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pearl-nouveau · 3 months ago

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A Woman's Purpose - Cregan Stark x Reader [chapter three]

summary: After a sudden betrothal, you consider what a future in Winterfell may look like.

warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving durr), referenced baela x jace, slight timeline alterations

a/n: i feel weird writing smut even though i am an adult and i was writing UNGODLY things as a sixteen-year-old virgin half a decade ago. lmk if you enjoy because i don't have anything else written so if i'm going to keep writing i want to know that it's going to be read!

Cregan wasted no time trying to get me accustomed to Winterfell. As we entered the gates, he led me through with a protective hand on my back, steering me towards the stables first. He introduced me to his horse, Stormfighter, and I smiled at his excitement over the creature. It reminded me of my feelings about Vermithor.

"You shall have as many horses as you wish," he told me, "perhaps a cream-colored one would pair well with mine. But I suppose you already have a dragon."

"Yes, Vermithor is a good form of transportation. I find horses rather slow now."

He laughed. "I shall build a dragonpit for Vermithor, if you wish it."

I smiled gently. He was so eager to please me. "He is much too big, I'm afraid. He will have to find a nest outside like Aemond's dragon, Vhagar."

"Ah. Not as easy as having a small dragon like your brother's, but perhaps more impressive."

"Vermithor's wingspan creates shadows over entire towns." I knew I was boasting, but Cregan's eyes widened with approval nevertheless.

"Impressive indeed."

He took me within the palace walls, through warm hallways and into a communal dining hall where Stark bannermen laughed together merrily. One of them noticed Cregan enter, and the group regarded him with respectful My Lord's. I observed a few kitchen girls gossiping by the fire, unafraid of their Lord's presence. It pleased me to think that my future husband was a welcome presence to the people who worked beneath him. The tranquility of the scene put my mind at ease.

"I know Winterfell is less grand than you are used to," he admitted wearily, "but I will do anything to ensure your comfort here."

"You are Warden of the North and take care of your people with ease and no complaint," I turned to him, "there is no greater comfort to me than a Lord husband with a gentle heart."

"Lord husband?"

Jacaerys' voice startles you. He has crept up behind the two of you, and you are suddenly aware of the weight of Cregan's hand still on your lower back.

"Jace," I flushed, "we... I..."

The words were lost in my mouth, but before me stood my brother, and words were not necessary. He smiled at me and I returned the grin knowing that he understood what had come to pass. He brought me in for a hug.

"Congratulations," he told me, pulling back and kissing my head. He moved to Cregan and, to my surprise, brought him in for a hug as well. "Brother." he said happily.

"Thank you, my prince." Cregan stood tall in front of him, pride radiating from him. "We will have a celebratory dinner tonight in the great hall."

"I shall send a raven to my mother." Jace said this with a smile and walked off, but I watched Cregan's expression darken.

"What is it, qēlos?" I touched his face without thinking. He leaned into my fingertips.

"I realized I never asked your mother permission for your hand," he said, "I was so caught up in the thrill of being yours that..."

"It matters not, it was always my choice." I said firmly. I could tell it still bothered him. "What can I do to make it better?" He thought for a moment.

"Allow me to come with you to Dragonstone, at the appropriate time. Let me meet the queen and pledge myself to her and you in person. And then..." he trailed off, as if afraid to overstep.

"Yes?"

"I hoped we could have a ceremony in the traditions of House Targaryen. Bind ourselves to one another by blood. If it pleases you."

For him to think of my house and my culture and not only his own made me awash with emotion.

"It does please me." I whispered, placing a sweet kiss to his lips. He pulled back.

"What did that word mean?" My brows furrowed at his question.

"What word?"

"The one you said earlier, qua, queh..."

"Qēlos." I told him. "It means star."

He hummed and repeated the word under his breath.

I sought some alone time with Jace so we could talk before my betrothal to Cregan was announced at dinner. I found him in the library of Winterfell, flipping through an old history book. He looked up as I came in.

"Sister," he greeted, "the Maester suggested I read up on the history of our houses' relationships with one another. That is, the Targaryens and the Starks."

"I hope it's good."

He smiled. "Even if it wasn't, this marriage would surely do the trick." He stood up, removing his focus from the book below him. "Cregan is a powerful man, little dragon. In many ways. He commands a population that our ancestors have found very hard to control in the past. The North is loyal not to their Warden, but to their Lord Stark. His involvement could mean victory for mother."

I scoffed, suddenly annoyed. I was newly engaged and he could still only talk politics. "Well, what do you suggest I do? Suck his cock every time mother wants a thousand men? I won't be her pawn, I am going to be the Lady of Winterfell."

"I only mean that you now sit beside one of our most important fighters. I... I suppose I don't know what I meant telling you that. I just mean that it pleases me to see you with such an accomplished man. And... I like Cregan. He is good, and you deserve a good man."

"I did worry, at first, that he only asked for my hand because mother sought something from him. But he asked for my hand all those years ago, in a letter he sent me after his time in King's Landing."

"What? Why did you never respond?"

I flushed. "I never opened the letter."

Jace began to cackle. "You're a fool, sister."

"I know." I snapped at him, slapping his shoulder. I sat down in a chair across the table from him, prompting him to sit as well. "I don't think I would have said yes if I had, though."

"Why not?"

I sighed. "I was not ready, and I knew not what he wanted from me."

"What does he want from you?" Jace was prodding, and I was letting it happen. I looked down at my hands.

"Everything. My heart and soul. I haven't been ready to give it. I have been too afraid that I would give it to the wrong person, or they would capture it and I would never be free again. But I feel free with him. He wants nothing from me, but to love me. And I know if I ask for my soul back, he will give it to me. But I want him to have it. I trust him."

A tear shot down my cheek, taking me by surprise. I didn't realize I had started crying. Jace was still smiling at me. I loved when he smiled, and I had the feeling it would only become more rare. So I returned it, and we were happy together for a moment.

"When will you wed?" He asked curiously.

"I have no idea. But Cregan has asked to visit mother in Dragonstone and have a ceremony of her house there."

"That will please her greatly."

I nodded. "Part of me wants it to be slow, so that I can ease into being married. But part of me cannot wait another day. Part of me just wants to be near him, close to him, always." I blushed, realizing what I was insinuating. But Jacaerys was nodding in agreement.

"You know, you can wait as long as you want. You don't have to wait for the rest, not really."

"What?" I sputtered. He so casually and simply dismantled a norm that had been thrust at us our entire lives. More specifically, me.

"No one really knows what happens behind closed doors." He shrugged.

"Oh hush, Jace, you only say that because you are a man." I bit.

His face reddened. "Very well, but you have never heard me presume to say that a woman's virtue is ruined alongside her maidenhood."

"Only old men still believe that."

"Exactly. Look, I know how much of a change this is from what you convinced yourself you always wanted. Take a few moons to settle in before you marry him. If anything happens naturally between you two in that period... so be it. You are to be married anyhow."

I was amused by his candor. "My brother, the wildling." I teased. "Tell me, was this enlightened opinion developed when our depraved uncle took you to a brothel when you were ten and three?"

He rolled his eyes. "You know very well I was a child deathly frightened of women, and bedding brothel wenches is different than making love to your betrothed."

It clicked for me. "You mean to tell me that you and Baela..."

He looked at his lap, equally flustered and self-satisfied. As much as it irked me to think of my brother in bed with someone, I found his admission heartwarming. After our grandsire's death, Dragonstone had been dreary and tense. We all walked the halls knowing that our days were numbered. To be unwilling to wait to be with the one you love when each day could be your last - it was romantic.

"Jace," I grinned at him. I kicked him under the table. "How? I mean, when?"

"Before grandsire died," he admitted, "We just... got caught up in the moment. But I don't regret it. Life is too short."He reached out across the table and playfully pressed his knuckles against my cheek in a faux-punch. "If you are choosing to be free, be free. We may be called into battle on the morrow."

I left our conversation feeling validated in a way I hadn't realized I needed to be. It made me want only one thing: to find my husband-to-be.

I found Cregan in the highest room of a round tower to walk to dinner together. He answered the door and I could tell he had been working from the papers strewn upon his desk. The room was set up as an office, with a small straw mattress in the corner. I guessed that he found himself sleeping here when overwhelmed with work.

"My beautiful wife," he greeted me, "almost. Come in."

He brought me in, sitting me in a cushioned chair across from his desk and leaning against that to observe me. I spoke. "I wanted to discuss the wedding. I was not sure how long you wanted our engagement to last, and I wondered how soon before we are married."

"I had not thought to discuss the details without you," he said, "you are, after all, meant to be in attendance as well."

His words always comforted me, and were always accompanied by a soft smile that I had only seen him give to me. "If it is alright, my Lord, I hoped to wait a few moons before we are wed. I suppose I have not yet come to terms with the reality of saying the vows."

"We can wait as many moons as you like, little dove. Years, if it is your wish."

I smiled up at him. "You are so easy. You truly have no quarrels?"

"Not if it would go against my Lady's desires." I stood. Our chests were inches apart. I could feel his hot breath on my face.

"There is nothing that you cannot wait for?"

He shuddered. His jaw tightened as if he were in pain. Suddenly, the unbreakable man had a crack running through his thick skin. I ran my fingers up his furs and toyed with the clasp, which carried the Stark sigil. I unclipped it slowly and his cloak fell to the floor.

"You don't have to wait to touch me," I told him. His eyes were burning holes through mine, darting every other breath to my lips. He bit his lip.

"I will not sully you, my princess," he said in a low voice. "I am an honorable man."

"And I am an honorable woman," I said firmly. "Therefore we do not dishonor each other."

"Your arithmetic is very confusing, my love."

"But it is correct."

He kissed me with a heat that his kisses had never held before. It was as if now I had given him permission to want me, he could no longer pretend he didn't. His hands roamed up my back, unclasping my cloak and moving to tangle in my hair. Teeth clashed against each other in a dance that we were both leading. One of his large hands came to rest at the base of my throat, then ran lower through the column of my breasts and then he finally moved to cup one. I gasped at the feeling of his fingers kneading at my flesh, slowing down when grazing over my nipple. He stopped kissing me only to flip us and place me on the desk, slotting his hips between my legs. I squealed as he pressed them open, the fabric of my dress falling between my thighs, but he quickly bunched it and moved my dress up past my hips. He smiled at the sight of my smallclothes.

"I'll have you naked in my bed soon," he grumbled, "but for now, I won't ruin the surprise. I will just give you a taste of the pleasure you shall have for the rest of your life."

His words made me whimper. He kneeled down in front of me, and a surge of embarrassment made me close my eyes as he grasped my undergarments and slid them down my legs. He must have noticed, because no more touches came after I was bare. I opened my eyes to his gaze.

"I want you to watch me please you," he said gently, more a request than a command. He kissed the inside of my thigh. My hip bone. Slowly, he grew closer to my center, keeping eye contact with me until his mouth connected with my core.

Oh.

So this was why people could not wait until after their marriage vows.

I gasped so loudly that he stopped for a moment until I gently grasped his hair and guided him back to where he was. I could feel him smiling down there and I almost laughed with joy. His tongue danced beautiful choreography against my cunt, expertly drawing pleasure from my body in a way I could never have imagined.

"Cregan... fuck, oh, yes," I could no longer control words from spilling from my mouth. He slowly stroked a finger at my entrance, looking back up at me to ask for permission as he gently prodded at my hole. I nodded and then moaned as his finger intruded me, and if I wasn't mistaken I could have sworn I heard him let out a moan as if it were his own cock that had penetrated me.

He continued to eat me like a starved man and with the addition of his finger slowly curling inside of me, I knew that something was about to explode within me. My stomach was tightening, my legs shaking and trying to clamp shut against Cregan's head. He fought against them with ease, pressing me further open and leaning into his meal, lapping it up like a wolf feasting on prey. He could feel my peak approaching and his tongue began to focus on my pearl, suckling and kissing the bud with tender care.

It was too much. My moans had morphed into screams of pleasure, and my hands were yanking at his hair so hard I had no idea how he wasn't hurt. With a few more well-placed licks against my pussy, I could feel myself at the edge.

"Cregan..." I could barely breathe, barely speak. "I'm-I'm-so, so close," I keened.

"You're perfect," he mumbled against me, "can't believe this is all mine." He dove back in on a mission and I began to fall.

"Oh, oh, yes..." I could only sigh as the tension snapped and a jolt ran through my body. It was electric, and Cregan held my body tightly as it shuddered. He stood slowly, caressing my legs as he did, and removing a handkerchief from his pocket, which he gently ran through my folds. I gasped, sensitive from my orgasm, grasping at his forearm. He only hushed me and kissed my brow. He moved my dress back down to protect my modesty, and picked my undergarments off the floor.

"I'll keep these as a reminder of the first of many times I ate my wife's cunt," he said, shoving them into his pocket. He picked me up from the desk and set me down in front of him. "How was that? Are you alright?"

I put my arms around his neck. "I have literally never been better."

“I am glad.” He said. He kissed me slowly, his arms absentmindedly running across every plane of my back, mapping the new terrain. "You are..." He looked at me the way people usually looked at me before calling me beautiful. But he said nothing. He only placed a peck on my forehead and fetched our cloaks from the floor, reclasping mine first and then his own.

"I am what?" I asked, now curious.

Cregan shrugged, leading me towards the door. "There isn't a word to describe it."

The silent walk that we took to the great hall was not awkward, but pensive. I liked the feeling of my arm wrapped around his underneath the cloaks. He always pulled me to his side, so he could feel the fabric of our clothes brushing together as we walked. Every few steps I could see him look down at me out of my peripheral vision. At one such time, I caught his gaze and we smiled at each other. He licked his lips slightly, and it reminded me that those same lips had so recently between my legs, and I blushed, my gaze falling to my feet.

"Thinking of something, dove?" He smirked.

"Just those lips of yours," I reached up and brushed his bottom one with my fingertip. "You've been blessed with a talented mouth."

"I am at your service, forever." He said seriously.

Forever. It seemed an easy enough thing to imagine with Cregan. He felt safe, he was devoted to me. He said he loved me. Could it be that easy? Just to give in to his love? It was tempting, but I sought clarity. What made him love, and why had he found it with me? What if I suddenly stopped doing the thing he loved? The darkest part of my heart told me that as we aged and my beauty faded, his interest in me would falter.

"Now you surely aren't thinking of me between your legs," he observed, "because you are frowning."

"Just wondering."

"About?"

I sighed. "Do you believe that love fades?"

"Sometimes." He said. His definitive answer stumped me and I could feel a flare of anger arise from it.

"Well, then," I hummed passive-aggressively. It was unbecoming, I knew, especially since I was trying to ascertain that he would not grow tired of my antics and regret our union. Instead of arguing, he chuckled.

"Why do you speak in riddles? Ask me what I know you have been wondering. I may be a dull Northerner but I am not dimwitted."

Even in humbling me he was gentle, his voice laced with amusement, as if any complaint I may have could be fixed as simply as commanding him.

"Why do you love me? I... I am afraid that whatever it is will fade, and you will grow tired of me. And..."

"And?"

"Forgive me."

"What?"

I felt hot tears behind my eyes but I clenched my teeth until they retreated. "Will I forever be your second wife? Not the mother of your children, either, only a... replacement? I'm sorry, my Lord, I should not target your late wife with my own insecurities."

He had stopped us in the hallway, boxing me against the wall and listening intently. Cregan drank every word I said up like honey. After I finished, his palm found my face and I saw the emotions swimming behind his eyes. I regretted terribly the possibility that I may have reopened past wounds.

"I believe love can fade sometimes, in the way that it has for my late wife." He sighed. "Her name was Arra. We were friends in childhood. When my parents suggested our union, her familiarity comforted me. I think that is what I loved about her. She was like home, like being a boy again. But I am no longer a boy." He took my hands. "I will miss Arra until the day I die because she was my friend and bore me a babe. But I did not choose her, and you have been my only thought since the moment I met you. In years of not hearing from you, not knowing if you would ever allow me to become close to you, I still loved you. Every night memories of your wit and bravery haunted me. Fuck, girl, you ruined me for any other woman. The thought of anyone else, for all those moons, was unthinkable. You could not fade from my heart if I tried to pluck you out with a knife."

I hadn't anything to say.

So I said, "I love you."

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #got imagine #got fanfiction #got fanfic #got #cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark fanfiction #cregan stark smut #cregan x reader

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galedekarios · 2 months ago

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down among the dead men

i finally finished reading sylvia feketekuty's short story in tevinter nights. sylvia feketekuty is also emmrich's writer in dragon age: the veilguard.

i wanted to compile what we learn about emmrich in sylvia's short story.

emmrich likes tea

"What happened then?" the older mage tilted a pot of tea encouragingly toward Audric.

his study is described in detail

Audric shook his head--he didn't feel like tea, particularly--while his eyes soaked in the room. He'd never been in a necromancer's study before. Ornately decorated skulls hung from hooks in the high, dark ceiling. One wall was made up of shelves with books and tiny labeled drawers. The other was fronted by tables full of bubbling flasks, scales, alembics, and tortured-looking glass. A smartly attired servant ground away with a pestle and mortar.

"Excellent question!" Emmrich swirled the tea in his mug, looking entirely too cheerful, Audric thought, for a man framed by so many racks of skulls.

the description of his study in down among the dead men is very, very reminiscent of his room in the lighthouse that bioware revealed a few days ago:

emmrich may have recreated the comforts of his study in nevarra within the lighthouse.

emmrich lets manfred mix tinctures

"Please, don't mind Manfred." The older mage refilled his own cup. "He'll finish mixing that tincture before you know it." Manfred, a clean-boned skeleton, held up a bowl. Audric read something helpful in the cant of its skull. The younger mage looked critical. "It needs half a cup more elfroot." The corpse pulled out one of the drawers on the side of the room, took out a withered root, and shook it inquiringly. "The royal elfroot, please." Manfred moaned and fumbled at more drawers.

emmrich compliments manfred's successes and is proud of him

"Yes! That's the one." The older mage beamed. "Very good indeed, Manfred!"

emmrich's appearance is described as well by audric

Audric dragged his gaze to the older Watcher across from him, with his silvered hair, tidy mustache, and long face full of concern. His expression reminded Audric of the Chantry scholars when they'd caught him reading by candlelight in the library. The good brothers and sisters had kindly tried to dissuade Audric from living in pages for so long he couldn't think straight in the morning.

i think they a phenomenal job bringing emmrich to life (no pun intended).

emmrich is quite informal, cares about putting someone else at ease, he treats audric as he would a living person, never forcing him to arrive at a conclusion or pressuring him

"Is there anything else you can recall about Lord Karn's funeral?" the mage asked gently. "No? I think... not much, sir. Another guard, she, well... Dellah even had to peel him off me, sir." The necromancer waved a hand. "Emmrich will do, please."

macabre sense of humour

"It's... sorry, it's a blur of screams, sir." "Some of it your own, I'd bet," the necromancer joked, but looked so sympathetic Audric relaxed by a degree.

he is indeed a professor/very scholarly

"Myra picked up the curved rib bone. One end was jagged from where Audric's boot had connected with Karn's rib cage. She handed it to Emmrich. "Excellent. Emmrich? This is your remit." "I'll have it ready before sunset." He sighed. "It would be faster if we'd managed to replace the librarian by now. The students have naturally left the books a mess."

this all fits so well with the blurb we were given about him not so long:

"Emmrich is as serious about his duty to protect innocents from the occult as he is about his studies and his interest in the mysteries of the fade."

don't leave the books in disorder, please.

emmrich is renowned to be good at what he does by other mourn watchers

"Myrna seemed content to leave things there, and took something out of a velvet purse. A rib bone. "Emmrich's prepared your trophy for us. His cathexis is very reliable." Audric felt the ground tilt downslope. "Madam?" "His magic." She tapped the rib bone. "This will now guide us to where Lord Karn's fled. Emmrich would join us, but he's been called to other matters."

i had to look up what cathexis means exactly and it's defined as follows:

In psychoanalysis, cathexis (or emotional investment) is defined as the process of allocation of mental or emotional energy to a person, object, or idea. [...] Cathexis comes to us by way of New Latin from the Greek word kathexis, meaning "holding."

myrna uses a skeleton to send a message to emmrich, presumably he might employ similar methods of communication if available

"Good." Myrna sent a mote of light into a nook in the wall. A moment later, a skeleton fell out, hissing and snapping. Myrna snagged it with a collar of green fire, tugged it like a leash. "Does that... hurt it?" Audric asked, more sympathetic to the shambling thing than he'd been a minute ago. "The sensations differ. With some of the dead, one must exert direct control." The skeleton subsided, making a strange whine. "A message," the Mourn Watcher told it. "Find Professor Emmrich Volkahrin. Tell him after some last business in the Winged Halls, we'll be joining him above without delay."

this description reminded me a bit of the brief glimpses we got of emmrich in the very first companion trailer:

emmrich appreciates punctuality & holding oneself to prior commitments

"You heard my message to Emmrich." She crooked a finger, gesturing to Audric. "We'll be expected. It won't be difficult to return from here. Audric looked around. "I can... I'm allowed to come back with you?" "Of course. Myrna lifted her skirts and stepped over a chunk of stone from the fight. "Emmrich will be put out if we don't show up for tea."

emmrich is incredibly kind when dealing with spirits and undead, no matter their rank or standing in life

"They were back in Emmrich's den. Audric had been astonished to see familiar tomes in a neat stack on the necromaner's desk. "Those... are those...?" "Yours, yes. From your home." Emmrich shook his head. "Forgive the liberty, guardsman. After you and Myrna left for the Necropolis, I had to search for a reason you might have returned so unexpectedly." "I believe we found it," Mysrna said, from where she was overseeing Emmrich's manservant transfer the contents of a bubbling beaker into a bowl. Emmrich handed the top book to Audric. It was a gazetteer of Nevarra City, stamped with a crowned skull surrounded by flowers. Audric flipped it open and read the blocky inscription. To our Son with Love. May you be Blessed in your Studied with the Chantry. "All this effort... for me? I'm just a guardsman, sir." Am? Was? Audric pushed doubt aside and held the gazetteer to his chest. He existed, knew what he loved, and that he had been loved, and that seemed enough in the moment. "The great leveler has no favourites." Emmrich smiled. "Neither does the Mourn Watch."

i found this reaction to myrna and audric quite interesting, and i'm not completely sure what to make of it yet:

"You are faced with a choice," Myrna said, coming over. "You have confronted your killer, and recognised your driving passion. You may rest now, guardsman." "Or?" "Or you may work under the auspices of a Watcher," Myrna said. "Under a modicum of magical control. To avoid anomie, the bond must be given freely." "To you, madam?" "If it's satisfactory." The guardsman ducked his head, and because that felt inadequate, knelt on a knee and held out a hand. Myrna, smiling slightly, took it. Emmrich coughed, looking away. "Please, let the poor fellow up. What position were you thinking?" "I thought it was obvious." Audric felt a slow excitement as he heard Myrna say: "We have a great need for someone to take charge of the library."

overall, i really liked this short story.

i loved how audric wasn't aware that he is, in fact, dead and has died a while ago. i loved how both emmrich and myrna didn't correct his assumption, but led him to the realisation. i love all the little insights we got into emmrich as a character, but also nevarra's culture, necromancy and the mourn watch.

it's definitely one of the best in the book. 🖤

#emmrich volkahrin #emmrich volkarin #dragon age 4 #da4 #dragon age: the veilguard #da:tv #datv #ch: emmrich volkahrin #vg: dragon age 4 #series: dragon age #meta: myda4 #i also really liked myrna and audric #i hope they make an appearance in the game

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flowerandblood · 6 months ago

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The Song of Loneliness

The Fall from The Heavens Universe Chapter

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: masturbation, sexual tension, smut, angst, trauma related to sexual experiences and their description, sexual experience of a minor (brothel), manipulation, swearing, description of discomfort associated with menstruation ]

[ description: The events that took place between the beginning and the end of chapter two of The Fall from the Heavens, i.e. the memories of Aemond and Rhaenys as children and later, just before their reunion after many years. ]

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

My other works: Masterlist

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Rhaenys ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

"Where are we going?" He asked uncertainly, seeing her excited face, which meant she had a plan in her mind that he might not like. Her lips curved into a wide, happy smile at the thought.

"To the Dragon's Pit." She explained, and her uncle froze in half-motion and stopped.

"I don't want to." He replied coldly.

She looked at him in surprise, seeing his discouraged, distant gaze, his jaw clenched in discomfort.

"Don't you trust me?" She asked softly, bestowing on him a comforting, warm smile, meant to add credibility to her attitude. Her betrothed swallowed hard and hesitated, pressing his lips into a thin line.

"– I – well – I do –" He muttered finally, defeated.

Although she tried to converse with him on various light topics that usually aroused his interest, such as their lineage or history, her uncle remained sullen and silent, gazing indifferently out the window of the carriage that had taken them from the Red Keep to their destination.

When they stepped outside, the dragon guardians were already waiting for them, assuring her that everything was ready.

Larax squirmed with joy at the sight of her, the sound she made reminding her of the squeal of a small child – she was still quite tiny, her silver-blue scales shining as she swept her wings, hopping in place as if to show her how happy she was to see her.

She was like a puppy that could breathe fire.

Her uncle seemed shocked – he walked a few steps behind her, aloof but intrigued at the same time. Her dragoness, although wearing a long chain around her neck, had quite a lot of freedom of movement and came running to her as soon as she knelt down in front of her, cuddling her head into her breast. She lifted her gaze to her betrothed, smiling.

"Marriage is sharing everything, becoming one. This means that Larax belongs to you from now on as well, and I wanted you to get acquainted." She said excitedly.

Her uncle swallowed hard, clearly shocked, his lips twitching in a shy smile of disbelief, from which heat filled her heart.

He knelt down beside her, but stepped back immediately, frightened as Larax hissed, in her dragon mind defending her from the strange intruder.

"Daor, Larax! Lykiri! Lykiri." She called out, stroking her back reassuringly, wanting her to understand that they were in no danger.

"– give me your hand –" She said softly, extending her palm to him. Her uncle allowed her to take his fingers in hers, and after a moment, keeping them entwined together, she placed his hand on her head.

Feeling the familiar and unfamiliar scent at the same time, Larax froze, breathing anxiously, as if wondering how she should react. She could hear her uncle's heavy, excited breath behind her as she began to stroke her scales with his palm in soft, slow movements.

Larax calmed down after a moment, recognising that, indeed, the small creature that accompanied her rider was no threat to them. She laid her head on her thigh, gazing at the strange newcomer, and she let go of his hand, allowing him to touch her alone.

Her betrothed leaned slightly over her shoulder to get a better look at her dragoness, keeping a safe distance, however, so as not to provoke her.

"– what do you think of her? –" She asked lightly.

Her uncle was silent for a long moment, stunned.

"– she is beautiful –"

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Aemond ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

"A man should not run after a woman, Your Grace. It's a sign of desperation and weakness not befitting your position." Criston Cole said to him coolly, taking him aside after one of their trainings in the courtyard.

He had hurt her by not letting her kiss his cheek in the presence of the others and he just wanted to fix that, make her smile again.

He swallowed hard, feeling a wave of shame and discomfort fill his lower abdomen at his harsh words and impatient gaze.

"– she's good to me – I just didn't want her to be sad – we're betrothed –" He muttered, looking at the ground beneath his feet, embarrassed by this conversation.

Cristone Cole looked away and shook his head, as if he didn't believe what he was hearing.

"– it's just appearances, my Prince – her mother wants her to manipulate you and push you away from your brother and your family –" He replied dryly, and his words left him stunned.

"– she had never –"

"– only a naïve man allows a woman to rule over his mind – keep your dignity and do not allow her into your heart as anyone other than the mother of your future children –"

For some reason, his words and their overtones hurt him deeply and he himself did not know what he should do, what was expected of him.

The septon had always told him that a good husband looks out for the safety and well-being of his wife, listens to her, and sometimes allows himself to be weak in her arms in order to experience relief.

He said that if his wife reciprocates his endeavours, their marriage will be peaceful and successful.

Indeed, by following these rules and observing her efforts towards him, he felt a pleasant contentment and satisfaction. His niece did not impose on him or order him to change his habits, just as he did not require her to do so.

What's more, she supported him every step of the way in his daily duties, and in moments of sadness or fear, which he refused to admit out loud, she allowed him to take refuge in the warm embrace of her soft arms.

The thought that he should reject all this and build a wall between them seemed to him, despite all his doubts, inappropriate and hurtful to her when she was trying so hard to make him content.

He decided that when she came to his chamber at night he would tell her not to do it again and send her away.

She, as soon as she crossed the threshold of his quarters, ran to his bed and jumped onto the sheets, hiding under the soft, warm furs at his side, sighing in relief, immediately snuggling into his body. He swallowed hard, feeling a pleasant shiver run down his spine, and thought they could lie like that for a while before he told her of his decision.

"– I am grateful to you for being so good to me –" She whispered, lifting her head, wanting to look at him. He nodded, not embracing her as was his usual habit, looking dully ahead. She raised herself on her arm, seeing his complete lack of reaction at her words, frowning.

"– uncle? – is something bothering you? – you can tell me –" She added immediately, moving closer to him, leaning over his face – her eyes were shining in the darkness of his chamber, her dark brows arched in sadness and worry at his condition.

He swallowed hard, looking at her with his lips parted, his hand involuntarily touching her cheek.

It was soft and warm.

Do not come here again.

He thought that phrase in his head, but instead his hand forced her to lean in, her moist, puffy lips pressed against his in a soft, soothing kiss.

He could feel his heart pounding fast, how hot he was with excitement, how his whole body screamed that this was what he wanted, this was what he needed.

Her, as close as possible.

He hugged her to his chest, pressing her face to his neck, and closed his eyes.

"– it's nothing –"

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Rhaenys ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

"I would like to discuss with you… a delicate matter." Said her mother, sitting down next to her a few months after the King had announced her betrothal to her uncle. She nodded, sensing that she was about to hear something important.

"I want you to understand that your nuptials with Alicent's son and what they entail will not take place until you reach the age of fourteen." She said slowly, as if she wanted her daughter to understand exactly every word she spoke.

She nodded her head slowly, looking at her with big eyes, pressing her lips together in some kind of disappointment.

"Why do I have to wait so long?" She asked uncertainly – her mother twisted restlessly in her chair, placing her hand over hers.

"My love, Aegon… from what I've heard, I know he likes the company of girls. That he likes to touch them in places that only a husband can touch his wife. I wanted to ask if his brother, and your betrothed, is also trying…" She did not finish, clearly not knowing how to put into words what she wanted to convey to her.

She cocked her head, curious, understanding after a moment what she meant.

"– does my uncle slip his hand under my nightgown? –" She asked lightly, her mother squeezed her hand tighter at her words, turning pale.

"– yes – yes, my love –"

She shook her head quickly, and Rhaenyra sighed in relief, clenching her eyes.

"– no – but sometimes, when we're alone and we're happy, our lips meet –" She muttered, embarrassed, swinging her legs sitting on a chair that was too high for her.

Her mother laughed under her breath.

"– I see –"

"– is it a sin? – can I expect his child because of this? –" She mumbled out quickly, choking out what she had wanted to ask her for a long time, terrified of the disgrace she would bring upon her betrothed if it turned out that she was carrying his illegitimate offspring.

Rhaenyra burst out laughing, shaking her head, her hand stroking her hair affectionately.

"– no, my love – it is merely a tender expression of affection that can be shared with one's betrothed –" Her mother replied calmly, and she smiled broadly, comforted and reassured, thinking that she would place many warm, sweet kisses on her betrothed's lips that evening.

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Aemond ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

"– no – forgive me, Princess, but it is impossible – your request is unworthy of a lady –" He heard Criston Cole's voice directed towards his betrothed as he stepped out into the courtyard as he did every morning – he escorted her away with a surprised, uneasy look as she nodded her head and walked away, without bestowing even a single warm word on him, as was her custom.

He did not dare to ask Ser Criston what she was requesting; he found out later, when, concerned by her absence in the library, he paid her a visit in her chamber.

She was lying on her bed, her face red from the tears she had surely shed immediately after their brief exchange of words – she was no longer crying now, but her eyebrows arched in pain when he asked her what had happened.

"– my mother gave me a dagger so I could defend myself when I am alone – but what good is it to me if I can't use it? – I wanted Ser Criston to teach me how to hold it – I wanted to be like your Visenya –" She confessed sadly, her last words like a mumble, her eyes flooded with tears again as she burst into sobs.

He stared at her with wide eyes, not knowing completely what to say or think about her unusual request.

She was a woman and the image of her holding a weapon seemed unnecessary and ridiculous to him, however, her words planted a seed of uncertainty in his heart.

What if someone harms her in his absence?

Threaten her life?

Once he was her husband, he thought, he would be her protector by day and night, but until they were married, he could not fulfil that role.

He left her chamber, making her think for certain that he now despised her as well, he, however, returned a moment later with a small straw target in the shape of a man with spots marked on his body. His niece rose on her hands, looking at him with big eyes as the door closed behind him.

"– come here – I will teach you the basics –" He muttered lowly, serious, feeling a pleasant satisfaction at the thought that he would now be her teacher and she would have to obey him.

His betrothed beamed all over, a light, sweet giggle left her lips that made him hot.

"– turn your back on me –" She ordered cheerfully.

"– why? –" He asked.

"– my dagger is hidden only in a place known to me – not even you can know where it is –" She said in an unobjectionable voice – he sighed and rolled his eyes, turning away reluctantly, impatient.

He heard a creak and a quiet rustling, and a moment later his niece was standing beside him with a beautiful short dagger created from Valyrian steel, with a handle in the shape of a dragon's tail, holding it as if she were wielding an axe.

"– you're holding it the wrong way – lower it so that the blade is in horizontal position – yes, just like that –" He praised her as he grabbed her wrist and forced her to lower her arm. She nodded, apparently writing down in her head this important remark.

"– the main rule is: don't cut as if you have a sword, because your opponent will grab your wrist and snatch your weapon away – just stab – at your height, preferably in the stomach or thighs, right here –" He said, demonstrating the move she should make by pretending as if he had the weapon, hitting the spots he mentioned with the front of his clenched fist.

He stepped back and watched with wide-open eyes as his niece, with an expression of great fierceness and anger, began to stab the hay puppet, as if she actually imagined that it was someone who wanted to harm her.

"– enough – enough, surely it's already dead –" He muttered, pulling her away, looking at her in disbelief, thinking that with such a commitment perhaps she would even be able to wield a sword.

"– did I do it well, uncle? –" She asked excitedly, curls of her hair stuck to her cheeks red with emotion.

"– yes – very well –"

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Rhaenys ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

After her uncle lost an eye and her mother remarried, they stopped visiting the Red Keep. Her betrothed, to her despair, did not write back to her first letter or the many that followed, in which she asked him about his health and when she would be able to see him again.

Accustomed to his daily presence, despite being surrounded by her siblings, she felt lonely. Her bed was cold and empty without his warm body beside her, without his tender hand to stroke her head as she fearfully awoke again and again from a terrible nightmares.

One morning she woke up feeling discomfort between her thighs. She moved higher, wanting to look at the liquid that covered her skin and screamed involuntarily when she saw it was blood.

Her mother, as soon as she found out, came to reassure her.

"Do you remember our conversation when I told you that a woman blooms like a flower? This is what has just happened. It means you will be able to give your future husband children." Said her mother, covering her tightly with furs, already lying in a clean nightgown and smallclothes to prevent her from dirtying the bedding again.

She nodded, and as soon as Rhaenyra left, she broke into tears.

Although it was supposed to be an uplifting moment, it wasn't at all – she felt discomfort and contractions in her lower abdomen, she didn't have the strength to get out of bed, and she felt blood flowing again and again from between her thighs.

She thought it was a disgusting feeling, and she felt even worse at the thought that it meant she would soon be ready to get married.

Her betrothed didn't want her, and her mother began to speak more and more boldly about her possible nuptials with her cousin.

She closed her eyes at this thought and swallowed hard, holding back the tears of regret that were again pushing against her eyelids.

That day she took out the parchment and quill again, thinking in the back of her mind that even if he threw her letters into the fire and didn't read them, she needed to confide in someone and she wanted it to be him.

She began to write, for the first time not thinking about the content of what she had to communicate, letting her thoughts flow.

Today, something terrible happened, and although I know these things don't concern you or may even cause you disgust, I can't confide in anyone else about my suffering. My bloody flower has blossomed. My mother says that I have now become a woman, but I feel nothing of the sort. I feel dirty, I feel pain, I feel ashamed. I don't want to be a woman. I don't want to be a wife. I don't want to be a mother.

She cried out loud as she wrote the last sentence and rolled the parchment up, ordering it to be sent to King's Landing into the hands of the Prince before she could change her mind.

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Aemond ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

To his surprise, despite not answering her, he would find her letters waiting for him, lying on the top of his table exactly every two months.

At first he never wanted to read them – he even thought about throwing them into the fire, but then curiosity won out and he would sit down in front of the fireplace, unrolling the parchment.

He read what she had written, imagining her voice, that she stood behind him and whispered it all in his ear, embracing him, confiding in him.

He felt a squeeze in his heart, feeling the suffering behind every letter she wrote down for him, her expression of longing and sadness, loneliness and loss.

He himself was more lost than ever.

His brother surprised him when, on his Name Day, when he turned exactly thirteen, he announced to him that it was time to get it wet.

He did not understand what he meant.

It was only when he led him under cover of darkness to one of the buildings he had evidently visited himself that he noticed with embarrassment the curves of the half-naked women they passed, whom Aegon evidently knew, greeting them along the way.

"– we should not be here – our mother –" He muttered, but his brother shushed him.

"– shut your mouth, mummy's boy – today you will become a man –" He hissed, tapping his index finger against his forehead, as if to show him that he was a fool, a silly little boy.

He clenched his jaw in rage at the thought, recognising that, indeed, he was already a grown man.

Or at least he thought he was.

The woman he took him to was pretty, but much older than him.

He thought she could be their mother.

When Aegon left them alone he did not know what to do with himself – he felt both excitement and embarrassment at the same time, not really knowing whether he wanted it or not.

Aegon said that laying with a woman was very pleasant and gave a feeling of immense relief.

He wanted to feel relief.

The woman reached out to him encouragingly, telling him not to be ashamed, to lie comfortably on the bed and let her take care of himself.

He didn't know what she meant, but decided that since she was more experienced, he should listen to her.

The feeling of being inside her was terrifyingly foreign and uncomfortable – he swallowed hard, looking wide-eyed at her stomach, afraid to look at her face, clenching his hands into fists on the sheets.

She has never touched me like this, he thought.

Rhaenys had never touched me like this.

He was furious with himself, but he felt tears burning under his eyelids at the thought, and though he pressed his lips together, one by one they ran down the sides of his face.

"– no –" He muttered and shook his head. "– not like this –"

The woman understood vaguely what he meant, an expression of sympathy on her face from which he felt discomfort in his stomach and throat.

"– Prince Aegon paid me for your fulfilment –"

It wasn't until a few years later that he realised he wasn't even completely hard at the time – that effect was only achieved when she climbed off him and took his manhood in her hand, squeezing it up and down until his warm seed leaked out.

He felt relief, but not the kind he wanted.

In fact, he felt even worse than before.

What would she say if she saw this?

She would be disgusted with me, he thought and cried out loud, walking back to the Red Keep alone, not waiting for Aegon to finish whatever it was he was doing with those girls.

He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to know about it.

When he returned to his chamber, he took out all the letters she had sent him over the years and placed them beside him on his bed. He closed his eyes and was only relieved when he realised that they had soaked up her scent.

The smell of vanilla.

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Rhaenys ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

One day she woke up, breathing fast, feeling a pleasant heat and tickling in her lower abdomen. She dreamt that her uncle had flown to Dragonstone and spent the night with her despite her cries and pleas.

She didn't know what exactly could happen during this act, not being aware of all the details, but she knew that he would put the part of his body that was in his breeches between her thighs to fill her with his seed.

In the dream, his hot, wet lips clung to hers in greedy, possessive kisses, his breath heavy as his broad hands roamed all over her body, squeezing her breasts and buttocks, until he finally forced his way inside her with the sudden, sharp thrust of his hips.

In her sleep, she felt no pain – moreover, his deep, quick pushes and his low groans of pleasure made the space between her thighs swell and pulsate, making her feel tense and uncomfortable as soon as she awoke, drenched in sweat.

She closed her eyes, feeling on the one hand relieved and on the other disappointed that this was not true – the worst part, however, was that the unpleasant, almost painful tickling sensation between her thighs did not go away.

She decided to check with her hand what this place was, what would happen if she touched it.

She tentatively lifted the material of her nightgown and traveled down between her warm thighs – a quiet sigh escaped her lips as her soft fingers stroked her moist, fleshy folds, all leaking and sticky.

She felt a pleasant shiver run along her spine and some kind of tingle deep inside her, her nipples and lips puffy with desire.

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, digging her fingertips deeper into her soft skin – she shuddered and sighed as she touched the small, swollen bud between her folds – surprised, she found that when she touched it directly, it felt almost painful, but as she began to gently press and rub the area around it, a wonderful wave of heat began to rise in her lower abdomen.

Her breath became heavy as she imagined it was his hand touching her as he came back for her, whispering that he had wanted to do this to her for a long time, that he thought only of her, that he would now take her for himself.

She imagined his hot lips clinging to hers, his fingers sliding deep inside her, wanting to feel her, and she threw her head back with a quiet, surprised moan, feeling a sudden, wonderful relief.

She swallowed hard, realising after a moment that it was her own fingers that had slipped deep into her tight slit, her hot, moist walls clenching around them again and again together with waves of delicious pleasure surging through her whole body.

She stared dully ahead, panting loudly, feeling that as soon as the wonderful sensation passed, a complete and terrifying emptiness filled her heart and mind.

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Aemond ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

After what had happened in the brothel, he would not allow himself to be touched this way by any woman. He told himself that he simply didn't want to experience a similar humiliation, to cry at the thought that the one he fucked wasn't the one he dreamed of at night, but the truth was that even if he wanted to, he couldn't get fully aroused by the sight of another woman.

Even as he watched his servants bustling around his chamber, preparing his morning meal, looking at their pleasingly girlish shapes, their breasts and hips, his musings always fled to one thought.

Was this what her body looked like now?

Blossomed like a flower, full of grace and soft, feminine shapes?

He imagined that her bare skin would be soft as silk under the touch of his rough hand, that she would be obscenely warm, quivering with desire under his body. He imagined her breasts, plump and swollen, filling his palm perfectly, her little nipples that he would like to lick with his tongue.

He pressed his lips together, always feeling the same thing – his manhood swelling painfully and twitching in his breeches, causing him discomfort on the verge of pain.

It ended the same way each time – as soon as he was left alone in his chamber, instead of concentrating on his food, he quickly untied the material and slid his hand under it, grasping his half-hard, throbbing erection.

He began to squeeze it gently, merely teasing it, pressing his lips together, suppressing the shuddering moan of delight that wanted to burst from his throat at the thought that it was her fingers caressing him so wonderfully tenderly, it was her lips whispering that they didn't have to hurry.

He mumbled the name he'd given her himself in his head, feeling the tears welling under his eyelids, thinking with pain how much he missed her, that deep down he didn't loathe her, that all he desired was for her to return.

"– Rhaenys –" He cried out, tears running down his cheeks as his warm seed spilled over his fingers, relief, pleasure and pain surging through his loins at the same time, shaking his body.

He stared at his empty silver plate, panting heavily and pressed his lips together, furious and bitter, then burst out into silent sobs like a small child.

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Rhaenys ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

"– it has come to my knowledge that Alicent has decided to make a pact with Borros Baratheon – she wants Prince Aemond to marry one of his daughters –" Her mother said during one of their suppers together in Dragonstone; she froze, feeling her heart stop in her throat, a cold, unpleasant shiver running down her spine as she raised her gaze to her.

"– we cannot leave this unanswered – after consulting with Daemon, we have together decided that you should marry the son of my dear cousin, Lord Arryn –" She added, taking one of the platters from her husband.

Daemon, seated next to her mother, gave her a quick look in which she seemed to catch a glimpse of sympathy.

She lowered her gaze, feeling her whole body involuntarily begin to tremble, tears of despair and disbelief gathered under her eyelids. She felt Baela's hand on hers, but she pulled away from her and got up from the table, leaving the chamber, bursting into sobs as soon as she ran out into the corridor.

Although she covered her mouth with her hand, she was unable to stop the moans that ripped from her throat or what she saw in her mind.

Him, lying on top of another woman, touching her naked body, whispering in the ear of Lord Baratheon's daughter that she was more beautiful than his niece, that he loved her more deeply than he had ever loved her.

She locked herself in her chamber, wishing to be alone.

She knew Daemon would come to her.

He always came.

As she lay on the bed, staring blankly at the wall in the distance, her father sat by the fireplace, staring thoughtfully into the flames, playing with the ring on his little finger.

"– your mother is doing this for your own good – she couldn't leave this insult unanswered –" He said coldly and maliciously, as if he was impatient with the fact that she was pitying herself.

She did not answer him.

She heard him sigh heavily, tightening his fingers on the base of his nose, bowing his head as if he had no strength for this conversation.

"– my spies in the Red Keep say that he has changed beyond recognition – that he is a cold, cruel man – that he calls you a little whore –" He said indifferently, and she felt a squeeze in her throat, tears of humiliation and pain one by one began to flow down her face.

"– give up your dreams of a man who has already disrespected you for years – his feelings for you have disappeared along with his fucking eye –"

- ✦ - ✦ - ✦ Aemond ✦ - ✦ - ✦ -

"– have you heard the word from Dragonstone, brother? –" Aegon asked him during one of the suppers, his brother's mind and sight already a tad clouded by the wine he so adored.

He threw him a brief, discouraged glance, their mother twisting restlessly in her chair.

"– Aegon –"

"– your would-be betrothed will soon become the Lady of the Eyrie, and her cousin will be given the honour of putting his little cock inside her –" He sneered, and he felt his jaw and hands clench, a shiver of discomfort, horror and humiliation running along his back at the very thought.

"– enough –" Their mother said.

"– why? – after all, my little brother no longer holds any affection towards her – am I wrong, brother? – what did you call her before she became a little whore in your eyes? – let me think – ah, I remember – Rhaenys –"

He stood up from the table, feeling his heart begin to pound like mad, a sea of memories filled with her surging through his mind making him feel as if he had begun to suffocate.

He heard Aegon chuckle behind him as he left the room panting with rage, bursting into his chamber with a loud slamming of the door.

He opened the drawer with his key and slid it out with an aggressive gesture, pulling out all the letters he had received from her over the years and holding them in his trembling hands, he stopped in front of the fire.

He stared at the flames, hearing himself breathe heavily, droplets of cold sweat running down his back at the memory of what his brother had said.

Your would-be betrothed will soon become the Lady of the Eyrie.

He pressed his lips together, crushing the letters in his hands, and drew in the air loudly, feeling with shame that he felt like bursting into tears. He sat down on the floor, leaning over and laid his forehead on his knees, hugging her letters, her words to him, to his heart.

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two-white-butterflies · 6 months ago

Text

coaxed you into paradise - c. 31

Description: The life of Saera Targaryen told in four acts. She was her father's forgotten daughter, cast aside as she looked nothing like her mother. Her younger days were spent beside her uncle. Years following her marriage with Ser Harwin Strong, she catches him in an affair with her older sister. She returns to seek solace in the arms of Daemon, whose loved her all her life.

TW: a dead body, helaena having more lines in this chapter than in the entire House of the Dragons series.

masterlist for this series

Chapter Thirty-One: The Pity

Ser Criston opens the large wooden doors of her room, mere seconds after a member of the guards had told him that someone or something had jumped out of the window.

He sees Alyssa sprawled on the floor, covered in blood. It pained him to see her in this manner, yet his eyes trailed elsewhere - searching for Prince Aelor who should've been crying right now.

Yet he could only hear silence.

A deafening silence that threatened to split his ears in half.

"Alyssa," he opened his mouth, piercing through the thick atmosphere. She laid on the ground, staring at the ceiling - unmoving, covered in purple bruises. "Alyssa," he repeated her name again, kneeling beside her - wrapping his arms around her like a father would his daughter.

The Pity.

"Alyssa," he repeated her name for the third time - hoping for a response. "- where is Aelor?" he asked staring deep into her purple eyes, ones that reminded him of Rhaenyra. Her eyes which were once filled with hope and happiness, were now devoid of any emotion.

Blankly, she points at the open window. Ser Criston paled. The war of ravens and letters have indeed ended, and there wasn't a thing in this world that could remedy a mother's grief.

It was the dead of night when Ser Criston Cole made his descent to the courtyard. There were a dozen servants surrounding the Prince's body, but he made sure to shoo them away. He was with Helaena when he wrapped Prince Aelor with a green cloth.

"Did you dream of this?" he asked, holding the small corpse close to his chest. "It doesn't matter, it's already done." Helaena responded, taking the corpse off his hands and into her arms. Whatever warmth radiated off her body could not bring the dead back to life.

"I've said it countless times, our family wants something that has never belonged to us." Helaena gritted her teeth, opposite to Criston, she could look at the body - she could stare deep into Aelor's crushed face. "- Alyssa will never forgive Aemond, not even in the afterlife." she added with utmost certainty.

Helaena fights the tears that threaten to leak out her eyes. This could've been Jaehaerys or Jaehaera, and she couldn't have done anything to prevent this. "There is tragicness in my dreams, Ser." she opened her mouth, reaching for Aelor's little fingers as if he was still alive. "- because it means reliving the same thing twice." she breathed, finally allowing the tears to leak out of her eyes.

"How will we tell your mother? Aegon?" Criston asks, eyes avoiding the piece of cloth carried by Helaena. "It is their callousness that has led to this, and we'll all pay our dues." she mumbled.

"We'll tell them in the morning, then. We'll keep things quiet, lest the news reach the Targaryens in Dragonstone. Prince Aelor was our bargaining chip to Daemon and Saera. Now, Rhaenyra has taken him away." he gritted his teeth, placing all the blame on his former lover.

"His death will bring more battles than you anticipated." her moony voice trailed off, and they began marching towards the castle. Criston was unsure if that was her observation or her vision. "My grandfather thinks that the war will only be between Aegon and Rhaenyra, but he is wrong - that much I know." she whispered.

Inside the castle were a few Septas waiting for the delivery of Prince Aelor's body. "Then, you must leave, my Queen." Criston pleads.

Helaena gives him a knowing smile.

"We'll pay our dues, ser." she repeated her previous statement, before fading from his view, covered by the Septas.

We all process our grief in different ways. Aegon drowns himself with wines and whores. Helaena keeps to her children and visions, but Alicent does not have time to mourn.

"Prince Aelor was murdered by mercenaries that found their way inside of the Red Keep. It is obvious that this act of terrorism was committed by Rhaenyra's forces." Otto opens his mouth to speak, still at a shock that Aelor died the night before. "- Aemond killed her son and now she has gotten her revenge. A son for a son." he added.

Alicent licks her lips.

It makes her a fool to sympathize with the enemy, right?

"Ser Criston Cole found Princess Alyssa sprawled on the floor, covered in her own blood - obviously shaken." Ser Otto further expanded on his thought. "Where is Aemond?" Alicent inquired. "The damn boy has always done as he pleased." Otto raised his voice.

"His son is dead - his wife is useless." he cursed.

"What is it that you want me to do?" Aegon raised his eyebrow. "A murder happened inside of your castle. Rhaenyra will not chafe her knees. We must force her now - Saera will turn against her. The perfect time for making allies." Otto placed a hand on the table.

Alicent shook her head unconsciously.

In disbelief at the recent turn of events.

"Victory has never been closer to us. If we play our cards right, we'll be mere days until the rebellion in Dragonstone is vanquished." Otto estimated and Aegon nodded his head.

"To war, then?" he smirked.

Four walls, a ceiling and a floor.

None of them were enough to contain Alyssa's grief. A few hours ago, she was taken from her room and moved to a part of the castle that she's never seen before. There was a layer of dust collecting on the windowsill. She hasn't moved for a long time now.

There was hardly anything written about losing a child, more commonly - the child got to bury their parent. It was nature, a parent and a child's life only meets halfway until the former dies and watches from the afterlife.

The same thing couldn't be said for Alyssa.

A knock on the door breaks her free from her thoughts, and Aemond enters the chambers. "Alyssa," his face is a mess - it looks like he hasn't gotten any sleep since he arrived.

Her gaze turned sharply in his direction. "What are you doing here?" her voice leaked with venom, and he takes a step backwards. She has never spoken to him in that tone before. "Is it true?" he asked, praying to the gods that it was just a rumor.

"It is your fault, and yours alone." she could not managed to raise her voice, but the venom remained. "I-I," he could not form his words. A single tear flowed down his eye, before he bolted away - slamming the door loudly.

Aemond was only ten and three when he lost his virginity. It was to a woman almost twice his age, a brothel-madam that Aegon forced unto him. He's never forgotten the incident, the whispers of protest that evaded his mouth - and now he goes to back to it.

"You're back," the woman raised her eyebrows. He collapses into her arms, wrapping her in a warm embrace. 'Coward' he insulted himself. His wife was grieving in Maegor's Holdfast. Aelor was cold in the crypts, and his family was mere seconds away from certain war.

He was here. He was alive.

Of all the people that deserved to die, why was he alive?

Her hands trailed down to his chest, removing his cloak and tunic. Unbuttoning it with ease. "You're safe," the woman whispered - silencing him with a kiss.

next chapter >>

#daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #prince daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen headcanon #daemon targaryen fic #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen fluff #house targaryen #house of the dragon #daemon headcanons #daemon prince #daemonism #hotd daemon

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zorlovinghue · 24 days ago

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My selfish little heart cannot help but be reminded of that time Raon calling Cale a bear for sleeping and rolling around his bed. It's so funny because what if Cale's actually a bear. And he's 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 hibernate too.

Our boy is pretty... Short. Well he's pretty indeed, but also short. And thin. A twink. Anyway he got the voice, the general tone and vibe, which strengthened when he finally reached twenty–let's presume this is the time for bear beastpeople to have their first awakening phase that conversely the same as the time he could first polymorph, so imagine the surprise of his family when he just... Polymorphed. And immediately went on rampage because of course he would.

He may be more delicate-looking because of Jour, it's a good twist if it was Deruth who's a pureblood bear beastperson. So Lily is half-blood, that'll explain their unique tendencies and why Bassen is our perfect logical-and-common sense-oriented sibling among the three.

Whether it would follow the canon events or not, the variable is open for exploration. How interesting when it was time for him to hibernate, and it is different with dragon's growth phase because he would need to do so 𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺. Until he reached, I don't know, whatever you wish to fill in the gap, that he'll eventually managed to control it enough to function like Deruth.

His dream (plea) for a slacker life would just be an indicator of his approaching hibernation at some point. Everyone taking note on his sleeping and eating pattern, because he'd only, and only gained weight when his hibernation is near before losing it completely once he's done.... And continue losing weight as he resume his quest to flip the world upside down.

His meeting with Sayeru would be comical at first. I mean, our 36 years old apocalypse survivor being called a stray cub is surprisingly the most insulting words known to man. Even White Star failed to offended him, poor radish.

It was stated in canon that Bear tribe kinda poor in loyalty, so that's the homework, but twist it enough and he'll merely incapable of being loyal to his (never his in the first place) slacker life lol.

What bear type would he be? Black bear? Grizzly bear? Polar bear? Any other bear?

He is the best bear for his family! He could actually give a bear hug!

#other plot holes is up to you lol #anyway its a funny agenda #also imagine the snuggles! bear is best for snuggles! apparently!#lcf #tcf #trash of the count's family #lout of the count's family #cale henituse #lcf novel #kim rok soo #raon miru #tcf cale #tcf raon #lcf prompt #prompt idea #i dont know if its a functional prompt to begin with but hey #its idea nonetheless #just... no angst pls.... let this be fluff and comfort #the paranoia i have with holy trinity fandom is severe💀

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 1 year ago

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Birth of Dragons Pt.2

Pairing(s): Aegon i Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader, Aegon i Targaryen x Rhaenys Targaryen, Aegon i Targaryen x Visenya Targaryen, Rhaenys Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader

Warnings: canon Targcest, rivalry, jealousy, targaryen kid ocs

Words: 7167

Summary: Aegon the Conqueror’s family has grown to a substantial size. But with so many young and cocky dragons, someone is bound to be burned.

Part 1

*Also it’s raining like a motherfucker in CA rn

The birth of your twins had been a joyous occasion for the Targaryen king. You’d given him two heirs who were strong and robust babes.

The seed of the dragon would prove to be resilient. Two years later, you gave birth to another son. A beautiful boy named Rhaelor. He reminded you of your Renoxa for he possessed the pale lashes and resplendent crimson irises. When Visemarys and Baelyx first met their baby brother, they were terrified of Rhaelor’s eyes and burst into tears.

Another year passed before Rhaenys would be round with Aegon’s third child. Everyone expected her to be the next one to bear the dragon king another heir. The third son of Aegon was named Aenys. He, unfortunately, had not been blessed like his older brothers in health. Aenys was a sickly baby. Small and his limbs unbelievably stick thin. It was a wonder how he survived through infancy. You and Rhaenys would stay up so many nights watching vigil over the babe. She was beside herself and for the first time you were her pillar of strength. Fiercely supporting her, you treated Aenys as your own and did your best to care for him when you forced Rhaenys to rest. By the grace of the gods, he thrived.

Visenya however took longer to produce a child. Not until the year your twins turned seven did she finally conceive. Even then, she absolutely hated the entirety of being pregnant. Loathed the restrictions it put on her body. While Rhaenys hadn’t been too thrilled about the rounding of her body, you had absolutely adored your pregnant belly for it housed your boys who were the greatest joys of your life. At the same time she was pregnant with her first child, you were already showing symptoms of your fourth pregnancy. Visenya gave birth to a large boy she named Maegor. His screams into the world shook the glass in the windowpanes and had Aegon flinging his hands up to his ears in a vain attempt to block out the ear piercing wail.

A few months later your only daughter Aella was born. The first contractions hit you when you were flying in the air alongside Visemarys’ small dragon, teaching him how to direct Rahu to where he desired to go. Neither Renoxa or Rahu were too far off the ground in case an emergency landing was needed. A good thing considering you would have to land quickly to alert your family who had been watching from the ground. Aegon was quick to get to you with Rhaenys and Visenya (little Maegor was back at the High Hill with plenty of nannies since he was to young to be out and about) running after him. Baelyx watched with wide eyes but also kept vigil over his smaller brother Rhaelor and half-brother Aenys. You were hauled back to Aegonfort.

To your surprise, Aegon was absolutely thrilled to FINALLY have a daughter. Sons were revered above all in both Valyrian culture and Westeros. For him to be so joyous over having a daughter to call his own was heartwarming.

“I have enough sons to hold up the Targaryen legacy.” He earnestly told you. “Five to be exact. I want to gift Westeros with another you though. A Targaryen princess will be much loved indeed.”

You and your family learned early on though that beneath her sweet and innocent countenance, there lay a headstrong and spirited personality that was as delightful as it was unpredictable. Aella was a remarkable blend of her family's qualities: tenacious like Aegon, valiant like Visenya, playful like Rhaenys and. . .

Aegon had put his hand to your chest. “She has your heart.”

A mighty heart.

As much as you were scolding the boys, you had to discipline Aella just as much. She happily got the skirts of her dress dirty when playing outside with her brothers. Little spitfire would even lick at any scrapes she got and carried on her merry way as if nothing happened. Falls did not phase, not even as a baby when she was first learning how to walk on stumbling feet. Visemarys and the younger twin Baelyx thought it was the funniest thing to teach their sister how to be an absolute gremlin. And she adored her older brothers for it. They were the ones to teach her words that were not something a lady should say (although you and your sisters said plenty of the same words). Aella got herself into many brawls with the young sons of different lords who dare say a harmful thing toward Rhaelor’s odd eyes or Aenys’ weak constitution. She would always be there to rouse them up and offer her support in any way possible.

Then there was Aella and Maegor. . . Gods help anyone who fell upon their mischief. They were especially close having been born but months apart. If you were being honest, you did not particularly like Maegor’s influence over Aella. You loved your sister, but her son was another story. He was made of grittier material than the other children of Aegon. You knew if the throne ever fell into the hands of Maegor, well, that would be a dark day for the seven realms. Maegor would not be a kind or virtuous ruler. Thankfully, Maegor’s way to the iron throne would be a long way. Something terrible would have to happen to Visemarys first and as he grew, it was becoming unlikely that anyone besides his own father could defeat him in a sword fight. He was tall with broad shoulders and lithe limbs. You’d seen your son unarm many men who were twice his age and more seasoned a warrior. Motherly pride made you glow every time you watch him train with the others. For being the youngest son though, Maegor grew like a weed. Resilient like one too. When sparring against Rhaelor or Aenys, Maegor was the usual victor. Rhaelor despite his adventurous heart was not much of a fighter. Instead of honing his skill at the blade, Rhaelor would take off on his dragon Imorth. The dragon’s serpentine body, sinewy and elegant, stretches to an impressive length across the sky. Imorth shimmered with a myriad of greens, from deep emerald to a vibrant jade green. Many times, there would be sightings of your son and his dragon all over Westeros when he became an independent young man. He was your diplomat in spite of his odd appearance. His fair complexion and red eyes tend to spook people on the first meeting but he had quite the charming personality and managed to win over even the biggest skeptic. And Aenys, poor Aenys would never be the swordsmen the twins were or even young Maegor. Not even like Aella who had been loudly vocal on her desire to learn whatever her brothers were learning. But he was a kind boy and a scholar and had the sweetest voice when he sang. Even not being a warrior like his brothers, he still managed to receive his own female admirers.

Perhaps it was for the best she learned. Both you and your sisters were trained with a blade and fought alongside Aegon when he called upon you for assistance. Aella would be able to protect herself if the occasion called for it. She wouldn’t have to rely on any man and could fight atop of her mount, Yldri. Yldri boasted a mesmerizing appearance, scales shimmered with the softest lilac hue, like the petals of the most exquisite flowers in the kingdom. If anything, at least Aella would have a traditional Valyrian dragon rider death like her aunt Rhaenys. Rhaenys died in the war with Dorne when Aenys was just three years old. Both her and her silver dragon Meraxes. You kept yourself together for her son. You were the closest thing he’d have to his mother even though you ached for the loss of your beloved sister.

There were moments in your grieving when you would momentarily forget her death and turn to say something to her, only to be painfully reminded that she was no longer there. Neither Visenya nor Aegon knew how to console you when you’d grow quiet in realization at your own blunder. The tears that would prick at your eyes fell without Rhaenys there to wipe them away as she always did. It was considered an honor though for one to die atop of their dragon. A fate that you and the remainder of your siblings desired.

Your grief for Rhaenys lasts for years as you’re slow to come to terms to her no longer being by your side. Late at night you longed for her arms and her kisses. The way she completely molded to your body. She was the one you always turned to as both your sister and lover. Constantly your bedmate whether it be in a sexual way or just to sleep and protect one another. Aegon’s presence was a comfort but by no means a substitute or replacement. No one could take Rhaenys’ spot in your heart.

After the Dornish War, there was a long time of peace where the children grew and prospered under its influence. The skies were filled with dragons as was the High Hill.

Two dragons fly side by side with ease. The beautiful, sleek body of Imorth is larger than that of the younger Yldri. Even so, both dragons boast the most magnificent scales among the Targaryen’s seven dragons.

Atop of the lilac mount Yldri rode the only Targaryen princess, Aella. Her silver hair grew tangled among the beating of the wind but her smile was ever prominent and cheeks bright pink. Yldri felt her joy and released a happy crowing noise as her wings beat against the open air. In response, Imorth shrieks out his own noise of enjoyment. He dives underneath the she-dragon, giving Aella a perfect glance of the top of Rhaelor’s snow white head. His emerald robes billow behind him, almost fusing with Imorth’s color. The two dragons spiraled around one another, a beautiful dance of dragonkind, their wings brushing against each other in a show of camaraderie. All the while, their riders laugh in a carefree spirit. Their responsibilities were not like those of their elder twin brothers: Visemarys and Baelyx. They were freer to goof off and spend their days in the skies with their dragons. They were not bound by the constraints of the world below. Roars reverberated across the open horizon, not in aggression but in exuberance.

An ear piercing dragon’s cry has their laughter dying down and turning in their saddles to see the larger form of Zypheros, Baelyx’s smoke gray dragon, advancing on them. Stilling their dragons into a steady gliding in place, Zypheros easily catches up with them.

Baelyx’s bangs whip around his face, his long ponytail like a ribbon behind him. When he smiles at his younger siblings, the indentation of dimples grace his face. “Both of you are requested by mother.” He calls over to them. Speaking so high up in the air tend to be difficult, especially on blustery days. “Aunt Visenya and Maegor will be arriving soon.”

Really, all Baelyx had to do was mention Maegor to get Aella’s attention. She can’t help but perk up at the prospect of seeing her other half-brother. Maegor lived on Dragonstone with his mother Visenya. Unlike herself and her other brothers, Maegor had no dragon. For as long as she could remember, Maegor always said the only dragon worthy of him was Balerion. Maybe it was true, maybe not for Balerion was a fine mount; the largest in the continent.

Rhaelor knew his sister better than he knew anyone else. He rolls his scarlet eyes at her obvious excitement to see him though he was not as keen to see his aunt and half-brother.

Her face plastered with a wide grin, Aella urges Yldri to land just outside of the newly constructed capital of Westeros: King’s Landing. The populace still jumped at the cry of dragons above but were slowly getting used to being around them. Aella tries to squint her eye in an attempt to see across Blackwater Bay to Dragonstone in hopes of catching sight Maegor atop of Vhagar with his mother.

Getting closer to the Red Keep, the other dragons of her family rouse their heads as Yldri screeches her greetings. She glides by the training yard where she spots Visemarys, Aenys and Aegon the Conqueror. Their father was the picture of masculinity and authority. Already Visemarys stood at the same height as his father and only required a few more years before his muscles matched Aegon’s. Compared to them, Aenys could be a waif. Not as skinny as he used to be, he still lacks the bulk of his brothers and father. That was okay. Aenys made it up with his kind nature, smarts, and singing voice. Aella appreciated each brother for who he was. She didn’t think any less of Aenys for the fact that he was never going to be a great fighter.

Aegon lifts his head up first to catch his daughter’s lilac dragon pierce through the sky like an arrow. He smiles to himself. She shined brightly, just like Rhaenys and (y/n). Catching even Visemarys gazing up with an expression of pure softness and affection. He’d been seeing it for some time now since Aella came of age. Visemarys AND Baelyx.

(y/n) had noticed it as well and concern flashed on her face when she took note of her twins squaring the other up when Aella was between them. She didn’t want there to be strife among her children. Especially fighting over another sibling. Something like this would certainly prove to be a problem when Aella decides when she is ready to marry for even her mother was loathe to have her marry. After all, the mother and daughter duo was always close. As a babe (y/n) would strap Aella to her chest and take her on flights with Renoxa. Aella would be full of giggles the entire time, loving the open air and wind brushing against her fat cheeks. Her family’s pride and joy despite how often she’d be naughty.

Taking into consideration both of his son’s interest in Aella, Aegon had thought about the perfect match for her. A union between her and Visemarys would be beneficial. She’d be queen once Visemarys was crowned king. She wouldn’t have to face any major life changes. The Red Keep would still be her home and she’d still be near (y/n) and Aegon. But he took into consideration Baelyx’s feelings as well. He was second son, youngest of the twins and the closest in line to the iron throne. An excellent marksmen with a bow and a well phrased in politics. The perfect weapon in the Targaryen belt. Baelyx even wield an assassin’s marked blade. Visemarys was brawny in strength but Baelyx was sleek like a predatory cat. Each movement he made was calculated.

Neither parent had an idea if Aella was aware of the twins’ affections for her. They’d try to support their daughter any way they could though. Whoever she chooses. Similar to his wife, one thing Aegon would never be able to get behind was Aella with Maegor. Thinking of it didn’t sit well with him. Maegor would never hurt Aella, that was not what concerned the conqueror. She’d sooner have his head on a spear if he tried to force himself onto her. His youngest son’s ambitions worried him. He saw the hunger in those eyes, the hunger of another conqueror. Westeros didn’t need one anymore. They needed a king who could continue to keep the peace and balance of the land. He’d be an amazing general were he able to be satisfied with just that. No, Maegor longed for the pinnacle of authority. Aegon didn’t want to scare Visemarys with the potential of an assassination by his own blood. That was the reality. He hoped he would be wrong in the end and perhaps Visemarys and Maegor could work things out civilly.

A few miles away, Yldri finally lands her feet firmly upon the earth. Easily sliding off her back, Aella dusts off her skirts and pats her she-dragon on the neck. They walk the rest of the way to the mouth of what would become the Dragon Pit, a place where her family’s dragons could call home after long hours of being with their rider. Workers were still buzzing around, building the walls higher and higher to especially accommodate Belarion’s great size.

She inhales deeply, happily. Her home was a beautiful one. Her kingdom even grander all thanks to the efforts of her father and his sisters. Aella felt immense pride in being a Targaryen, even more for being the daughter of the conqueror himself.

Yldri playfully shakes her neck, bumping the girl in the back with her large snout. Her giggles are light as she watches her she-dragon make her leisurely way to the entrance of the Dragon Pit, already knowing that as her home. Workers scramble immediately at the sight of her and make way.

Aella scampers down the hill where the pits were situated to the outer walls of the Red Keep itself. The iron portcullis groans and lifts up from it’s stationary position in the ground. She waits patiently, waving to the guards on duty who greet her cheerfully. Above she hears the screech of Imorth and Zephyros gradually catching up to the trail she’d blazed with Yldri.

“Welcome back, princess.” A knight smiles at her. His own eyes glance up to the smoke gray and jade green dragons twirling in the sky.

“Did you hear Maegor’s coming?” She excitedly replies. The reminder makes the knight grimace in response. There was little love for Maegor in the Keep.

She doesn’t pay attention to the disgruntled grunt he gives her. Aella moves right past him but not to the front door of the castle. Walking around the outer bailey leads her to the training grounds where knights and soldiers alike practiced the dance of swords. The shrieking sound of steel against steel rings in her eardrums like the beginning of a song. That’s how she felt whenever she held a sword and trained with her brothers. It was all so much like dancing except more fun. There was a thrilling element to it. The dance of swords was also the fine line between life and death. One balanced on the razor’s edge when performing the intricate steps that were required to assure your life was safe.

Men from either side of her stop what they do to give her the briefest of bows or acknowledgment. Not many men in Westeros approved of a woman taking up a weapon. But she wasn’t any woman. She would be like her mother and aunts, who didn’t need a man to protect them from danger. They could very well take danger by the horns and force them into submission. Although Aella had only seen her mother use a sword once in front of her it made a lasting impression. She became a different person when there was a sword in her hand. In that moment, (y/n) had resembled her eldest sister Visenya.

Aenys’ hair, with pieces of hay sticking out of it, looked like a porcupine when he noticed Aella happily wandering on the training grounds. His watery hyacinth gaze crinkles as he smiles. “What has you all smiles, jorrāelagon mandia (dear sister)?”

Chipper as a bird, Aella grabs his hands and twirls him around now drawing the attention of her father and Visemarys. “Maegor and Aunt Visenya are coming! Mother sent word out to me and Rhaelor. Isn’t it exciting!”

He shared the sentiment of everyone else as his own smile dimmed. Forcing his mouth to keep the shape of a smile, Aenys attempts to sound as lighthearted as his sister. “Is that so?”

At that moment, (y/n) Targaryen appears. Normally when she went to watch her husband and sons train, she’d shed her lovely gowns and dawn her leather trousers and tunic. Not that day. She was dressed in a gown of the softest green, perhaps thinking to match her son Baelyx. This was something endearing (y/n) did. Often she wore colors that matched those of her children’s dragons. Yesterday had been burgundy, taking after Rahu’s dark red hue.

Immediately Aegon catches the emergence of his youngest sister-wife. If possible, there were hearts in his eyes when he gazed upon her like it was the first time. Every edge of his face softens and he pats Visemarys’ back before sprinting to the stone steps that led up to the door. (y/n)’s grin is wide as she lets him sweep her up in his arms. The affection they showed to one another publicly tend to make the boys uncomfortable but Aella loves seeing her parents still enamored with one another after so many years. That was the kind of love she wanted. One to last a lifetime. Visemarys turned his face away when Aegon captures (y/n)’s lips in a passionate kiss. When he spots Aella giggling, he pretends to gag. Aenys chuckled at his family. While his mother was no longer alive, (y/n) became his surrogate mother. She cared for him the same as with her four other children. In Aenys was the last piece of her beloved sister Rhaenys left to the world.

(y/n) whispers something to her husband that has him drawing away partially. “So Visenya is finally returning.”

His sister nods enthusiastically but her smile was stiff and Aella, from the shapes her lips moved in, knew her mother was talking about Maegor being with her as well. Aegon’s long silver-blonde hair had been tied into a braid for sword training, courtesy of (y/n)’s skilled fingers. It trailed down his back, almost to his rear. Swaying as he steps back and holds (y/n)’s hand as they both descend the stairs.

Periwinkle eyes take in her daughter who bounds up to her. She chuckles and smooths the hair on Aella’s head even though the girl was almost the same height as her. “I see the news has reached everyone.”

“Baelyx is an efficient messenger.” Aella happily nods and holds her mom’s hands in her warm grasp. “I’m happy that Aunt Visenya and Maegor are coming after being away for so long, but is there a specific reason?”

The males of her family pay even more attention. This was something they had all been wondering. Four years ago, Aegon cut off contact with Visenya and subsequently Maegor. A big fight tore the elder Targaryen siblings apart. To begin with, Aegon held almost no romantic feelings towards Visenya. That was well known. Evidence being that (y/n) gave birth to four of Aegon’s children while Visenya only conceived one son. (y/n) however still kept in contact with her last sister.

“It has been too long since I’ve seen my dear sister.” (y/n) confesses. By then Baelyx and Rhaelor were now entering the grounds and caught the last words of what their mother had said.

“How long until they get here?” Rhaelor asks after giving his mother a kiss on the cheek which always delighted her.

In return she pats Rhaelor on the cheek. “I can’t imagine it will take them long. Possibly within the hour. All of you are to wash and dress in your best. And boys, please, try your best to get along with Maegor.”

All of the Targaryen boys, even Aegon, look down at their feet. All having been guilty (except for Aenys) of antagonistic tendencies toward Visenya’s only child.

Their maids were already waiting for them each to assist in anything they needed as all five of them were already young adults. Aella would require actual help for putting on her dress as it was many layered with ties that needed to be secured.

They obey their mother’s instructions, but for Visemarys and Baelyx, they in particular were unhappy with Maegor’s arrival.

Aegon was always handsome, whether streaked with dirt and blood or cleaned up like he was now he was exquisite.

Reclined on the chaise lounge in his dressing room, you watch the strong muscles of his shoulders as he puts his arms through the sleeves of his clean tunic. Your eyes helplessly rove to the tapering of his waist and down to the perfect lift of his rear.

Later. You tell yourself as you’re already imagining wrapping your legs around that delicious waist as he pounds into you, perhaps pump another child into.

For now, you had to remind your husband. “Do try to be gentler with Maegor. He already knows that he is not the favorite son. You don’t have to rub it in.”

He pauses before shoving his other arm into the corresponding sleeve. “He’s different than our boys (y/n).”

Pursing your lips, you acknowledge what he says as the truth. Maegor was definitely not like your four boys. Something unhinged about Maegor that made even you wary of him. “Regardless, you are his father.”

Turning around, his mauve eyes turn soft in regard to you. You’d voiced this before, the anticipation of discourse between the sons of the dragon dangled above your head the more Maegor was isolated. Aegon kneels in front of you, pressing your knuckles against his silky lips. “I’ll be as gentle as a lamb.”

A laugh bursts out of your chest. “Yes, gentle as a lamb coming from the dragon king himself.”

His grin curls to show off his sharp canine. “I can be gentle.”

Yes, he was capable of being sweet and gentle to you and the rest of the kids but that was the extent. Visenya and Maegor were not granted the same kindness. He still wouldn’t tell you what exactly he and Visenya had argued about before she relocated to Dragonstone, but it must have been big. The two of them never got along, not as much as he got along with you and Rhaenys. Childhood had been no different. The eldest of the Targaryen children bickered nonstop and would even be reduced to brawling out in the courtyard.

Lightly, you drag your lips down the bridge of his straight nose that seemed to have been sculpted by the most talented artist before placing a tender kiss on the tip of his nose. He’s practically purring at all the affection you lavish on him. Sometimes it goes to your head how he immediately becomes pudding in your hands. No one else would ever see Aegon like this. Only you. An incredible power that you alone possessed.

The shrieking of dragons that pierce from outside alert your family that Vhagar was here.

Before allowing any of your children out into the yard to greet her, you double check their attire and move a few stray strands of silver hair that was hanging in Baelyx’s face and to tamper down Rhaelor’s naturally wild hair. A brooch on Aenys’ cloak was askew and you promptly fixed that too. He smiles down at you and you can’t help but lovingly pinch his cheek. He’d been born the weakest, but nearly towered over Aegon now.

Prim and proper, you nod to yourself. Your wildlings, Aella and Rhaelor, could clean up nicely when they actually put their minds to it and weren’t on their dragons. Aella especially was radiant in her cream gown. Maybe too radiant. The twins were gazing adoringly at her, you could practically read the lovesick thoughts going through their head in that moment. If everyone got through today without any bloodshed, you would count it as a success. You just had to get through it then hopefully it would be smooth sailing from there once Visenya and Maegor settled in.

In the distance you could make out Vhagar’s mighty size descending to the entrance of the Dragon Pit. They’d be here shortly.

Aegon laces his fingers with your’s. “Breathe my love. You’re making the children nervous.”

So many things could go wrong. Tragedies of all sorts pierce you so that you listlessly pace in the courtyard. You miss Visenya, but you were ultimately scared of what her arrival would bring.

You give Aegon’s hand a vice-like squeeze. “Good. Maybe they’ll be on their best behavior then.” Particularly Baelyx. He had the shortest temper of all your children. His surliness could match Maegor’s which led the two to constantly butting heads when they were smaller. It didn’t take much to set off either boy.

Shouts from guards atop of the guard tower shout the arrival of your sister and nephew. You press yourself closer to Aegon in both excitement and nerves.

The gate rises and there stood the firm figure of your sister Visenya and the young man beside her. His hair and eyes scream Targaryen. Maegor. Unlike his brothers and father, Maegor wore his silver-blonde locks short. Suits the harsh features of his face much better in all honesty.

They stride past the threshold, movements in perfect synchronicity that you wonder if they intended for that or if mother and son were just that much alike.

Regardless of the bruised feelings among your elder siblings, you smile and open your arms wide to embrace Visenya. Usually she detested physical contact. She didn’t even like holding or carrying Maegor around when he was an infant. For you though. . .

A rare and beautiful smile makes her regular stoney face crumble as she enters your arms, her own arms encircling around you. She presses you close to her body and you could practically hear her sigh in relief. “Ñuha prūmia (my heart).” She nuzzles her face against your hair. “Skorkydoso eman bōsa naejot ūndegon aōha laehurlion (How I have longed to see your face).”

Tears burn behind your eyes but you’re still smiling, even more now after her words. “Ao kesīr leghagon nyke (You here completes me).”

Before she could completely break in front of everyone, Visenya tears herself away first and rapidly blinks her eyes clear. Her stoic expression returns when she glances at the rest of the family behind you. Specifically at the King of the Seven Kingdoms himself.

“Aegon.” Her voice is frosty.

Your husband returns the sentiment in kind. “Visenya. You and Maegor appear to be doing well.” For Aegon, that was as friendly as he could be with her right now. Looks like he hadn’t forgotten nor forgiven whatever transpired between them.

To break the iciness, you beckon your children forward. Happily, Aella is the first to greet Visenya and Maegor. Her aunt pleasantly hums and pats her on the head. “How grown you are.”

“Welcome home.” Aella tells her earnestly. Then she turns to Maegor who already has a cocky smirk plastered on his mouth. You chew on the inside of your cheek at the look he gives her. “Hello, Maegor.” She tilts her chin up to dazzle him with a smile.

His voice is a deep rumble. “Aella.”

The other boys politely greet them in turn. You bid everyone to retire inside so that your sister and nephew could relax from their dragon ride although Visenya didn’t know the first thing about relaxing, always alert and ready for battle. War time was over but the way Visenya was, you’d think conflict was still array in the land. Rhaelor worked well as a diplomat and was constantly going to visit all of Westeros’ wardens. Not even a whisper of friction. A few bandits here and there but nothing dire.

In the private sitting room of the Red Keep is where your get together was reconvened. Refreshments and sweets were offered as mainly you and Aella kept up conversation. Aenys helps as much as he could as does Rhaelor so that tensions may be eased but it’s difficult when the twins and Maegor are having a staring contest. Visenya and Aegon were no better. You felt the chill coming off of them.

“Your children are of proper marrying age.” Visenya brings up randomly as the conversation lulls to just you and your older sister. “When will you be arranging prospective partners?”

You’re caught off guard back her sudden question. You glance at the five of them. Visemarys and Baelyx will be four and twenty come the next season while Aella had just turned seven and ten two months ago.

“We’re in no rush.” You tell her tentatively. Visenya had certain ideals that you didn’t share with her. She always thought you and Aegon coddled your children and that they grew up spoiled.

Her eyes narrow. “What about Visemarys? He should get a start on producing future heirs.”

He stiffens next to you in his seat, uncomfortable with his aunt’s scrutiny landing fully on him. Vis was not one to be easily intimidated though, especially not by an aunt he hadn’t seen in years. She held no sway or authority here. Not like you did as the official Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

“I have already decided on my bride.”

That stuns everyone and Visenya’s eyes visibly round at him. He keeps his face cool and collected with a slight smirk curling at the corner of his lips. You and Aegon wordlessly gape at each other before addressing Visemarys.

“You have?”

“Who is it?”

“Have we met her?”

Dozens of questions flew from you and your husband. You should have known though. There was only one girl he’d ever wanted to take for himself as a wife.

“Aella.”

Baelyx jumps to his feet and growls at his twin. “You can’t just claim her as your’s.” He gestures to their sister who sat completely perplexed that Visemarys had named her his bride. Without even discussing it in her. Her face grew red with both embarrassment and discontent.

You put a soothing hand on Baelyx’s arm but it’s too late. He’s furious and you fear that Maegor will feed off of this negative energy as well. But he’s still sitting, perfectly restrained and smirking at his half-brothers in an arrogant way that had you wondering what he was thinking. Or plotting.

Aegon leans to breathe something into Visemarys’ ear. Father and son stand. “Excuse us.” Without another word, they leave with Baelyx right behind them still fuming and yelling at his brother who seemingly became deaf to his irate brother.

Heaviness still hung in the air though as the rest of you flounder for something to say. Aella angrily trembled as Aenys consoles her. He knows when a battle has been lost though as Aella, just as quickly as her father and brothers, storms out of the room.

The vile audacity to claim her in front of everyone. He’d never even mentioned any sort of feelings that would hint that Visemarys felt something more for her other than brotherly love. Aella would be a fool not to notice how Baelyx and Visemarys looked her way. She knew but she wanted to hear them say it to her directly, not be sneaky but abruptly bringing it up with the rest of the family. Baelyx wasn’t really mad on her behalf. He was mad because he hadn’t been the one to publicly claim her first.

Rage boiled her from the inside and heats up her checks with the fires of all the Seven Hells. When she got ahold of them, Aella would throttle both brothers into the ground. Didn’t matter that they were stronger and older than her. She would find a way to bring them down to their knees and BEG for her mercy. If only they weren’t so consumed with their alpha male bullshit to even asked her who she favored more. Were she to be faster to leave the sitting room, maybe Aella could have followed them to wherever they went off to. This involved her after all. Who she chose as her husband was her decision. Her parents promised her that she could choose whoever she wants to take as a partner. They said they would support her. This was a discussion that required her presence as well. She’d smother the flames of her fury in order to put up her petition to remind Aegon that she was in charge of choosing.

First she went to the chambers of the king and queen. Empty.

Stalking through the halls of the Keep, Aella realized that they weren’t in the main dwellings of the family. Aegon must have took them where he carries out all important duties. The throne room that housed the infamous iron throne, built by her father the conqueror. He was always wary when the young ones were too close to it. The swords were still sharp like they were freshly pulled from their owner’s hands. Swords of his fallen enemies. It wasn’t uncommon to receive small cuts from it. Aegon was never maimed when he sat on the throne since it was made for him. Not even his own chair would harm him.

This forces her to leave the Keep and cross through the outer yard to get to the throne room which also housed a granary and a kitchen. Each step she took, Aella let out another curse toward her brothers. She’d give them the tongue lashing of the century. It will be ringing in their ears even as they lay on their deathbed. The never ending presence of soldiers milling about didn’t garner a second glance at them though even they noticed her wrath filled strut. Their princess rarely grew as impassioned as she was in that moment. Whatever argument was had in the Keep was enough to stoke her fire.

The soldiers standing at the front bow at her presence and let her easily pass through. Aegon had been in the middle of saying something until the clacking of her heels hit against the ground. Visemarys smiles as if nothing of interest was going on while Baelyx’s seething lightened up. She walks straight up to Visemarys and shoves him with a house.

“What kind of power trip are you on?” Teeth grit down hard as she goes to push him again despite her father calling her name.

Her anger toward Vis and not Baelyx as his glare turning into a self-righteous sneer. “See! I was only speaking up in Aella’s interest.”

Wrong thing to say.

She whips around and smacks Baelyx across the face. “You’re no better! You caused a scene.”

“Aella.” That stern command has Aella balling her hands into fists but obeys to face her father. She knew when to pick her fights and she would not win a fight with her father no matter how much Aegon loved his daughter. When he used that tone with her there was little choice but for her to simmer down. But her rage was still heavy in her mouth. She couldn’t even look at either brother who are positioned on either side of her. Baelyx, though his cheek was turning red, he sadly glances at his sister before pressing his lips firmly together.

Aegon sighed, lines running across his face in the light of the throne room. A blessing he thought his children were. They behaved with the common childish mischief that arose with many kids in proximity. Never really caused him any real problems. But this was very much a problem that Aegon dreaded addressing.

“Is it true you didn’t even speak this over with Aella, Visemarys?” He knows the answer.

Visemarys being the eldest tend to let that go to his head. Crown Prince of Westeros and Heir to the Iron Throne, he thought whatever he said would be law. At least he has the common sense to shift his eyes away from Aegon with shame. “Yes, your grace. I figure it was inevitable though. Who better for me to take as wife and queen?”

His sister scoffs in disgust but keeps quiet under Aegon’s intimidating glare.

“You do not have immediate claim of Aella just because you are first born.” Aegon sternly informs his son. In response his heir flinches. He’d been hoping his father would be on his side. Really, who would Aegon rather Aella marry? Visemarys would make her a queen. “She was promised she could choose her own husband. You’d be wise to respect that.”

Newfound admiration blossoms for her father. She hadn’t expected him to take her side in all of this. But she realized she would not be exempt from being scolded as well.

“Baelyx may have deserved your words but he didn’t deserve your abuse.” Aegon gazes from one pair of lilac eyes to another. Their father cast quite the shadow. “All of you are to go to your rooms for the rest of the night. Your dinner will be brought to you. You’re to reflect on how your actions may have harmed the other. Put yourself into their body and empathize. We’re family first and foremost. The house of the dragon cannot survive if we’re squabbling amongst one another.” He appeared to catch his own words. Momentarily he hangs back to gather his thoughts. “Tomorrow morning report straight to the throne room. No breakfast.”

They bow to their illustrious father. His final words were law and even his offspring must bend the knee to their sovereign.

Guards were sent along with them to make sure the trio went to their respective rooms.

In her room, Aella seeks out a distraction in the form of embroidery, to darts, hells she even tried to practice the lute but even boredom couldn’t help her enjoy that monstrous instrument that her teachers insist her learn to play. By the second hour, Aella was near ready to smash her lute into a thousand pieces against her bedpost. Were it not for the playful knock at her door, she may have gone through with her destructive impulse. A quizzically arched brow, Aella stares at the door.

“Who is it?” She called out.

“Jaesa (Goddess).” That fine serpent’s voice has her heart fluttering.

“Maegor. Unfortunately I have been banished to my room for the night.” She chuckled and tents her fingers on the door. “I don’t think father intended for me to have any visitors.”

His laugh is a low baritone that has Aella smiling fondly at the door. “Open the door, Jaesa.”

She doesn’t bother to think about the consequences and pulls on the handle of her door. Maegor is by himself, and easily manages to squeeze his way through the slim opening she offered him. Four years didn’t change Maegor’s personality, but it certainly transformed his body into swelled muscles and a proud stance.

Still furious with her brothers, Aella eyes him up and down with a coy grin that mirrored her half-brother’s. He read her mind easily, always had. He’s already lifting her up by her rear as she grabs for his face to kiss him.

Only she could say who were husband would be.

#game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #Game of Thrones fandom #A Song of Ice and Fire #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #a song of ice and fire fanfic #A Song of Ice and Fire fandom #ASoIaF #asoiaf fandom #asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf fic #asoiaf fanfic #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon the conqueror #aegon i targaryen x reader #aegon i targaryen

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viviennevermillion · 2 years ago

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they're all here because of you

notes: just me bleeding my chronic loneliness and estrangement from people into the malleus x reader oneshot. also the frozen references may have been a little too obvious but at this point you can't tell me this man isn't canonically at least a little bit inspired by elsa.

synopsis: the birthday party at night raven college wasn't quite what malleus had hoped it'd be. luckily you were there to cheer him up.

contains: malleus draconia x gn!reader, hurt/comfort

warnings: angst, themes of loneliness

dark content creators and consumers dni

"They're all here because of you", Lilia had told him with a smile on his face as the students gathered at Diasomnia for his birthday celebration, "look at how many people came to celebrate you even though we're all from different lands and have different ways of life. Isn't this school just a curious place?" Malleus had smiled at the words of the older dragon fae. Indeed, he had been looking forward to another birthday at Night Raven College, especially in his third year when he had talked to more people and experienced more of human life than ever before. He felt honored that the humans had come to celebrate him. That he didn't have to eat the cake alone this time or stare out of the window, wondering if everyone was having fun with the festivities in the village below the castle; while he had to stay inside asking himself what it would be like to join them.

Few had been brave enough to walk up directly to him and wish him a happy birthday. But they're all here because of me, Malleus reminded himself, they're here to celebrate my birthday. If he hadn't come to Night Raven College, there'd be no reason to celebrate his birthday after all.

He observed the humans from a distance; watched as they shared the cake that had been ordered specifically for the birthday celebration. It looked like it would be finished in no time. More than half of it was already gone and Malleus looked pleased. He had overheard several people commenting on how the cake was delicious and he himself found it quite enjoyable. He sat at a table near the window with his own plate in front of him. Sebek sat with him and complimented him but Malleus didn't really listen. Sebek didn't seem to notice nor mind.

Malleus saw how some of the humans took out their phone and took pictures of themselves with the other guests, celebrating and having fun together. He pulled his own phone out of his pocket only to notice it was broken again. When did that even happen this time?, he sighed. He'd have to get a new one sometime soon and find someone to explain Magicam to him, so he could be in the photos and participate in interacting with his classmates online. Malleus thought back to the Halloween week and the "Draconia challenge". That didn't count, right? He felt more like a commodity or a tourist attraction at the time. Was this what being in photos with others was supposed to feel like? Was this how all of them felt too?

They didn't seem unhappy. In fact, a lot of them seemed to have a great deal of fun at his birthday. They had hugged their friends and told each other stories of their latest and most interesting memories. The countries they had seen during their holidays and the parties they had been to recently. They also discussed their plans together for the coming weekends. Malleus smiled. It sounded like a lot of fun.

But the lingering feeling of sadness in his heart stayed. They were all here because of him and yet, as soon as they'd leave the dorm lounge, that too would come to pass. Lilia, Silver and Sebek had been the only ones on this day to hold a longer conversation with him. Most had congratulated him and then moved on to stick to their own groups that they'd share his cake with and celebrate his birthday with. And Malleus was watching. That's all he really did, were he honest with himself.

He remembered the beginning of the school year when he had told you that he quite enjoyed the solitude. Maybe he just really found his own company to be the best he had; liked to stroll through abandoned ruins and ponder the ways of the world in silence. Or maybe, if he truly listened to the voice in his heart for just a moment; instead of pushing it away in hopes to never hear from it again; he'd find that that was not the truth. That sometimes he preferred solitude because it hurt less than this. It was what he was used to and it caused him less pain than the idea of being surrounded by people and alone despite it all.

Had people really come to celebrate his birthday? Or did they simply receive the invitation and felt like celebrating something, anything?

He observed as his human guests giggled about something he didn't understand and put a party hat on one of their friends; teasing them about it. And then he looked at his little table, with his half-finished slice of cake and Sebek rambling on endlessly about how powerful and great he was. He wondered if Sebek had noticed that no one else had sat at their table for the entirety of the celebration. At least he seemed content with it...

Malleus possessed all the power most wizards could wish for, yet he only ever seemed to lose. He felt like he had been born and put on a pedestal to look at and gather around. Like a statue on a busy plaza built to bring a community together but never really meant to be a part of it. Time passed him by like a fleeting shadow and all that remained in the aftermath of inevitable change were ruins. Perhaps that's why he found such comfort in them. They were what would still be here for him when all else faded. When the laughter in the halls had long since stopped to echo, the lights had gone out and the mortal souls that brought life to its corridors, painted the pictures on the walls and grew the vibrant gardens outside had left this world forever; ruins were all that remained. How he wished he'd be able to change along with the world. But time left him behind; always leaving his little world stagnant before he'd one day find it in ruins too.

Maybe things would change once he was king. Or maybe people would always fear Malleus. And Malleus would always fear he'd remain nothing but a statue. Influencing the world but never truly living in it the way everyone around him would.

He was tied to humanity by a cruel string of fate. He'd isolate himself to forget about his pain and forget about all he lacked but once he noticed his retainers were the only ones who'd come looking for him, he'd always crawl back for another try, hoping this time it'd be different. Maybe this time he'd make the friends everyone told him were something he should never miss out on; that this time he'd take the photos he'd look back on for years to come with a smile on his face and celebrate the birthdays that finally truly made him feel valuable for anything but being born as a prince with an insane amount of magic power.

He saw the snow falling outside and got up to excuse himself. This was getting out of hand. Malleus stepped onto the balcony, resting his arms on the balustrade as the soft and cold snowflakes got caught on his horns and in his hair and some of them mixed with the tears running down his cheeks. He knew he needed to get this under control. It wasn't befitting of a prince to cry at his birthday party. Or make it snow outside. He'd only cause trouble for everyone else and ruin the celebration for them. They were all here because of him, at least officially, and he had to treat his guests with the proper respect. He had to put them first and hope that while focusing on making this experience the most enjoyable one for them, he'd distract himself from his own feelings for a while.

"Were you planning to make an ice skating rink for everyone?", he heard a joking voice behind him, one he immediately recognized, "I'm sorry I'm late. Got held up by Crewel after class..." Your voice was soft and you took his hand in yours. You were observant, immediately noticing that he wasn't feeling too well. Seeing the tears on his face just confirmed that. You reached your hand out to cup his cheeks and gently wipe the tears away. "Hey, what's the matter?", you asked with a worried expression on your face, hugging Malleus gently. You could tell how distressed he was from the way he clung to you like you were the lifeline he was so desperately hoping for while drowning in a sea of solitude.

"I apologize", Malleus began, taking your hand in his again, "it's unbecoming of the host of a birthday party to just leave his guests alone like this. Let alone the future king of Briar Valley." You shook your head, squeezing his hand gently. "Your feelings matter too, you know?"

Malleus couldn't help but chuckle. Even Lilia would have tried to convince him to go back to the party and give it another try. You were the only one who made him feel like he really could show his feelings around you. That he could forget about being Crown Prince Malleus Draconia for a moment and just be someone you held dear and talked to about gargoyles and all the curious phenomenons of human society. He looked up to notice the snow had stopped. Or rather, it was frozen in mid-air, as if the storm had quieted down and what was left of it were glistening fragments frozen in time. He looked at your face and the smile you wore made him smile as well. Most were terrified of his magic, yet you reached out to it unafraid and with a sense of curiosity and wonder. You fished some of the ice crystals out of the air and examined them in your hands.

They were melting on your skin and you touched his neck in a fruitless attempt to tease him with your cold hands. Malleus chuckled but quickly returned to his own world where it was mostly him and his thoughts. "Did anyone notice?", he sighed, looking back into the Diasomnia dorm lounge with a longing expression. "I mean Lilia, Silver and Sebek-" "I get it", you recognized the pouting expression on his face. You sighed.

"Do you still want to be here?"

Malleus didn't hesitate; the words leaving his mouth almost like an automated response. "It's my birthday party and my guests-" "Malleus, be honest", you retorted and linked your fingers with his, signaling that you'd be fine with whatever he'd tell you. He hesitated for a while before a quiet "no" left his lips.

"Would you like to take a walk and look at the gargoyles around campus again? Or we could go to the village and browse that antique shop you like. I heard they got new stuff recently", you suggested, still smiling at him softly. Was this really okay?

You reassured him that no one would be mad at him for taking some time to do what felt right for him at the moment. He pulled you into his arms again and whispered a quiet thank you.

About an hour later the two of you were sitting on a bench near the beach of Sage's Island, sharing a big ice cream cup. Malleus loved to listen to your voice as you answered whatever questions he had for you. He had come to this school unsure of what there was left to learn for him, yet you taught him so much about the world in so little time. You were honest and had no issue explaining things to him in great detail, to make sure he really understood what you were talking about. He loved how enthusiastic you were about sharing your world with him. You always seemed so excited whenever he was unfamiliar with something you liked and you were able to show him.

He remembered how alone he had felt among the guests of his birthday celebration. How he felt like the world had been grey and dull in this moment; as he was forced to watch the people around him live each moment like it was the greatest yet. And then you had entered the dorm and brought color to his world. All the guests were there to celebrate his birthday yet he felt like today you were the only one who really saw him. Who pulled him out of his overthinking and told him it was okay to take a break. You pressed a kiss to his forehead and wished him a happy birthday after finishing the ice cream cup; putting it aside and resting your head on his shoulder. And for now, that was more than enough. Malleus chuckled and watched the sun set with a smile, holding your hand tightly in his.

On days like these he felt like a statue. Made to contribute something to this world while never truly being part of it as it changed and grew with every passing second. And you....you were the one person who'd stop by every day to place flowers down in front of it; who'd stay here for a while, content no matter if you were surrounded by others or if it was just you and him. You had dried his tears and soothed the ache in his heart and he knew you'd continue to do so, doing nothing but spending your time with him because you loved him. Because you saw him and you loved what you saw.

He found it curious how when he'd feel lost, just the fact that you took his hand and talked to him made all the difference for a moment. He leaned his head against yours as he watched the stars appear on the skies. He had power and status and today, on his birthday, he had received plenty of gifts from the other students. But ironically, the greatest gift he had today was you. And you promised to be there for the days, months and years to come.

#twisted wonderland #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x you #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #malleus draconia fluff #twisted wonderland fluff #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader

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huramuna · 10 months ago

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beware the sapphire peak - chapter 2.

aemond targaryen x wife reader x alys rivers a period piece, set in 1902.

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wordcount: 4.8k

you're a young, american lady who is an aspiring author. you are wooed by a mysterious and charming savant from england. swept off your feet, you're whisked away to his family's ancient estate, Dragonstone Hall. but with all stories, secrets are hiding around every corner, and your suitor is no different. a crimson peak inspired mini series.

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! i don't do taglists right now, so sorry!

content: smut (specifics below cut), angst, gaslighting, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, alys in her girlboss gatekeep gaslight era, no use of y/n, afab reader, pre-established alysmond, this isn't going where you think it is(it might be), infidelity-ish, polyamory, mentions of infertility, murder, depictions of murder/violence

once upon a december - invadable harmony • reflections - toshifumi hinata

warnings: oral (f receiving), p in v, creampie, inappropriate use of high valyrian

As you passed through the threshold of the building, you looked upon the tapestries that lined the walls– they seemed to tell a story, a story of dragons, war, betrayal and succession. The woven tapestries were over eight feet tall, hanging from old iron nails that pinned them to the stone bulwark. Beyond those, were the beginnings of many, many portraits of Targaryens long passed. They were all otherworldly looking, your eyes glazing over at their perfectly captured features.

Aemond’s gentle squeeze to your hand brought you back to reality, following the line of your gaze to the portraits. “Some people have said that Targaryens are closer to Gods than people,” he smirked, chuckling softly. “When we rode dragons and conquered land and sky, perhaps. But not now– we are merely mortals once again.”

“Ah, and here I thought I married an immortal being, what a pity.” you jested, your tongue poking in your cheek.

“A pity indeed– luckily I snagged myself a Goddess, hm?” he whispered lowly, craning his head to nose at your jawline, planting little kisses upon your soft skin. He was so close to you, his scent all consuming in your nostrils as you drank in the feather light touch of his lips upon you. You were surprised that you’d made it into the building without the both of you making love on the floor like rutting animals, truly.

The sound of heels clicking pulled you both from your stupor. As you turned around, you looked upon the woman that was in the window, the real one, atleast. She was tall, a few inches shorter than Aemond, but she still towered over you– they both did– her hair was pinned in a neat half-do, the slightly wavy tresses in a gorgeous, deep brown color, like freshly brewed coffee. Her eyes, a lively emerald green, blinked slowly as she looked you up and down, assessing you. She seemed to be more mature than you and Aemond, likely by fifteen or so years. The only indication of her age were the soft gleam of one or two errant gray hairs and the lines of her face, laugh lines, crow’s feet alike, were illuminated under the flickering light in the foyer. She wore a deep green dress, a similar shade to her eyes. “Lord Targaryen, Lady Targaryen,” she greeted, her voice deep and silky– it reminded you of the timbre of a wonderful cello you’d heard in an orchestra in New York City, instantly sending your heart aflutter.

“My love, this is Alys Rivers. She is the estate’s governess,” Aemond introduced, one eye lingering upon Alys before returning to you. “She’s been with us for many years and is more than happy to help you get acquainted with the ins-and-outs of the Keep.”

You suddenly remembered your manners, hand extended out to her. “Miss Rivers, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” you smiled, your hand enveloped by hers. It was a bit cold, but warmed up quickly within your own.

“And you, my lady. I’m sure we will become fast friends.” Alys responded coolly, her mouth perking into a similar grin, her thumb lingering over the back of your hand for a bit longer than necessary as she squeezed it lightly before letting go

Certainly you didn’t imagine that?

“It is good to see you again, Alys. I hope to not be away from the estate for so long again,” Aemond hummed, watching as you and the governess’ hands lingered with one another, then turning back to face you. “Shall we get settled in, my dear?” he asked. You knew exactly what he meant by settling in– and it would be the opposite of what you would be doing.

“It is good to have you back, Lord Targaryen. Let us hope you won’t need to leave again any time soon.” Alys gave a wry smile, regarding you both before curtsying and flittering away.

Aemond led you up the stairs, up to the third floor, where the master bedroom lay. The hallways narrowed as you traversed the home, with Aemond pointing out a few of the key points of the estate to you on the way. Then, he stopped at a gilded pair of double doors, the handles were beautifully complex dragons carved from a deep brown and red cedar, their eyes fashioned from jewels. It was the height of opulence– edging on gaudiness for your taste, but you married into practical royalty, so you couldn’t complain.

Opening them, it revealed a large room decorated in black and green, with the occasional splash of red and gold. The walls were lined with towering bookshelves, cornered by a soft reading nook with two plush chairs. The bed was spacious, twice the size of the bed you had at home, which was a king size– you didn’t even know what to classify this size as. Monarch size? Dragon size? It was huge, that was all you knew, furnished in a soft red velvet sheet set.

You walked to the bed, fingers glazing over the silken soft sheets. “This is… the softest thing I’ve ever felt in my life, my God.” you murmured, beginning to unbutton your outer coat and shed your layers. You wished to feel the plush silk on your bare skin.

“I hope it’s to your liking, love.” Aemond came up behind you, helping you shed your unsightly amount of layers until you were in your silken shift and undergarments. His hand began to wander, bunching up the fabric of your shift and pulling it upward, until he could rest his hand on your bare stomach.

The sensation of his warm hand on your stomach made you flutter slightly, pressing back against him. “Yes, I’d say it’s quite to my liking– though, I suppose we shall put it to the test, won’t we?” you teased, your arm coming up to caress his cheek.

As your hand touched his face, his hand rose up higher and higher, exploring further. His hand found solace atop your corseted brassiere, the tiniest growls of frustration escaping from his lips. His free hand began working double time to undo the series of laces. “You won’t be needing to wear these anymore, my love,” he grumbled, biting softly on your earlobe as he continued his race to undress you. “In fact, I’d like it if you didn’t wear anything at all.”

You giggled, shimmying out of the brassiere, to which he threw aside. “I’m sure that Miss Rivers would find that garish and uncouth, Aemond. I can come to a compromise, though,” you purred, switching around to where you were sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling him towards you by the hem of his shirt.

“A compromise,” he repeated, “And what sort of compromise would that be?” Aemond asked, kneeling down in front of you now.

“Perhaps I may not wear any undergarments at all under my clothes,” you whispered, craning your neck downward as you tilted his chin upward. “For easier access.”

The sound that came from Aemond could only be categorized as animalistic and primal, his lips melding with yours in a rising fervor. It was a clash of teeth and tongue, his hand pawing at your now freed breast, thumb and forefinger pinching your nipple– eliciting a surprised gasp from you. You’d never been touched in such a way and the little spark of pain that went through you mingled with your pleasure. You liked it, conveying this to your husband by increasing the fever pitch of your kisses, mouth parted as your tongues danced together in the most lascivious of ways, as if you were trying to eat one another alive.

“What did I do,” he breathed between your assaults on each other’s mouths. “To deserve such a beautiful wife, hm?” his hand had become permanently rested on your breast, rubbing your stiffened nipple like he was trying to elicit every moan possible from you from just this alone. “A beautiful wife who makes all of the most beautiful little noises?”

You were rendered speechless, your response coming out only as a whine as he pushed you back on the bed, pulling your underwear down. He made a noise of satisfaction at what he saw, seemingly pleased with how you looked, his hand grazing through your wisps of pubic hair before parting your soaked folds. You stared down at him beneath half-lidded eyes, your body heat emanating from you like a furnace, the heights of your cheeks red with pleasure.

Aemond was continually spurred on by your state of being, like you were clay within his hands, and he was the sculptor. He nudged your legs open more, his fingers spreading you open. You whimpered as the cold air hit your core, but it was immediately replaced by a warm heat– his breath fanning over you.

“Please,” was all that could come out of your mouth as you looked at him.

His pupil was blown wide, the blue usually there eclipsed by black as he dragged his tongue over your folds, testing your taste. Humming in contentment with the taste, he went back in for another, lapping over your wet sex, the cleft of his nose rubbing against your clit. You fought the urge to close your legs out of instinct, feeling a warm sensation barrelling toward you as if you needed to relieve yourself. Your eyes were more open now in a slight panic at the feeling, but Aemond just grinned, keeping up his pace and even quickening it.

You grasped at his hair, the white-blonde strands fisted in your hand as you moaned broken strings of his name as your first orgasm washed over you, and in turn, him. You felt a rush of wetness come from your body, which was now glistening upon Aemond’s maw, his mouth still twisted into a smile, like he had just had the greatest meal of his life. He came up between your legs again, unbuckling his belt and discarding his trousers and undergarments without much ceremony– you both didn’t have time for it now, especially when you could see the weeping need coming from him, dripping at the tip of his cock.

His lips found yours again, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. You didn’t consider yourself a sexual woman really, but God, if this wasn’t the epitome of eroticism– you wanted this moment seared into your brain like a brand.

“I’ll go slow, love,” he breathed, lips barely parted from yours. “Let me know if it’s too much.”

You nodded in affirmation, not capable of forming words at the moment. You hope you'll become more adept at dirty talk, just seeing how one ‘Please’ spurred your husband into action like a horse at a derby. You felt the head of his cock swipe against your soaked core, then slowly easing in. The stretch alone, the flame of pain that was just there, right on the precipice, ignited that familiar feeling within you once more. It was goddamn delicious, the feeling of being full, full of your husband– the thought made your eyes roll back in your head for a moment as he buried himself to the hilt.

The cherry on top, however, was when you finally got a glimpse of Aemond’s face– both of his eyes were closed, mouth slightly agape, hair strewn mess. He was concentrating so intensely on not bursting inside of you within seconds, as your tightness squeezed him like a vice. “Fuck,�� he grunted, his use of foul language sending shocks of pleasure throughout your extremities. “You’re so tight– Christ above.” Aemond began to move then, thrusting back and forth, just to focus his mind on the motions and not to bust a moment in. He murmured praises in your ear, some in English and some in another language you didn’t understand, but it was primal and ancient, you could tell just by how he sounded out the words, and it was no doubt something dirty and more than likely downright feral. “Issa gevie ābrazȳrys, sīr ȳrda, sīr vok. Ry ñuhon, ry ñuhon.” My beautiful wife, so tight, so perfect. All mine, all mine.

Judging by how he pounded into you, the sound of flesh against flesh filling the room, coupled with your cacophony of whines and moans, he was close, chasing his high. His pace hastened and your legs fastened around his midsection to keep him as close as possible– a reaction your body made on its own, seemingly.

A sequence of unintelligible curses and erotic sweet-nothings came from his mouth as he gave one final push– a low, reverberating grunt coming from the depths of his chest as he stilled, spending inside of you. His lips smeared against your neck, nothing coming from his mouth but hefty pants.

You both caught your breaths and he softened inside of you, then cleaned you both up after– you would’ve helped as well, but your legs were jelly, and simply refused to pick you up from the bed. Aemond was more than happy to pick you up and tuck you under the covers, holding you close to him, as if you might fly away during the night.

You dreamed of dark hallways and pale visages looking upon you– you woke up several times during the night, seeing pairs of eyes staring at you, pity in their ghastly gaze. You would fall back asleep and think nothing of it.

–

“Looking at something, dearest?” Aemond hummed, his thumb parting another page further into the book he was reading, the room illuminated in candlelight. It had been a whole fortnight since you moved into the estate– you had been able to sit down and write even more, and Aemond had helped you send off your manuscript to a reputable publisher in London, who was a family friend of the Targaryens. You began your second novel, which was inspired by Dragonstone Hall and the odd dreams you’d had as of late, laden with peering eyes and ghostly figures.

You were perched on the window seat, the silk of your nightgown clinging to you like a second skin. Moving forward, you looked down upon the courtyard and beyond, seeing the moonlit horizon painting the sea, waves ebbing and flowing like beautiful clockwork. Glancing over your shoulder to your husband, his usual harsh features softened by the gentle flicker of the bee’s wax candles. A smile crept on your lips, which in turn, caused his own to upturn into a returning grin. “Just enjoying the view of the sea.”

“‘Tis dark, my love,” he closed the book, setting it aside. “Are you an owl and I did not know it? Seeing in the dark?” he got up from his position on the bed, making his way to you.

“Perhaps I am an owl,” you giggled, “But the moon and sky are especially clear tonight– a perfect view.”

He perched his chin upon your shoulder, looking out of the window with you. “A clear sky. That must be a good omen, hm? Alys has told me that it was storming constantly while I was gone.”

“A good omen indeed,” you purred, nuzzling your nose into his neck. Out of the corner of your eye, looking down into the courtyard, you could’ve sworn you saw two men, ghastly white, walking upon the green. But when you turned your head to get another look, Aemond enveloped your lips into a kiss, pulling you back towards him, and back towards your bed. You didn’t get another glimpse at the courtyard until it was cloudy and dark once again.

No one was there.

–

“Oh, hello, Miss Rivers,” you murmur softly, your voice still hoarse with sleep. You brush a few errant curls away from your face as you go to pour yourself a cup of tea, bare feet padding upon the tiled kitchen floor. “Good morning.”

“Just Alys is fine, dear,” she smiles, her emerald eyes shining clearly– she must’ve already been wide awake for a few hours. “Please, let me.” Alys sits up from her chair, moving near you and pouring water from the kettle into your cup before you could even grab it.

You glance up at her– she was much taller than you, like Aemond– a feeling of embarrassment coming over you. “Oh– thank you,” you manage to muster, “But it… it isn’t necessary, Mis– Alys.”

The older woman looks at you with an expression of curiosity, you had said something truly novel. “Ah. You aren’t like the others, then. Good.” she smiled, the sides of her mouth crinkling. Something about it made your heart skip a beat– what was going on?

“The others?” you asked, stirring your cup which was now steeping with a fruity, floral tea bag. You scooped a heap of sticky honey from a reserve of it on the counter, preferring your tea extra sweet.

Alys watched as you stirred in the thick substance, before lifting her eyes to you. “The other– former– denizens of the estate, my lady. Lord Targaryen’s other family. Excellent employers, but they always asked for me to do things beyond my job description. Pour tea, serve lunch, draw baths." She took a seat then at the small kitchen table, but not before grabbing the entire jar of honey, putting it in the middle.

You took a seat across from her. “As a… governess, your job is to care for and educate children, correct?” you crossed one leg over the other, leaning back against the wooden backing of the chair, which was carved with intricate depictions of dragons and swords.

“Correct, my lady. Sometimes the estate was bereft of children, thus no one to care for or teach. Between you and I, sometimes the adults acted as overgrown children, demanding and grabby,” she spooned honey into her own cup, which was a dark, swirling liquid you couldn’t quite identify. “As it is now– but more so. You, Lord Targaryen, and I are the only denizens of the Keep.”

You coughed slightly as you heard her. The only ones? There were only three of you at this massive estate– and… what of the faces you saw when you arrived? The men you saw out in the courtyard just the eve before? You placed down your cup with a shaky hand. “P-pardon me,” you sputtered, hitting a hand upon your chest to try and catch your breath. “We are the only ones?” you looked at Alys with wide eyes.

“Yes, my dear. But this building is centuries upon centuries old, you know. Do you believe in ghosts, Lady Targaryen?”

You perked up at the notion, the part of your brain that loved the macabre and weird firing off on all cylinders. “Oh, yes! They interest me quite greatly.”

Alys gave a lopsided smile, her brows perked as if surprised by your reaction. “I didn’t expect such… an enthusiastic response, my lady. Most women are afraid of such ghastly notions.” she leaned forward, propping her chin on her open palm. “The estate is haunted, you know, by centuries of Targaryens past and then some.”

“Oh, you must tell me their names and stories,” you leaned forward in turn, mimicking her interest in the conversation and then some, fully enraptured by the tales of tragedy, of love long lost, betrayal and beyond.

The two of you ended up talking at the table for hours, until the sun was high in the sky to indicate noon– you only parted with her when Aemond had come into the kitchen to request your presence in the gardens. He was quite amused that you and Alys had melded together so quickly– he quoted you as ‘two barn owls, flitting feathers in the rafters and sharing stories over a juicy mouse’.

It made you giggle.

–

From that day on, your days started and ended much the same. You would be excited, giddy, like a kid on Christmas morn, to go down and talk to Alys. You didn’t quite understand why you were so excited to be around her, why she enraptured you so– it felt good to entertain her and make her laugh, much in the same vein as you felt doing similar for Aemond.

You admired her, in a way, she was such a strong woman, yet unmarried and without children. But she cited that she didn’t need them, the husband at least. She had confessed to you that she had been married before, long ago in her youth. ‘Young, dumb and in love’, she had explained it– only to find out that she was unable to have children. Your heart clenched as she told her story, how she desperately wanted children of her own and went into governess work to have some semblance of it.

In turn, you opened your heart to Alys, confiding about your mother and the struggles with losing her at such a young age. You cried and embraced her, to which she returned wholeheartedly– but she didn’t cry.

Your nights would come to a close within Aemond’s grasp, whether upon the bed, prostrated on his desk, or in the reading nook. ‘Twas a dreamy life for you.

You woke on a particularly dreary morning, over three months after your marriage, the downpour of sodden English weather clouding the skies and dampening the moods of everyone involved. Lightning struck, thunder rumbling the ground thoroughly and without mercy. When you stepped out of your bedroom, Aemond was still asleep– he had worked through the night on a massive proposal to the Lord of the next town over, working out some trade routes to have fresh fruit brought up to the estate in exchange for the homegrown honey.

Your bare feet padded on the wooden floors, they were cold and the air felt… thick and slightly electrified. It sent your head into a tizzy as you grabbed the metal knob of the washroom door, feeling a sparking jolt go through you. It shocked you! Rattled, but undeterred, you put your hand on the knob again and attempted to open it, only to be met with another tremor of electricity, stinging the palm of your hand.

“Come on,” you groaned in frustration, practically crossing your legs by how badly you needed to relieve yourself. Electroshock therapy be damned, you wouldn’t be shut out of the privy any longer. You pressed your shoulder to the door, twisting the knob as it continually pestered you with numbing sparks, then gave the door a firm push– it gave away, opening and sending you sprawling to the floor at a high velocity. You landed on your knees, face inches away from the lip of the tub; you cringed as you imagined the sight of your face smashed to a jelly, bleeding out upon the floor. Small mercies.

Pulling yourself up, you glanced over the bathtub, using it as leverage to get up. Upon looking into it, you saw something you never expected to– a woman, nude and red haired with translucent skin was curled in the bath in a fetal position, her throat slashed and bleeding red rivulets, blending into the small droplets of water that lined the tub. You were too surprised to scream, pushing yourself back from the tub and once again sprawling to the floor, mouth agape.

You were going insane– surely…

Your heart was in your throat as you eased up, glancing back into the tub. The woman was gone, the porcelain lining of the tub clean as could be.

Mayhaps Alys’ ghost stories had gotten to you, more than you thought?

Turning around to finally use the privy, you were in awe that you didn’t piss yourself, you sat down on the toilet, your head in your hands as you emptied your overly full bladder. It was silent, save for the sound of the rain pattering against the stained glass window pane, the distant rumble of thunder and… heavy breathing. You stopped your own breaths– the sound consisted. It was right in front of you.

With shaky hands slowly moving away from your eyes, you looked upon who was in front of you. It was the woman you saw in the bathtub– her neck still bleeding, her eyes wide and bloodshot, her face stained with tears and blood. Her chest rose and fell heavily with her ghastly breaths as she stared right at you. Her jaw was broken, mouth off kilter as it was agape with her labored puffs, teeth askew and rotted. You still felt like you weren’t breathing, your heart pattering like a hummingbird in your chest, about to explode.

“Who. Are. You.” she asked, voice far away and broken, like a whisper on the wind.

“L-Lady Targaryen,” you responded, your head pounding in sync with your heart– you felt like you were about to pass out.

The woman looked at you, her already wide eyes widening beyond the point they should even be able to, the sclera eclipsed in pure red, tinging on inky black ichor. Her hand, gaunt and bony, raised to you, her pointer finger pointing at you, inches away. “You,” she hissed. “You. Won’t leave this place. You. Will die. And stay here. Bones and all. Sinew and muscle, pulled from flesh.”

“W-who are you? How can I help you?” you whispered frantically, your entire body shaking.

Her mouth twisted into a sickly smile. “You. Cannot help. For I– am you. Lady Targaryen. One. Of many.”

You blinked, eyes roving to think of something to respond– but when you looked up, she was gone. The air was normal and the storm outside had quelled. It was as if nothing had happened. You sat still on the toilet, eyes open until they started to burn.

What just happened? Are you truly going mad?

You rushed downstairs after, almost tripping and falling at least twice along the way. You rushed to find Alys, who you hoped would quell your mind like the storm had been.

“Alys,” you croaked, flying into the kitchen like a bat out of hell. “Alys, Alys,” you blubbered, you weren’t sure when you started crying.

She was sitting at the table, up in an instant. “My dear, my dear, what’s happened? Are you alright?” she crooned, arms around you instantly.

“I-I… please, promise you won’t think I’m mad–”

“We are all mad in some ways, dearest. You can tell me anything.” she hummed, sitting you down on your chair and fixing your tea for you, bringing over the fresh honey, the comb still attached.

“T-there was a woman,” you breathed, your finger slicing across your neck to indicate where her bleeding wound had been. “S-she… she… she said I’m going to die?” you took your tea with a shaky hand, sipping, but it didn’t help calm you. “I-I’m a horror author, I shouldn’t be scared of this sort of thing, Alys! What is wrong with me? I’m going mad.”

“Shh, shh, dove,” she instructed, pulling her chair around the table to sit close to you, arm still around you. “Just breathe– did you get enough sleep last night?”

“Y-yes– I.. I think so,” you murmured, hands still shaking.

Alys took your hand in hers, the other going to spoon some honey from the bowl. She roved small smoothing circles over the back of your palm. “You must get more rest, dearest. I’ll make you a tea tonight, it will help,” she whispered, her mouth close to your ear as she guided the spoon of honey, comb and all, towards your mouth. “Open.”

You had to chalk it up to the storm, the nightmare or whatever you could categorize your encounter with the ghostly woman as, but you recused yourself into Alys’ touch, eyes trained taut upon her as you opened your mouth. She spooned the honey onto your tongue, pulling the utensil away with a sticky trail of saliva and honey– to which she proceeded to lick off.

Your head was swirling– you had admired Alys and thought her beautiful from the moment you saw her and you always liked women. You thought them soft and warm and could fill a certain void within you left by the death of your mother– but you had never… thought of a woman in a romantic light, surely? Your heart skipped a beat as you were so close to her, mouth parted. You could smell her light perfume, a lovely scent of vanilla and floral notes.

The same feeling of elation that you felt when Aemond caressed you, kissed you, whispered sweet nothings to you was prominent in the pit of your stomach. You could count the speckles of light hazel in her emerald eyes from your close proximity. It was unsure who closed the gap first– but your lips melded to Alys’, tasting the sweet honey on her mouth, swiping your tongue across them to gather the syrupy nectar. Her hand caressed the back of your neck so tenderly as you pressed closer together, mouths parting to envelop each other’s tongues until the tastes of both of you were one in the same– saccharine, cloying, sticky sugar.

You had forgotten who you were or where you were, only enjoying the moment with Alys, when you heard the rumble of thunder off in the distance, it broke you from your union. Panic washed over you, your face going beet red.

What had you done?

#aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #house of the dragon aemond #aemond x fem!reader #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond fandom #my writing #beware the sapphire peak #alysmond #alys rivers #alys rivers x aemond #alys rivers x reader #alys rivers x reader x aemond targaryen

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sena-seastar · 4 months ago

Text

The Dragon's Gold

Chapter Eleven

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Aerys Reyne (male oc)

Summary: Aerys Reyne, son of Naerys Targaryen, the second-born daughter of King Viserys and Queen Aemma, has been best friends with Aegon since childhood. As boys, they had been inseparable. Many said that it reminded them of the early days of King Jaehaerys reign. When the princes Aemon and Baelon were still children. Wherever one boy was, it wasn't long before the other came running behind him. That was until forbidden desires of the heart forced a wedge between them. After the death of his grandsire, King Viserys, Aerys finds himself torn between two sides: stand by his oldest friend or stand by the only mother he has ever known.

Warning: angst, mentions of Jaehaerys, grief, alludes to smut at the end

a/n: No beta, so I apologize for grammar and spelling mistakes. Also, if anyone wishes to be tagged in future updates, just let me know!

Aerys

Aerys rested on the soft feather bed, facing Aegon. His fingers lightly pushed loose strands of hair away from the man’s face. Aerys had been able to wake the man up just long enough to take him to bed some time ago. Aegon had demanded Aerys stay by his side. Not wishing to argue with the half-lucid man, he agreed. However, Aerys had barely slept at all. He had spent most of the night awake, at war with his mind. The murder of Jaehaerys had only further complicated things for him. He did not want to believe Nyra could do something so terrible- so horrid. But what if she had?

Grief has a way of making people behave out of character. The overwhelming pain and sorrow of losing a child could make someone act out in ways that they later wish they hadn’t. But even then, that was not an excuse. It does not justify the murder of an innocent child. And no later regrets would restore that which has been lost.

“Aerys?” Aegon called, freeing the man from his thoughts.

“I’m still here,” he replied, moving his hand to caress Aegon’s cheek.

The sun shines on his skin, and he’s warm. Aegon’s eyes peek open as if checking to see if it was indeed Aerys beside him.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“For what?” Aerys asks.

“For staying.”

A sad smile spreads on Aerys’ lips. “Of course.”

Aegon groaned, pulling himself up. Aerys turned away, trying to give the man some privacy as he emptied his bladder into a chamberpot. There was a knock at the door. Aerys quickly stood up from the bed, his hands furiously dusting off his clothes, trying to make himself look presentable.

The doors pushed open, and Aerys swallowed harshly, watching the queen dowager enter the room. The woman paused, her eyes looking him up and down. He clenched his fists at his sides, feeling exposed.

“Mother,” Aegon greeted, moving over to the table in his room to pour himself a glass of wine. “To whom do we owe the pleasure?”

The woman turned her head, glaring at her eldest son, “Ser Criston Cole.”

Aegon’s jaw clenched, his eyes hardened. “Has Ser Arryk succeeded?”

The woman scoffed, “His scheme has failed. Rhaenrya still lives.”

Aerys shot Aegon a quizzical look and asked, “What scheme?”

The pair turned their heads towards him.

“He has not told you?” The woman asked patronizingly. “Ser Criston sent Ser Arryk to Dragonstone. So that he could disguise himself as his twin and slay Rhaenyra.”

“And you condoned this- this stunt?” Aerys frowned, his mind still processing the woman’s words.

Aegon turned his head, avoiding Aerys’ gaze. An uncomfortable tension arose in the air. The queen dowager glanced between the both of them.

With a loud, exasperated sigh, she said, “I shall leave you both to discuss this. Do try not to take too long. Your councilmen are waiting.”

The door closed loudly behind her, leaving the two men alone. It seemed their brief moment of respite had come to an end. Aegon leaned his head back, finishing the last of his wine, before moving to the table to refill his cup. Aerys watched him closely, waiting for him to speak. With each second that passed, he found himself growing increasingly irritated.

“Have you nothing to say?” Aerys asked, not bothering to hide the frustration in his tone.

“What would you have me say?” Aegon turned around.

Aerys found himself bewildered by the lack of interest in Aegon’s voice.

“I wish for you to speak the truth.”

“The truth?” Aegon repeated. His jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared as he breathed heavily through his nose. “The truth is that- that whore murdered my son!”

“No,” Aerys shook his head, turning away.

“Yes! Yes, Aerys!” Aegon growled as he marched closer.

Aerys could feel the man standing behind him, glaring at the back of his head.

“She could not have done this.” Aerys tried to reason, more to himself than Aegon.

“Then who else?!” Aegon shouted. “Who Aerys? Tell me!”

“I-” Aerys sighed, “I do not know.”

“You do know. You just refuse to accept it.”

Aerys closed his head, dropping his head. Aegon’s words pained him greatly, but he spoke the truth, as Aerys had wanted.

“I don’t know why I bother,” Aegon sighed wearily. “You don’t believe me. You’ve already convinced yourself of her innocence. In your eyes, she is without flaw. So gracious and delicate and-”

“Aegon, please,” Aerys begged.

“No, it is true!” Aegon argued. “And in your eyes, I am what? A fool? The depraved wretch who has led poor Aerys astray.”

“No!” Aerys denied. He whirled around, trying to take Aegon by his arms.

“No,” Aegon grunted, pushing his hands away. “You’ve made it clear how little I matter to you. After all, how could I ever compare to your precious Rhaenyra?”

Aerys dropped his hands back to his sides, watching feebly as Aegon turned his back to him. Aegon walked over to the hearth, letting his body slump down in a chair. The same one that had held him as he wept over the loss of his son.

“You’ll never choose me. You never have,” Aegon faltered.

“That is not true,” Aerys protested.

“Isn’t it?” Aegon gave a sad smile. “I have laid myself bare for you, repeatedly and every time you run from me.”

“Aegon I,” Aerys stops, lost for words.

It was like a pit had formed in his stomach- his intestines tied themselves into knots.

“You abandoned me,” The hurt was evident in his voice. “I pleaded. I begged you to stay, but you wouldn’t. Instead, you ran off to play happy family with her on Dragonstone. For five years, you didn’t write. You never came back. You wrote me off as if I meant nothing to you.”

Aegon stared at him. His eyes held so much sadness, hurt, and betrayal. They sent a deep chill down Aerys’ spine. A powerful sadness fills his chest. It’s almost painful.

“It was not that simple, I assure you.” Aerys objected.

“I needed you,” Aegon whined. “I had no one. I just wanted my friend back.”

“I had to go,” Aerys trembled. “I had to.”

“Why?” Aegon asked.

“Because I could not be your friend,” Aerys admitted. “I tried, I did. But I always ended up in the same dark place, miserable. It was not an easy choice, but I had to make it. For myself, for you.”

Aegon’s face contorted into one of pain and suffering. He turned away, lowering his head. “For me,” he murmured.

For a while, neither of them spoke again. Both are too lost in their own wild emotions to think clearly. When Aerys returns to his senses, he decides to try to sway the conversation away from them.

“Aegon,” Aerys spoke softly as he approached the man. “You have both lost something that can never be replaced, but you both still have people who care for you and depend on you. If this war persists, how many more will die? How much more are you willing to lose?”

“I will not lose anything else! That is why I am doing this!” Aegon snapped, pounding his fist on the arm of the chair.

“That is why you must stop this!” Aerys pleaded, kneeling in front of the man. He took Aegon’s hands into his own.

Aegon stared at him, eyes welling with tears. His lower lip quivered, and Aerys could feel the slight tremble in his hands. Aegon pulled a hand away, raising it to cup the side of Aerys’ face. Aerys closed his eyes, nuzzling into his palm, losing himself in the man’s warmth.

“Do you love me?” Aegon asked.

Without hesitation, Aerys opened his eyes and said, “My love for you is the only thing I can be sure of in these dark times.”

“Then choose me,” Aegon pleaded, his voice wavering. “Rule and fight by my side.”

“You’re asking me to make an impossible choice,” Aerys whined, shaking his head.

Aegon released a shuddering breath, sitting up straight. “You must choose Aerys. Either join me or die.”

“You would have me killed?”

The question made Aegon flinch. Aerys believed he could see the man’s heart and mind battling for control in his eyes.

“I do not wish to,” he answered honestly. “But if you force my hand, I will have no choice. I have spared you all the time I can. I must know where your loyalty lies.”

Aerys started to snivel and dropped his head. Aegon placed a hand on his chin, lifting his head.

“You were there the day Jaehaerys was born. You even held him.”

The two men shared a sad smile as they remembered that day.

“But you did not have to see his- his body. You did not see what those beasts did to him. What she sent them to do.” Silent tears fell from Aegon’s violet eyes. “Join me,” he pleaded once more.

Aerys could not speak; he could not trust his voice. He balled his hands into first, trying desperately to stop the trembling.

“Please,” Aegon begged.

Aerys believed he was damned one way or the other. He must truly be cursed. Perhaps the all-knowing gods had seen his sins- his shame and wished to punish him. Perhaps they were never there; maybe they had abandoned him long ago. With a reluctant sigh, Aerys nodded his head.

–

The hour of the owl was quickly approaching. The full moon sat up high, resting in the dark abyss of the night sky.

“A seat on the council,” Wylla said, astonished.

“I’m merely a guest.” Aerys shrugged.

The day had come and gone. Aegon decided that Aerys would now be attending the small council meetings. Though only as a guest, Ser Criston Cole had been named Aegon’s new hand. Fortunately for Aerys, Aegon had allowed him to refrain from attending today’s meeting on account of his poor emotional state. He had been rather upset after their argument.

Aerys was exhausted, but his mind seemed incapable of slowing down.

“Still, you must feel special!” Wylla smiled, running the brush through his hair.

“Special,” Aerys hummed. “That’s certainly a word for it.”

The woman stilled. “Are you unhappy?”

Aerys sighed wearily, his eyes staring at her through the mirror. “How happy would you be if all you could do is sit back and watch as your family tears itself apart?”

She frowned, “Not too happy, I suppose.”

He nodded his head, “Precisely.”

There was a knock at the door, though the person behind it waited for no response before stumbling into the room. Wylla placed the brush on the table, quickly brushing off her apron. Aerys felt his stomach churn as he noticed a familiar face staring at him through the mirror.

“Cousin,” the man giggled as he swayed, struggling to keep his balance.

The fool was drunk.

“You may go, Wylla,” Aerys said, dismissing the woman.

She bowed before taking her leave. Aerys stood up from his chair, turning around to face the man dressed in expensive fabrics, with the red lion of their house embroidered on his collar. It was his cousin, Martyn Reyne.

Martyn stumbled towards Aerys, clumsily throwing his arms around him. Aerys stiffened, uncomfortable with the man’s affection. He awkwardly patted the man’s back a couple of times before pushing him away.

“Cousin,” He nodded. “I hear you’ve been appointed to the Kingsguard?”

“By the king himself,” the man smirked, brandishing the new sword he had been given.

Aerys had to refrain from laughing as he looked the man up and down. He was hardly worthy of such a prestigious position. Aerys was unsure if the man knew how to use that sword, which he proudly displayed.

“Hmm,” Aerys hummed. “Why are you here?”

“His grace, the king, has summoned you.”

“The hour is quite late,” Aerys sighed.

Martyn shrugged, sheathing his weapon. “He requires your... counsel.”

Martyn's eyes drifted to the bruises on Aerys’ neck before moving them back up to his face. Aerys did not miss the glint of amusement in the man’s eyes. He glared at the drunken fool.

“Why did he send you?” Aerys asked.

“He thought you would feel more comfortable seeing a familiar face.”

“Indeed,” Aerys nodded. “I had not expected to see you in the capital. You seemed quite... content in my brother’s hall the last time we met.”

Martyn pursed his lips, his face grew red, and his eyes flooded with anger. “Yes, well, it was your brother who sent me. To bend the knee to King Aegon in his stead.”

“Robb bent the knee to Aegon?”

Martyn nodded with a smug expression on his face. Aerys had never imagined Robb to be an oathbreaker. The news was like a knife to his heart.

“As have you, I hear. Robb will be pleased. He always worried about your... attachment to the princess.”

Aerys flashed him a tight smile but stayed silent.

“Shall we?” Martyn asked, nodding towards the door.

Aerys took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure. He nodded, letting the man lead the way. The castle halls were relatively empty. Aerys had found himself immensely grateful for that.

“You and the king are quite... close,” Martyn slurred, and his body swayed with every step.

“Is that a question?” Aerys grumbled.

“No, more of a keen observation.” Martyn laughed. “This is your second time entertaining him in his private quarters this late. Is it not?”

“The king requires my counsel, nothing more.” Aerys snapped.

Martyn turned his head to look at Aerys. His eyes sparkled with merriment.

“Nothing more, indeed,” He smirked.

The implications behind the man's words were not lost on him. Aerys cursed under his breath, chastising himself for giving in to the man’s taunts.

They finished their walk in silence. The two came to a stop when they reached the door. Martyn attempted to open it, but the door was pulled open. Two men stumbled out of the doorway. They tried to stand up straighter when they saw him. They must have been the other two knights Aegon had appointed to the kingsguard. They seemed just about as impressive as his cousin. Aerys nodded his head, slipping past them. He could hear Martyn and the others snicker as they closed the door behind him. They were laughing at him. His face burned with embarrassment. Did they know of him and Aegon? How many others knew? He suddenly felt very naked, exposed.

Aerys shook his head, trying to bury these feelings. He was here for Aegon. He had summoned him here.

Aerys found the man sitting at the edge of his bed, fidgeting with his ring. It made Aerys think of his own ring. The one with his mother’s face enameled on it. He had hidden it away with the rest of his things. Aerys could no longer bear to wear it.

“They doubt me.” Aegon slurred, turning his head up to look at Aerys. “They all believe me to be weak.”

“Who?” Aerys asked, taking a seat beside him.

“My mother, my council, all of them. They treat me like I am a child,” Aegon groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.

“What happened?” Aerys asked, placing his hand over Aegons.

“They refuse every idea I have. They do not heed my thoughts. I am the king, and they expect me to sit around and do nothing.” Aegon scoffed. “You should have heard them quarreling like children today.”

“Share your ideas with me. I will listen.” Aerys pressed.

Aegon turned his head to Aerys, his eyes darting up and down the man’s face.

“Alright,” he sighed. “We need Harrenhal. Ser Criston is leading a campaign through the Riverlands. I suggested he take Aemond and Vhagar, in case he stumbles upon one or more of Rhaenyra’s dragons, but he refused. So I decided Sunfyre and I would accompany them, but he refused again.”

“I cannot say that I blame him.”

Aegon frowned, “What do you mean?”

“It’s as you said, you are the king. The men who raise your banner fight for you and you alone. We cannot afford to lose you.”

“Gods,” Aegon scoffed, standing up from the bed. “Don’t do that.”

“Don't do what?”

“Patronize me!” He shouted, whirling around to face Aerys. “I can take it from them, but not you.”

“I’m sorry,” Aerys apologized. “That was not my intention.”

Aegon paced the room with his hands on his hips. Aerys waited patiently on the bed, not wanting to anger him further. After a few moments, Aegon finally stopped, standing just a few feet away from the bed.

“Will you-” Aegon paused, looking everywhere but Aerys’ face. “Will you hold me again?”

The quiver in his voice filled Aerys’ heart with sadness. He asked the question like a child, afraid of judgment or reprimand.

“Of course,” Aerys reassures him with a gentle smile.

Aegon inched towards the bed slowly. Aerys leaned his back against the many pillows that rested against the headboard. He could not help but think that Aegon looked a bit embarrassed. It amused him.

Aegon settled his head on Aerys’ lap. His hands held onto one of Aerys, thumbs gently tracing the lines on his palm. Yes, he was flustered, Aerys thought, as his free hand began absent-mindedly drifting through his hair.

In the candlelight, Aerys could make out the redness in his ear and the faraway look in his eyes. He was curious about what ailed him, but he did not ask. If Aegon wanted to speak, he would.

Aerys rested his head against the headboard, closing his eyes. His entire body felt heavy, as if some unforeseen force was sitting on his chest.

Half-delirious, Aegon mumbled, “It’s all my fault.”

“You mustn't blame yourself,” Aerys whispered.

“How can I not?” Aegon cried. “I- I should have been there! I could have-”

“There is nothing you could done, Aegon. You did not know what would happen. No one did.”

“I loved him,” he whined. “I did- I loved him. I was not the best father to him, but I tried. I wanted to do better. I tried to do better. To make up for my absence. To prove my love for him, and- and now he will never know,” Aegon burst into uncontrollable sobs.

His body convulsed and jerked with each sob and every gasp for air.

Aerys pulled the man into his arms, holding him close to his chest. “He knew Aegon. I’m sure he did.”

Aerys flinched when the top of Aegon’s head brushed against his neck. He adjusted them so Aegon could rest his head on his chest rather than his bruised neck. Aegon cried into Aerys’ chest, his fingers clinging to his sides. Aerys holds him tighter. He does not speak. He does not try to quiet him. He lets him cry himself out. It’s what he needs. This kind of grief is not one that should be contained.

Aegon pulls back, resting his weight on his hands. He looks like a wreck. His face is red, puffy, and stained with tears. He surges forward, capturing Aerys’ lips with his own. Aerys had been surprised but kissed him back. They kiss until they have no choice but to pull back for air, to soothe their burning lungs.

Aegon tried to kiss him again, but Aerys blocked it. Aegon pouted at him and tried again, but Aerys stopped him.

“Aegon,” Aerys sighs.

“Please,” Aegon begs. “I just- I need to feel something else.”

His fingers trail lightly across the side of Aerys’ face. With a beautifully tragic smile, he says, “Something good.”

Aerys is hesitant, but with that forlorn look in Aegon’s eyes, he's unable to deny him.

Tags: @saicherry, @sadpuffpuff, @willow-red, @teamavatar13

#aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii x oc #fire and blood #hotd #hotd aegon #house of the dragon fanfic #king aegon #male!oc #targcest #house of the dragon #aegon the elder #aegon fanfiction #aegon the second #aegon ii #house targaryen

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goodqueenaly · 5 months ago

Note

I saw that House of the Dragon in their podcast named Alicent's mother as Alerie Florent. Any thoughts on that? The Florents do seem to have bad luck in wars.

I’m still not talking about HotD, but it’s funny you mention this because I meant to make a post about it (and then completely forgot). You can find the interview here and the clip here specifically mentioning the name.

Anyway, the reason I wanted to mention it is not to praise this show but rather to bemoan the fact that a non-canon (to the books) TV show seems more interested in the identity of a female character, no matter how relatively minor, than GRRM himself has with various female characters of ASOIAF. I’m not saying I necessarily expected F&B to identify Alicent Hightower’s mother (although it’s not like I wouldn’t have liked it to), and in the vast annals of awfulness representing F&B’s treatment of female characters, Alicent Hightower’s mother’s lack of presence or even name may seem relatively low on the scale of offensiveness. Yet what bothers me deeply is the startling disregard GRRM has shown more than once in failing to identify female characters, or indeed failing to treat some female characters as more than walking wombs. The reigning yet unnamed Princess of Dorne is an infamous example; “Lady Stark, she died” - that is, Lyarra Stark, the wife of Rickard - is another. (Need I remind anyone that he sarcastically and yet totally inaccurately compared her to Aragorn’s actually named mother?) Quellon Greyjoy gets a detailed biography, but his wives don’t even get first names; Hoster Tully’s wife Minisa and Jon Arryn’s wives Rowena and Jeyne are only identifiable by their dynasties and the manners of their deaths. Nor did F&B go any real way toward solving this problem: Alaric Stark gets plenty of backstory and screentime, but his supposedly beloved Mormont wife doesn’t even have a first name; Rogar Baratheon’s first wife is only mentioned as an anonymous corpse already in the ground; Rodrik Arryn’s nameless first wife dies early enough for creep Rodrik to prey on Daella; Unwin Peake’s nameless adolescent daughter only exists to be raped and die in childbirth.

I don’t mention all this to say GRRM is a terrible writer, or hates female characters. Far from it! It’s precisely because I think GRRM is an extremely good writer, including with respect to female characters, that I find myself so disappointed when he shows such lack of regard in this area. In the 10+ years since GRRM began focusing in-depth on the Dance of the Dragons, there have been two novellas about this civil war, a world book describing in part this civil war, and an entire “related work” history of (the first roughly century and a half of) House Targaryen, with multiple chapters about this civil war expanding upon those novellas - yet it took the showrunner of a TV show adapting the F&B narrative of the Dance to care enough about Alicent’s mother to name her. I don’t know that this show is going so far as to give any personality or character to the dead figure of “Alerie Florent” (and again, I really don’t care about anything this show does), but even the showrunner mentioning that Alicent wants to remember her mother in prayers is more than we readers can say about, for example, Ned Stark’s relationship with his mother, or Catelyn’s with hers. GRRM’s lack of attention to or indeed interest in the identity of yet another female character, over the course of tens of thousands of words he’s written about the Dance era, stands in sharp and frankly unflattering contrast compared to even the passing mention of this figure allowed by the showrunner of a TV series which, by its nature, might have every incentive to be more streamlined about such details.

(Once again, I’m not posting about HotD and I’m not inviting anyone to use this post to talk about HotD, because those conversations are getting blocked by me. This is me using a news story related to HotD to comment on GRRM’s writing.)

#GRRM

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ewanmitchelll · 10 months ago

Text

Imagine Taylor Swift’s songs (V): Blank Space.

Imagine Aegon Targaryen wants to court Lady H/N of House Tyrell, right before his ascension to the throne. But in order to conquer this house’s support, he sends Aemond Targaryen to court you. As people used to say, to play cooing is to play coy…

Warnings 1: based on the movie “10 Things I Hate About You”.

Warnings 2: for the alternative universe purposes, Helaena eloped with a Hightower cousin.

Warnings 3: light smut, light reading, rom-com vibes, fluff.

***

• Pawns in Stranger’s Game.

Aemond has just landed when he’s summoned by Ser Criston Cole to head to the throne’s chambers. The prince grumbles under his breath, already missing the liberty of flying high, where his dragon lady and himself are nobody’s business.

“The king expects to marry Lord Aegon soon”, Ser Criston breaks the silence by updating the prince of the situation. “But there’s been some issues about it.”

“Ha”, Aemond mutters sarcastically. “I wonder why.”

“First, your sister Helaena eloped with Ser Gerold Hightower. A scandal, if you remember well”, the knight is more than pleased in numbering the events, remembering with what Aemond judged to be an amused voice the unexpected day sweet Helaena took the reins of her own life.

“I do”, the prince speaks nonchalantly.

“Second, His Grace is concerned about bringing the Tyrells closer to the crown. They have been neglected in the last decades of your great-grandsire’s government. Now has come an opportunity to embrace it properly in ancient fashion.”

“Marriage.”

“Indeed… But this is an old, proud house.” Again, another hint of amusement in the knight’s voice gets the other male’s attention.

Aemond, annoyed by how this is getting his interest, stops walking and throws Cole a glance. But by now they both stand before a heavy iron made door that is now opening.

Every question is answered when Aemond hears the same old shouting. Like always, the king is scowling at Aegon for some improper behavior.

“…and how dare you to suggest yourself a good dame as Lady H/N?”

“What incident has brought our father into the old throwing tantrums again?”, he inquires Daeron, who’s too busy eating some grapes and serving himself some wine.

“It appears that our sweet brother has seduced Lady H/N of House Tyrell. Oh, no, not in that manner you might think, Aemond. Indeed it has surprised me that Aegon has the capacity to write poems and be a good bard where his carnal needs are concerned.”

“Hum”, is all the other male says, feigning some uninterest in the matter.

“He proposed the said lady, but her father refused. The aforementioned damsel is only marrying after her eldest sister, who attends by the name of Lady Y/N, does. She has quite a reputation.”

“What kind of reputation?”, Aemond asks, struggling to keep his own amusement in check.

Daeron looks at his brother with eyebrows raised.

“Not that kind of reputation, Aemond. She is known as the queen of thorns due to her sharp wit and a sharper tongue. She has quite an odd saying that she’s marrying only for love.”

“And her family has agreed to this foolish idea?”

Daeron chuckles.

“Like I said, the Tyrells can be proud.”

And just like that Aegon turns suddenly at his younger brothers as if he is reminded of their presence.

“Aemond and Daeron! My most beloved comrades!”

Ignoring the puzzle look exchanged between them, Aegon carries in his semblance some odd glow of hope. It so appears this second eldest Targaryen—after his half-sister Rhaenyra, by now married to their uncle Daemon Targaryen, residing at Dragonstone—is expecting to find solution in either brothers.

“I was speaking to our gracious father the king about my utmost desire in marrying for the purpose of serving our family…”

“Go straight to your point, Aegon”, Aemond cuts his brother, in between annoyed and amused.

“I need your assistance in marrying Lady H/N Tyrell”, Aegon does as asked, unwilling to play the dutiful son’s role any longer, specially when seeing how little his father cares about his efforts in doing so.

Aemond rolls his eyes.

“But her sister ought to marry first.”

“Indeed”, and here Aegon smirks. “I may only court Lady H/N if you marry her sister first.”

“I am not…” Aemond is about to snort.

“I will pay you triple in gold”, his brother speaks in seriously tone. “The double in advance to cover the expenses in presenting yourself on behalf of our House.”

Aemond clenches his jaw, but when Aegon takes from nowhere a velvet sac with heavy coins, sense of duty promptly prevails over personal sentiments. He steps in then and before the king and queen, the silver haired prince smirks and says:

“Your Graces, allow me to be sent to High Garden. I shall represent the interests of the crown carefully.”

For the gold, Aemond could be ambitious. But in the end, when has he ever refused Aegon anything?

***

• Roses With Thorns.

Nice to meet you, where you been? I could show you incredible things. Magic, madness, heaven, sin. Saw you there and I thought: "Oh, my God, look at that face. You look like my next mistake. Love's a game, wanna play?

You are at the library, finishing one more reading in this rainy day. Whilst the court of your father and mother has been occupied with musicians, siblings acting like the typical Tyrells, you opt to be distant from the crowd.

Today’s book is a novel about a wanderer and his damsel. Despite the reputation your siblings help creating of you, romance is often the object of your secretive poems. But seeing how rude is the courtship these days, little wonder why you prefer the company of books.

And here you’d gladly stay had your mother not sent her favourite lady-in-waiting to go after you.

“Lady Y/N”, you hear the woman’s voice breaking through the gentle silence that has been your company for the last two hours. “We have an important visitor and it’s crucial that you are there to receive him. I thought that was why you chose to dress your favourite gown, but I cannot understand why hiding away from public is something you’d promptly do.”

You close the heavy book patiently before casting the woman a look.

“I do appreciate fashion, but even more books. I did dress for the occasion as my lady mother warned me about the arrival of Lord Aemond Targaryen. However, I honestly don’t feel inclined to greet him.”

“You are the eldest child, your presence is expected, my dear.”

“The second eldest, Gertrude”, you remind her. “Arrham is the eldest. He is the heir, after all.”

“Come now, no excuses. I’ve brought the headdress.”

Today you are wearing a red silk gown with details in velvet white, designed with the symbol of your house. Your y/c hair is tied in a simple braid but now it’s carefully placed under a local hood. Like most damsels of your position, you exhibit a pair of golden earrings in your ears matching golden rings in your fingers and one necklace bathed in gold.

Small vanities that you quite appreciate. You are still a rose, regardless of the whispers. And so promptly you move to the grand salon, followed by Mistress Gertrude. Your head is raised and your demeanor, very composed.

And when doors open, your heart races and you panic internally. The grand hall, where court is located, is fuller than usually is. Minor houses that answer to the authority of your family sent their representatives. Musicians are found in the corners of the white salon playing a sweet melody and courtiers walk arm-in-arm, engaging themselves in coquettishly talks all the whilst the table is fixed for the banquet.

You feel instantly most gazes turn at you.

“Be brave, sweet girl. You can do it.”

And it’s when you see him, of course. No one else has silver locks nor eyes colored purple.

No man in this salon is devilish handsome. A thought that weakens your knees. But you dismiss it as your mother proudly brings the royal guest to you.

“My daughter, meet Lord Aemond, prince of the House Targaryen. He’d been sent here to represent the interests of the king in amending relations with our House”, so says Lady Roxanna Tyrell.

You curtsy elegantly and the prince bows just as regally. Curious pairs of eyes follow your moves.

“‘Tis my pleasure to make your acquaintance, prince.” You speak gently. “Welcome to High Garden. We pray that you find us a very amicable people, loyal to the crown.”

Aemond smirks. You certainly don’t strike the arrogant type who sweeps away every suitor and prevents your sister to marry. Or so judges him at first.

“The pleasure is mine, Lady Y/N Tyrell. On behalf of the king, I thank you for the warming welcome. Hopefully we can meet in another moment.”

For now, you two part. Aemond feels your eyes glued on his back as he steps away. It doesn’t take any longer before the banquet is ready to begin. And as you take your seat, you capture the gaze he casts at you.

Regrettably you know why. But you behave in a nonchalant manner… for your own sake.

New money, suit and tie. I can read you like a magazine. Ain't it funny? Rumors fly. And I know you heard about me. So hey, let's be friends. I'm dying to see how this one ends.

As the prince is your family’s visitor for some good time, you feel it’s your obligation to lead him to a stroll in the gardens. And here’s when sparks are beginning to fly.

“I suspect my lordship appreciates wilderness in its crude state”, away from preying eyes your tongue rolls loose just fine. “But unfortunately there is little to show within these walls.”

Aemond chuckles.

“Does my lady take me as an imprudent, wild man?”

“Rumors fly like your dragons, lord.”

He certainly is surprised by your tongue.

“Judging by others’ speech is not a wise move, so I understand.”

You turn your head at him, with a side smirk on your lips.

“Is my lord telling me he’s a prudent prince then? Unlike his royal older brother?”

“Ah”, Aemond looks down at his feet for a moment but you spot a shadowy smile curling upon his lips. “So is this what’s it about?”

You give him an amused smirk, not giving away your thoughts so easily. As you walk into the depths of the gardens, passing through some ladies by, you don’t appreciate their long gazes at him… and you swear you could hear something very similar to “he should be in better company”.

“You look offended with something”, Aemond muses after studying you in silence. “Locking your thoughts in the highest tower does not mean you are a careful prisoner.”

You look at him in bewilderment.

“I am no prisoner, lord.”

“No? But you are hardly seen out of these pillars of stones”, says he in reference to a grand castle that’s been built in the days of the Gardners.

“What else a woman such as me should do? Bear heirs and live endlessly at the mercy of her lord husband?”

Aemond is not entirely certain whether he’s entertained by your total disregard to mundane rules or annoyed by it.

“Duty cements relations, lady. This is all I can let myself say.”

You have a bitter answer in the tip of your tongue, but because he’s been so pleasant to you, you hold it back.

Aemond, on his turn, scans his surroundings, in fact enjoying the change of his background for a moment. Different roses and other flowers embellish greens walls that turn this garden in a real labyrinth, leaving the Red Keep’s in a completely failure by comparison.

Heleana would’ve liked here.

“I should better go”, you say, breaking the silence as you do not know how to proceed further. Never the one to flirt or be socially sympathetic, you feel suddenly drawn back. Especially because it’s clear now that this prince is not like others.

Aemond turns his head.

“So soon?”

“I am required”, you lie bluntly. “Furthermore it appears to me we are both here by social obligations”.

The prince turns his head abruptly. Ah. Here comes the thorns.

“Allow me to disagree”, he offers a warm smile, much to your disconcert. “I find your company most pleasant, lady Y/N. This has been an interest garden to stroll around. I could have not asked for a better guide than my lady.”

His manners so gallant bring a small shade of blush to your y/c face. But even then you do not bend your distrustful heart to what this prince may offer you.

Perhaps bearing in mind his brother’s behavior, you say:

“As good as this afternoon may be, lord, a lady as me should not remain unaccompanied for so long.”

“Of course”, Aemond nods his head. “What would people think, right?”

Whether his remark is sincere or masking a sarcasm, you’d not dare to try to know. What really imports is to make your way out of his league before it’s too late.

• Dangerous Liaisons

So it's gonna be forever or it's gonna go down in flames. You can tell me when it's over, if the high was worth the pain…

You are once again in your quarters, reading a prayer book when your sister storms in. Dressed in a ball gown, she looks feverish for this event that holds no importance to you. Hence why you are dressed simply by contrast.

“Y/N!” She squeaks. “Father demands your presence. All Tyrells are at the grand hall for the feast in honor of Lord Aemond. Must I remind you how important this event is?”

Without removing your eyes out of the line that, curiously, admonishes the sin of the flesh, you respond:

“Really? How come?”

H/N does pay an effort in not stomping her foot like a child. She knows she’s passed the age, even if you provoke such childish reactions.

“Mostly due to the interest of our father in joining our houses together. Our mother is inclined in convincing him that I would be a proper wife to my beloved Aegon.”

She sighs romantically, not noticing the side eye look you give her.

“H/N, may I remind you this rascal prince is reputed for pursuing women in the least romantic way?”

“He is different now, writing me every day poems that he’d not done before.”

“Because you are a saintly muse who inspired him a swift change in his nature”, you remark sarcastically.

“Why are you skeptical that people can change?”, she asks you, sounding hurt.

You carefully raise your eyes, finally giving your sister some attention.

“Men hardly change, my dear H/Nickname. You should know that better than anyone else.”

H/N blushes furiously. She detests that you mention the one time she flirted with a good Lannister man in a courtship that nearly ended in a blood feud between these families because Lord Tytus apparently preferred to take as wife his own cousin.

“For a romantic you can be pretty pessimistic!”, and here she comes at you like a knight taking a plea to the king. “My sister, the only reason why father refuses to marry me off to such a powerful nobleman lies in your nonsense belief in marrying for love. You contradict yourself in so many ways… Come and join us at the ball. Convince Lord Aemond and father that I am more sensible now.”

You sigh. When have you ever refused H/N anything? Putting aside your prayer book, you take your sister’s hands and squeeze them in yours.

“Very well. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You smile as H/N pulls you at a tender embrace.

“I’ve always known you were just as Tyrell as the rest of us.”

You roll your eyes at the remark, but chuckle eventually at it. Indeed, the fruit never falls too far off the tree, does it?

Aemond detests formalities, more so in playing the diplomat on behalf of his dysfunctional family. For a while, however, this provides a good excuse of staying away from them. Seeing how united the Tyrells are, though, he cannot help but feeling somewhat jealous, wishing his was too.

Now here he is, waiting to act the seducer he is not in order to help Aegon marrying H/N Tyrell.

Frankly, who’d refuse to marry into the Targaryen family? This is such a proud manner…

His thoughts are soon interrupted by your arrival. Many are the eyes drawn to you, dressed impeccably in red and white, a summer silk gown that shows some cleavage and shoulders. The way your hair is tied in two braids each side of your head, showing the jewelry that decorates your skin, only reinforces your beauty.

The prince, who doesn’t like any rivals to dispute what he judges to be his by right, opts to wait for the right moment to approach you. Setting aside from the crowd, he seems pleased to find in your semblance furrowing brows and confused eyes as if you’ve been looking for someone.

Music starts to play and Aemond remains concealed from others view all the whilst he watches you dancing with other men. As much as he dislikes the view, he is patient. You may think you disguise well your social discomfort, but Aemond can tell this is not your environment.

And before some courtier could send you away—for you are evidently feeling out of place and wishing to go somewhere else—, Aemond takes your hand and quickly takes you out of prying eyes and ears.

“Thank you”, you say after a while. “What a tiresome game this is.”

“It is indeed”, he agrees, leaning against the wall, watching you feeling comfortable again. “Shall we head to the gardens or we ought to call Lady Gertrude to follow us in most appropriate manner?”

You laugh quietly at his subtle reference to your flee the other day.

“No. I believe no one will notice me if we stroll around. You, on the other hand…”

“Why’d you think so of yourself? You are no lesser than me due to the lack of royal blood. You are a noblewoman nevertheless.”

“It’s more complicated than it may sound”, you shrug your shoulders. “What is my family but the descendants of a random supporter of Aegon the Conqueror?”

Aemond chuckles.

“Is this how you see the House Tyrell? Your family holds great responsibility to the deliver and production of food, my lady. Not to mention the great number of men to fight wars that are provided by the Reach. This is no little doing.”

You give him an impressed look.

“And here I thought we were regarded as vain folk who live for chivalry.”

“Is it bad to live for this ancient code?”

“We throw feasts and live for mundane matters, forgetting what is relevant. We welcome bards and musicians, we dance beautifully and flirt courteously. But marriages remain politically tactics to enrich our coffers.” You sigh. “How wrong is to actually live for love?”

“And yet you forget you forbid your sister for experiencing it”, he reminds you.

You chuckle lightly in turn.

“My lord, with all due respect, but love doesn’t change any man’s nature.”

Aemond stops the pace, making you turn and look at him, wondering why he stands there under some cork tree.

“Green suits you well”, he muses, pleased to see a color painting your cheeks.

“I know my duties”, you tell him rather shyly. “I would not dishonor my guest, regardless of my perspectives about certain matters.”

“Or men in general”, he teases you.

“Or men in general”, you agree between chuckles.

Aemond doesn’t realize he’s been drawn to you until he gently laces his hand with yours. You are taken aback by such a gesture, feeling some heat spreading over your generally cold skin. When your eyes find his, you say:

“What do you think you are doing? Prince or not, you…”

“I am what I am. You know it too. And you are who you are, that I know as well”, he pulls you closer. “Who left in you a nasty scar, Y/N? A rose as yourself has too many thorns to let beauty blossom so spontaneously.”

You stare into his eyes, drowned in his purple irises. As he rests a hand in your waist, the heat begins to spread over the rest of your body, making you experiment new sensations that so far you’ve only heard from other ladies.

“This isn’t about me. I am merely protecting my sister as I know you protect yours.”

Aemond side smirks down at you, diving into yours, reading too much of your soul.

“I did. I helped her elope with her beloved, haven’t you heard?”

“And have you not been told I am a nightmare dressed like a daydream?”

Aemond releases one hand to rest over your shoulder and then to grab your chin, making you look into his good eye.

“I am told I am insane by countless former lovers”, he chuckles. “I have a bad reputation and yet here we are.”

Aemond and you are so closer now. The heat is like a flame now, burning your skin and he can tell how he effects you by seeing your heavy chest going up and down. His forehead now rests against yours, desire already burning him too, in a slow ache down to his manhood.

But before this flame sparks into something far deadlier, you both hear giggles not too far from there. It is like a dreadful wake up call and you realize you are not dreaming, therefore you should not remain where you are now standing.

“Y/N”, he calls your name when seeing you are about to escape.

“I must leave…”

“Not until you carry a remembrance of this evening.”

Before you could come up with some excuse, Aemond is faster and holds your arm, turning you at him so he cups your face with his hands and there finally kisses you.

And you run, leaving him there… but taking with you the sweetest poison you’ve ever had.

***

• Growing Fire…

Boys only want love if it's torture. Don't say I didn't, say I didn't warn ya

It’s not easy when you are surrounded by ladies who speak about their intimate affairs in such an open manner. Your sister is there, drinking in their experience as she too wonders what would be like to be somebody’s wife.

This somebody, you know, is not anybody. It’s the king’s eldest son, whose reputation of womanizing left you so protective towards H/N. But nothing comes to mind when you think of Aemond Targaryen and his fervent kiss.

“My husband likes to hear me singing his name out before we consume our, eh, flame”, lady Jeyne is telling this late evening.

You wish they’d be quiet, but unfortunately your sister encourages the woman to give details of it.

“It is when he begins to tease me. He likes to undress me himself, forbidding me to do anything at all”, says the said lady.

And here your imagination begins to work, whilst you pretend to occupy yourself with sewing. Your mind takes you back to the core of the gardens when his lips promptly dominated yours. And the taste he left in your mouth remains there.

You wonder if he’d do what lady Jeyne’s husband does to her. Would he exercise any authority over you? Would his callous hands remove every bit of your gown and touch you in unspeakable manners?

You feel your womanhood aching at the idea of his fingers working wonderfulness there, a sensation that also fuels your frustration. For a reason side of yours begins to wonder if he’s like Aegon. If so, why would you picture indecent scenarios with another womanizing man?

When paranoias are about to threat your peace is the moment your castle is close to tumble down. The ladies gathering is interrupted when your mother in person step inside you and your sister’s privy chambers.

“H/N!”, she exclaims. “You must come with me at once. Pride is no more our best shield.”

“What’s wrong? What happened?”, you join your sister’s voice before your mother’s restlessness state.

“The prince is here.”

You’d think she is talking about Aemond, but H/N is faster in joining the puzzles.

“Aegon?!”

“Yes!”

Quickly all the ladies leave the chambers, and you above all remain confused. Right at the great hall you spot Aegon Targaryen in person, talking impatiently with his brother.

“Finally! I trusted my brother to resolve this matter, but he’s too slow”, says the eldest male son of King Viserys.

You give Aemond a quizzical glance. Seeing a silent question posed in your eyes, the rascal prince comes after you, but he is forced to step back as Aegon is in his moment.

“I must marry you, H/N, at once. Bewitched I may be for this new sentiment that poets compare to redemption, even if I as a man am unworthy it, has taken possess of my soul. Let me profess how ardently I love you, sweet H/N!”

So suddenly you begin to pick the pieces. Aegon had sent his brother to conquer you, for even you were familiar that your father would not marry his youngest daughter first than his eldest, especially after the Lannister scandal.

This means, you begin to think, that I am nothing especial.

And as this thought occurs you, Aemond pales at your reasoning. He then comes after you, tortured by the idea you’ve may come to him.

“Y/N”, he calls your name right there in the midst of corridors. “Please, wait! My lady, hear me out…”

“Please tell me he didn’t pay you to do what you did”, you turn at him, eyes already puddled with tears.

Aemond quietens before the accusation, and for the moment fury seems to take the best of you.

“You rascal!”, it’s all you can say. “Stay away from me, Aemond Targaryen. Go back to your whores. They will certainly make better use of this gold.”

Aemond watches you go, never before left behind like he is now by you. He realizes the wrongs done and opts for waiting a better time to amend his mistake.

The worst susceptibility is to be crudely exposed, openly hurt not by others but by his pride.

He came to love you, but now this love tortures the best and the worst of him, eclipsing him at last…

***

• 10 things I resent in you.

‘Tis the day your sister is leaving behind the Tyrell surname, eagerly adopting the fancy Targaryen one. You attempted to refuse to attend it, feigning sickness, but your mother discovered it and here you are.

Dressed in the colors of your house, you are in no mood to feast or to be in the presence of those dragons again.

“You should be happy for me”, your sister is speaking in an accusing tone. “Because your heart has been broken does not give you the right to part mine.”

Her words knock you out of your self exile. It’s when you realize you haven’t been this good of a sister.

“I’m sorry. I’ll behave. I want you to be happy, I just… fell in my own trap, I suppose.” You admit in a rare moment of sisterly confessions. “I didn’t mean to ruin your day, sweet H/Nickname. I just thought all is better in books.”

“What good is there in living too much in words and forgetting to live life as it is? It’s not pretty to get hurt, but we get better and find other paths. People can change if you permit it, dear sister. Don’t be overly pessimistic.”

That being said, each follows now a different path. You must go back to your place in the crowd all the whilst two ladies help her dress. And as you head towards the grand salon where the festivity is expected to happen, you are met by Aemond Targaryen.

“Lady Y/N”, he greets you rather contained.

You curtsy elegantly.

“My prince.”

“Please, rise. There is no need to us behave like strangers”, he moves now to where you are and help you rise, never letting go of your hand for once.

“I should tell you something.”

“So do I.”

“You first”, you both say at once, before chuckling nervously at the impasse.

Eventually, though, Aemond says:

“No apologies are enough for what had been done. You had every right in behaving the way you did.”

“I despised your acts, true. But I resented how free you made me feel. How foolish you made every night after spending all day with you”, you lower your eyes to your locked hands. “I resented how roguish you behaved, how serious you were, how reluctantly you danced as if I was forcing you into it. I resented how you…”

And here you choke with words. Aemond smiles at himself, gently lifting your chin so he can read your eyes.

“You look adorable when you blush, Y/Nickname.”

You giggle softly.

“I resent the way you read into me easily, how you fight away my fears and how good heart you can be when I was told how bad you are.” And then you cup his face with your fingers. “The one thing I resent more is how I came to love you deeply and sacredly, Aemon Targaryen.”

In this empty corridor, no soul witnesses the precise instant he holds you against him and kisses you most ardently, breaking your castle for once and all, cutting away most of your thorns.

***

• Epilogue

In this large bed of Harrenhal, you welcome your husband properly, not minding how poorly dressed you are.

“How our nuptials are to you, my lady wife?”, he leans his nude body over yours, hands quickly to remove your nightgown, devouring you with his hunger eyes. “Just accordingly to what you’ve been told by your ladies?”

Your face goes scarlet red before being laid down.

“So much better”, you chuckle softly before wrapping your legs around his waist, hands running over his shoulders and chest. “Hmmm. Is it a dream, or you are indeed my husband?”

When his lips move to your neck, taking a while in your chest, you groan softly in response. Sweeter than your dreams ever were, you let him take the reins, having given under his touch so willingly.

“I love you”, he mumbles against your lips, just as he slides inside you.

“I love you more”, and just like that you turn positions.

For he may be the boss outside, but every subject knows that Lady Y/N Tyrell rules her lord husband behind the scenes.

And these are days of summer, where peace is warming and content. That is until autumn comes, but this is for another day…

Regardless of future events, you and Aemond are destined to have a long and happy life with at least a dozen children of your own—he’d gladly come to find out how you came to really enjoy domestic activities a little too much.

#ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #house targaryen #taylor swift #1989 taylor's version #blank space #10 things i hate about you

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eggymf-archived · 1 year ago

Text

of paper planes and wildflowers; 12

ft. ominis gaunt with f!reader (series)

chapter warnings: duncan hobhouse, just chaos all around, warranted assholery?, a slightly unhinged author? (lmao idk y’all decide that for yourselves), idiots in love

chapter summary: subtlety was necessary to preserve one's reputation, and in this case, to keep your lives trouble-free from nosy little bastards. alas, a certain bespectacled male is threatening the peace with his desire for vengeance after facing the biggest humiliation in his entire life.

word count: 5.8k

a/n: haven’t written for this series in a hot minute, but yolkie is back with more chaos.

main masterlist || series masterlist || AO3

Etiquette — the unspoken, number one rule that every person of eloquence swears to like a lifetime oath. To a young woman such as yourself, it was necessary to exercise restraint and prudence all in the name of preserving your own dignity. Any acts that will make a lady lose her composure are to be avoided, and she must maintain an iron-clad will capable of resisting the most entrancing of charms, especially from men.

Unfortunately for you, your pen pal was insanely lethal with his well-thought execution of words, and you’ve never gone through a week without at least screaming into your unfortunate pillow once for the past few weeks. A sharp wit alongside his innate gentlemanly ways? It truly made you weak at the knees, and you didn't bother denying it at this point.

Ominis Gaunt was indeed a formidable force to be reckoned with.

My Dearest, (Y/N) The wintery air is getting rather brutal as of late, and I couldn't help but overhear the chattering of your teeth whenever I'm near you. As much as I'd love to whisk you away just to warm up by a fireplace wrapped with warm blankets or, dare I say it, in each other's arms, we are unfortunately in different houses with different common rooms. Instead, I took the liberty of going to Hogsmeade to buy you some Pepper Imps from Honeydukes and Pepperup Potions from J. Pippins. Be careful not to consume either one of those too much lest you aspire to be a fire-breathing dragon or another Hogwarts Express with all that steam coming out of your ears. May this warm you up despite my physical absence. With everlasting devotion, Ves P.S. I mean it, by the way. As to which part of my letter I'm pertaining to, I shall leave it up to your own assumption.

Your lips were tightly pressed together, desperately suppressing your series of snorts and giggles as you inhaled sharply in hopes of maintaining your composure. The piece of parchment was neatly folded in half and kept securely within your inner coat pocket while you placed the box of Pepper Imps and Pepperup Potions atop your small stack of books. Much to the chagrin of your rational side, (who was being a complete spoilsport by vehemently reminding you of how a lady should act) your cheeky little eyes decided to sneakily glance towards the Slytherin table, only to find that your beloved sender isn't there.

“Hello there.”

The sound of cutlery rattling against ceramic cut through the otherwise peaceful ambiance as you instinctively turned towards Ominis, your hand hitting your plate accidentally.

“Oh! Erm… Hello,” you coughed, clearing your throat, and moving your things aside so that he could take a seat beside you. He gratefully accepts, his perfume wafting to your nose, smelling absolutely divine as usual. Nothing that your self-control couldn’t handle, though.

“I need your help with this part of the essay that's due next week. Merlin, Transfiguration can be rather vexing at times,” he groans.

“Is this about what you wrote to me via owl the other day?”

Ominis nods in response with a sigh, handing you a piece of parchment, your eyes instantly scanning over his written words speedily.

“Seems a bit lacking, but it's fixable. I could help you with this if you'd like,” you suggested with much enthusiasm.

“Thank you, truly. I'd gladly take up on that offer,” he smiles while you grinned in response, happily chattering away with him as you ate the remnants of your lunch.

Truth be told, this whole request of his was merely just an excuse for him to spend more time with you aside from your usual obligations. There was really not much the both of you could do within the Great Hall or anywhere within the castle grounds for the sake of following proper decorum: the both of you had to be careful from prying eyes to save yourselves from the terrors of gossip or anything that will put your images on the line.

Reputation — arguably the most shallow yet still the most important to any young witch or wizard who wished to be respected by their fellow peers. Despite its fragility, it was the root of many beginnings within a social circle, especially as someone who was in the process of making a name for themselves.

But how far were you exactly willing to go for how the public eye perceives you? Surely no one's insane enough to fabricate their own image with the threads of lies. With how fast news travels within the walls of Hogwarts, deceptions of the sort would crumble down in a blink of an eye; like lightning smiting a spire with its unbridled force, resulting in its untimely destruction despite its fortified state.

Such is the case with Duncan Hobhouse, who was moments away from experiencing what the mystics know as “The Tower” moment: a point of sudden upheaval— an inevitable crisis.

As to how it all began, it was ironically brilliant yet stupidly careless all at the same time: while you and Ominis were in your happy little bubble, a 6th year Ravenclaw student, who happened to be sitting beside Duncan, had mistakenly grabbed her secret vial of nearly-perfected Veritaserum instead of her specially-made Gillywater from her satchel. Before she could check the labels, she had already poured out the contents into her cup, only for Duncan to mistakenly drink the cloudy liquid whilst in a fit of coughs from his food going down the wrong pipe.

Needless to say, things went downhill pretty fast.

“Oi, Hobhouse! Pass me the pudding, will you?!” Andrew Larson called out, only to be met with an uncharacteristically bold and snarky reply from the fuller-bodied male.

“How about you get it yourself, you blonde-haired, scrawny little prick?! The last time I checked you have a pair of functioning hands and legs!”

Who would've thought that a slightly botched Veritaserum could have a similar effect to a Befuddlement Potion?

Andrew stared at him dumbfoundedly with the most incredulous expression on his face while Eric Northcott and Leander Prewett, who were seated and standing near him respectively, had their mouths ajar out of shock. Duncan was no different from the three— his eyes wide as he slapped his mouth instinctively after spewing out a set of brutally honest words for once.

The 6th year seated beside him visibly paled, hurriedly rummaging through her satchel, only to find her vial of Gillywater within it before checking her own cup, which was now nearly empty.

“Oh no…” she whispers while Duncan whipped his head towards her direction in evident panic. “I think you drank from my cup….”

Duncan whips his head in her direction, giving her a panicked yet furious glower.

“Well go on! Tell me, you foul insect! What was in your blasted cup?!” he hissed, much to her fright.

“I… I have to go!” She cries out, collecting her things in a fit of distress as she makes a beeline for the Great Hall’s gargantuan doors for the sake of self-preservation. It was, after all, against the school rules to use Veritaserum on a student, and she had done just that albeit accidentally.

However, she ended up leaving the empty vial with a written label adhered to its surface, the bottle rolling from underneath the wooden bench. Duncan reaches for the bottle, only for another hand to grab it away from him. Eric Northcott smirks at this, both Leander and Andrew crossing their arms with smug grins on their faces as Eric read the label before dangling the bottle in front of Duncan's visibly terrified face.

“I believe we've struck gold this time around, my fellow lads! Hobhouse is under the truth serum! ”

A chorus of ooooohs soon followed, garnering the attention of students from the other tables as well. You and Ominis, who were both quietly minding your own business, paid close attention to the scene nearby.

“Wait! Shouldn't we report this to a professor—” Amit Thakkar attempts to intervene, only for a piece of bread to be stuffed in his mouth by Everett Clopton, who shot him a glare. You glanced around, expecting at least a prefect to jump in to intervene, only to find none. Hell, even the Head Girls and Boys remained seated, watching the whole scenario unfold attentively.

Exactly how horrible is this person to the point that no one's bothering to stand up for him?

“Goodness. Hobhouse is so unlikable even the prefects aren't bothering to help at all. Not sure if I should be impressed but that's quite a feat, I suppose?” you commented with a grimace, much to Ominis' amusement.

“And not a single professor in sight too. Go on, Andrew. Do the honors,” Eric snickers, much to the said male's delight.

“Let's test it out first with a simple little question, shall we? I'm feeling rather merciful today, anyways,” Andrew began, pacing back and forth before leaning towards Duncan. “Is it true that you're afraid of Puffskeins?”

Duncan's lips quivered, attempting to suppress the potion's effects, all to no avail.

“... Y-yes.”

Giggles and chortles erupted from the others around him while Andrew snorted in amusement, patting Leander's shoulder who immediately sat beside Duncan, his hand pressing over his shoulder harshly as soon as he attempted to escape.

“Hey, Hobhouse. Is it true that you wrote a love letter to Imelda Reyes?” the lanky ginger-haired male asks.

“... Yes.”

Wolf whistles soon erupted from the Slytherin table, much to Imelda's chagrin.

“So what did she say?” Andrew queries.

“... She… Didn't reply.”

Guffaws of laughter immediately followed his answer, much to his painful embarrassment.

“You're not my type, Hobhouse!” Imelda hollered from the Slytherin table, causing another round of ooooohs to erupt from the crowd as they all grimaced at the blatant public rejection.

“Hey, Northcott!” Ominis shouts, beckoning the Gryffindor to come over before whispering into his ear. Duncan became as white as a sheet upon realizing who Eric was talking to. The said male came jogging back towards him with an evil grin plastered on his face.

This was the perfect opportunity to expose him for his cowardice once and for all.

“So, tell me, Hobhouse. That gigantic Venomous Tentacula leaf you showed all of us a week or two ago as proof of your courage — who got it for you?”

Duncan grits his teeth, beads of cold perspiration running down the side of his face.

“...S… Skylar… Evans…” he admits through clenched teeth, ending with a sharp gasp. Murmurs soon filled the Great Hall after this revelation followed by a series of jeers.

In a fit of rage, Duncan shoved Leander off him, falling ungracefully off the bench before scrambling to his feet and running towards the exit of the Great Hall. The faint sounds of snickers from his fellow peers pricked against the skin of his ears spitefully, reducing him into a seething, fiery red mess in the face as he attempts to run away from their mocking gaze.

His life, as of that moment, was over.

His reputation, the sole thing that he had desperately tried to fix after that embarrassment he faced during Defense Against the Dark Arts classes a while back, was now irreparably ruined no thanks to all that had happened beforehand during lunch break.

Stupid Boggart. Stupid Puffskeins. Had Professor Hecat decided not to push through with that bloody lesson then perhaps he wouldn’t be in this mess. It was all their fault: Eric Northcott, Andrew Larson, Leander Prewett, and last but not least, Ominis Gaunt.

Duncan's blood boiled at the mere notion of the Slytherin student's name, gnashing his teeth in silence while clenching his pudgy fist as he made his way to his next class. Ominis Gaunt was a thorn that was permanently embedded into his flesh — the bane of his entire existence. Had Ominis just chosen to zip his mouth about the matter of their long, petty feud regarding his clear lack of courage, then perhaps he would be at peace at this very moment with his pathetically glued-up reputation still intact albeit barely.

But of course, Duncan, at the end of the day, was a big fat liar and not the best egg around with his innately horrid attitude that is well-known, especially amongst his Ravenclaw housemates, and Ominis had no qualms with putting such people rightfully into their places. In fact, the young Gaunt thrived off the chaos of well-deserved misery.

To Duncan Hobhouse, this was war. Ominis Gaunt will pay for this great humiliation dearly— an eye for an eye; a tooth for a tooth.

Thus, his grand plan for vengeance begins.

It has been a few days— two painful days to be precise. Duncan had been watching Ominis like an ever-vigilant Augurey within the shadows, peering from a relatively safe distance as he attempted to observe the misty-eyed male. Gathering information, after all, was necessary in executing his dastardly plans of exposing his top tormentor once and for all. Surely the Gaunt has at least one weakness that he could use as ammunition to snipe him off his back for good.

Initially, the greasy-haired male had thought that spying on the blind student would be an easy feat given his disability. He has (and rather oafishly at that) always viewed Ominis as vulnerable despite his snark— the type who would be alone most of the time with no one to fend for him other than his sharp tongue. To further fuel his shallow inferences, Sebastian Sallow, Ominis' own best friend, hasn't been loitering much around his presence as of late. His plan was assumed to be nearly “perfect” based on his own standards until it wasn't.

Aside from the Gaunt constantly either sleeping, reading the same poem book in a corner, occasionally having small talk with his fellow 5th years, or studying with you in the library, there was nothing noteworthy that can be used to clang the bells of shame on him. To make matters more unfavorable for the bespectacled male, you had been accompanying Ominis for the majority of the time even during break times, much to his utter confusion.

Duncan's eyes, ridden with suspicion, squinted accusingly as you and Ominis loitered at the fountain of the currently not-so-crowded Central Hall, seemingly in good spirits with your little interaction. You were attempting to pry a book from his hands, only for the taller male to merely raise the book out of reach from your smaller stature. He had an amused expression plastered on his face, his lips curled into the faintest of smiles with pink tinging his cheeks.

The whole sight of the young Gaunt's evident happiness annoyed the male Ravenclaw to no end. In the sea of his own inner bitterness, there was, however, a small little question that was begging to be addressed albeit its irrelevance to the matter at hand.

Since when have the two of you been this close?

At the sound of the several shuffling footsteps nearby, he instantly retreats behind the wall, glaring at whoever interrupted his momentary pondering session.

“You know, Natty. I know that she's a Ravenclaw, but bloody hell she's really quite daft when it comes to romance, isn't she?” the faint voice of Garreth Weasley groans. “They've been at this for weeks now. I'm going mad!”

“Oh, stop being dramatic. All that matters is that they're happy and aren't getting into trouble,” Natsai dismisses while Garreth sighed woefully.

“I suppose you're right. Ominis can't be that bad. Though I wouldn't mind if he was— ow! What was that for?!” Garreth winces upon getting elbowed rather sharply by his fellow Gryffindor, their footsteps fading as they sauntered through the nearby hallway.

Duncan furrowed his eyebrows in further bemusement, heading to a better spot where he could observe the situation from a much better angle. Surely someone was pulling his leg right now. There was no way in hell that the assumption that had been injected within his head upon eavesdropping on Weasley and Onai is correct.

Ominis Gaunt and you? It simply doesn't make sense.

He leans casually against the wall with eyes zeroing on his sole target, only for his concentration to be interrupted once more by yet another pair of people who were merely passing by: Poppy Sweeting and Skylar Evans.

“... Is there something going on between them? Never expected them to become this close,” a rather inquisitive Poppy muses, which was met with a cheeky little giggle from Skylar who merely raised her eyebrows. Poppy's eyes widened.

“There is?!” she mouthed silently while the taller Hufflepuff nodded in response. The duo were soon out of sight as they headed up the main stairwell that leads to the exit.

A flabbergasted Duncan glances at you and Ominis once again, his mouth hanging open with pure shock. So it's true then: something is going on with you and Ominis. But unfortunately, this wasn’t the information that he needed. Thus, his impatience eventually got the best of him.

“Oh, to hell with it all!” he seethes, stomping towards the library while throwing a hissy fit like a sweet-deprived petulant child. This was hopeless— utterly nonsensical. He was a complete fool for even thinking that this ploy would work. The bitter taste of defeat flooded Duncan's mouth, and he was ready to just lash out at the nearest Muggleborn who dared to cross his path.

That is until he was finally graced with an opportunity as he overheard your conversation with Ominis as he walked by.

“...Precisely why it shouldn't be handled carelessly,” Ominis hums, tapping the book that was still held by his pale, veiny hands.

“Oh? And this book contains some sort of secret that I'm not aware of?” you curiously inquired. Ominis smirks.

“Certainly. That's why I urge you to not open or even touch it for your own sake. It may seem like an ordinary book but really, it's not. My father will be livid once he finds out about the contents. You could say it’s… A dirty little secret of some sort.”

Alas, a boy's broken ego holds no bounds, and his level of futile pettiness outweighs his sense of sound rationality, clamoring at every opportunity no matter how dodgy it seemed— an accurate depiction of Duncan Hobhouse at this very moment as delusions of victory filled his thick skull once again.

It was a pitiful case of selective hearing fueled by desperation. Oh, when will he ever learn?

Subtlety— the art of using indirectness with graceful tact; a simple strategy that avoids any unnecessary trouble while also featuring one's own wit. There were two cases of the particular day that embodies the essence of the word, which shall unravel itself within the four towering walls of the library— one depicting the daintiness of a maiden and her heart's desire, and the other featuring the mind of a tactful strategist who's currently under the watchful eye of an enemy spy.

There was a certain stillness within the place at this particular time of the day along with it being nearly deserted, which was perfectly conducive for studying. You had promised to help Ominis with a particular assignment, and both of you were in the presently deserted Transfiguration Section, searching for several specific books that he needed for his write-up. Your eyes scan the book spines with your study buddy following you closely, enjoying the present tranquility.

However, the ever-fleeting peace soon disintegrated as soon as you witnessed a certain Ravenclaw male peering from a distance, his determined eyes fixated on a certain foggy-eyed male before instantly darting back behind a nearby bookshelf. Your lips curled downwards, turning to Ominis.

“Say, Hobhouse has been rather weird today. I think this is the 6th time I’ve seen him loitering around us,” you pointed out. An aggravated exhale escaped his lips.

“He’s been stalking for days, actually. It’s getting rather annoying.”

“Days? Oh dear. Is this about the whole fiasco in the Great Hall earlier this week? I could tell him to bugger off if you want. He's known to be quite insufferable when he's crossed.”

“I’d rather not dwell on it too much, really. It’s better to bore him to death than give him another reason to yap about how I’m the villain in his delusional scenarios,” Ominis yawns, to which you chuckled whilst nodding in agreement.

Duncan did have that gnarly reputation of wallowing in his theatrical self-pity, and you had witnessed it many times before the incident. Ominis brushing him off though? It was both respectably mature and amusing of him all at the same time, given his blatant record of dragging the ebony-haired male to absolute filth with his sassy quips and haughty remarks.

Unbeknownst to anyone other than Ominis himself, however, he was far from taking the high road this time around. It wasn’t difficult to sense that Duncan was truly out for his blood with how incessant he was for the past few days. Truth be told, it left an unsettling feeling within the Gaunt’s gut. For his own safety, he had laid out a fairly simple trap.

A famished animal was bound to do whatever it takes to get its food no matter the cost, and all Ominis had to do was wait for it to take the bait.

“Well, if you insist. The offer still stands if you change your mind. Though I have to admit. Your… Omniscience is quite impressive,” you mused. “For someone who lacks the sense of sight, you’re surprisingly more aware of your surroundings than most people with the complete set of five.”

“Omniscience? I'm not a deity, you know,” he chuckles. “I can just feel it when someone is looking at me. I think you of all people should be most aware of that. How many times have I caught you staring at me again?”

“Oh, wipe that smirk off your face, Gaunt,” you rolled your eyes in jest at his question, a reddish hue creeping up your cheeks as your voice dropped into a mumble. “It's not my fault you're so… Easy on the eyes.”

Now, it was his turn to blush while the corner of his lips twitched upwards ever so lightly. “... Easy on the eyes, eh? So you're not denying it anymore.”

“That I look at you from time to time? Maybe.”

“Time to time is a bit of an understatement, don't you think?”

“Not really. Unless you're insinuating an invitation of some sort. Perhaps you want me to lay my eyes upon you more?” you raised an eyebrow nonchalantly. An amused chuckle rumbled from his chest as he leaned against the bookshelf while crossing his arms.

“I’m not opposed to that, but I’ll leave it to your own assumptions, my dearest.”

Upon hearing his words roll out from his tongue, you swore you felt time stop as realization dawns upon your unsuspecting little head. There it was— the sole proof you've been waiting for all this time.

It really was him, after all.

You paused, letting out a shaky exhale as you gazed longingly into his unseeing, milky blue eyes, shutting the heavy book in your hands with a soft thump. Verbally-said words aren't the form of concrete evidence that you had been seeking, but could you really lie to yourself at this point when the truth is already right in front of you this entire time? Perhaps throughout your pining, you were just being a coward towards your ever-growing feelings for Ominis Gaunt— the thought of a painful ending had caused you to overanalyze the entirety of the situation, merely looking at it from a lens of rationality instead of emotional intelligence.

Alas, your foolishness has to end at some point, and you could only hope that you weren't too late.

“We both know it’s not an assumption at this point,” you stated with your fleeting newfound confidence surging through your veins. Ominis raised an eyebrow, his lips curling upwards.

“Oh? Getting bold, are we?”

“I believe “truthful” is the more accurate term. I'd much prefer to think of it as being honest with myself for once,” you sighed, turning towards him with your heart beating wildly within the confines of your ribs.

“Ominis, my beloved evening star, the man of my affections, the keeper of my heart. Perhaps it's time that we finally stop this little game of cat and mouse?”

Ominis froze, his breath hitching at the specific endearment that spilled from your lips. Her beloved evening star — her Vesper.

Words failed to come out of his mouth as he stood there, stunned by your sudden heartfelt confession. He was an utter mess deep down, your words successfully obliterating his remaining brain cells into oblivion. His heart was deliriously hammering within his chest and his entire being felt absolutely featherlight— as if he could soar above the skies out of sheer bliss without a care in the world. For what seemed like an eternity, he finally let out a relieved exhale, gulping to soothe his parched throat.

At long last, this day has finally arrived, and it was a lot more heart-stopping than he’d ever imagined it to be.

The pregnant silence that loomed between the both of you sent your mind into a flurry of nervousness, hopefulness slowly morphing into a sense of dread. To you, his deathly silence meant rejection, and you’d rather not crumble in front of anyone in your present increasingly vulnerable state.

“I… I'll just be on my way…” you muttered, tears stinging your eyes as you inhaled a lungful of air in hopes of maintaining your usual calm demeanor. You promptly returned the book you were previously flipping through before scampering to your belongings.

Your dejection jolts him from his love-filled, hazy train of thoughts, his hands instinctively reaching for your smaller frame. You let out a small squeak of surprise as you were spun around, your face now pressed against his chest as he embraced you securely within his arms.

“Took you long enough…” he murmurs against your hair, relishing in the warmth of your body and your distinct floral scent— the scent that drove him nearly mad yet provided him with a sense of comfort and relief every single time it wafts up his nose. He was still in a state of disbelief, holding you with a hint of desperation as if you'll slip away from him once again the moment he lets go.

Inhaling deeply once more, you succumb to your heart's desire, reciprocating his gesture with just as much fervor, tears of relief welling up in your eyes.

“... I was terrified you’d stop if I said yes," you admitted.

“And why is that?”

“You know how the tales of old wives go— things go stale after a while between couples and all that. And then there are novels depicting the same thing and I…” you trail off, bemoaning your worries. “Truth be told, I know nothing about this. I've never felt all of this before. I'm spewing out nonsense, aren't I?”

He lets out a deep hum, rummaging through his presently hopeless little brain for any words of comfort, all to no avail.

“If it helps, I haven't the slightest clue on how to handle this either.”

“That's not very reassuring.”

Ominis snorts at your deadpan response before erupting into a peal of mild laughter that instantly dispelled all your present worries. You joined in, bursting into a fit of giggles. He gently releases you from his hold, his hand cupping your cheek.

Your face was warm to the touch and he groaned lightly the moment he felt your pillowy lips brush against the skin of his palm. He never would've thought that it would come to this point— him needing to kiss someone so badly to the point where it hurts.

Pressing his forehead against yours, he uttered his plea with a slight tremor in his voice, the pad of his thumb caressing your lower lip.

“May I?”

Ba-thump... Ba-thump… Ba-thump…

“... Yes.”

The gap between both your lips was finally closed, your eyelids fluttering shut as he tenderly placed his lips upon yours. His hand wanders from your heated cheek to your nape, gently pulling you closer. He began to move his lips slowly, eliciting a soft whimper from you. A faint growl rumbled from his chest as he scooped you closer to him, placing his hand against the small of your back.

This was bad. Your self-control was slowly whittling away no thanks to the heady scent of his perfume and minty breath after eating that Peppermint Toad earlier. And for such sacrilege to occur in the Transfiguration Section again? The realization on its own would’ve made you laugh if it weren’t for Ominis pushing you against a bookshelf, mindlessly bucking his hips against yours as he darts his tongue within your cavern to savor your taste.

The increasingly steamy moment was unfortunately cut short as a book was dropped unceremoniously on the wooden table at the opposite side of the bookshelf, a loud thud thundering across the library. You immediately pushed the lithe-framed male off you, instinctively fixing yourself while he turned away, pretending as if nothing had happened as he held his breath out of shock. The sound of Madam Scribner grumbling away was heard, and you could only heave a sigh of relief at her lack of awareness about what you and Ominis had done.

Ominis cleared his throat, his breathing less erratic as he clutched the books that you’ve picked out for his assignment.

“We should probably get started,” he mumbles while you nodded in response, scuttling away to your table. You were chewing on your lips this entire time as a way of containing yourself either from letting out a screech of sheer delight over the fact that you had finally done something right for your poor maiden heart, or a wail of horror after almost tarnishing your reputation by engaging in unsavory acts in a public space.

Either way, it was a happy ending for you and Ominis— for now, that is.

Upon sitting down at your seats, Ominis immediately reached for the short stack of books that he had left atop the table while the both of you were in the Transfiguration Section, only to find that there was one particular book missing. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards before reverting to its usual calm and collected state, scribbling away on his parchment.

And just like that, the prey fell into his simple little trap hook, line, and sinker.

Surely he'll learn his lesson this time, right?

Karma— the summation of one’s actions; the most efficient teacher even to those who had been cursed with the thickest of skulls. The crippling lack of self-awareness is undoubtedly the greatest comedy of mankind, and oftentimes it was the main cause of one's own stagnancy in the development of the self. As long as one's ill will alongside actions prevails, one shall not roam free without paying the price of their actions.

Such is the case with Duncan Hobhouse— again, but unsurprisingly so.

You watched in amazement as the fourth, fifth, and sixth consecutive misfortune befell him on this particular day. First, he had tripped on flat grounds before he could give his potion to Professor Sharp for inspection, causing his vial to shatter in the process. Upon going back to his station to refill another, his potion had solidified within his cauldron due to him forgetting to turn the heat off. Finally, as he was about to inform Professor Sharp of his plight, he slipped on the puddle of his own brew, hitting his head against the stone floor as he landed on his back with a pained groan.

The classroom buzzed with snickers and murmurs at the poor lad's plight, but it was soon silenced as Professor Sharp slammed his palm on the surface of his table, the rest of the remaining 5th years immediately focusing on their tasks at hand. The ex-Auror pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience progressively getting thinner and thinner at every mishap that had occurred within his classroom. It was only the first period, and he wanted to retire to his quarters (or better yet, from his job as a professor) as soon as possible.

The visibly stressed-out Potions Master could only take so much tomfoolery from a bunch of oversized infants, after all.

Professor Sharp glanced longingly at his bottle of Firewhiskey at the corner of his classroom before reluctantly tearing his gaze from his coping mechanism, instructing Adelaide Oakes to bring Duncan to the Hospital Wing. Duncan hobbled towards his table, grabbing his Potions textbook along with a particular book belonging to a certain man named Ominis Gaunt who was in the same table as you were. Duncan glowered at poor Adeleide, who immediately slinked back to her station as he stormed out of the classroom on his own.

Peace soon looms over the Potions Classroom once again, the sound of faint bubbling concoctions and sparky mini explosions filling the room, only for it to be short-lived once again as a high-pitched scream echoed throughout the nearby hallway.

And thus, you witness the seventh misfortune as Duncan ran past the classroom entrance with Peeves tailing him whilst cackling, armed with one of the decorative axes from the castle walls, ready to give him a good thwack.

For the first time, a part of Ominis relished in the outcome of his seemingly diabolical deed, the reverberating screams of fright belonging to his Ravenclaw nemesis sounding like the sweetest tune he had ever heard. He never expected that the hex he had placed on that book would be marvelously effective, and he made a mental note to safeguard his prized possessions with the very same spell — he had invented it himself, after all.

Contrary to the rather brutal display of its effect courtesy of Duncan Hobhouse, it wasn’t an insidious spell as one would think once its true nature is understood. In fact, it was merely a hex that would only be triggered if an object were to be used for ill intent. With that notion in mind, Duncan’s intentions must’ve been utterly horrendous for the hex to be extremely potent, which was far more concerning than Ominis using the spell as a means of protection.

But then again, the crisis was successfully averted with impressive efficiency, and that alone was a source of pride for Ominis, who had a faint smile upon his thin lips. It was a rather productive day for him: successfully getting Duncan off his back, finishing his potion for Potions Class earlier than usual with you, and most of his assignments were already done in advance, leaving him with two options on what he shall do on his free time: studying with you somewhere within the castle grounds despite his reluctance, or convincing you to take a nap with him in a more secluded place.

Either way, he already knew it was going to be a great day ahead.

< chapter 11: the duality of man

chapter 13: a hideout within a hideout 🔞 >

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cookies-and-mirrors · 4 months ago

Text

Prison of Stone and Flesh

Chapter Twelve

This is a collaborative fic between @cookiesupplier and @faceless-mirror.

Dividers by @samspenandsword & @cafekitsune

Authors Note: Smut warning if you pass the tape! Enjoy!

Pairings: Multi-Pairings, Everybody x Everybody.

Triggerlist: transphobia, homophobia, abuse, SA, dubcon, religious trauma, past suicide attempts, mental health issues, grief, death, (To be added to)

Christopher, Justin, and Ryan are members of the Gargoyle Order, soldiers fighting in the angels war against the demonic supernatural evils of the world to protect human kind. Through the years they lost comrades and now just the three of them remain in their little town.

Now, Ricky and Vinny are moving into their church, stirring up old and new feelings, along with the past, posing the challenge of navigating this new chapter in their lives.

Can they all navigate this path successfully and break free of the prisons that is their lives of both stone and flesh, or will they all be trapped forever in a world that could prove to be a constant misery?

MASTERLIST HERE

Taglist: @miamore0570 @21-century-tae @dragon-chica @shilohrosechicken @phxntxsmicgoricxl

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(please comment/like/reblog/message to be added to taglist)

Chapter Twelve

Christopher allowed Vinny to lead him up the staircase towards the residence that she lived in along with Ricky, despite the fact that he was well aware of where it was. More than aware, in fact, considering he likely knew more about this Church than even the workers that had half torn it apart to renovate it. This building held secrets beyond centuries old that might never see the light of day again, and others, possibly, only the Almighty himself knew.

Vinny smiled up at him, “Mind if I take your jacket and hang it up so you're more comfy?” She offered with a sweet smile, kicking off her heels, shrinking down a few inches. She let down her hair as she approached him.

Reminding himself they were just here for a quiet moment, it was just a jacket, it meant nothing. Then again, Christopher was also distracted by, well, everything around him at the moment. This was Vinny’s home, this was her life, her space, this place was a part of everything she was, and he wanted to know everything about it. The gargoyle desired to learn every little detail of her life, how could he not when he woke up wondering if she was indeed safe and her day had gone well? He knew it went against his duties to be focused on one lone mortal, but Ch- Vinny, was, precious.

So when she offered to take his jacket, he nodded absentminded, “Of course.” Shrugging his shoulders a little allowing her to reach for his jacket to take it from him, that it until she had it half from his arms, and he remembered… His eyes went wide, the weapons he’s hidden into the lining of the jacket in makeshift pockets. Quickly, as smoothly as he could muster, he pulled the jacket from her grasp and back up to his shoulders, praying to the angels above she hadn’t felt anything in the material. Stammering quickly, trying to cover his movement. “Ah, no, no, it is fine, I am, well, comfy, just like this.”

She frowned, it was a bit heavier than she remembered. “Um… if you're sure.” She said softly, gently guiding him towards the sofa to sit with him, forehead pressed to his shoulder with her legs over his.

She had just started to relax when she felt a handle in her ribs and looked down at the shape and back up at him, “is there a reason you have a knife on you…?” She asked softly, not at all accusatory.

Oh, oh he’d nodded quickly at the first question, he was, absolutely, extremely sure. Christopher, was beyond comfortable. In fact, taking off that coat, while he knew he wouldn’t be giving up all the weapons he had on his person tonight, he didn’t feel comfortable relinquishing any, not even one. Not when it meant risking her. Sitting down now however, he sighed, at least, she let it go, and his arms were around her, holding her..

Then the next question came, and he stilled, his eyes glancing across the room, trying to formulate some kind of answer that would make a kind of sense that she might accept. What, what could he tell her?

Sighing, the truth. At least, some of the truth. Looking towards her, his eyes meeting Vinny’s, “To protect you.”

She blinked a few times, “Oh! Like… in case something happened downstairs?” She asked softly, moving closer to lay her head on his shoulder, gazing up at him with that smile on her lips, one of mischief and knowing.

Swallowing, when she looked at him like that, he swore she knew, she knew something he didn’t, and yet, this, this she couldn’t possibly know. “I can’t let anything happened to you down there, of all places Vinny… I could never let anything.. let anything happen to you here if I could help it.” He felt a sting of tears in his eyes he didn’t deserve, but he couldn’t let them fall. Lifting a hand to her cheek to brush the back of his fingers along her skin.. “My lover, I told you she died, but, she died because of me. She was attacked to get to me. They killed her, and our unborn children, to get to me… and I was too late to save them.”

For the first time in two centuries, he admitted to someone, anyone, least of all himself, that those children she had been carrying, had been his.

Vinny moved slowly to sit in his lap and pet his cheeks. “I'm so sorry for your loss…I can only imagine… and I can tell you cherished her so much… she must have been something else.” She whispered softly, kissing his cheeks. She wasn't going to push much more than this. “But… I hope you know she wouldn't want you to be miserable and live in the past. Everything is safe right now. I even locked the door… we would hear if someone tried to get in.”

By the angels, she didn’t know, she didn’t, he wanted to tell her, but he never wanted to scare her. Maybe he should. Maybe, he should tell her the truth, that being anywhere near him was asking for her life to be in danger, asking for her life to have a target on it. Chenza had been killed because of him, his children had been killed because of him. They’d been murdered, in this very building, and no matter of locked doors could change that. Not even angel wards had stopped the werewolves and humans that had broken through and fought past their handler and slaughtered his mate and children. This very building, their home, where they lived… where he still lived, and he spent every day.

Two centuries he’d not been able to stand the thought of changing a thing, because the thought of changing anything would be admitting he couldn’t turn around, and she wouldn’t be there anymore.. And then Ricky just came in and turned his life on it’s head before bringing in this mortal that felt like both a blessing and a curse. She was the purest soul, and was Chenza all over. “Vinny..” The whisper fell from Christopher’s lips as his forehead pressed to hers, his arms wrapped around her, holding her so close to him with how she sat on his lap. “Please help me.”

She smiled sadly before reaching out to him and pet his face softly, soft loving touches… and she moved slowly before lips met his, kissing him properly and slowly, before sitting back. “How can I best help you?”

There was a strangled sound in his throat when her lips met his, it was a different feeling from the way her lips had brushed over his cheeks. Still, when she asked how she couldn’t help him, his eyes, wide, bright gold brown, met those gorgeous brilliant green that reminded him so much of Chenza, and he knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help it. His arms around her, pulling her so close, he brought his lips to hers and kissing her like he couldn’t breathe, as if she were his very soul. Right then, she felt like it.

She wrapped around him pressing close to him as she could, gasping softly against his lips, starving for more as her hands glided over his arms and skin softly, pushing the coat away, feeling him as they kissed.

As the coat slipped from his shoulders, the daggers inside the lining making it heavier, there would be no issue with it staying right there on the couch. Not that Vinny realized that it was not the only garment on Christopher that had additions made to it, but that didn’t matter right that second either. Not as his hands were sliding down her back to her hips and over the cut-outs at the sides of her dress, his fingers dancing over her skin..

She rolled her body into his touch steadily, jaw dropping some as she moaned sweetly. “Chris-” she whispered to him, fingers gripping at his skin gently as she looked up at him, already breathless from the kiss. “Chris- can you… help me out of my dress…?” She asked softly, knowing she was being reckless, but for once she knew this was something her whole being craved. “Please…”

She blushed and stood with her back to him, “There's a little zipper in the middle, just pull down on it gently.” she instructed, blushing darkly having seen the look in his eyes. She would have been lying if she did not admit she loved it and hadn't been daydreaming the whole day about him.

Glancing down to her dress, his fingers stroking a little at the bare exposed parts of her skin. He wouldn’t even know where to begin in taking the garment off of her body, and the thought of getting it off of her in the first place.. Had him groaning softly as his eyes darkened. “We should, we should go into your room, BabyGirl.”

Without another thought, he was picking her up into his arms, and carrying her into her room, he really shouldn’t know where it was, but he knew.. He knew from the window. Rick’s was on the other side of the apartment, obviously, and Vinny, oh, he’d seen more than enough of inside of her room. Christopher carried her into her room before closing her door behind her. Breathless, not from having carried her, but the thought of, everything else.. Setting her down on her bed, standing at the edge.. “How do I get the dress off?”

She looked over her shoulder up at him, shivering. “Please.”

As Christopher searched for the zipper, finding it, it was a delicate looking metal thing, and he recognized it immediately as a long version of one of the fastenings that were on the borrowed modern pants Ryan and Justin wore. He didn’t, because they looked so complicated, he preferred the buttons, those looked like he could actually manage them. Just pull down on it gently, mentally swearing, being trapped in the bastard suit of armour that Chenza had found so darn amusing, this was, something else. He didn’t want to ruin it for her, she seemed to love it, and seeing her wear it, oh, he wanted to see her in it again… His hands slid up her sides slowly to the top, one hand, gently pressing the material to steady it, carefully, and trying not to wince, as he grabbed the silver fastening and ever, so very slightly, pulled down. Mortal strength time.

It came down with such ease. And stopped just below her hips, the fabric falling away from her sides and shoulders gracefully as she let the fabric fall and pool at her feet in a small pond of red around her. She looked up at him, blushing darkly as soon as black lace panties were revealed underneath, and she offered him a soft, demure smile. “Not too difficult.” she whispered for him.

Not too difficult she says, Christopher felt like he was having palpitations trying not to accidentally tear her poor dress to shreds and no, no, it wasn’t difficult at all. By the angels. She was lucky that- oh, oh- She was in nothing but black lace panties now, and Christopher couldn’t help but groan softly as he swallowed. His hands in front of him started on the buttons of the vest of his suit, never mind there were more daggers in the vest, and a light waist bandolier that he’d hidden with an illusion rune.

She smiled and leaned up, pressing her lips to his and her hands moved to help him strip, smiling against his lips when she found more daggers. “Not gonna lie…” she whispered, “I love that you’re so protective… It’s really hot.” she confessed, her lips pressed to his neck as she let the vest fall off before her nimble fingers were working on the button-up shirt.

She found a couple from the vest, one from the bandolier where the handle had peaked out from the leather band before he could slip it off safely and put it to the side. When she only giggled, and smiled like that, pressing a kiss to his lips, he was looking at her in awe, absolutely in wonder. When she started on his shirt, he was kissing down the side of her neck, all of his weapons gone, none that he could remember anyway, at least, none that could be removed from his skin. Shrugging the material from his shoulders, he let the shirt fall to the floor as he nipped at her collarbone lightly.

Her breath was shaky and needy as she moaned in his ear, her hands touching as much of him as they could, rubbing over his shoulders slowly and her short nails scraping his back lightly. She whispered warmly in his ear as her legs brushed up against his clothed ones, her dick chubbing up some and stretching the fabric of her panties some. Her fingers finally ghosted towards his pants with a shiver. “Chris-”

His hands moved to her waist, gently pushing her back to the bed, and down, even as he felt her at his pants, gasping slightly as he looked down at her, “Patience, BabyGirl.” Looking over her. He reached for the front of his pants, fingers clicking open the belt that had come with the suit, straps he could so quite easily. Leather he knew well.

She sat down, looking up at him with big eyes before licking her lips, thinking about how he would feel in her mouth… how he would taste. Vinny was fully hard now and whimpering at the dirty thoughts racing through her mind one after another. How could she not? She was right at his waist, and she arched some, squirming in place as she moaned softly. “Please… can I… I want…” she didn’t know how to say it without sounding desperate. She didn’t want him to think all she was after was his dick… She loved this man before her. He was sweet, kind, gentle, and understanding. All the while, hurt, damaged and grieving, yes… but he was so kind and sweet to her… how could she not fall in love with him, even just as a friend.

She hadn’t expected the electricity and connection that she felt to him…. But here she was sitting before him as he was undoing his belt and all she could think of was how much she admired him, only rivalled with how much she wanted his cock inside of her mouth.

As Vinny looked at him like that, pleadingly with those gorgeous wide eyes, he couldn’t help reaching for her, his fingers gently threading into those sweet curls of her hair, god, those beautiful painted lips. The way she looked up at him, wide green eyes, parted red lips, as his thumb brushed over his cheek, it was taking all his control not to just throw her down.. But she not only deserved better than that, but Christopher knew he had to be careful with her, she was mortal. “What is it, Baby, anything you want.” Talking softly as his other hand was continued with the fastenings of his suit pants after the belt.

“I want to… I want to suck you off…” she murmured gently, finally finding her voice. “Just… just a little bit.” She added meekly, “please…?”

Her pupils were dilated, and it was clear she was ready to go, but this was… primal. She needed to have her lips on him.

Sexual terms changed so much from era to era, and mortals had gone from being extremely repressed and pious, to being sexually explicit and all manner of different things in between in the span of Christopher’s lifetime. To hear her tell him she wanted to suck him off, it was a term he’d heard in passing enough to understand the meaning, but not had referred to him before. As much as he desired so badly to be inside her, to feel her wrapped around him.. How could he deny her? Groaning softly at the thought of those perfect lips wrapped around his cock, just with the way she was looking up at him. Finishing pulling his pants open, so he could pull out his length, stroking himself slowly. “Go ahead, BabyGirl, if that’s what you want.”

It was instantaneous. She leaned in gently, swatting his hands away before licking up his length with a moan as her eyes rolled back and fluttering, her lips were soft as she kissed his tip lightly. Then… they wrapped around him, her tongue exploring every inch purring softly as she stroked him working her way down lipstick smeared on his skin as she quivered.

His fingers tightened just a little in her hair, not stopping himself, Christopher not even really trying to either as she licked up his cock. He had to bite the inside of his lip not to let out a feral growl just at the sight of her like that. The feeling just got all the stronger as she kissed his skin and her lips actually wrapped around him. Between the brush of her tongue and her taking more of him into her mouth.. Seeing the red lipstick streak over his skin had him gulping a little, and his thighs shook.

She held him up, moving gracefully as much as she was enthusiastic. Her mouth was warm, and her eyes focused on him desperately. She knew what she wanted. What she craved and she would have it. She took her time before he was hitting the back of her throat making her eyes water, she pulled off some, breathless in the moment. Her lips were mostly pink now, and her eyes fluttered softly, catching her breath before her mouth was back on him eagerly.

Christopher was practically cupping the back of her head with the way his hand was in her hair now, the other at her shoulder to steady himself. His suit trousers slipping a little from his hips as Vinny kept worked his cock and he couldn’t help but watching her, mesmerized, fuck, she was absolutely gorgeous.. And moaning at the way she felt when he was pressed all the way back.. She was taking so much of him, fuck, how..

Stroking his fingers gently through her hair, “Baby, please.. Please.. I want to be inside you so bad..”

She pulled off after a moment more, his dick connected to her tongue by a long strand of saliva that finally broke as she whimpered moaning as she tugged him down to kiss him roughly with a shiver as her body moved to lay back, “Lube is in the night stand.” she whispered trying to still catch her breath lips parted some as she looked up at him adoringly. “Please… I got off last night, so I shouldn’t take much prep-” she explained quickly, legs parting for him.

Oh, oh, Christopher moaned at the sight of her lips sliding off his cock like that, and he knew all about the morning before last, but last night… Knowing she’d got off again, after she’d spent so much of the night talking to him. Still, he knew he had to be careful with her, she had no idea. Lube, reaching for her night stand, and into the draws as he kicked his pants, shoes and climbed onto her bed. Retrieving the slick, good, and pouring some onto his fingers and putting the bottle aside as he knelt between her thighs.. “I don’t want to rush, I just..” He already felt a little breathless just being here, looking at her..

Swallowing, his cleaning hand steadying himself at her bare hip, “You are so beautiful, BabyGirl.” His eyes dark but vibrant as he took her in, reaching between her thighs and brushing his fingertips over her rim. “I intend to enjoy all of you, for as long as you’ll let me.”

She mewled and moaned, arching to try to grasp at him. “Daddy…” she breathed out, eyes fluttering softly as she looked at him. “Chris- I want you… I don't know if I’m just being stupid but… I just want to stay with you-” she breathed, “as much as I can-”

Her hands ran over his chest and shoulders slowly, memorizing… every detail. Her other hand reached to pet his cheeks and face, softly shivering happily at the feeling of his skin against hers. She rolled her hips down against his fingers, whimpering. “Please-”

Vinny moaned as she rocked her hips slowly, and kissed at his lips eagerly, moaning and squirming on his fingers, “I won't let you go.” She admitted meekly. “I like spending time with you whenever I can…”

Christopher didn’t think it was stupid, then, he wasn’t really a man, he was a beast, a gargoyle, and he couldn’t even tell her the truth of his existence without putting her entire life in danger. One thing that he knew with all his heart though as he pressed a finger inside of her as she rolled her hips, slowly, despite her insistence that she didn’t need the prep.. He wanted to feel her open up for him. “I’m yours.”

Leaning over Vinny as he stretched her open on his fingers, gently pressing a second inside of her as he brought his lips to hers. “I’ll always be yours.” For as long as he could be. That angel that was coming, he didn’t care anymore what they would have to say, he had followed the edicts for so long, he would do his duty, he would protect the mortals for the rest of his days.. But he’d lived so long.. Why.. why couldn’t he be happy with Vinny? He’d lost his mate, just this little bit of happiness, was that too much to ask. He felt it, in his soul, it sang to hers. He knew he shouldn’t, he’d had his mate, what right did he have? But he did, he felt it.

Twisting his fingers inside of her until he was adding a little more lube and adding a third, slowly drawing them in and out as he watched her. His eyes were so loving, reverent in the way he was practically adoring her. “By the angels, BabyGirl.. You feel so good, tell me, how do you want me?” Any way, giving her control would be the safest, Christopher didn’t want to risk losing himself, but at the same time, he didn’t want to disappoint her either.

Moaning softly as he thought of the other morning, in this very bed, “Would you like to ride me Baby?” Ride him like she rode that faux penile object, yes he knew the mortals had a name for those things, but for the life of him he didn’t know it.

Her voice quivered sensually, a moan of desire, desperation, and pleading. “Daddy- yes please-” she pleaded, “I wanna ride you… I wanna ride you-” she whispered, eyes watering as her back arched some, jaw dropping. “Daddy- Please-”

The second that Vinny agree’d, it didn’t take him a moment before Christopher was shifting their position between them on the bed. Both of their bodies were already left completely bare to each other, nothing but want and desire between them. He moved onto the bed so he was on his back, half laying against Vinny’s pillows, and half propped up against them at the headboard so she could move to straddle him. His hands reached for her hips to guide her, “Come here, BabyGirl.”

She moved to rest on his hips her length rubbing against his as she whimpered before moving even closer pressing her face into his neck for a moment kissing his neck sweetly. “Chris-” she whispered before sliding down his length steadily, head laid back as she mewled. Her powerful thighs rested on either side of his hips. He could feel her muscles coil and relax as she moved, taking her time as she whimpered happily.

Christopher’s fingers wrapped around her, sliding up from her hips to her waist as she started rocking against him, gasping with a low moan at the feel of her lips against his skin. His head tilting back as her lips trailed down his neck. The angel runes on his skin under her lips, while appearing like human tattoos to her, they felt like they were tingling like cold fire, and then ignited in feeling to him, followed along, trailing everywhere her skin touched. It had been so long since he’d felt like this, everything about her reminded him of Chenza, of his mate, whether all in his head or not, he could help but want to be right here with her. Holding her waist as she slid down on his cock, his hips arched up to her carefully, feeling the way she flexed around him, oh she was perfect.

She moaned once she was fully seated on his cock, groaning out loud, rolling her hips a few times. Her eyes fluttered wildly for a moment, “Daddy-” she breathed before starting to glide up and down slowly at first as she savored the drag of skin on skin even with the lube. Her eyes rolled back as she finally was going fast and hard. Her jaw dropped, trembling eagerly.

He knew he should have looked for a condom, he might be ancient, but he wasn’t completely obtuse. Ryan had dragged him at least that far into the modern age. Clean up purposes, he said. He wasn’t wrong. However, he knew there wasn’t any diseases he could give Vinny, or anything he could catch from her that would harm him, and he wanted to feel every moment between them. Hands running up her body now, feeling every muscle, every slight dip to her slim strong body.. She was utterly beautiful. Capturing her lips with his now, kissing her with a hunger as his hips rocked with hers, joining her pack, not able to help but meet her with each thrust.. But making every effort to hold back the majority of his strength as his breath rushed with pants against her lips.

She panted before stopping him with a whimper almost there, frozen with trembling thighs, “Fuck- I don’t want it to be over yet.” She got out, legs shaking as her eyes fluttered softly.

Christopher’s forehead was pressed to Vinny’s as he groaned when she seemed to slow, stopping them was reaching anything close to a point of more yet, and groaning low, almost growling in his throat. His hands slipping around to her lower back, tempted to press her deeper against him and, just, rock her onto him.. He could cum, and just keep going, he could cum as many times as she needed him to tonight.. But he wanted her to first. He had to at least pretend to be mortal. Mortal had limited sexual functions, he knew that much. “BabyGirl, fuck, you can have me as often as you want.” As long as she wanted.

She groaned, head leaned back before she leaned in wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she started moving again, “I don't wanna cum right away- I've been wanting you for a few days and I want to savor you…” she breathed out softly with wide eyes licking her lips with remains of lipstick.

A strangled sound in his thought, swallowing, “Savor me?” It was strange to him, this thought of savouring sex. What was savouring sex. For him, while yeah, it was still usually about physical release, and yes pleasure and intimacy, but having the time to savour? Never. Even with Chenza, they never had the time. They were lucky to have a few moments when they woke before Jerahmiel would dispatch them on their assignments for the night, whether patrols or guards. Back then, there were more than just three of them. Or the time before dawn when they had a few blissful moments to steal away to themselves. Or even post battle, those, we’re both still alive, moments… but they were always fast, frenzied, passionate, they didn’t get the chance to savour.

Now, the fact that he’d been thinking about her for weeks was never mind. She had been driving him insane.. Was he going to keep letting her right now as he looked at this woman that was rocking her hips so slowly, and driving him to new heights? Yes, yes he was. Moaning as against her lips, not caring as her lipstick smeared ever so slightly against his skin. Little did he know, to her, enough of him was coloured with the human tattoos she could see in place of his angel markings.

She mewled softly, and arched her back, “Chris-” she moaned, moving faster than slowed, eagerly and then stopped again tight around him, eyes trained on his face with a whimper. “Chris, you feel amazing…!” She gasped out.

It felt like something was different. Maybe because they had spent So much time together… Or maybe it was because he fit perfectly inside of her. But was electric and addicting.

The way the intense cold fire still blazed through his skin, the pleasure just threatening to consuming him, feeling like it was building ever higher. He used to think it was intense before, now it was growing all the more fervent as the feelings built between them with the way Vinny kept slowing, and speeding up.. And then stopping again, so tight around him. Moaning, his head tilting back, gasping for breath, fingers so tight around her hips.. His hips bucked up against her as she gasped, his eyes meeting hers, “Fuck, BabyGirl, I’m so close, I’m I’m so-”

She shook before reaching down to stroke herself as she moved again angling herself and aimed well as she started caving instantly, jaw slack as a deep guttural moan filled the room. She pressed her forehead to his and kissed him deeply, groaning for him as pleasure rushed at her, not holding back this time.

The moment Vinny started stroking herself, Christopher’s fingers were wrapped around hers, and he was stroking with her, not pulling her hand away, but joining her. As he kissed her, his whole world tilted on its axis, from the way his fingers stroked at her with his fingers, to the brush of her lips.. The feel of her clenching around his length.. And then as he jerked inside of her, not able to stop himself coming apart this time.. Fuck, fuck.. The feeling was so intense.. More so than he ever felt before. Savor it she’d said. He was gasping for breath, like Vinny had reached into his chest and squeezed directly around his heart as he moaned.

Vinny moaned into his mouth as he gripped her hand and clit with her. Mewling, she knew it wouldn't be much longer- then suddenly there it was- he was cumming, sending her over with him almost screaming into the kiss as white-hot pleasure rushed through her without restraint, making her gasp desperately. Her chest was glued to his as she panted softly with shaky legs.

By the angel, Christopher felt nothing but pure shock for a moment at the sight before him, a whimper in his throat. Chenza, she, she looked just.. Oh.. oh.. Fuck.. the way she followed him in her pleasure, the way she came apart like that.. Kissing her, not able to help himself as he helped her ride out her orgasm while pushing his body to relax. He knew mortals didn’t keep going the way gargoyles did, and he had to slow down.. He couldn’t keep going, he wouldn’t push Vinny too far. “You are so beautiful.”

Vinny was breathless and kissed him and the palm of his hand, panting softly, jaw dropped as she relaxed. She didn't have big loads, so the mess between them wasn't too much as she laid against his chest breathing in his scent as she groaned against his neck, lips teasing him. “So are you… you're so handsome while you cum… fuck it felt amazing, never felt that good before….”

Arms wrapped around her, Christopher pulled her down gently to the bed, they had time. Knowing that Vinny always got up before the dawn to open the café, had him so calm, so serene in the fact that he could stay here with her, and just relax. Otherwise, he’d be worried, and counting the minutes and how long he’d have before he had to make an excuse about when he had to leave. Kissing her shoulder gently, nuzzling into her skin.. She was perfect saying that, so perfect.. “Sleep BabyGirl, we both have to be up early.. I’ll help you with everything in the morning, I promise.” Kissing her sweetly.

She smiled and kissed his neck softly, eyes closing steadily as she breathed slowly, heart warm. “Good night daddy.” She whispered softly and ran her fingers over his tattoos softly, not taking long before falling asleep.

Christopher couldn’t sleep, as wonderful as he knew it was now, he couldn’t sleep, not while he had her in his arms. He could sleep during the day, he could sleep when he had no other choice in his stone prison. Right now he was holding the most precious being… and he… oh… she… his eyes stung with tears trying not to tremble. By the angel, how could he do this to her? She deserved so much better than him, but she, she reminded him so much of his Chenza.

Everything about her, Vinny was, she was glorious, remarkable, perfect, and it, it was like having her right back in his arms. Worse almost. There were times they’d dreamed about hiding away to just steal a moment like this, quiet, holding each other… not that they could ever really have them in the life, the war that they’d fought alongside each other. The war that he was still fighting. The war that he would never be able to stop fighting, and Vinny deserved so much better than to have to deal with him, and be compared to his lost mate, his lost love. But he was too much of a monster to be able to let her go.

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houseofthescrolls · 2 years ago

Text

Midnight Rain

Daemon Targaryen x Reyna Targaryen (OC)

You were my midnight rain

- Angst - Slowburn - Fluff

Pt 1 / Pt 2

The ball was in full swing and I could hear music blaring loudly as I walked down the castle halls alone. It was an exhausting discussion, but I forced my father not to assign me a guard. I was weary of who to trust in this dragon’s den and I can protect myself.

My thoughts drifted to my son, wondering if he was having a good time. Viserys requested to go to this event with his cousins Jacerys and Lucerys tonight and I welcomed the bonding even if I felt highly uncomfortable around my sister.

I stopped by the open archway, peering up at the night sky. My growing nerves preventing me from entering the lively ballroom. Last time I was at a ball like this, Daemon had just returned from another victory in battle.

“I have watched you sulk your night away. Why are you not dancing?” Daemon asked as he leant back against the very wall I currently rested upon.

“My father thinks I am old enough find a suitor.” I answered glumly.

“And you are not happy of this news?” His tone was mocking as he took a drink of his wine already knowing the answer to his own question.

“You know very well why I am not, uncle.” I half heartedly glared in his direction.

Daemon nodded, “I was like you once.”

“Once?” I teased turning my body fully towards him now, “Do you forget that you are still are not married?”

“Hush,” He smiled matching my movements, “This is your suitors ball not mine.”

My smile faded at the teasing reminder, “I want to be more than just a wife and child maker.” I sighed.

“Then let me lighten your sorrows with a dance.” He set his glass down and held his hand out towards me patiently.

I smiled softly, the butterflies in my stomach always managing to appear when he is around. I placed my hand in his.

That was the first time he showed any interest in me. An interest that wasn’t the fleeting glances and cordial hello’s as he passed me by to greet his blood. Though no one would dare question my adoption out loud, the feeling of being an outcasted sheep was felt sourly.

But I remember… I remember his warm hands pressed against my waist. I remember our smiles that mirrored one another. I remember that night as if it were yesterday. He stayed with me, refusing to leave my side as he shooed off any suitors with his hard gaze. His hair was shorter then too. I mused.

“Alright.” I spoke to myself as I pushed aside my thoughts, “The past can’t help now and neither can he. I can do this on my own.”

I can entire the dragon’s den as force of my own for I am not a dragon… I am a wolf.

I entered the ballroom with stride, my dress made of ice blue silk and diamonds this time as it glittered from the lights.

“My king! The Queen Of Nox has arrived!” The page announced.

Those nearest to the door greeted me with a bow and a good evening. I smiled in kind before walking towards my father and greeting him with a bow.

“Thank you for joining us my daughter.” The king welcomed me and the party commenced.

“Thank you for inviting me and my son.” I smiled, “Speaking of, I must seek him out.”

“Last I saw he was by the food.” Alicent said and I smiled to her gratefully and went on my way.

I was thankful for the parting crowd as I walked throughout the ballroom and soon found Viserys by a table filled with a variety of food brought out by the butlers and maids. It warmed my heart to see him talking with his cousins, a wide smile on each of their faces.

“Mother!” Viserys waved me over as soon as his gaze landed on me, “Jacerys was just telling me about his time learning our mother tongue.”

“Oh that is quite lovely! I’m happy to know that the language is still taught within these walls.” I smiled towards my nephew, “And how are you finding the language?”

“Difficult.” He chuckled, “I’m not sure the difference between what is attack and what is a potato.”

“Tricky indeed.” I mused with a nod.

“I offered to help him learn while we are here.” Viserys said.

I nodded at the proclamation, “That is a wonderful idea! I am happy to hear the three of you getting along.”

“As am I.” I heard my sister say behind me.

I turned and the smile on my face settled to a plangency as I greeted her and our uncle, “Good evening sister… Uncle.” I greeted them both in kind.

“How are you my sister?” She asked.

I glanced towards her attire, fitted in black and gold, “I am alright, thank you. How are you?”

“Sore.” She humored, “I’ve been on my feet all day.”

I nodded in understanding, “That is understandable.”

“Are you sure you are alright?” She continued, “I haven’t seen you since the night you arrived.”

“Quite.” I stated pressing my lips together in a thin line, “I’ve just been busy. I have been with father, discussing some business between our kingdoms.”

“What kind of business?” Daemon spoke without so much as a hello.

I rolled my eyes refusing to look at him and instead directed my attention to a certain pastry I would like to have later, “Wouldn’t you like to know, prince.” I said pronouncing that word with mockery.

If I were looking at him I would have laughed at the glare he sent me, “I have every right to know, I am your uncle, niece.”

“I am a Queen to you, address me as such or get out of my presence.” I waved my hand towards him and moved to leave.

I could hear my son and nephews chuckling. They were in awe at the guts I had towards the rogue prince, but I don’t fear him. I never had.

“I was hoping we could talk.” Rhaenyra pressed as Daemon scoffed. She wanted to diffuse the tension to keep me longer, “I haven’t seen you in years, let alone heard any word from you.”

“A reason you surely know.” I tried to take a step back to turn once again, but she quickly stepped in my way.

“Please.” She pleaded.

“Viserys.” I looked at him silently telling him to leave.

“Why don’t you tell me how to say sky in old Valeryan.” Viserys guided his cousin away.

I turned to look at my sister sharply, “What is it that you truly want from me sister?”

“A truce.” She said lowly.

“A truce?” I raised an eyebrow at her praying to the gods that I wouldn’t punch the man with the stupid smirk now standing in my peripheral.

He was wearing black attire tonight with silver trims. If he wasn’t such a deceitful, lying, pompous prick I would find it quite handsome on him… if only. If only he wasn’t such an ass.

“Yes. I was hoping we could clear up this pathetic fight about the marriage between Daemon and I.” She stated appearing as regal as ever where as I was on the verge of drowning.

Pathetic? She thinks this is pathetic? Does my heart mean nothing to them?

“Then it is cleared.” I said without a care, “Now if you would excuse me.” I nodded and tried my escape again, but Rhaenyra had different plans.

“Just let me explain, please. I want you to understand that I never wanted to hurt you. You see, we have been on and off for a while.” She began and I couldn’t help but stare blankly at the array of roses just past her head.

The sooner she finishes the better. I don’t want to hear about how I was deceived, hurt, and betrayed. I have already found peace, I can—

“And while it may seem new to most, this attraction started when you began your courting season and so—“

My eyes snapped to her amethyst ones in disbelief, “What?” I could barely get the choked words out, “When did this start?”

“Never mind that—“ Daemon spoke up, but with the fire in my eyes directed toward him, he quickly shut up.

“Your courting season.” She stated again before her rant continued.

I couldn’t understand what she was saying as my world caved in once again. My confused gaze fell onto Daemon wanting him to explain himself, to just say something, anything, but he didn’t far speak a word.

That year was one of the only happy memory of us. I held onto it with my life, every time I tried to imagine what our future could have been. Even if he fell out of love with me when my sister came of age, at least during that season he saw me instead of her… That he chose me… Not her.

My confused look turned to sorrow as I watched his gaze fall from mine. In intimidation or guilt, I do not know, but I looked at him trying to understand his reason behind all of it.

I still remember when he confessed to me. The love he held for me could revel the strongest of seas or so I thought. For the first time since I came to the palace and met Daemon, he seemed so happy. I was so sure that it was going to be him, that he was going to be my forever. I refused any other suitors because of the way he looked at me.

“You are the first woman I have felt this way towards.” He said taking strides towards where I stood.

“Felt what way?” I asked turning to face him.

My room began to feel warm as he pressed his forehead against mine.

“Love, my little flame.” He answered.

His honey words had me reeling. My heart growing ten times bigger as he brought his lips to mine.

I was his first love. That is what he said, but I wasn’t was I?

“You…” Was the only word I could say in the moment, my throat constricting to get anymore words out. He looked back to me, waiting for me to continue, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to say the truth that was clearly in front of me.

My gaze fell defeated in a twisted understanding that he never loved me, he only used me.

“But, what we have is love.” Rhaenyra stated bringing me back to this moment.

I nodded desperately wanting to get away from here, “You can keep your love. I do not want it nor do I wish to ruin it. Now please excuse-”

She grabbed my arm, “I don’t want to have you as my enemy. This jealousy and resentment will get us nowhere. You know that we are stronger together so please for all of our sakes, can you put this behind you?”

It was that flicker, that spark that ignited the anger inside me as I ripped my arm from her grasp. My shoulders squared back as I used my height to tower over her, even if it was just a few centimeters, my crown made up for the rest.

“Do not.” I started, my voice stronger than before as it took on the role I was meant to be, a queen, “Ever assume that I would stoop so low as to resent either of you for a simple marriage, let alone be jealous of it.” The bile rising in my throat proves my emotions towards this, but I refused to be the sad and pitied Princess who was cast aside all those years ago, “I have a kingdom of my own to rule, a son whom I love deeply, and a life that keeps me content. In no way have I ever been jealous of you, little sister.” No one is going to know how I feel and I refuse to be the newest gossip of the kingdom.

“I did not mean any harm by my words.” She pleaded.

“Oh I know exactly what you mean. Do not worry, I will put this so called petty fight behind me as I fly back to my kingdom in a few days.” I glared at the both of them and turned away, this time I did not try to excuse myself as I left saying, “I’d like to enjoy the rest of my evening with the only friend I have in this godforsaken castle.”

I found Alicent, the only other person who knew of my failed engagement with Daemon though she didn’t not know of Viserys’s birthright. My rage burned hotter than dragon’s fire though I hid it, Alicent seemed to see right through my facade as she looked at me worried from her throne.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

“I don’t understand why these white haired, purple eyed jerks think they are so righteous with whatever they do.” I stated angrily and was happy that my father was not around in this moment.

Her eyes widened at the proclamation, but in she nodded in understanding.

“She implied that I was jealous.” I continued sitting beside her, “Of her marriage to that tantrum throwing teenager. That this feud between us, no. That my feelings towards that humiliating rejection he gave me is petty.”

“I’m sorry.” Alicent reached over to place her hand on mine.

I looked down, “They didn’t even apologize.”

“They are Targaryen. They never apologize.” Alicent stated.

She was able to draw my attention away from the horrid topic for a while with gossip of her own but my gaze always seemed to find them in the crowd. It was getting late when I decided to part from the celebrations.

“Are you sure you want to stay up?” I asked Viserys.

He nodded almost immediately, “Yeah, Aemond has some cool things he wants to show me.”

“Alright.” I nodded before looking at Aemond, “Please keep my son safe brother.” I said the word lightly in case he would be offended.

He seemed caught of guard, but nodded, “Of course.”

“Have a fun night you two and stay safe.” I wished them both farewell before taking my leave.

I took my time getting back to my room, trying to stir off all the unpleasant feelings before I fall asleep. I almost made it… Almost. I could feel his presence behind me like a looming shadow.

“You can stop following me. Ive had enough excitement for today.” I spoke.

“Reyna.” His voice was gentle and my body straightened up a bit. It’s been a while since I heard that tone of his, but in the end I knew deep down I couldn’t fall for anymore of his tricks.

I rolled my eyes wishing that I could be away from his dramatics, “What is it uncle?”

“Do you refuse to say my name?” He asked tensely.

“Why should I? Do you not like uncle? Shall I call you rogue prince instead?” I challenged as I turned around, he was further than I expected, treating me as if I were some wild animal.

It was quiet for some time and I couldn’t help but turn around to see if he disappeared, but no. There he stood with a look on his face that reminded me of a small boy who knew he was in the wrong.

“I…” His voice trailed off and my ears perked up.

Was there a chance he was going to apologize? Say those simple words that held so much meaning? I waited now a bit more relaxed and as patiently as I could.

He cleared his throat and stood up straighter, “How are you doing?”

I sighed knowing that it was too good to be true, “How am I doing?” I stared into the sparkle his eyes possessed, “Our entire love was all just a cruel joke.” I watched his gaze fall as he looked at the wall beside me, “It is clear to me now that you never actually loved me, didn’t really care for me at all really.” I couldn’t help but scoff, catching his attention, “All an act to get closer to the one you truly cared about… Rhaenyra. Well you two can live happily forever without me.”

With that I left the rogue prince to stand there alone as I went back to my room.

I need some sleep.

Stay tuned!

Taglist

@shipheart @this-is-a-bad-idea @dragon-in-a-kettle @hadthemapplebottomjeans

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #daemon prince #daemon targaryen #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon x rhaenyra #hotd fanfic #daemon angst #daemon targaryen angst

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sansacherie · 11 months ago

Text

A Good and Obedient Daughter

Alicent’s babe first quickens one night, and the king dies the next.

Candlelight bathes the men summoned to the small council chambers. Princess Rhaenyra would often serve these men as her father’s cupbearer. Not far from here, the girl lies asleep, unaware that the generous father who has doted on her will never wake again.

Unaware she might yet be a queen.

Might.

Viserys named Rhaenyra Princess of Dragonstone only because his first wife had borne no sons. There was the possibility of his younger brother, but Alicent shared the same mind as her father concerning that notion.

Alicent sits in the chair that was once Viserys’, and her father, Ser Otto Hightower stands beside her. She is grateful to have him in Kingslanding, for she is a good and obedient daughter, and such daughters are rightfully glad to have the counsel and support of a father who loves them well.

But she needs more than just her father to stand beside her, not when she faces a red dragon. Alicent’s hand brushes against her stomach. She needs these other men as well. She needs the realm.

“The gods were cruel to take His Grace while he was so young,” Father says. Young, Alicent thinks. Not the young she was when she wed him before the sights of gods and men.

“But he has left us a gift.” Father continues, in the silence.

Lyonel Strong and Tyland Lannister exchange looks, but it is Lyman Beesbury who voices the question. “And what gift is that my lord?”

Alicent answers for her father. She raises her chin. “The gift of his son in my womb.”

Of those in the room, only Grand Maester Runciter and Father already know of her pregnancy.

“You delight us with such tidings, Your Grace.” For a large man, Lyonel’s voice is soft. His face cannot hide his surprise at her announcement, although there really should be nothing surprising about it. Viserys and Alicent had made Alyssa on their wedding night, and if a woman is healthy like she is, another child will quickly follow. Two years is a good gap between children, she thinks.

Tyland Lannister smiles in agreement. He has a nice smile, Alicent finds, even at this time. Her husband’s body is barely cold, and she is already noticing the smiles of other men as she is a giggling maiden newly brought to court. It is unseemly.

While Tyland Lannister smiles, the Master of Coin does not.

“You may have another daughter, my queen.” That is true enough, Alicent cannot deny it. Of course, she had prayed for a son as she had grown great with child, but she would not trade Alyssa for said boy. Alyssa who declares war on her porridge and exhausts her wetnurse and once pulled her older half-sister’s hair so hard that Rhaenyra forgot Alyssa was not yet two and hit her.

“I may.” She inclines her head. “But I could just as easily have a son.” She smiles. “I knew Alyssa was going to be a girl.” That is a lie. “A woman knows these things.”

“Indeed. My dear lady mother knew she was going to have twins before the maester himself!” Tyland beams.

Grand Maester Runciter nods. “If Her Grace is correct about carrying a son, we must do everything to ensure a successful pregnancy and birth.” The old man’s words irk Alicent as the image of curly-haired Alyssa flashes in her mind, but she pushes it aside.

“What… you mean to make a king of this boy?” Lyman splutters. He finally caught on. “To crown him?”

“Perhaps not the actual act itself.” Tyland smirks. “It’s not recommended for babes to go near sharp things, I would think. They’re quite fragile.”

“Indeed they are!” Lyman counters. “We would also be entering a 16-year regency, lest we forget my lords.” There is a pause, as he allows them to digest his words. “On the other hand, Princess Rhaenyra is only four years from her majority. At sixteen, she can rule in her name.”

“She will have to wait until she is eight and ten, Lord Beesbury,” Father tells him. Or reminds him. Alicent has Father to thank for that condition. He managed to convince Viserys that Rhaenyra would be better off waiting until she was past sixteen to rule, should he die while she was still a child. The realm will already have a hard time accepting her, for her sex. They might rest easier if she is allowed more time to grow, to mature.

“Yes, it was my lord husband’s wish.” In the end, Viserys acted like it had been his notion all along. Rhaenyra had not been happy when she heard, but despite her pleadings, the king would not change his mind. Alicent dried the girl’s tears and told her not to fret, for her father would most likely live a long time anyway to make no matter.

For the first time since she had met the little girl, Rhaenyra looked at her with eyes full of hate.

“It was also the King’s wish that his eldest inherit,” Lyman insists.

“His eldest, or only child?” Lord Strong asks.

“Indeed. When His Grace suffered the sudden loss of Queen Aemma, in his wisdom he saw the need to name an heir should another tragedy soon arrive at the Red Keep.” Father cleared his throat. “The Princess Rhaenyra was trueborn, and then the only surviving child of King Viserys. But if his queen begets a son, there is no question about the succession.”

“But His Grace…..” Lyman will not let it go.

“What do you think the purpose of our marriage was, my good lord?” Alicent asks sharply. “Why did he remarry so quickly, if he was content to leave Princess Rhaenyra as his sole heir?”

Lyman Beesbury looks hard at her. “Perhaps His Grace was thinking of other things.” Runciter gasps, and disgust shadows both Tyland and Lyonel’s faces at such insolence.

"How dare you insult my husband with such vile insinuations?" Alicent hisses. "How dare you insult me? "

"I would gladly cut out his tongue for that, my sweet queen." Tyland's fingers lovingly brush the dagger at his belt.

"Yes. You forget yourself, Beesbury." Lyonel admonishes him.

"And you forget that we all swore oaths to Rhaenyra Targaryen!" Lyman shouts. "She is the true heir to the Iron Throne." He points a finger at Alicent. "She-"

"She is carrying the true heir to the throne, if the gods favor such an outcome," the Lord of Harrenhall sharply interrupts.

Alicent nods. "You have made your feelings quite clear, Lord Beesebury." She waves a hand, and Ser Harrold Westerling steps forward. "I will not abide such traitors in our presence. Escort the master of coin to the black cells." Beesbury pales, and Alicent's stomach churns. She does not relish this, but it is a necessity.

When they are gone, Alicent turns to the remaining men. "Now. Until- if- His Grace's son is born, Princess Rhaenyra must be kept safe." Of course, Alicent will continue to ensure her protection afterward. Not for Viserys' sake. But for Rhaenyra's. She is only a little girl, and now she is an orphan. The crown is a cruel burden, Viserys had told Alicent once.

Yes, it is a burden. Rhaenyra Targaryen has only been Princess of Dragonstone for four years. She was not born expecting to rule the seven kingdoms. She might understand death, but does she understand duty? That is not enough time. But her brother, Alicent's son... There are drawbacks to such a long regency, of course. There always are. But they can use that time to their advantage. To shape, to guide, to prepare.

"Yes. The girl is queen for the meantime." Runciter rubs his chin. "Do we crown Princess Rhaenyra, or...." He trails off.

"Such a thing would be unwise," Father replies. "It would only legitimize her in the eyes of those fool enough to push for her claim, like our dear Beesbury."

"In any case, King Viserys did not celebrate his coronation for at least six months after he was crowned. These things take time, money."

Alicent smiles. "If I am blessed with another sweet girl, then we shall have a splendid event to look forward to." She sniffs. "However, my biggest concern is not the cost of a coronation. It is the cost of what Prince Daemon might do this realm, should he try to steal what does not belong to him."

"The Velayron's are another danger," Lyonel states.

"A dangerous enemy, or a powerful friend. " Alicent tilts her head. "How old is Princess Rhaenys's twins, again?"

"Lianna and Lucerys are two."

Alicent frowns, as though she needs time to think. "A betrothal, if it comes to it." A princess for a good-daughter or a queen for a daughter. She will not let them have both. A part of her hopes it will not fall on Alyssa.

They continue to plan into the night, while Alicent receives updates on the princess, who continues to sleep peacefully.

Alicent thinks of the girl's father, her dead husband.

Perhaps Beesbury was right.

Well.

Good and obedient daughters don't always make such wives.

#alicent hightower #pro alicent hightower #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #team green

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