent assured you she no longer harbored those affections for the Princess. Still, you were not Rhaenyra's biggest fan. Her behavior and comments toward Alicent had you fuming, but you remained calm in the presence of others. Once she finally married and had children you were pleased.

Speaking of children, you were close to Alicent's sons and daughter, despite hating Viserys for putting her through four pregnancies and treating her like a broodmare after what he did to Queen Aemma. The resentment towards the King only heightened when he seemed to forget about the children he sired, preferring Rhaenyra and her sons. Daeron was sent to Oldtown young, leaving the older three, who you helped Alicent raise.

As the children grew up, they were not blind to your relationship. Why their mother always broke fast with you and invited you to the table at supper. Why she asked for your opinion on certain things. How she ordered golden roses to be planted in the gardens of the Keep on your 19th nameday when you mentioned feeling homesick. The fact there was always your favorite pastries at banquets. And when she went to light a candle in the sept, you were right there with her. You were dressed in the finest silks compared to the other ladies-in-waiting. 

Where they confused in the beginning? of course they were. They didn't understand why their mother was more devoted to you than their father. Why Alicent's eyes sparked when looking at you, much like when she looked at them, instead of the King. But they never once spoke of it. Understanding there was a deep affection between the two of you that the realm would never accept. 

Yet when the dragons danced years later as the kingdom split between Greens and Blacks, the history books would write about the Hightower that bloomed with golden roses. Why Highgarden did not hesitate to raise their banners in support of King Aegon II Targaryen. Covering the southern lands that would further weaken Rhaenyra's defense. Making the Princess and her council realize their mistake of undermining the influence you had on the Alicent.

For a rose is so beautiful to the eye, one forgets about its thorns.

[bitchimasnake-sss]

it got worse ft. choso kamo!

this is part two to my fic "just a distraction". so, i recommend that you read that first lol (but it can be read as a standalone too!)

set-up: after your plan to distract your academic rival backfired so hard, you don't have it in you to seek him out. well, is it a blessing or a curse when he decides he will seek you out instead then?

warnings: PORN WITH PLOT; nsfw thoughts includes cunnilingus, in public, dirty talking. mdni as always :)

"are you serious?" yuuta gave you a skeptical look.

"what?" you defended by hiding your face under a pillow and avoiding your friends' concerned looks.

"i'm sorry but it's the third day you're missing lecture. over a boy. who even are you?" maki continued where yuuta left off.

"she's lovesick, is what she is. or dicksic—" nobara quipped up next.

you threw the pillow at the source of her voice. then, slowly, you looked up at your three friends, who stood there as if observing an animal in the zoo. except this wasn't a zoo, it was your dorm room. and the animal under surveillance was you.

"this was all your plan!" you pointed at nobara accusingly.

"my plan was to go fuck choso's brain out so that you can get an edge over him in academics. my plan wasn't for you to develop a crush on his weird ass."

"i don't have a crush on him!" you tried to cool off your burning face by fanning it, "i just can't see him again. what am i gonna say?? hey choso remember the day i came over during break like a month ago and you went down on me? i can't fucking stop thinking about that or about you! what are your thoughts on that, choso hm?"

"well, when you phrase it so pathetically-"

yuuta cut off the green-haired athlete lest she say something downright stupid, "see, i am sure choso won't bring it up either. he hasn't made an effort to like text you or anything. it's been a whole month, i am sure he doesn't really care all that much?"

"ughh. how is that consoling to hear? that means whatever happened between us probably sucked."

"well you did suck—"

"—nobara!"

"point being." yuuta reasoned, "you need to go to class. gojo sensei is a serious drama queen. he'd probably mark your grade down because you're missing classes for seemingly no reason. and that'll affect your grades.

you groaned and yuuta continued, "just go to class. and if you see choso, avoid him. i am sure he won't come seeking you out."

"fine."

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

well, this was going okay, you guess? i mean, gojo sensei did 100% make weird jokes about your absence in front of the entire class but thus far, nothing else was amiss. choso was holed up in his regular seat near the window far to your left and hadn't been looking at you from what you could notice.

fuck. truly the only one getting distracted was you.

so, halfway through the lecture (that you couldn't pay attention to anyways), you decided you would confront choso and ask him why he didn't text you back or something.

so, you waited till class was over. standing outside the gate, you waited for the raven-haired man to come out so that you could confront him. but the moment he actually started coming towards the door, your feet took you by their own accord. you ran through the hallways and into the library.

that's right, maybe you should catch up on the studying you missed? self-study truly is the best study after all? and not like choso will come hunting you down here, in the library. so, you chose to go take a seat in your usual spot, the one farthest and where nobody came to disturb you.

sighing, you took our your laptop and notebook, setting it down on the table. you took a deep breath and decided you could deal with him when you were ready-

"why did you bolt off when you saw me?" choso asked as he dragged the chair next to you and sat down. he dropped something heavy on the desk and you noticed from the corner of your eye that it was the book you had taken over to his under the pretense of studying.

"thanks for the book. i forgot i left it at yours."

liar.

you had left it at his so you could go back and get it. and the day you went back, hopefully, choso would have remembered some of the steam and gotten you into his bed again.

but you never went and he never called.

"no worries. i was surprised how you would be able to do integrals without it." he stretched his limbs, muscles shifting under the thin material of his shirt. he then propped his right elbow on the wooden table. resting his face on his palm, he looked at you, "why were you missing lectures?"

"personal issues." you replied without looking away from your laptop screen. as if typing your assignment furiously will make him disappear into thin air.

"ah, okay. i thought you got sick or something."

if you were braver, you would have said it out loud. but you were a coward, so, you mumbled, "if you were so worried, you could have texted me or something."

you obviously didn't expect for him to hear that.

"we're not friends. it would have been awkward. what would have people thought if they realized i'm texting the second best student at uni?"

you whipped your face to look at his. but all your anger melted away when you took in his features. his tired eyes, the tattoo on his nose. did he cut his hair? it was slightly shorter, you think? whatever, he was still a dick.

-and dick reminds you...

"i-" you looked at your screen again, hands stilling against the keyboard and resting on the plastic keycaps, "even if we aren't friends. why didn't you text me? was- idk. like, was our last time so bad? even if it was, it's not a gentle-manly thing to do! to ghost a fucking girl out of nowhere!"

"i thought it was a one time thing." he replied back easily, still looking at your bunched features, "i thought you had some built up frustration after seeing the result and you had come take your mind off of it."

"so, what are you saying? was it just 'nother quick fuck session with your classmate? you shoved your pen in his direction, a direct attack by invading his private space. your face scrunched up in disgust, "you do this frequently? am i just the newest addition to the roster?"

as your gaze tangled with his, the sheer intensity in his eyes sent a shiver through your system. he quirked an eyebrow up, his lips pressed into a thin line. the pen slipped past your light grasp and under the desk.

"do you know you're ruining my life?" his eyes searched for yours then travelled down to your lips, "you're actually ruining my fucking life."

and he knelt down.

"choso wh-" your eyes widened as his arm reached under the desk, looking for your pens as his gaze remained trained on you.

adjusting his position, he moved till he was under the desk, hidden by the chair and your legs in front of him. once he found the pen, his sleek fingers pulled his hair back. he carefully tied his flowing hair with your pen.

looking up at you, his igniting touches dragged upwards from your knee to the hem of your skirt.

"wh- what are you doing?" you bit down your lip are his fingers travelled inwards, caressing your inner thigh agonizingly slow.

his forearms pulled your body towards him till you were barely seated on the edge. looking around maniacally to spot any other person, you looked back down at the sight in front of you.

his hair was pulled back, arms around your thighs and tongue licking a clean strip from your mid-thigh. slowly moving upwards, his hot breath danced over your drenched panties.

pressing a chaste kiss to your thighs. giving you a small (almost innocent) smile, he whispered, "i think i should return the favour. be a gentleman, hm?"

his thumb swiped over the wet fabric. the slick allowed him to rub over the swollen nub while his other hand found his erect dick. he bit back a groan as he palmed himself through the sweats.

"choso, stop mhmm no-" you whined as he pushed the fabric aside and swiped over your clit. the pad of his thumb moved methodically- going up and down, to the sides and in tight circular motion- while his lips pressed innocent kisses all over your thighs.

"cho~ nghh someone is gonna see us, plea-please stop—"

"shut up then. go back to your assignment. let's pretend i'm not even here, yeah?"

"chosoo—" you whined slowly, looking around again to see no one was around. once you were thorough with your inspection, you found yourself meeting his sinful gaze, rutting your hips in sync with his calloused fingers.

"—look up or people are gonna get suspicious." he stilled for a second, letting his words register in your head. when he refused to move his deft fingers against your pulsing heat, you finally took your eyes off him. training your eyes at the screen instead, you ignored his rough treatment on your clit.

kissing your soft skin, his fingers played with your drenched core. you closed your eyes, feeling his heavy weight against you body. he sucked on your skin and then looked up at you to give you a lewd look. something between a smug smile and a feral, animalistic desire.

"that's right, just do your work okay? i'm gonna handle the rest." he whispered against the blossoming bruise, "trust me when i say that it's taking everything inside me to not fuck you right here, right now."

his lips ghosted over your clitoris as his fingers dipped inside of you. the hot breath set your body on fire as his slim digits played against your inner mechanics. finally, he placed a soft kiss o your twitching, swollen nub and you chose to bite down on your lips instead on moaning his name out.

your hips burned against the wood. your forehead was getting damper and damper with each leisurely lick. and every attempt of writing a word of your assignment was just another incoherent jamble, fueled by his fucked up fantasies.

your pelvis rolled with his finger and the ache built up in your stomach as he went faster and faster against you, still whispering sweet nothings as if honey was his own language.

the ache built and built and built and you closed your eyes as your orgasm finally washed over you like waves. you tucked your head under your arms, resting your forehead against the cool, wooden desk as you silently screamed out.

his fingers slowed down their assault on your twitching body and he pressed one last kiss to your quivering thighs before removing his fingers. fixing your underwear and cleaning off the nectar on his fingers, he climbed up again.

you cocked your head sideways to look at him. he flashed you a grin before taking the pen out and handing it back to you, "here you go. you should be careful with your belongings"

you rolled your eyes, "fuck off."

and he gave you another large smile, relishing in your huffs and jitters.

pulling yourself back up, you truly thought he'd walk away now that you had cum over his fingers. i mean what else was left? he had come and ruined your concentration. he had won at your game. so what else now? why wasn't he leaving?

"uhm" you gave him a skeptical look, "aren't you gonna go now?"

he raised an eyebrow, dragging the chair closer next to you, "want me gone so soon?"

you turned around to face him. you could feel the steam physically rise out of your face out of sheer embarrassment. "i mean i thought we were just... like? you know—"

"—fuck buddies or something?"

"i mean yeah?"

"i don't think we can be fuck buddies. or friends with benefits." when your face fell, he gave you an honest smile, "'cause we aren't exactly friends... and we haven't exactly fucked."

a blush crept up your throat at his ease over such depraved words, "right, yeah."

"but." he dragged his chair outwards and stood up, "we can be. friends, i mean." he looked away from you, pausing. "i mean, i'll text you maybe?"

"maybe?"

"maybe." he tucked in the chair inwards to it's actual position. then his fingers drummed along the wooden chair, "i am still not sure if i wanna be friends with my rival, you know?"

"oh, fuck off."

he started walking away, giving you a last smile over his shoulder, "i'll text you."

you bit back a smile of your own, "i'll wait."

a/n: tempted to make a third part (and finish off the story with a sweet, nice bow) but idk if i should lol. part three is up! hope you enjoy!! tagging: @somejojofanlol @little-art-addiction @seaweed-empire @basilgardener @rkiveinmarvel

[kkami-writes]

waiting for us — chapter thirty seven. laser tag cw. derogatory language/slurs. wc 701 + 4 ss a/n. I do want to be clear that I am part of the lgbt+ community and have been called these things which of course isn't like? an excuse to say that like I can say it? though I think people should be able to reclaim their slurs but. ANYWAY the point is, I have censored it but if it makes people uncomfy, I can fully censor!!

After Felix had stopped pouting he had showered you in compliments, genuinely impressed at how you were able to get the plushy in two tries. He pretends to bow down to you.

“All hail the claw queen!!!!” You snort at his silliness before trying to pull him up, hoping no one was watching the two of you.

“Oh my god, stop it!! Lix!”

“What?? I’m just giving my respects to my new queen,” Your eyes roll playfully, nudging him softly.

“So, what should we name our son?” You question as you point to the duckling plushy he was holding. Honestly? It reminded you of the pretty boy.

Felix on the other hand was absolutely melting on the inside. The fact that you had called the plush “our” son. Why were you so adorable? He could feel himself falling more in love with you, every second he spent with you.

He clears his throat. “What about bbokari?”

“As in…yongbokkie?” A sly grin tugs at your lips.

Felix groans. “Who told you??!”

A giggle falls from your lips. “Minho let it slip,”

“Minho??? I expected Jisung or Hyunjin at least. They have big mouths. In more ways than one” Pink dusts your cheeks as you push the boy who only laughs at your shyness.

“Bbokari is cute though. I love it,” Felix just gives you that breathtaking smile.

“Oh!” Felix exclaims, pointing over towards the back of the arcade. “Look, they have laser tag. You down for a round?”

“It’s been forever since I’ve played. I’m down,” You nod, the two of you starting to make your way over there.

“Shall we make a wager?” You squint at Felix.

“What kind of wager?”

“Loser buys ice cream?”

“Oh you are SO on,”

And that’s how you find yourself in the dark arena, neon lights lining the floor as your only source of light. You were slightly directionally challenged so the maze like turns has made you very lost but you were still on guard, making sure to stay far away from Felix. It was just the two of you, trying to hunt each other down, taking your bet very seriously.

You’re hidden behind a wall, peaking your head out to see if you can catch a glimpse of his now raven hair. When the coast is clear you take a step to move to a new location, but a hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you back, pushing you up against the wall. Even though you were only a few inches shorter than the boy, you had felt so small under his gaze. Felilx has his hand slightly above your head, effectively caging you in.

He smirks down at you and you hate how attractive he looks under the neon lights.

“Well, well, well. Seems I’ve caught myself a pretty girl,” He hums, hand coming down to twirl a strand of your hair around his fingers. Felix’s grin becomes more cocky, canines peaking past his lips. “Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you right now,”

“Because I’m cute?”

“Hmm, that is a good answer…but is it good enough?” He pretends to think about it, but you take the chance while he’s momentarily distracted. You lean up to press your lips to his and Felix completely freezes, eyes comically wide. Before he can even consider kissing you back you’re tilting your gun, that’s been in your other hand, up so you can shoot him. His vest vibrates to signal that he’s been hit.

“Bye, bye~” You singsong before ducking under his arm and running away. This finally seems to pull him out of his stupor as he yells out after you.

“Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaait!! At least let me kiss you back!” Felix wails, chasing after you.

In the end Felix still wins but refuses to let you pay for ice cream and doesn’t give you a chance to argue.

The poor boy has been pouting the whole time about not being able to kiss you until you had let him actually kiss you. And perhaps that lead to the two of you making out in the backseat of his car.

But, you’d never kiss and tell. (But Felix certainly did).

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

family day ask, if that's alright! could i request an interaction with rook and eric venue, vil's father? the way i think of it, this can go either really funnily or oddly. or both.

Consider this a prequel interaction to this one; I doubt that Mr. Venue can get past the Pomefiore gates on his own, so let's assume he meets a certain huntsman that helps him out 🎵

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

From his vantage spot amid the tree leaves, Rook could see all. He was like a hawk, able to glean the animals weaving through the foods, the rooftops, the students and their families coming to and fro. This view, he adored.

But equally as stunning as these sights were the pockets of darkness in them. They made his blood soar, singing, all the same. Carcesses returning life to the soil, damage from the natural elements, quarrels…

The sketchy man lurking at the shining gates to Pomefiore.

“Oh la la, what have we here?”

Curiosity piqued, Rook focused his gaze on the man. He was dressed in a full tracksuit, a mask concealing the shape of his mouth—though with a neat beard on his chin, judging by the slight protrustion—and a large pair of sunglasses covering his eyes. Given the lenses and the natural lighting, Rook would venture his iris color was a deep violet. A baseball cap hid most of his hair—though tufts of gold stuck out—and shadowed his face. It was an older man, Rook could tell, from the glimpses of skin he could catch, creasing and folding in a predictable manner.

The man glanced around, checking for onlookers (Rook chuckled to himself, knowing that he had no clue the huntsman was watching), then made his move. Reaching out with gloved hands, he tested the iron bars keeping him from entering the utopia of beauty protected by them. Of course, the gates held together, tight as coupled ravens.

Before the man could attempt to fiddle with the lock, he jolted at the sound of two approaching Pomefiore students. (Rook heard them clearly; they were talking about a recent Magic History exam and how their parents were currently speaking with Trein.) He hurriedly dove into a nearby hedge. The duo came up to the gate, which magically swung open for them.

“Excuse me, gentlemen!”

The mob students startled at the masked man popping out from a bush. “What the…?!”

“May I join you?” he asked (as if it was the most normal thing in the entire world for a masked man to appear from the greenery to solicit high school students). “My son is a student in your dorm, you see—but I haven’t been having any luck getting in. I’ve been trying for some time now, but the gates always shut again when I try to rush inside.”

“Erm… Are you acquainted with this scruffy guy?” one mob asked the other.

“Not at all, but anyone with sense would know that he’s entirely suspicious,” the other replied. “What say you and I cast him out?”

“Yes, let’s do that. We wouldn’t want riffraff tainting the Beautiful Queen’s domain!”

“Wh-What?!” The man automatically thrusted both arms up. “Hold on a second!!!”

Rook grinned like a cat that had gotten his fill of cream. Ohohoh, it looks as though the situation is quickly heating up. It’s about time for me to throw my hat into the fray.

He descended without a sound, the leaves barely shaking. Rook landed softly on his feet and crept toward the front gates, where ugly shouts rose.

“Bonjour!” he called, strutting up to his students. Feigning ignorance. “What seems to be the issue here?”

“Hunt-senpai!” A mob thrust an accusatory finger at the stranger. “This strange individual is trying to storm Pomefiore!”

“We were just about to apprehend him, Rook-sama.”

“Wait, I can explain!!” The man protested. His every word trembled, overflowing with sincerity. “My son…! My son is in there, and I need to see him!”

Ah, I see. This man’s secret identity is…

The huntsman’s eyes shone with clear understanding.

“My dear students, you needn’t worry—please, leave him to me,” Rook insisted, shooing them away with his hands.

“If Hunt-senpai says so…” The mob students exchanged a look before scurrying inside. The gates slammed shut after them.

“Oh no, not again!!” the man groaned. “My luck’s been rotten this whole day…”

Rook laughed, sweeping off his hat and dipping into a bow before the stranger. “As it so happens, monsieur, I am Pomefiore’s vice dorm leader. I would be more than happy to grant you an audience with our queen… Mr. Eric Venue, correct?”

The man stiffened for but a split second. He easily recovered, sprinkling controlled panic into his voice. “Eric Venue? The famous movie star? I’m flattered, but I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

“Am I? I would never mistake the desperate cries of a loving father. Those looks, that voice, a disguise for this busy occasion, a father’s passion… They tell a story all of their own.” There was a pause. “Ah, but I’m afraid you won’t get very far by making efforts to conceal yourself. I understand why—a celebrity cannot call too much attention to oneself—but it can be difficult to persuade, even with your charisma, when so much of the face is hidden. Humans have a natural instinct to distrust that which they cannot see.”

“That’s…”

Rook leaned in, his lips parting to form a whisper. “Ne vous inquiétez pas. I assure you, your secret is safe with me and that the journey will be quick and discreet. I know of a secret passageway to Vil’s chambers. About this time of day… yes, I believe he would be easy to reach.”

Eric’s brows shot up, genuine surprise registering on his face. “… Haha, you have an eye for detail, young man.”

“Fufufu, so I am told.” Rook extended a hand to him. “How about it? Will you accept my offer?”

“Well…” Eric lowered his sunglasses a smidge, flashing a glimpse of his deep-set amethyst eyes. “You’re an odd fellow, but I can tell you mean no harm and speak earnestly. And you’re my Vil’s vice dorm leader, his trusted confidant. I was worried that my presence might stir up a crowd, but I think it’s safe to put my faith in you.”

Rook dropped to a kneel, a loyal knight before a king. When he rose again, he lifted both arms and bent in deference.

“Suivez-moi.”