#return to the throne ; ooc

[camelotfallen]

I am freshly showered and utterly refreshed.

prepare for assault by words in replies.

[darabeatha]

/  I know they are two very different figures, BUTBUT! I couldn’t help but think about this belief about C.onstantine,, and how as a legend it was believed he would come back to rule once again as his body was not found (even tho historians agree that he died in the battle that lead to the fall of Constantinople) and this is just like that popular belief about King Arthur, and how he as well would return once again to be king at the time his people will need him the most-

[athalantan]

Every day I think about the implied rich lore behind El's family / Athalantar and how we'll never get it

[astrxq]

I watched Damsel with Millie Bobby Brown, and I was thinking it would make a great Jace x reader story, if you're taking requests. Something like him being the prince who has to fake a wedding and then offer her as a sacrifice on the mountain to the dragon, but ends up falling in love and decides to rescue her. Or maybe he is the dragon that is cursed, and would only return to human form if he found his soulmate, in this case the sacrifices (the girls were thrown into the dragon's pit) because otherwise he would burn down the city, just like in the film. - 💜

The Dragon's Bride

jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader

words: 17k (oops?)

notes/warnings: non-canon events, description of blood/cuts (blood oath), religious guilt (jacaerys), kissing, angst??, slight ooc jacaerys and rhaenyra, mentions of death, animal death, jace's council SUCKS!!!

The weight of duty had never felt heavier on Prince Jacaerys’ shoulders as he stood before the ancient weirwood tree in the godswood of the Red Keep. The face carved into the trunk seemed to watch him with knowing eyes, judging his every thought and action.

Jacaerys ran a hand through his long-curly hair, and took a deep breath. The task before him was one he had dreaded since childhood, a burden passed down through generations of his family. As the heir to the Iron Throne, it fell to him to carry out this grim duty.

“My prince,” a voice called from behind him. Jacaerys turned to see one of the maesters approaching, his chain clinking softly with each step. The old man's face was etched with concern. “The Small Council awaits your presence. It is time to begin the selection process.”

Jacaerys nodded, his eyes clouded with resignation. “I'll be there shortly.”

As the maester retreated, Jacaerys cast one last glance at the heart tree. “Give me strength,” he whispered, though he wasn't sure if he was addressing the old gods, the new, or simply the universe itself.

The walk to the Small Council chamber felt like a march to his own execution. Each step echoed through the stone corridors, a countdown to a fate he couldn't escape. When he reached the ornate doors, he paused, steeling himself for what was to come. With a deep breath, he pushed them open and entered, two soldiers walking behind him.

The room fell silent as Jacaerys took his seat at the table.

Queen Rhaenyra spoke first, her voice steady. “My son, The dragon of Dragonstone grows restless,”

Jacaerys nodded, his throat tight. Still silent.

Ser Alfred leaned forward, his eyes sharp. “The tradition is clear, Your Grace. Prince Jacaerys must choose a lady from among the noble houses of Westeros. He will wed her in a ceremonial marriage, and then...” He trailed off, the unspoken fate hanging heavy in the air.

“And then I must take her to the dragon,” Jacaerys finished. 

Lord Corlys, ever the pragmatist, spread a collection of scrolls on the table. “We have compiled a list of suitable candidates from houses loyal to the crown. Each lady comes from a family of impeccable lineage and has been deemed worthy of this... honor.”

As Jacaerys looked at the names before him, he couldn't help but feel a wave of nausea. Each name came with a charcoal drawing of the girls. These were not just names on parchment; they were living, breathing young women, each with hopes and dreams of their own. And he was to choose one to condemn to a terrible fate.

“May I have some time to consider?” he asked, his eyes meeting his mother's.

Queen Rhaenyra hesitated. She nodded, her expression softening slightly. “Of course.”

As the council members filed out of the room, Jacaerys remained seated, staring at the scrolls before him. The weight of his task pressed down on him, threatening to crush his spirit entirely.

Jacaerys stared at the scrolls spread before him, each one bearing the name and likeness of a young woman whose fate now rested in his hands. The charcoal drawings seemed to come alive under his gaze, eyes filled with hope and innocence that he would soon extinguish. His fingers trembled as he reached for the first scroll.

Jacaerys felt his breath coming faster, his heart pounding in his chest. One by one, Jacaerys examined the scrolls, each lady's face burning itself into his memory. 

As the hours wore on, the faces began to blur together, a parade of innocent lives that he was tasked with judging. Who among them deserved this fate? How could he possibly make such a choice?

Jacaerys stood abruptly, pacing the length of the chamber. He ran his hands through his curly hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. The weight of his duty pressed down on him, threatening to suffocate him where he stood.

A knock at the door startled him from his thoughts. “Enter,” he called, his voice hoarse from disuse.

A servant girl entered, carrying a tray with bread, cheese, and wine. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace,” she said, bobbing a curtsy. “The Queen thought you might need sustenance.”

Jacaerys nodded absently, gesturing for her to set the tray on a side table. As she turned to leave, he caught sight of her face – young, perhaps a few years younger than himself.

���Wait,” he said, causing the girl to pause at the door, worried. “What is your name?”

She turned, surprise evident on her face. “Myra, Your Grace.”

“Myra,” he repeated, studying her. “Tell me, Myra, if you had to choose someone to... to face a great danger, how would you decide?”

The servant girl's eyes widened, clearly taken aback by the question. She fidgeted with her apron, considering her words carefully. “I... I suppose I would choose someone brave, Your Grace.”

Jacaerys nodded slowly. “And if all the choices seemed equally brave?”

Myra bit her lip, then said softly, “Then perhaps... the kindest one, Your Grace.”

With those words, she curtsied again and slipped out of the room, leaving Jacaerys alone with his thoughts once more.

He returned to the table, looking at the scrolls with fresh eyes. Brave and kind – could he discern those qualities from these brief descriptions and charcoal portraits?

As he sifted through the scrolls again, one caught his eye. He had overlooked it before, distracted by the more prominent houses. But now, something about it called to him.

Your name was written at the top in elegant script, followed by a brief description of your house and accomplishments. But it was the portrait that held his attention. The artist had captured a certain light in your eyes, a hint of a smile that spoke of warmth and courage.

Jacaerys found himself reading your description more closely. You were not from one of the great houses, but your lineage was respectable. What stood out were the small details – your love of books, your kindness to those less fortunate, the way you had once stood up to a local threat to protect a younger child.

He closed his eyes, trying to imagine you facing the dragon. In his mind's eye, he saw you standing tall, afraid but unbroken. He saw kindness in your gaze, even in the face of such terror.

Opening his eyes, Jacaerys looked at the other scrolls once more. Each lady was worthy in her own right, each life precious. But something about you called to him, a feeling he couldn't quite explain.

With a heavy heart, knowing the fate he was condemning you to, Jacaerys set your scroll aside. He had made his choice.

As dawn broke over King's Landing, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, Jacaerys stood once more before the heart tree in the godswood. He pressed his palm against the rough bark, feeling the ancient power thrumming beneath.

“I've chosen,” he whispered to the carved face. “Gods help me, I've chosen.”

Jacaerys had never been one for prayer, nor had he put much stock in the gods, old or new. As a prince of the realm, his education had focused on matters of state, the intricacies of court politics, and the art of war. Faith had always seemed like an afterthought to him, a crutch for the weak. But as the time for this grim tradition approached, he found himself drawn to the godswood more and more frequently, seeking solace in the ancient silence of the heart tree.

The sound of a throat clearing shook him out of his thoughts, the same maester who had long-ago taught him to translate High Valyrian stood with his arms to his sides. “Emagon ao reached iā decision, ñuha dārilaros?” [Have you reached a decision, my prince?]

Jacaerys’ brows furrowed in deep contemplation. 

“Eman,” [I have,] Jacaerys finally spoke, his voice carrying the weight of his decision. He glanced once more at the ancient weirwood, as if seeking guidance from the silent face carved into its trunk. “Prepare iā vōljes.” [Prepare a raven.]

The maester nodded solemnly. “To whom shall I send it, Your Grace?”

Without another word, Jacaerys reached for his pocket, pulling out the folded scroll with your name on it. He stared at it for a few seconds before, with an attempt of a steady hand, he handed it over.

The news of Prince Jacaerys' choice spread through the Red Keep like wildfire. Whispers filled the corridors, a mix of curiosity and pity for the unknown girl who had been selected for this “honor.” In the days that followed, preparations began in earnest for your arrival and the ceremonial wedding that would precede the grim journey to Dragonstone.

Jacaerys found himself both dreading and anticipating your arrival. He had made his choice, but the reality of what that meant hadn't fully sunk in yet. As he went about his daily duties, he couldn't shake the image of your portrait from his mind – the light in your eyes, the hint of a smile that had drawn him to you.

Every time he’d walk the halls, silence would follow, awkward stares from the staff and sometimes a hushed whisper that he’d pretend not to hear. 

“Can you imagine? Poor thing, chosen to face the dragon,” he overheard once, making him clench his fists in frustration. “She's just a girl, freshly two tens of age.” another voice murmured sympathetically, but it offered him little comfort.

Despite the weight of duty pressing down on him, Jacaerys couldn't bring himself to discard the drawing. Instead, he kept it close, hidden away in a drawer beside his bed. Every night before he slept, he would retrieve it and stare at your likeness by the dim light of a candle. It wasn't a gesture of admiration or affection, but rather a self-imposed penance, a reminder of the destiny he had sealed for you.

In the quiet moments of the night, when the castle slept and he was alone with his thoughts, Jacaerys would silently plead to the gods. He didn't kneel before the heart tree anymore; he didn't utter formal prayers. Instead, his appeals were whispered in the darkness of his chamber, words of regret and sorrow that mingled with the flickering candlelight.

“Istin sagon punished isse ōdres syt se rest hen ñuha tubissa, syt eman ōdrikagon iā innocent.” [I must be punished in pain for the rest of my days, for i have hurt an innocent]

The court continued its whispered discussions about the impending ceremony, but Jacaerys withdrew further into himself. He attended council meetings and performed his princely duties with a stoic demeanor, hiding the turmoil that churned beneath the surface. There were moments when he almost reconsidered, when he almost resolved to defy tradition and spare you this fate. But each time, the weight of his lineage and the expectations of his people bore down upon him, forcing him back into the role he was destined to play.

The night before you were set to arrive, Jacaerys couldn't sleep. He paced his chambers, his mind racing with thoughts of what was to come. As the first light of dawn began to creep through his windows, he’d realized he hadn’t had a blink of sleep.

He stood at the window of his chambers, watching the sun rise over King's Landing. The city was already stirring, unaware of the personal turmoil of its future king. As he gazed out at the sprawling streets and towering buildings, Jacaerys couldn't help but notice the big blob of citizens, all awaiting at the stair’s entrance of the Keep, 

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. “Enter,” he called, turning from the window.

A servant stepped into the room, bowing deeply. “Your Grace,” she said softly, “the Lady has arrived.”

Jacaerys nodded, his heart sinking at the news. The moment he had been dreading was finally here. He turned back to the window, taking one last look at the city before steeling himself for what lay ahead.

“Thank you,” he said to the servant, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. “I will be down shortly.”

As the heavy door closed behind her, echoing through the halls, Jacaerys took a deep breath, his mind racing. Finally, with a last, steadying breath, Jacaerys left his chambers and made his way down to the courtyard. The walk felt like a dream, each step echoing in the silent corridors of the Red Keep. Servants and guards stepped aside as he passed, their eyes filled with a mixture of respect and pity.

As he approached the grand entrance, he could hear the murmurs of the crowd outside. The people of King's Landing had gathered to witness the arrival of the chosen lady, their curiosity palpable in the air. Jacaerys squared his shoulders, bracing himself for the spectacle that awaited, his mother’s hand on his shoulder as a small-support for him. 

As Jacaerys stepped out into the courtyard, the murmur of the crowd hushed to a reverent silence. Nobles and commoners alike pressed forward, eager to catch a glimpse of the prince and his chosen bride.

Jacaerys felt his breath catch in his throat as he laid eyes on you for the first time.

You were even more striking in person than your portrait had suggested. Your eyes, bright and intelligent, scanned the crowd before settling on Jacaerys. 

Prince Jacaerys was beautiful, his long curly hair framing his face, his eyes intense as they met yours. You couldn't help but notice the dark circles under those eyes, the weariness that seemed to hang about him like a cloak.

Jacaerys descended the steps slowly, each movement deliberate and controlled. As he approached, you sank into a deep curtsy, your gaze lowering respectfully. “Your Grace,” you said, your voice steady despite the enormity of the moment. “I am honored by our betrothal.”

For a moment, Jacaerys found himself at a loss for words. He turned to look at his mother with a confused look on his face. You didn’t know? The Queen shook her head at him, so lightly that only he could notice. 

He reached out, gently taking your hand and helping you to your feet.

“My lady,” he said softly, loud enough for you to hear but not for the eager crowd. 

The murmurs of the crowd faded into the background as Jacaerys led you through the courtyard, his mother Queen Rhaenyra by his side and your family next to yours. 

“Your Grace,” Jacaerys whispered, eyeing his mother. “I was not told that my betrothed didn’t know of the… arrangement.”

Queen Rhaenyra's gaze softened as she walked beside Jacaerys and you, the procession moving towards the Great Hall where the formalities would take place. Her voice was low, meant only for her son's ears amidst the murmurs of the courtiers and the lingering hush of the crowd.

“My son, there are matters of tradition that sometimes defy explanation,” she began, her tone tinged with empathy. “It is the way of our world, and you know as well as I do the weight of duty that rests upon us.”

Jacaerys glanced at his mother, a mixture of frustration and sorrow flickering in his eyes. “But she should have been informed,” he murmured quietly, his grip tightening subtly on your hand. You didn’t pay it any mind, as you were occupied speaking to your father, who reminded you – once again – of your duty to bring the Prince a babe to be the heir to his throne.

“I understand not telling the common folk, but, her?” He hushedly spat out, almost glaring at his mother, “She is to be fed to a dragon.”

Queen Rhaenyra sighed softly, her gaze turning ahead as they approached the Great Hall's grand entrance. “She will come to understand her role in time, Jacaerys. As will you,” she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of regret at the sight of her son’s worry.

He stole glances at you, trying to gauge your feelings, silently hoping that somehow, you might find a way to forgive the circumstances that had brought you both here. Once you sat at the Small Council table, ready to speak of the marriage that would take place in merely a few weeks, the room fell silent. You glanced around nervously, acutely aware of the attention shifting towards you and the Prince that sat straight by your side.

“My daughter knows her duty,” Your father started, making one of the maesters clear his throat in discomfort, Jacaerys glared at the old man. “She is healthy, and able to bring a babe to the world.”

You nodded, trying to hide the tremble in your hands. 

Jacaerys turned his head to look at you, your furrowed brows as you listened to his mother explain how the ceremony of your wedding was going to play off. He clenched his fists on the table, trying to hide his overwhelmedness by taking a long sip out of his wine. 

The meeting was a blur for Jacaerys, his mind not allowing him to pay attention to any of the preparations, all he could think about was the innocent look on your face, unknowing of your fate, and the stern look of his own Council, awaiting for the day to come. 

Eventually, after having had enough of listening to your families’ planning, he stood. “Excuse me,” he voiced, offering his hand for you to take as the room fell silent. “Me and my betrothed will leave you to it, we will walk together.”

You glanced around nervously, uncertain of the proper protocol, but your father nodded in approval, prompting you to take Jacaerys' hand. His hand was cold, he rushed the two of you out of the room and out to the gardens, he didn’t speak until you stepped out of the Keep.

“You know,” he began, breaking the silence, “I used to spend a lot of time here as a child. My mother would bring me to the gardens to escape the formality of court. It was my sanctuary.”

You listened intently, intrigued. “It's beautiful,” you replied softly, glancing around at the serene landscape. “I can see why.”

“I apologize for the abruptness back there,” he began, his voice soft but tinged with a hint of urgency. “It's... overwhelming, all of this. I wanted to give us a moment away from all the... planning and discussions.”

You glanced at him, noticing the tension in his jawline, the weight that seemed to press down on his broad shoulders. His gaze was distant, as if wrestling with thoughts beyond the present moment.

“I... I wanted to ask how you are,” he continued, his tone tentative. “This must all be quite... unexpected for you.”

“It is... a lot to take in,” you admitted quietly, choosing your words with care. “But it is an honor to marry the Prince.”

Jacaerys nodded, though his expression remained troubled. He attempted to push down the burning feeling in his stomach, the guilt eating at him. 

Silence fell between you for a moment, the distant sound of birdsong and the gentle rustle of leaves providing a backdrop to your conversation. Jacaerys seemed to gather his thoughts before speaking again.

“What do you enjoy doing?” he asked suddenly, his curiosity genuine. “Aside from the obvious duties and expectations... What brings you joy?”

The question caught you off guard, but you appreciated the chance to speak of something beyond the weight of your impending marriage. “I love books,” you confessed with a small smile. “I used to sneak away to a small library in our keep,” you confided, a hint of nostalgia in your voice. “It was quiet, away from the noise of daily life. I could lose myself in the pages for hours.”

He almost sighed when he saw a small smile creeping on your face as you spoke of your memories. “That sounds wonderful,” he said softly, his voice tinged with melancholy. “I... I hope you'll find some comfort in the library here, during your stay.”

You nodded, grateful for his consideration. “I look forward to exploring it. Do you have any favorite books or subjects, Your Grace?”

Jacaerys seemed to relax a bit at the change of topic. “Please, when we're alone like this, call me Jacaerys,” he said with a small smile. “And yes, I've always been fascinated by the histories of Old Valyria. The tales of dragons and ancient magic... they're quite captivating.”

“Jacaerys,” you repeated, testing the name on your lips. “I'd love to hear more about that. We don't have many books on Valyria where I'm from.”

He brightened a bit. “Really? Well, there's this one volume about the Doom that's particularly interesting. It theorizes about what might have caused it.”

As you walked, Jacaerys began to explain some of the theories, his hands moving animatedly as he spoke. He aimlessly walked you to the library, you followed his steps as he spoke. You couldn’t help but notice the looks the servants gave you, almost pitiful, as you walked past them. 

Some whispered, covering their mouths with their hand so it would stay a secret. Jacaerys didn’t pay it any mind, his hand moving to lock both of your index fingers as he kept spitting out everything he’d learned about the Doom’s theories. 

As you entered the grand library, your eyes widened in awe. Shelves upon shelves of books stretched as far as you could see, their spines glinting in the soft light filtering through high windows.

Jacaerys watched your reaction with a small smile. “Impressive, isn't it? I thought you might appreciate it.”

You nodded, still taking in the sight. “It's magnificent. I could spend years here and never read everything.”

Jacaerys led you deeper into the library, his fingers still lightly entwined with yours. “Let me show you some of my favorite sections,” he said, guiding you through the towering stacks.

As you walked, Jacaerys pointed out various tomes and scrolls, explaining their significance. His enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself relaxing, asking questions and sharing your own thoughts.

“Here,” Jacaerys said, pulling a large, leather-bound volume from a shelf. “This is the book on the Doom of Valyria I mentioned. Would you like to look at it together?”

You nodded eagerly, and Jacaerys led you to a nearby reading nook. As you sat side by side, heads bent over the ancient text, the weight of your circumstances seemed to lift momentarily. For a little while, you were just two people sharing a passion for knowledge and history.

You recognized High Valyrian words you’d learned here and there, but were grateful that Jacaerys patiently explained the meaning of each passage aloud. 

“Se sīr īles foretold ondoso se scribes hen Valyria bona se vējes would māzigon bē īlva, heralded ondoso iā rōvēgrie shaking hen tegon se iā sȳndror bona would swallow se vēzos.” [And so it was foretold by the scribes of Valyria that the Doom would come upon us, heralded by a great shaking of the earth and a darkness that would swallow the sun.] 

His voice resonated softly in the library's hallowed silence, you’d noticed his tense demeanor from hours earlier had eased into a more relaxed and gentle attitude.

As the families concluded their meeting in the Great Hall, the formalities of the betrothal were settled. You were to remain at the Red Keep under the watchful eye of Queen Rhaenyra and her court, preparing for the ceremonial wedding that would precede the journey to Dragonstone. Jacaerys escorted you back to your temporary chambers, a solemn air hanging between you.

Inside the quiet sanctum of your quarters, away from prying eyes, Jacaerys finally allowed his guard to drop. He paced restlessly, his fingers running through his hair in frustration. “I'm sorry,” he blurted out suddenly, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want you to miss your home.”

You watched Jacaerys with concern, his sudden outburst catching you off guard. “Your Gr- Jacaerys,” you corrected yourself, remembering his earlier request. “It's alright. I knew when I was chosen that I would have to leave my home behind. It's part of my duty.”

He looked like he wanted to push the conversation, to speak his mind, but he simply shut his mouth and nodded once. “Very well.”

An awkward silence fell between you. There was clearly something unsaid hanging in the air, but neither of you seemed willing or able to address it directly.

Finally, Jacaerys cleared his throat. “I should let you rest. It's been a long day, and I'm sure you'd like some time to settle in.” He moved towards the door, then paused, turning back to you. “If you need anything, anything at all, please don't hesitate to ask. I want you to feel at home here.”

That night, Jacaerys found himself staring at the canopy above his bed, unable to find solace in sleep once again. The events of the day weighed heavily on his mind, particularly the encounter with you, the chosen lady whose fate he now bore responsibility for. He tossed and turned, unable to shake the image of your face – bright, hopeful, and utterly unaware of the doom that awaited you.

He sat up abruptly, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “Gods, forgive me,” he whispered into the stillness of the night. He repeated what he did each night, the only sounds in the room being his own whispers. 

As Jacaerys whispered his nightly plea for forgiveness, the weight of his decision pressed down on him more heavily than ever before. Meeting you in person, seeing your bright eyes and hearing your voice, had made the reality of his choice painfully tangible.

It was a cruel twist of fate that someone with such a love for knowledge and life should be destined for… He couldn't even bring himself to think the words.

Unable to find peace, Jacaerys rose from his bed, wrapping a cloak around his shoulders to fend off the chill of the night. He left his chambers quietly, the corridors of the Red Keep almost deserted at this late hour. Only the occasional guard patrolled the hallways, their presence a silent reminder of the ever-watchful eyes of the realm.

He found his feet leading him to the godswood once more, drawn to the ancient heart tree that had witnessed so much over the centuries. The rustling leaves seemed to whisper secrets as he approached, the carved face staring down at him with its perpetual expression of knowing.

“Why have you done this to me?” Jacaerys asked, his voice a broken whisper. “Why have you placed this burden on my shoulders?”

The tree, of course, offered no answer. It stood silent and stoic, a testament to the countless generations who had sought its guidance and solace.

“Old gods,” he whispered, his voice trembling, “I don't know if you can hear me, or if you even care. But I need your guidance. I need to find a way to fulfill my duty without losing my soul in the process.”

The face carved into the tree seemed to watch him with those same knowing eyes, offering no answers, only silent judgment. 

Jacaerys sank to his knees before the heart tree, the weight of his duty pressing down on him with unbearable force. The faces of the young women whose fates he had held in his hands swirled in his mind, but it was your face that haunted him the most. The way you had looked at him with trust and curiosity, unaware of the doom he had chosen for you.

The Prince had fallen asleep at the feet of the heart tree, woken up by his Queen’s scolding gaze and her sharp voice as she shook his arm. “Wake up, Jacaerys!” Queen Rhaenyra's voice cut through the early morning stillness of the godswood. Her hand shook his arm gently but insistently until he stirred, groggy and disoriented.

Jacaerys blinked up at his mother, the reality of where he was and what awaited him crashing back with painful clarity. “Mother – Your Grace.” he murmured, rubbing his eyes as he rose to his feet, feeling the ache in his bones from sleeping on the hard ground.

“You should be resting in your chambers, not sleeping out in the godswood like some lost soul!”

He hummed, throat sore from the cold air of the night, as his Queen dragged him inside holding onto his wrist. Jacaerys followed his mother back to the Red Keep in a fog, the events of the previous night and the weight of his decisions still heavy on his mind. Queen Rhaenyra's scolding was just a distant echo to him as they walked through the quiet corridors, servants bowing respectfully as they passed.

They walked by the Grand Hall, he managed to makeout your sitting figure, all alone, with a full plate in front of you as one of the servants poured juice into the cups. At the loud, angry steps that scurried in the hall, you lifted your eyes to meet his for a split moment before he was dragged away to his own chambers to compose himself. 

“Your betrothed is sat at the table, waiting, and you’re out asleep in the gardens.”

Jacaerys felt a pang of embarrassment as he remembered the fleeting glance he had exchanged with you through the grand hall. It was bad enough to be caught by his mother and scolded like a child, but to have you witness such a moment of vulnerability added another layer of discomfort.

Once safely within his chambers, the embarrassment deepened. He leaned heavily against the door, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath to steady himself. He readied himself, not bothering to call the servants, and approached the Great Hall. 

It was silent, all he could hear as he walked in was the sounds of his youngest siblings playing with their food. Approaching you, he felt a knot tighten in his stomach. You looked up as he approached, your expression a mix of curiosity and apprehension. Jacaerys cleared his throat, unsure of how to begin.

“My lady,” he began softly, “I apologize for my absence.”

You looked at him, your eyes searching his face for understanding. “It's quite alright,” you replied with a small smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. 

He noticed a thick book sitting next to your feast, the old worn-out cover with the carved in title he recognized from the section he’d shown you the day before. “The Doom of Valyria,” Jacaerys noted with a slight surprise, gesturing towards the book. “You found it interesting?”

You nodded, a genuine spark of enthusiasm brightening your expression. “I figured we could look at it together. I thought it might help me understand more about... well, everything,” you admitted softly, your gaze flickering briefly to the book before returning to meet his eyes.

Jacaerys nodded, feeling his mother’s eyes move to him in a warning. Don’t get attached.

He didn’t initiate another topic of conversation, casting the room in silence while you had your breakfast. The Queen stood, taking her youngest son into her arms while two other servants followed behind with the other kids, leaving you alone in the Hall.

“We can look at it now, if you wish.” he spoke, hand reaching for the book once he’d finished drinking his cup. You nodded eagerly, grateful for the opportunity to delve into something other than the weighty expectations of your impending marriage. You both moved to a quieter corner of the Great Hall, away from the prying eyes of the courtiers who lingered nearby.

Jacaerys settled onto the floor, patting the space beside him. “Come on, it's more comfortable down here,” he said with a grin.

You laughed softly, gathering your skirts as you joined him. “If anyone walks in, they'll think we've lost our minds.”

“Let them,” Jacaerys chuckled, opening the book across both your laps. “Now, where shall we start?”

Your eyes skimmed the pages, landing on an illustration of a great city. “What's this?”

“Ah, Old Valyria at its height,” Jacaerys explained, his finger tracing the intricate drawing. “See those spires? They say they were forged by dragonfire.”

“It's beautiful,” you murmured, leaning in closer. Your shoulder brushed against his, and you felt a small thrill at the contact.

Jacaerys turned his head, his face now inches from yours. He hummed before he cleared his throat, a smile playing at his lips. “Did you know they had a saying? 'Valar morghulis.'“

“What does that mean?” you asked, tilting your head curiously.

“All men must die,” Jacaerys translated, his voice low.

You raised an eyebrow. “Cheerful bunch, weren't they?”

He chuckled, fingers playing with the edge of the page before turning it. The text was dense with Valyrian history and conjecture, but Jacaerys patiently translated and explained each passage to you. 

After a while, as if unable to contain his turmoil any longer, Jacaerys cleared his throat softly, breaking the companionable silence. “My lady,” he began, his voice tinged with regret, “I must apologize once more for my absence this morrow. It was... inconsiderate of me to leave you waiting.”

You looked up from the book, meeting his gaze with a mixture of surprise and understanding. “Jacaerys, it's alright,” you assured him gently, “And, please, you must call me by my name as well.”

He nodded once, turning his head to the book again, then back at you, “I wasn’t… out, I fell asleep in the gardens.”

You felt a small wave of relief wash over you and tilted your head slightly, studying his expression. “It must have been a rough night,” you said softly, empathizing with the weight he carried. “I understand.”

“I didn't mean for you to witness me like that. It was... unbecoming.”

“It is only human to seek solace,” you replied gently, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Even princes need moments of peace.”

He nodded, a faint smile touching his own lips in return. You hummed in thought at Jacaerys’ silence, a beat passed, “If I am to marry the prince, I shall better my High Valyrian.”

His face tensed, holding back a frown at the thought of you not having enough time to learn the language before… the day. “I can assist you with that, if you'd like,” he finally said.

You felt a surge of relief at his offer. You turned your head to the book, focusing on Jacaerys’ explanation once again. Before he could continue, the sound of footsteps echoed through the hall. A servant appeared, bowing low.

“Your Grace, my Lady,” he said, lying through his teeth, “The Small Council requests Prince Jacaerys' presence immediately.”

Jacaerys sighed, the weight of his responsibilities settling back onto his shoulders. He stood, offering you a hand to help you up as well. He gave you a small smile before closing the book and handing it off to you. 

“I am sure there is a High Valyrian dictionary somewhere, feel free to roam the library.” he said finally before turning to follow the servant to his awaiting family.

You watched Jacaerys leave, the book heavy in your hands. His sudden departure left you feeling oddly bereft, the warmth of your shared moment fading as quickly as it had come. 

With a soft sigh, you made your way back to the library. The vast room felt different now without Jacaerys' presence – larger, more intimidating. You wandered through the towering shelves, searching for the dictionary he had mentioned.

Finally locating the book, you settled into a comfortable chair near a window. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating the pages as you began to study. 

Hours passed, the light shifting as the sun traversed the sky. You had made some progress with your studies, but questions continued to gnaw at you. You tapped your foot repeatedly on the ground as you stared at the closed doors of the Small Council in the distance, having seen Jacaerys walk out hours before but having been too slow to catch up to him before he left for his chambers again.

As evening approached, a servant appeared to escort you to dinner. You followed, your mind still churning with unanswered questions. The dining hall was quiet, with only a few courtiers present. Jacaerys was noticeably absent.

“Where is Prince Jacaerys?” you asked the servant as she poured your wine.

“Still in council, my lady,” she replied, her eyes darting away quickly. “They've been at it all day.”

You nodded, picking at your food without much appetite. The absence of Jacaerys only heightened your sense of unease. Something was happening, something beyond the typical preparations for a royal wedding.

You retired to your chambers, the High Valyrian dictionary tucked under your arm. As you prepared for bed, you muttered to yourself the few words you’d memorized.

“Dārilaros Jacaerys,” [Prince Jacaerys] “Iksi naejot sagon dīnagon.” [We are to be wed.] you repeated softly to yourself, the unfamiliar words echoing in the quiet of your chambers. The weight of those words, of your impending marriage to Prince Jacaerys, hung heavily in the air.

You’d figured Jacaerys had begun to ignore you, a week went by and the servant’s lie about the Small Council no longer held up. A week had passed, each day stretching out with an almost unbearable tension. 

Every day, you found yourself in the grand library, delving deeper into the pages of history and language, trying to distract yourself from the growing unease. You studied diligently, but your mind often wandered back to Jacaerys, how every time you walked past him in the halls he’d turn his head, how he’d scurry away after having spent the meals in silence with his family and you sitting next to him. 

The whispers and pitying glances from servants and courtiers alike only added to your discomfort.

One evening, as you sat in the library poring over your High Valyrian studies, you heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching. Looking up, you saw Jacaerys standing at the edge of the shelves, his expression a mixture of guilt and hesitation.

He called your name softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I... I hope I'm not disturbing you.”

You shook your head, gesturing for him to join you. “Not at all, Your Grace. I've been hoping to speak with you.”

Jacaerys moved closer, taking a seat across from you. His eyes fell on the open books spread before you, and a small smile tugged at his lips. “You've been studying diligently, I see.”

“Yes,” you replied, meeting his gaze. 

Jacaerys once again fell into silence. His small smile faded, replaced by a look of deep concern and inner turmoil. The warmth that had briefly appeared in his eyes dimmed, shadows of worry creeping back into his expression. You watched as he seemed to retreat into himself, his posture stiffening, his gaze growing distant.

Despite your hopes for a longer conversation, for a moment of genuine connection, Jacaerys soon excused himself. His words were polite but hurried, his tone apologetic yet firm. As he left, you felt the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air between you. Once more, you found yourself alone with your books, the silence of the library seeming to mock your growing frustration.

The pattern continued throughout the weeks, becoming a painful dance of near misses and avoided glances. During meals, Jacaerys would keep his eyes fixed on his plate, responding to questions with short, noncommittal answers. His shoulders would tense whenever you entered a room, and he would find reasons to leave shortly after.

In the corridors of the Red Keep, your paths would cross, but any hope of conversation was quickly dashed. Jacaerys would offer a hurried nod, his pace quickening as he passed by. You began to feel like a ghost in your own home, unseen and unheard by the very man you were to marry.

As evening approached and the anticipation of the upcoming wedding ceremony weighed heavily on your mind, the silence became unbearable. The thought of entering into a union shrouded in such secrecy and distance filled you with dread. Questions swirled in your mind, each unanswered inquiry adding to your growing resolve.

You decided you couldn't bear the silence any longer. The need for answers, for some semblance of understanding, outweighed your fear of confrontation. With determination setting in your jaw and courage steeling your spine, you made the decision to seek out Jacaerys and demand the truth, whatever it might be.

Just before bedtime, you spotted Jacaerys walking down the hallway towards his chambers. Gathering your courage, you called out to him.

“Issi ao dobōtēdrā nyke?” [Are you ignoring me?] Your pronunciation was still rough, but he wouldn’t tell you that.

Jacaerys froze at the sound of your voice, his hand resting on the handle of his chamber door. He turned slowly, his eyes wide with surprise at your use of High Valyrian. For a moment, he seemed to struggle with how to respond.

“No,” he said softly, his voice barely audible in the quiet hallway. 

You stepped closer, your frustration evident in your posture and the set of your jaw. “What is it, then?” Your words were stilted, nerves eating at you. “The wedding is tomorrow, Jacaerys. I've been left in the dark, treated like a ghost in these halls. The servants whisper about me, everyone looks at me like they pity me. And my own betrothed ignores me.”

Your outburst seemed to startle him. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture you'd come to recognize as a sign of his distress. “You're right,” he said finally, his shoulders sagging. “I apologize.” Jacaerys hesitated, clearly wrestling with his thoughts. “I... I'm sorry for my behavior. It's not fair to you.”

You stepped closer, your frustration bubbling over. “No, it's not. We're to be married tomorrow, and I barely know you. Everyone in this castle looks at me with pity, and you can't even bear to speak to me. What am I supposed to think?”

Jacaerys winced at your words. “It's complicated,” he said softly, avoiding your gaze.

“Then explain it to me,” you pressed, your voice rising slightly. “I've left my home, my family, everything I've ever known. The least you could do is tell me why you've been avoiding me like I'm afflicted with greyscale.”

“I cannot do that,” 

You huffed, he ran a hand through his hair again, clearly agitated. “I can't... I can't tell you everything. Please, try to understand.”

“Understand what?” you pressed, your patience wearing thin. “That my future husband would rather pretend I don't exist? That everyone in this castle looks at me with pity, and I don't know why?”

Jacaerys opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again, shaking his head. “I'm sorry,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I truly am. But I can't... I can't do this right now.”

With that, he turned and retreated into his chambers, leaving you standing alone in the hallway, your frustration and confusion only growing.

You stared at his closed door for a long moment, anger and hurt warring within you. Finally, with a huff of exasperation, you turned and stormed off to your own chambers. 

In your chambers, you paced restlessly, the events of the evening replaying in your mind. Jacaerys' evasiveness had left you feeling isolated and uncertain, the weight of unanswered questions pressing down on you. You glanced at the High Valyrian dictionary on your bedside table, its pages now familiar but offering no solace.

You’d fallen asleep quickly, the sound of hurried footsteps woke you and only then did you realize it was already dawn. A flurry of activity surrounded you. Servants bustled about, preparing you for the ceremony. You donned the gown chosen for you, feeling more like a doll being dressed than a bride preparing for her wedding day. 

Jacaerys refused to meet your eyes once you stood in front of each other, the privacy of the ceremony surprised you, only his family present and a few of the maesters. Words felt like a blur, you looked down at your hands that were wrapped in his, the priestess’ speech didn’t make you pay any more attention than you already were, too focused on hoping for this to end soon. 

“May the gods bear witness to this union. As you now pledge your troth to one another, let it be known that your fates are bound by blood and by honor.”

You only snapped out of your haze when you felt Jacaerys’ warm hands leave yours, and reappear in your line of sight with a silver knife. He held one of your hands, placing it on his before drawing blood, thinning the action careful to not hurt you. Then he moved the blade to your lips, a small, simple cut to them before he handed you the tool. 

You did the same, mirroring his every move, he shut his eyes when your cold blade reached his mouth, barely reacting to the cut. Then, a kiss, like the priestess called. Jacaerys cupped your cheek, his bloodied hand holding onto yours, and the taste of blood quickly filled your mouth. It was a slow kiss, just one, and he pulled away with a sigh. 

His thumb ran over your cheek once more before he took a step back, offering you a handkerchief to stop the bleeding. You dabbed delicately at your lips with the handkerchief, your mind reeling from the sudden intimacy of the kiss. Jacaerys' touch lingered on your cheek, leaving a tingling sensation.

The ceremony concluded with ceremonial words and blessings, but as you stood beside Jacaerys, you couldn't shake the feeling of disconnection between you. His demeanor remained distant, his eyes often flickering away whenever you sought to meet them.

After the formalities, you found yourself in a small antechamber adjacent to the grand hall where the ceremony had taken place. Jacaerys was silent as attendants bustled around, preparing to escort you away from the ceremony.

“Jacaerys,” you began tentatively, searching for some semblance of understanding or connection, “Can we talk?”

His shoulders slumped, eyes carrying a tire and sadness heavier than the one you’d been seeing for the past weeks. He didn’t hear you, at least that’s what you told yourself as he stood and walked away from you once again, leaving you sat with the stained handkerchief in your hands. 

You huffed, anger running through you as you hurried after him. You find him at the heart tree, its ancient branches looming over him like silent sentinels. Jacaerys stood before it, his hands clenched at his sides, his gaze fixed on the carved face of the tree. His expression was haunted, burdened with the weight of secrets and responsibilities. He mumbled in High Valyrian words that you had still not learned on your own.

“Jacaerys,” you called out softly, approaching him cautiously. He turned to you, his eyes weary. “I didn't mean to startle you,” you continued, your voice gentle yet tinged with the frustration that had been building within you for weeks.

He sighed heavily, “I thought you might come,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely carrying over the rustling leaves of the godswood.

“Why won't you talk to me?” you asked, your voice breaking slightly with emotion. “We're married now, Jacaerys. Avoiding your wife is far harder than avoiding your betrothed.”

Jacaerys turned to face you fully, the weight of his responsibilities etched deeply into his expression. His gaze softened as he took in your presence, the frustration in your voice not lost on him. “I didn't mean to shut you out,” he began, his voice tinged with regret. “I am sorry.”

You stepped closer, standing beside him beneath the ancient heart tree, its presence casting a tranquil yet solemn atmosphere around you. He didn’t speak, both of you staying silent while he shut his eyes, the weariness still evident on his face. 

“Do you come here often?” you broke the silence once it got too quiet, too tense. 

He nodded, “I do,” 

“I didn’t know you were faithful to the gods.” you stated, hand moving to touch the tree, his eyes followed your movements carefully. 

He hesitated, his gaze drifting from your hand on the tree back to your eyes. “I seek guidance here,” he admitted quietly, his voice carrying the weight of vulnerability. “It doesn’t always come to me, but-” he stopped talking, shrugging before he let his hand fall from the tree, yours following suit.

“Mother said it would be easier to avoid you,” he mumbled, his voice seemingly weakening. You found yourself reaching out to him, your hand brushed against his, fingers intertwining gently as you stood beneath the heart tree together. 

“What would?”

“The marriage, everything, I don’t know.”

Jacaerys didn’t pull away from your touch, though his expression remained guarded. His hand felt warm in yours, the tension in his shoulders gradually easing. The quiet of the godswood enveloped you both.

 “But we’re married now, Jacaerys.” you murmured softly, squeezing his hand gently. 

Jacaerys' expression softened, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Can we start anew?”

“I would like that,” you said, returning his smile. A comfortable silence fell between you, the tension of the past weeks beginning to ease. 

“Perhaps,” Jacaerys suggested hesitantly, “we could continue our High Valyrian lessons together? I've missed our time in the library.”

Your face brightened at the suggestion. “I'd like that very much. I have so many questions about the Doom of Valyria that I've been saving up for you.”

Jacaerys chuckled, a warm sound that you realized you'd missed hearing. “Well then, we'd better get started.” 

With a tight hold on your hand, he pulled you gently towards the castle. As you walked back together, a sense of cautious optimism filled the air between you. The silence was no longer tense, but contemplative, as if you were both considering the new beginning that lay ahead.

Entering the grand library, Jacaerys guided you to the familiar corner where you had spent so many hours studying together. He selected a few books from the shelves, their leather bindings worn with age and use. As he set them down on the table, dust motes danced in the sunlight streaming through the high windows.

Jacaerys looked up at you, his expression softening as he met your gaze. “I chose a few books that might interest you,” he said, his voice gentle. “But perhaps we could talk about these past weeks. I’ve missed you, you know?”

Jacaerys' words hung in the air, the unexpected admission causing a flutter in your chest. You settled into the familiar chair beside him, the scent of old parchment and the quiet rustle of pages creating a comforting cocoon around you both. Despite the turmoil of the past weeks, this small corner of the library had become a refuge, a place where the outside world and its burdens seemed to fade away.

You looked at Jacaerys, his expression open and earnest, the guarded demeanor he had worn like armor slipping away. “I've missed you too,” you replied softly, the truth of your words resonating in the silence that followed.

He gave a small, grateful nod, his fingers absently tracing the edge of one of the books. “Have you been studying on your own?” he began, his voice tinged with regret. 

You shrugged, “Hm, There was no one to teach me,”

“There are plenty of maesters, they taught me and my brothers-”

“Nobody in this castle really speaks to me, other than you, now.”

Jacaerys' eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and sorrow at your words. He opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again, seemingly at a loss. The silence between you grew heavy, the air thick with unspoken words and emotions. “It’s alright,” you interrupted his thoughts, “Have you any favorite spots in the Keep?”

Jacaerys smiled at your attempt to lighten the mood, clearly grateful for your effort. “I do, actually,” he said, a hint of enthusiasm returning to his voice. “There's a balcony overlooking Blackwater Bay. It's quiet and the view is breathtaking, especially at sunset.”

You nodded, intrigued. “I'd love to see it. Perhaps we can go there sometime?”

Jacaerys' smile widened, his eyes brightening. “I'd like that very much. How about after our lesson today?”

“That sounds perfect,” you agreed, a grin plastered on your face.

Jacaerys began explaining the text, his voice steady and patient. As he spoke, you found yourself not just listening to the words, but also watching him – the way his eyes lit up when he talked about something he was passionate about, the way his fingers moved delicately over the pages. You pretended not to pay any mind to the arm he’d draped over your chair half way through the page you were on at the moment, his fingertips moving up and down your arm and playing with your hair every now and then.

Time seemed to fly by, and before you knew it, the afternoon sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the library. Jacaerys glanced out the window, then back at you. “Shall we go, then?” he asked.

You nodded, feeling a flutter of excitement. Jacaerys led you through the winding corridors of the Red Keep, his hand in yours, the path becoming more familiar with each step. Finally, you arrived at the balcony he had described.

“It's beautiful,” you murmured, gazing out at the water sparkling under the setting sun.

Jacaerys nodded, his eyes on you. His hand moved to your backside, gently resting there, he drew you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace. You leaned into him, feeling a warmth spread through you at his touch.

“We could go on a walk after supper,” Jacaerys whispered, his voice barely audible above the soft sounds of the waves. 

For the first time since arriving at the Red Keep, you felt a glimmer of what could be between you and Jacaerys. 

With a soft sigh of contentment, you turned to Jacaerys and met his gaze, your heart lighter than it had been in weeks. “A walk sounds nice.” you said, your voice filled with newfound determination and a hint of excitement.

The weeks that followed were a gradual thawing of the ice that had formed between you, a slow but steady warming that began to transform your arranged marriage into something more.

True to his word, Jacaerys resumed your High Valyrian lessons in the library. What started as stilted, formal sessions soon evolved into hours of animated discussion and shared laughter between the two of you, melting away the image of duty-headed Prince Jacaerys. You found yourself looking forward to these moments, eagerly anticipating the smallest hint of time you would spend together.

“Skoros iksis aōha glaesagon uttoma raqiros?” [What is your favorite animal?] 

You pondered for a moment, searching for the right words. “Ñuha glaesagon uttoma raqiros iksis... zaldrīzes? Hen se tembyr.” [My favorite animal is... dragon? From the books.]

Jacaerys' smile faltered for a brief moment, so quickly you almost missed it. But then he was grinning again, praising you. “That was really good.” 

Moving on, he flipped the page, continuing the lesson as you practiced more High Valyrian together. His patience and encouragement helped you gain confidence in both the language and your interactions with him.

Outside the library, your walks with Jacaerys became a routine. He showed you hidden corners of the Red Keep, sharing stories of its history and his own childhood adventures. You, in turn, shared tales of your own homeland, finding common ground in unexpected places.

As the days passed, you began to see a different side of Jacaerys. The brooding, distant prince was replaced by a man with a quick wit and a passion for knowledge that matched your own. You discovered his love for astronomy, often finding him on the castle's highest tower, charting the movements of stars and planets.

One clear night, he invited you to join him. As you climbed the winding stairs, your heart raced with a mixture of exertion and anticipation. When you reached the top, Jacaerys was waiting, a bronze tube in his hands gleaming in the moonlight.

“I thought you might enjoy this,” he said softly, gesturing for you to look through the eyepiece. 

“What is it?” you asked as he handed it to you, you inspected it, mirrored his moves and looked through it.

“To look at the stars,” he came behind you, hands covering yours. Jacaerys stood close behind you, his breath warm on your neck as he pointed out constellations and explained their mythologies that he’d read about in books. You found yourself acutely aware of his presence, a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the summer night.

These moments of closeness became more frequent as the weeks went by. You would catch Jacaerys watching you with a soft expression when he thought you weren't looking. His hand would linger on yours a moment longer than necessary when passing you a book. The air between you began to crackle with an unspoken tension, a growing attraction neither of you dared to acknowledge openly, even as husband and wife.

Jacaerys kept visiting the heart tree, his begs for a punishment getting bigger and bigger as he got to know you, the weight of the fate he’d put you up to too strong for him to bear.

After a particularly tense council session, you found Jacaerys in the godswood, his head bowed before the heart tree. You approached quietly, not wanting to disturb his contemplation.

“You can join me, you know?” he said without turning, a small smile in his voice. “I always know when you're near.”

You moved to stand beside him, your shoulder brushing against his. Jacaerys was quiet for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the carved face of the weirwood. “They ignore me, I think,” he mumbled. “The gods.”

You listened quietly, feeling the weight of his words. The godswood was serene around you, the rustling leaves and the faint whisper of wind creating a backdrop to Jacaerys' contemplation. You didn't interrupt, letting him speak at his own pace.

“I've prayed for guidance, for clarity,” Jacaerys continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I've received nothing. No sign, no answers.”

The vulnerability in his voice tugged at something inside you. You glanced at the heart tree, its solemn face seemingly watching over both of you. “Maybe the gods speak in ways we don't always recognize,” you offered gently. “Or perhaps they're waiting for you to find your own path.”

Jacaerys sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I'm not sure I know what that path is anymore.”

He trailed off, frustration evident in the set of his jaw. You reached out, cupping his face gently in your hands. “Jacaerys,” you murmured.

For a moment, it seemed as though he might tell you everything. His eyes searched for yours, filled with a longing that made your heart ache. But then, as quickly as it had appeared, the moment passed. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours.

“I don’t want you to suffer,” he whispered, his breath warm on your skin. You sighed, running your palm over his chest and holding his hand. “Have you been sleeping?”

He nodded, “Yes, a little,” Jacaerys admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand tightened around yours, seeking comfort in your touch. “I find it hard to rest sometimes.”

You nodded sympathetically, your thumb gently tracing circles on the back of his hand. The godswood was peaceful around you, the soft rustle of leaves and the distant song of a bird filling the air. 

“Come on.” you mumbled, tightening your hold on his hand to walk him to his chambers, hoping that sleep would make his worry go away.

The atmosphere in the council chamber had been tense for days. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind that only comes when a significant decision hangs in the balance.

Jacaerys sat at the head of the table, his expression solemn. Beside him, Queen Rhaenyra watched with a mixture of maternal concern and royal composure. 

“Prince Jacaerys,” one of the maesters began, his voice steady but with a note of urgency. “The time has come to finalize our preparations. The court and the realm await your decision regarding the next steps. Dragonstone must be prepared to receive its... visitor.”

Jacaerys clenched his jaw, feeling the weight of their eyes on him. He had known this moment was inevitable, but that did nothing to ease the dread that coiled in his stomach. He looked to his mother, seeking any sign of support or reprieve, but her face remained unreadable. She had taught him well about the burdens of leadership, but this was a trial he had to face alone.

“My lords,” he said finally, his voice betraying none of the turmoil within him. “I understand the importance of tradition and the necessity of the ritual. However, the lady is... not ready.” 

Ser Alfred, ever the traditionalist, did not miss a beat. “Your Grace, the ritual must be completed as dictated by our customs. The dragons are restless, and we cannot afford any delay. Dragonstone awaits her arrival.”

Jacaerys's hands tightened around the armrests of his chair. He had expected resistance, but the reality of it was far more daunting than he had imagined. The council's resolve was unyielding, their eyes reflecting the hard truth that duty often demands sacrifices.

“Can’t the dragon be fed… sheep, or pigs?”

“The tradition is sacred, Prince Jacaerys. It is through these rituals that we maintain our bond with the dragon and ensure it’s calm. To suggest an alternative is to risk breaking a chain that has bound our house for centuries.”

Jacaerys felt the pressure mounting, the room closing in around him. He looked to his mother once more, her face a mask of calm. But there was a flicker in her eyes, a silent communication that only he could interpret – a plea to tread carefully.

Queen Rhaenyra finally spoke, her voice smooth and commanding. “The Prince raises a valid point. However, the choice has already been made, the preparations have already begun in Dragonstone.”

Jacaerys’s heart sank at his mother’s words. The finality of the preparations being underway in Dragonstone echoed the inevitability he had been trying to avoid. The room seemed to close in on him, the expectations of his ancestors and the weight of the realm pressing down on his shoulders. He pressed his lips tightly together, grinding his teeth in frustration. 

The council resumed their discussions, the tension palpable in the air. Jacaerys listened as the members debated the logistics of the journey to Dragonstone, the protocols to be followed, and the necessary preparations for the lady. Every word felt like a dagger twisting in his gut, each mention of the ritual reinforcing the grim reality he wished to avoid. 

He was being ignored by his own Council, his mother and queen quietly sipping her wine as she stole glances at him. 

The same maester from before concluded, “We will proceed as planned. The bride will be escorted to Dragonstone, and the ritual will be conducted according to tradition. We cannot afford to falter.”

The meeting adjourned, and the council members rose from their seats, their conversations continuing in hushed tones as they filed out of the chamber. Jacaerys remained seated for a moment, his mind racing with the weight of their decision.

He rose from his seat and made his way to the godswood, seeking solace in the ancient silence of the heart tree once again.

The walk to the godswood was a blur, his mind consumed by a whirlwind of emotions. When he finally reached the heart tree, he pressed his palm against the rough bark, feeling the ancient power thrumming beneath his touch. The carved face seemed to gaze back at him, its expression inscrutable.

“Why do you remain silent?” Jacaerys whispered, his voice barely more than a breath carried away by the wind. “Do you not see the weight upon me? The burden of tradition threatens to consume everything I hold dear.”

The heart tree offered no answers, its carved face unmoving, its eyes seeming to gaze through him rather than at him. Jacaerys felt a pang of bitterness and betrayal at the feeling of being helpless, of being ignored by his gods and by his people.

He turned away from the heart tree, pacing restlessly amidst the tranquil setting of the godswood. The gentle rustling of leaves and the soft murmur of the wind offered no comfort. His thoughts raced, his mind replaying the council meeting and the inevitable march towards tradition that seemed to crush any hope of a different outcome.

In that moment of turmoil, his thoughts turned to you – the one person who could ease the burden of his troubled heart. He longed to see you, to escape the suffocating confines of duty and council chambers, to find solace in your presence. You were a beacon of warmth and understanding amidst the cold realities of court politics and ancient rituals.

Without hesitation, Jacaerys made his way back to the Red Keep, his steps quickening with purpose. He sought you out, driven by a need to be with someone who understood him, someone who could offer comfort without words.

Boredom had driven you to the library once again, the Red Keep not having many other activities to keep you occupied while your husband was in the Small Council. The chatter of the Small Council meeting echoed in your mind, their discussions on matters of state and tradition dulling your senses. You recalled Jacaerys' words earlier in your betrothal, his gentle encouragement to explore the library freely, to find respite from the formalities that governed court life.

As you browsed the shelves, your fingers trailing along the spines of ancient tomes, a small, leather-bound volume caught your eye. It was tucked away in a corner, almost hidden behind larger books. Curious, you pulled it out, noting the lack of a title on its worn cover.

Settling into your favorite reading nook by the window, you opened the book carefully. The pages were filled with elegant High Valyrian script, the ink faded but still legible. Your heart quickened with excitement at the challenge of translating this mysterious text.

As you began to read, deciphering the archaic language with the skills you had honed over the past months, the content of the book slowly revealed itself. It appeared to be a chronicle of Targaryen traditions, dating back to the family's origins in Old Valyria.

Your translation was slow at first, but as you progressed, certain phrases began to leap out at you. “Se zaldrīzes demands iā jorrāelagon...” [The dragon demands a sacrifice...] 

Your brow furrowed in concentration as you continued, your heart beginning to race as the true nature of the text became clear. “Hen tubis naejot tubis, se dārilaros iksis naejot ōdrikagon iā riña naejot se zaldrīzes...” [From time to time, the heir is to choose a lady for the dragon...]

With trembling hands, you turned the pages, your mind reeling as you pieced together the full horror of what you were reading. The tradition, passed down through generations of Targaryen rulers, of sacrificing a young woman to appease their dragons. The ceremonial marriage, followed by a journey to Dragonstone, where the bride would meet her fate.

As the full implications of what you had discovered washed over you, a cold dread settled in the pit of your stomach. Suddenly, Jacaerys' behavior, the pitying looks from the servants, the whispers that followed you through the halls – it all made terrible sense.

You were not just a bride. You were a sacrifice.

The book slipped from your numb fingers, falling to the floor with a dull thud that echoed in the empty library. Your mind raced, trying to reconcile the Jacaerys you had come to know – kind, intelligent, affectionate – with the man who had chosen you for this grim fate.

As the shock began to give way to a mixture of fear and anger, you heard footsteps approaching. Looking up, you saw Jacaerys entering the library, his face lighting up when he saw you. His expression softened as he took in your familiar presence – a book in your hand, and a furrowed look on your face. But as he drew closer, his expression changed, noticing the pallor of your face.

“What's wrong?” he asked, concern evident in his voice. “Are you feeling ill?” He knelt beside you, reaching out tentatively, as if unsure whether to touch you.

You recoiled slightly at his approach, a surge of conflicting emotions welling up inside you. Tears continued to flow unabated down your cheeks as you struggled to find your voice, to articulate the turmoil that gripped your soul.

He reached for your hand again, this time more insistently, but you pulled away, the sting of betrayal cutting deep. “You... you chose me,” you whispered, your voice laced with accusation. “To be sacrificed.”

He recoiled as if struck, his own eyes filling with tears of remorse and helplessness. 

You stood there, your body trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. The sight of Jacaerys, once a source of comfort, now filled you with an overwhelming sense of betrayal. Your eyes, brimming with tears, darted around the room, unable to settle on his face for more than a moment. The urge to flee, to put as much distance between yourself and this man who had deceived you, was almost overpowering.

“How... how could you?” you finally managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper. The words felt thick in your throat, as if your body was physically resisting the act of speaking to him. Your hands shook as you clutched the book to your chest, a tangible reminder of the horrifying truth you had uncovered.

Anger bubbled up inside you, mixing with the fear and hurt. It manifested in the way your jaw clenched, in the tightness of your shoulders. You wanted to scream, to rage at him for his deception, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, hot tears spilled down your cheeks, a physical manifestation of your inner turmoil.

You took a step back as Jacaerys moved towards you, your body instinctively recoiling from his presence. The man before you now seemed like a stranger, far removed from the gentle, caring husband you thought you had come to know. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps as panic began to set in.

“Stay away from me,” you managed to say, your voice cracking with emotion. The betrayal cut deep, a wound that felt almost physical in its intensity. Your mind raced, replaying every moment, every kind word and gentle touch, now tainted by the knowledge of your true purpose.

Your eyes, wide with fear and glistening with tears, finally met his. In that moment, the full weight of your situation crashed down upon you. You were trapped, bound by tradition and duty to a fate you never asked for, chosen by a man you had begun to trust and even love. The realization left you feeling hollow, your anger giving way to a deep, aching despair.

Jacaerys' face contorted with anguish. He took a hesitant step towards you, his hand outstretched, but you flinched away violently.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Let me explain. I never meant to-”

“To what?” you spat out, finding your voice again. The words came out in a rush, fueled by fear and rage. “To lie to me? To condemn me to death? What exactly didn't you mean to do, Jacaerys?”

“I thought I knew you,” you continued, your voice breaking. “I thought... I thought what we had was real.”

Jacaerys' face crumpled at your words. “It is real,” he insisted, taking another step closer. You backed away, your back hitting the bookshelf behind you. “Everything between us, every moment – it's all been real. I swear it.”

You shook your head violently, unable to reconcile his words with the horrifying truth you'd discovered. “How can you say that?” you demanded, your voice rising hysterically. “How can any of it be real when you've been planning my death this whole time?”

Jacaerys’s expression twisted in agony as he absorbed the impact of your words. He stood rooted to the spot, a few steps away from you, his hand still outstretched as if hoping that a simple gesture could bridge the widening chasm between you.

“I never wanted this,” Jacaerys began, his voice barely above a whisper, choked with emotion.

You shook your head vehemently, tears streaming down your face. “You chose me.” you spat out, your voice cracking. 

“No, that's not what I-”

“Then what?” you demanded, your voice rising. “What exactly was your plan? To make me fall for you and then feed me to a dragon?”

Jacaerys's face contorted with pain. “I've been trying to find another way. I've been fighting the council, trying to change things-”

“And failing!” you interjected, your fear and anger boiling over. “All while lying to me every single day!”

“I wasn't lying to you!” Jacaerys protested, his voice rising to match yours. “I was trying to protect you!”

“How can I believe anything you say now?” you cried out, your body shaking with sobs.

Just as Jacaerys opened his mouth to respond, a sharp knock at the library door interrupted your heated exchange. You both froze, turning to see a servant entering hesitantly.

“Begging your pardon, Your Grace,” the servant said, bowing low. “The Small Council requests your immediate presence. They wish to begin preparations for... the journey.”

The servant's eyes flickered between you and Jacaerys, clearly sensing the tension in the room.

You sobbed at the mention of the event, even servants keeping secrecy of your fate.

Jacaerys clenched his jaw, he turned back to you, his eyes pleading. “Please, we need to talk about this. Let me explain-”

But you were already backing away, seizing the opportunity of the interruption to escape. “I wish to be left alone,” you said, your voice trembling. Without another word, you brushed past the confused servant and fled from the library.

Jacaerys stood frozen for a moment, watching as you fled, your sobs echoing through the hallways. His heart ached with the weight of his own guilt and the fear of losing you completely. Ignoring the servant’s continued bowing and murmurings, he sprinted after you, desperate to make you understand.

He reached your chamber door just as you slammed it shut, the sound reverberating down the corridor. He pressed his palms against the heavy wood, his forehead resting against it as he tried to steady his racing heart.

“Please, let me explain!” he called out, his voice thick with desperation. “I know you're hurt and angry, but you need to hear me out!”

Inside, you sank to the floor, your back against the door, tears streaming down your face. Your body shook with silent sobs, the enormity of the betrayal crushing down on you.

“Everything I've done,” Jacaerys continued, his voice muffled through the door, “I've done to protect you. I never wanted to deceive you. I never wanted any of this. But the council, the traditions... they're suffocating us both.”

His words felt like they were trying to reach you, trying to penetrate the thick wall of pain and anger that surrounded your heart. But the fear of your impending fate and the betrayal you felt were too overwhelming.

“Please, you have to believe me,” he begged, his voice breaking. “I love you. That love is real. And I will find a way to save you, I swear it. Just give me a chance to make this right.”

You hugged your knees to your chest, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The pain, the fear, the betrayal – they were all so raw, so immediate. But beneath it all, a small part of you wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that the man you had come to care for was not the monster this situation painted him to be.

“I don’t know how to trust you again,” you whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear you through the thick door.

“I'll do whatever it takes,” Jacaerys vowed, his voice trembling with determination. “Just... don't shut me out. Please.”

The silence that followed was heavy, the air thick with the weight of his words. You stayed where you were, torn between the deep love you had started to feel for him and the horrifying reality you had uncovered. The choice to let him in or to push him away entirely seemed insurmountable in that moment.

With that, he pressed his hand against the door one last time, as if trying to offer some semblance of comfort through the barrier between you, before turning and walking away, leaving you alone with your thoughts and your heartache.

When he entered the room, the council members were already deep in discussion, their hushed voices filling the space with an air of urgency. They looked up as he entered, some with mild surprise, others with impatience.

“Your Grace,” the maester began, “we are ready to pick up from where we left off earlier. We were just finalizing the preparations for the journey to Dragonstone.”

Jacaerys clenched his fists, his frustration barely contained. “This madness must end,” he declared, his voice shaking with a mixture of rage and desperation. “We cannot continue with this barbaric tradition. There has to be another way.”

They looked at him as if he was a loose-tempered child, their expressions a mix of annoyance and dismissal. Jacaerys stood firm, his eyes burning with intensity as he faced the council that seemed so indifferent to his pleas.

“Your Grace,” the man interjected, his tone patronizing, “tradition is not something to be discarded lightly. It is what binds us to our heritage, what ensures the stability of our rule. The dragons demand their due.”

Jacaerys shook his head in disbelief. “Is that all you see her as? A 'due' to be paid?” His voice cracked with emotion, his frustration boiling over.

One of the maesters, an older man with a stern look and a long gray beard, spoke up with a dismissive tone. “Your Grace, emotions have clouded your judgment. The girl is but a vessel for the ritual, a necessary sacrifice for the greater good of our house and the realm. Your sentimental attachment to her blinds you to the realities of our traditions.”

Jacaerys's jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. He could feel his anger rising like a tidal wave, threatening to overwhelm him. “You dare speak of my wife like that again and I shall have your tongue for it.”

The maester who had spoken before, undeterred by Jacaerys's threat, leaned forward with a smirk playing on his lips. “Your Grace, threats will not change the course of history. The traditions of House Targaryen are not to be trifled with, even by a king.”

“The dragon will be fed sheep, or pigs, or cows. I do not care for what it is, just not an innocent, not her.”

The council members glanced at each other again, murmuring amongst themselves in low voices. They seemed to reach an unspoken agreement, their gazes finally settling on Jacaerys with a mixture of pity and resignation.

“Your Grace,” the maester said with a sigh, Jacaerys shook his head, turning on his heel and storming out of the council chamber, leaving the members behind in a stunned silence. All heads turned to look at the empty seat of the Queen, who was absent from the meeting to be with her children. 

The preparations proceeded.

Outside the chamber, he paused for a moment, leaning against the cool stone wall to catch his breath. His thoughts turned to you, his heart aching with the fear of losing you to the cruel tradition that dictated your fate. He couldn't bear the thought of what awaited you on Dragonstone, of the horror you must feel now that you knew the truth.

With a deep breath, Jacaerys pushed himself away from the wall and began to walk briskly through the corridors of the Red Keep. His steps were purposeful, driven by a desperate need to find a way to protect you, to defy the council's decree despite their authority. His mind raced with plans and strategies, each one more daring than the last.

As he passed by servants and guards, he saw the pity in their eyes, the whispers that followed him like a shadow. They knew of the impending sacrifice, of the council's decision, and of his futile attempts to defy it. Yet, despite their sympathy, Jacaerys knew he couldn't rely on anyone else to challenge the council openly. The risk was too great, the consequences too dire.

Finally, he reached the familiar door of your chambers. His hand trembled slightly as he lifted it to knock, unsure of how you would receive him after your confrontation in the library. He knew he had hurt you deeply, that his actions had shattered the trust you had begun to build between you.

Before he could knock, however, the door swung open suddenly. The sight of you standing there, eyes red from tears, took his breath away. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy in the air between you.

He whispered your name, almost as if it was a secret, his hands reaching out to attempt to hold yours. You moved away, “I only wish to go to supper, the Queen is waiting.”

Jacaerys swallowed hard, his throat tight with unspoken words and unshed tears. He knew you were still hurting, still grappling with the betrayal he had inadvertently caused. The thought of losing you, of facing the council's cold and calculated decisions alone, sent a wave of despair crashing over him.

“I... I will not keep you.” he murmured finally, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You nodded slightly, your gaze flickering to the side, unable to meet his eyes. The pain and confusion swirled within you, making it difficult to think clearly or to know what to say next. 

Stepping back from the door, you slipped away from him, the distance between you feeling insurmountable. Jacaerys watched you go, his heart heavy with the knowledge that he was losing you, at least for now.

The walk to supper was silent and uncomfortable. Each step felt like a burden, the weight of your emotions threatening to overwhelm you. Servants passed by, casting sympathetic glances your way, their whispered conversations barely registering as you made your way to the dining hall. 

“My dear,” she greeted you warmly, though her eyes held a hint of concern. “I trust everything is well?”

You managed a tight-lipped smile, nodding slightly. “Yes, Your Grace,” you replied softly, avoiding her gaze.

Sensing your need for space, she made no further inquiries, allowing the meal to proceed in an uneasy silence.

Throughout supper, you picked at your food, the taste of bitterness lingering on your tongue. The empty seat beside yours, your husbands, felt like a void, a stark reminder of the distance that had grown between you. You glanced at it occasionally, half-expecting Jacaerys to appear, to fix it all with a snap of his fingers. But he did not materialize, leaving you to wrestle with your conflicted feelings alone.

Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, with her regal bearing and perceptive gaze, had always been keenly attuned to the emotional currents of those around her. As she observed you across the table during supper, she noticed the tension in your posture, the haunted look in your eyes, and the way you absently picked at your food.

Her own son's absence did not go unnoticed either. The empty seat beside you seemed to cast a shadow over the otherwise elegant atmosphere of the dining hall. Rhaenyra's eyes flickered towards it briefly, a fleeting moment of concern crossing her features before she schooled her expression into one of serene composure.

After a quiet and tense supper, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen rose gracefully from her seat, her gaze lingering briefly on the empty chair beside you before she moved towards the doors of the dining hall. Her steps were measured, her presence commanding even in the subdued atmosphere.

As she exited the hall, servants darted forward to attend to her, but she waved them off with a subtle gesture. Instead, she continued down the corridor that led towards the private chambers reserved for the royal family. Her mind was focused on one thing: finding her son, Jacaerys, and offering him whatever support and counsel she could in his time of need.

Rhaenyra found Jacaerys in his private study, poring over ancient tomes and scrolls that spoke of the history of Dragonstone and the ancient rituals of House Targaryen. He looked up as she entered, his expression a mixture of determination and weariness.

“Mother,” Jacaerys greeted her, his voice subdued yet filled with a quiet resolve. Queen Rhaenyra closed the door behind her, the quiet click echoing softly in the study as she approached her son. Jacaerys stood by his desk, surrounded by the weight of ancient knowledge and the burden of his current dilemma. His eyes, weary and troubled, met hers as she drew near.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, her mind racing with possibilities. “The dragon must be fed, as tradition dictates.”

“No-” he interrupted.

“Jacaerys, listen to me,” she began softly.

He closed his mouth, frustration still evident on his face as he glared at the floor, refusing to meet her eyes. 

“Ten sheep, as a symbolic gesture to fulfill the dragon's hunger. It will appease the tradition without sacrificing an innocent life. Like you said.”

Jacaerys remained silent for a moment, his jaw clenched as he mulled over her words. The weight of the decision pressed heavily upon him; he wanted desperately to protect you, yet he also feared the council's resistance to any deviation from the established ritual.

“It's risky,” he finally admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “But if there's even a chance...”

“We must take it,” Rhaenyra affirmed, her voice gentle yet firm. “I feel your heavy heart, my son. You are hurt.”

Rhaenyra's words cut through the turmoil swirling in Jacaerys's mind, her understanding of his pain offering a momentary comfort amidst the uncertainty. 

“I can't bear to lose her, Mother,” Jacaerys confessed quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “She trusted me, and I... I betrayed that trust.”

Rhaenyra reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder, a gesture of maternal comfort. “Love makes us vulnerable, my son,” she murmured softly. “But it also gives us strength. You must believe in that strength now, for her sake and for yours.”

The day dawned with a heavy pall hanging over Dragonstone, the air thick with anticipation and dread. Servants moved about the castle with quiet efficiency, their expressions somber as they attended to their duties. Among them, preparing for the ritual that loomed ahead, was you.

Your mind felt numb, detached from the reality of what was to come. Every brush of the comb through your hair, every adjustment to your gown felt surreal, like you were watching someone else's life unfold. The knowledge of your impending sacrifice weighed heavily, a constant, gnawing ache in your chest that refused to abate.

Jacaerys, your husband, moved through the chambers with an air of quiet resolve. His eyes, usually warm and reassuring, now held a depth of sadness you couldn't bear to meet. He had sworn to his mother to keep the plan involving the sheep a secret, and despite the rocky state of your relationship, he ached to tell you.

As the time drew near, you found yourself seated beside Jacaerys in the carriage bound for the dragon pit. The journey was quiet, the clatter of hooves against cobblestones the only sound breaking the heavy silence between you. His presence beside you was both a source of solace and a reminder of the fractured trust between you.

You stole glances at him occasionally, noting the tension etched in his features, the way his hands clenched and unclenched in his lap. There were words unsaid, wounds still raw and unhealed, but in this moment, facing the inevitable, you craved for his comfort.

Silently, you reached to place a hand on his thigh, stopping his leg from moving up and down in anxiousness. 

He turned to look at you, his eyes searching yours for understanding, for forgiveness. The weight of his secret, the burden of the deception he had carried to protect you, threatened to crush him. Yet, in that moment, your touch grounded him, reminding him of the love that still flickered between you despite everything.

You held his gaze, your own eyes reflecting a mix of sadness and longing. Words seemed inadequate in the face of what lay ahead, in the face of the unspoken turmoil between you. But your touch spoke volumes, a silent reassurance that even amidst the chaos, you were still connected.

Jacaerys covered your hand with his own, his touch gentle yet firm. His thumb traced soothing circles on the back of your hand, a gesture of comfort and apology. There were no words to express the depth of his regret, the anguish of seeing you face such a fate.

“I will fix this,” he promised in a whisper. You frowned at him and he felt his heart drop once again, your trust for him was fully gone. “I swear it.” he murmured against your hair, his voice hoarse.

You withdrew your hand from his grasp, the gesture a silent but clear indication of the distance that had grown between you. His heart ached at the loss of your touch, a physical manifestation of the emotional rift that now divided you. You remained silent, the weight of his promise echoing in the space between you. 

As the carriage finally reached its destination, the stark cliffs of Dragonstone rose ominously before you. Servants hurried to prepare for the landing, their movements efficient and solemn. The dragons' presence loomed in the background, a constant reminder of the ancient forces that governed their lives.

Jacaerys helped you disembark from the carriage, his touch tentative yet filled with an unspoken plea for forgiveness. You stood side by side, facing the imposing fortress and the council that awaited your arrival.

From the distance, you could see the beast, a dragon stood tall before the castle, many men parading around it holding sticks to prevent it from causing any damage other than his feast, you.

Jacaerys’ gaze moved to his mother, her arms crossed over her chest as she gave him a stern nod, telling him that the sheep were hidden, prepared to replace you just as they’d planned.

The servants moved away, maesters following behind as the hair walked you to the dragon, just like it was written in the books of tradition. Jacaerys was supposed to leave you standing in front of the dragon, leave and hide away in a corner before shouting the known command for you to be burnt. A private tradition for only husband and wife, for heir and sacrifice to see.

Your body shook in fear as you walked behind your husband, your hand grasping onto his red cape. He reached behind his body, his hand holding yours in hopes to calm you.

The dragon loomed ahead, its scaled form bathed in sunlight that glinted off its massive wings and claws. Men with sticks stood guard around it, their wary eyes trained on the beast as well as on you and Jacaerys. They stepped away once the Prince approached. 

Jacaerys's steps faltered briefly as he glanced back at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and determination. He squeezed your hand reassuringly, his grip firm yet gentle, a silent promise of his unwavering resolve to protect you at any cost.

As you approached the dragon, the enormity of the moment threatened to overwhelm you. Images from the ancient books of tradition flashed through your mind—husbands and wives standing before dragons, the command to burn uttered in hushed reverence. It was a private ritual, a solemn duty passed down through generations, and now it seemed poised to consume you.

You and Jacaerys were left standing on your hand, your hand clasped tightly in his as you tried to even your breaths. 

The dragon's gaze shifted, its attention momentarily drawn away as it sensed movement in the shadows. Jacaerys's breath caught in his throat, his grip on your hand tightening instinctively. For a fleeting moment, hope flared within you, a glimmer of possibility that the plan might succeed, that the ancient beast might accept the substitution.

But as the dragon turned back to you, its eyes narrowing with curiosity, the moment of truth arrived. Jacaerys turned to look at his mother, rushing with one of her maids behind her, and the promised sheep gathered. He couldn’t help the sigh of relief that washed over him, his hand letting go of yours to hold onto your waist and push you close to him as he quickly dragged the two of you away from the beast’s hungry eyes.

Together, you moved swiftly through the courtyard, away from the dragon and towards the safety of the castle's empty interior, the council already having left for their journey back to the Keep. Jacaerys's grip on your waist remained firm, his touch a reassurance of his steadfast protection in the face of danger. His mother kept pace beside you, her expression unreadable but tinged with a glimmer of pride in her son's daring defiance of tradition.

As you reached the threshold of the castle, Jacaerys finally allowed himself a moment to breathe, his gaze sweeping over you with relief and lingering concern. The weight of what had transpired hung heavy in the air, the daring gamble to spare you from the dragon's maw a testament to Jacaerys's unwavering determination and love.

Inside the safety of the castle walls, away from the dragon's menacing presence, Jacaerys pulled you into a tight embrace. His voice, thick with emotion, whispered words of gratitude and apology against your hair. You clung to him, the rush of adrenaline giving way to overwhelming relief and the beginnings of forgiveness.

From afar, you could hear the Queen voice the command, you watched in silence – as Jacaerys clung to you – the dragon spitting fire at the animals, the two women hurrying out of the way while it ate at the sheep. 

You felt a sob leave your throat at the sight, turning your body to fit into Jacaerys’ as you incoherently mumbled words of gratitude, his lips brushing against your skin every time he spoke caringly at you, apologizing, thanking the gods. 

“You're safe now,” Jacaerys murmured against your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “I'm so sorry you had to go through this. I never wanted any of this for you.”

“Please... Please forgive me. I know I don't deserve it, but I swear to you, I will spend every moment proving myself to you.” 

You buried your face in his chest, overwhelmed by conflicting emotions. His words of remorse and desperation washed over you, mingling with the relief of surviving the ordeal.

“I'm so sorry,” Jacaerys continued, his voice choked with emotion as he whispered. “I should have told you everything from the beginning. I never meant to deceive you, to put you through this. Please, I beg you... take whatever time you need. I understand if you can't ever forgive me.”

You felt his words reverberate through your chest, each syllable heavy with remorse and love. His vulnerability touched your heart, reminding you of the man you had fallen in love with despite the secrets that had threatened to tear you apart.

“I need you to know,” Jacaerys whispered, his fingers gently caressing your back. “I love you. More than anything. And I will spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a tentative, exploratory kiss. It began as a whisper, a soft meeting of lips that conveyed all the unspoken words – the apologies, the gratitude, the hope for a future together. The taste of salt from lingering tears mixed with the sweetness of relief, creating a bittersweet sensation that only deepened the connection between you.

Jacaerys responded with an enthusiasm that spoke volumes. His arms encircled you, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. The kiss deepened, filled with a yearning that transcended the physical, binding your souls together in a moment of deep intimacy.

His lips moved against yours with a gentle urgency, pouring out his heart in the touch of his mouth on yours. In that embrace, amidst the echoes of their shared ordeal, you found solace and strength in each other's arms.

When you finally pulled away, a soft smile graced Jacaerys' lips, his eyes shining with gratitude. He rested his forehead against yours, his hands tenderly caressing your cheeks as if trying to imprint the moment into memory. You nestled into his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against yours.

“One step at a time,” you mumbled, catching from the corner of your eye, the hint of a smile fighting to appear on his face. 

Together, you stood in the quiet sanctuary of the castle, your bodies pressed close as if seeking solace in each other's presence. The weight of what had transpired hung in the air, but so did a glimmer of hope – a hope that with time and effort, your love could mend the fractures that had threatened to break you apart. 

Jacaerys seemed unconcerned with the Council's potential reaction to his and his mother's defiance of tradition, wholly absorbed in the moment. His thoughts were consumed by your scent and the significance of your first kiss since your wedding. He silently hoped it marked the beginning of a new normal, regardless of the Council's opinions upon your return to the Red Keep. 

taglist: @smurfelle @earth4angels @elliaze @sillylittlepenguin181818 (taglist link is on pinned!)

[heavenbloom]

🇵🇸 BEFORE YOU READ:

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please do not skip over this! continuing to support palestine in any way possible is much more important than reading any piece of fanfiction.

𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬

𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒊: 𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒏

knight!abby x princess!reader

summary: your plans to usurp your despotic brother are halted when he assigns one of his strongest knights to keep an eye on you. what will wither and what will blossom in her presence?

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, political elements, fem afab reader, princess reader is manipulative, extensive descriptions of blood and violence, graphic depiction of murder, subtle enemies to lovers (more so in next chapter), degrading terms used in a non-sexual manner, insults, profanity, probably ooc?, not edited, reader discretion advised

a/n: this is HEAVILY inspired by The Jasmine Throne by Tasha Suri. this song is the atmosphere i was going for if you wanted to listen while reading!! dedicating this to @catfern, love you <3

wc: 4.7k

The corpse-quiet hours before dawn settled over the world with the languidness of dripping wax. There was a tenseness to it, beneath the silence, the twinings of a tautly strung instrument. You could smell it on the breeze too, a lick of disturbance carried sharply on the air alongside the fragrance of jasmine and rose. This night was a thing too tender for imminence, you thought, as you watched off-white petals scatter across pristine marble.

You felt it in your bones first, as it reverberated through the night. It felt like rolling thunder across the mountainside, but it was far too regimented to be birthed from mother nature. No, you knew this sound as intimately as your own heartbeat. 

Hoofbeats. Steadfast, almost urgent, as they ascended towards the palace. Through your balcony, you could see a sea of them, clad in the pure white of moonlight and the gold of dawn. At the very front jostled a garish carriage swathed in the same colours, flying your nation’s flags. You stepped further out onto the balcony. A retinue, a homecoming. Your brother has returned.

Of course, ease slid through your veins at the fact that it was not a darker reality encroaching, but it curdled instantaneously, soured by the notion that you would merely be a marionette tugged upon and prettied up in order to appease him. A dutiful princess, you would play the part of orator, musician, perhaps finally bride to a stranger if the King and all his attendants had his way. What were you but a flower with an endless array of malleable petals to be arranged this way and that? 

You drank in the perfumed scents that swirled around you, a sigh passing your parted lips. The silk curtains of your suite lifted like a breath, the solid colour broken apart by somebody familiar, whose chest rattled for the solace of fresh air.

Your features did not falter as your eyes remained fixed upon the retinue fast approaching. The girl, one of your many pairs of watchful eyes,  strode towards you, sweat upon her brow, a worrisome crease at the youthful corner of her lips. You remained fixed as you felt the brush of rough parchment against your smooth palm.

Politics was a game played by degrees, after all. It demanded quiet, the slithering of a black-belllied snake in the grass, waiting for the perfect moment to coil around its prey and squeeze. You let the paper unfurl against the wind, let it flap in the air as you read word upon word scrawled onto the page with an unsteady hand.

You knew what you hungered for, the prey that dangled just out of reach above your open maw. It glistened deepest oceanic blue cast in gold, and it sat safely atop of your tyrannical brother’s head.

Like all noble daughters, you knew that patience was a virtue. Things did not fall easily into your lap, so you would have to work for it, a dog searching ceaselessly for a single scrap of bone. You would let the meat of the empire simmer, wait until it was your turn to have your fill.

The parchment began to crinkle under the ferocity of your grip as your brother flashed through your mind. His smile, all canines. The cruelty that lurked just beneath the surface of that untarnished exterior.

With a fiery savagery singing in your veins, you silently declared that his crown would be yours.

        𖥸 𖥸 𖥸

The day’s last light was beginning to wither away, its last breath sweeping across the courtyard below and setting it ablaze. The air that seemed like an extension of your own lungs the night before was cloying now, pollen stuck in the crevice of your throat and tightening it with fist-strength.

There were certain things you expected of your brother, but this…

Your eyes flitted from the balustrade to the woman who stood just behind the gauzy silk draped across the doorway. She had a straight spine to match the strength in her features. Slight aquiline nose, plump lips, and those eyes, crystalline blue but honed from years of slinking, silent observation.  There was no denying the touch of regality woven throughout her being. If somebody had said she were an empress from some distant land, you would have believed them.

It wasn’t such an extravagance that granted you with her presence, though. A white cape threaded with gold was draped around her armour-laden shoulders. There was a sword at her hip, but the breadth of her body alone was enough to make anybody hesitate.

This woman, whose body was carved for the gruesomeness of the battle, was to be your watchful knight, under oath to quash any harm that may arise. 

A bitterness rose from the pit of your stomach to the back of your throat. Sworn protector. The words thrummed in your skull like jailer. It was clear from her unbroken gaze alone where her loyalties were placed, at the feet of your brother and your brother alone.

You were the first to break your eyes away, demurely, subtle but unerringly feminine, and more importantly, inferior. Your spine was straight, but you hung your head slightly, letting your eyes wander along the outline of lush greenery below. Your hands skimmed along the finery that swathed your body. You appeared reticent and meagre, but every minute movement was deliberate on your part, a dance in which you knew all the steps.

Her shadow of a presence was a setback, certainly, something to keep you at bay, but if you wove the right tale, spun an intricacy of honeyed words and laid syrupy sweetness upon her… this one, like any other, could be used, moulded and rolled like clay with the right pressure. All you had to do was locate a chink in her armour. 

You gave a hesitant pause, counted to three, until you walked the expanse of the balcony, back into your quarters, the tinkling of weighty jewellery sounding with each step you took. Even closer, she appeared much more powerful, the jagged lines of her face schooled into sternness. The refusal to drop her gaze in the presence of her new lady sent a shiver down your spine.

“Abigail.” Your voice was gentle, the lulling of a flute. “I am grateful for your service. To my dear brother, of course, but especially to me.” You stepped closer to her, but remained at a polite distance, a benevolent smile gracing your lips.

Her face remained the same, but there was a slight quirk to her thick brows. She was used to doing bloody work for the King, but you could tell that she was unused to interacting with royalty.  “My loyalty is to the crown. I would do anything His Majesty asked of me, princess.” Ah, what a well trained response. As expected of one of the most renowned weapons in your brother’s arsenal.

“Yes, and it warms my heart.” You ensured your smile widened, your eyebrows softening in tandem with the lovely upward curve of your mouth. “I have heard stories of your bravery. To have such a hero protect myself alone… well, it feels rather a waste of talent, does it not?”

Her lips parted for a moment at the steer in conversation. You could see the hardness melting from her face like butter, replaced by an expression unreadable. It was too early to tell whether there was now a weakness to strike at, but it was better than talking to the righteous facade of her. “My talents can be just as useful in the Royal Palace as they would be on the battlefield.” Her words were as certain as solid stone, unmoving in their conviction.

“Such a noble heart you have.” You let the distance close between the two of you, then, your body just a few mere inches away from steel. Your hand met the one at her side, soft fingers grazing across leather, the cool hilt of her sword brushing against your knuckles. “But you do not need to protect me. Guards swarm this palace, after all.”

You expected abashment, the averting of that steady, unbreakable gaze, but not so much as a twitch of her fingers was drawn out of her. Still, you pressed on, as a thumb circled a spot on her gloved hand. “You would be better suited to attacking any threats at the root, dear knight. I could arrange you to be back where you once were. Not here, not with me.”

These lies, this faux flattery, left your tongue with the ease of second nature. You had none of the power you wished to possess, and you could not fulfil any such promise to her, but a few sweetened words could at least put you in her good favour, string her along for at least for a few moments outside of her obstructive gaze.

Something flashed across her features, but it was not the distant yearning for battle, not even the consideration of your hefty offer. You felt her thick fingers slip, gently, out of your grasp. Shock burst in your chest when her lips curled into a smile. Not completely unkind, but belittling all the same.

“The way we view honour differs greatly, princess.” Her mouth shaped the words slowly, deliberately and they hung in the air like an accusation. The last of the sun filtered through the balcony, causing the stray hairs framing her face to shine gold, the dust of freckles on her cheeks to appear like a smattering of starlight. You were once again struck by the wondrous beauty of her, a blow to the ribs. 

You urged the swell in your guts down hastily.

“Is it so dishonourable,” you started, choosing to focus instead on that same jagged ambition that ate away at you, “to desire glory for oneself?”

The eyes that you thought resembled a pristine shoreline now darkened with the implications of your question. You watched as the storm passed across her face, as the act of noble knight swallowed her whole once more. 

“Glory means nothing if it is not for the sake of serving the King.” She finally averted her gaze to the rolling gardens below. 

“Our King.”

𖥸 𖥸 𖥸

Thunder rippled across the charred night sky, the rain beating against the earth with the ferocity of a thousand rapid heartbeats. Your quarters burst white and fizzled with each lightning strike, and you could see the dozing face of Abigail each time. She laid, with one arm cradling the back of her head, in a cot at the foot of your bed, her golden-brown lashes long enough to cast wispy shadows on the apples of her cheeks under the inconsistent light. Even in her sleep, she seemed to be withholding herself from you, despite the stretch of days you had spent together thus far.

Beneath the writhing rage that clawed at your insides, you felt a soft pang, something faint and unfamiliar, for this woman. She was forced to live her days, in utter numbness, waiting for an attack on your life that would never come. She was here to intimidate you into compliance, at your brother’s whims, and she was completely unaware of it. To be a pawn in such a twisted game unwittingly… It was cruel. But weren’t you attempting to do the exact same? The hypocrisy was completely not lost on you.

You watched her sleeping figure for a few more moments until you were certain she was asleep. Then, soundlessly, you slipped out of the embrace of your bed. The air was cool but heavy with humidity as you walked on the balls of your bare feet, your nightgown brushing your ankles and sending an anxious tremble up your body. You tried to move as swiftly as you could. Your spies and confidants were loyal enough, but even they would not wait out the entire night for you when there was other work to be done at dawn.

 An electric thrill jolted your being when you clasped the door handle. Was evading her watchful eye really so easy? Was all you had to do is slink around in the deep hours of dark?  You bit down a smile as the heavy door gave way . Freedom, for a few mere minutes at least, was just beyond the door…

“My Lady?” Something glacial hardened in your veins. The voice was hoarse with the remnants of slumber, but there was no doubting the razor-edge awareness of it. 

For a beat, you were too stunned to face her. When you didn’t turn, she spoke again. “Princess, what are you doing out of bed?”

What was the safest way to avoid her suspicion? The crashing of thunder sliced through your thoughts like a knife, offering you an escape route on a silver platter.

You whorled around, your eyebrows high-strung. Abigail was sitting upright, her head tilted and her unbound blonde hair dripping over one shoulder. There was no armour covering the wide expanse of her chest, a rare exposure of bare collarbone and surprisingly soft skin. You would perhaps never get used to the sight.

You clutched the fabric of your nightgown and widened your eyes, fawn-frightened. “Abigail, I…” you let your voice taper off into a quiver.

She was up in an instant and striding towards you, brows knitted together. Despite the urgency vibrating every cell in her body, her large hands cupped your shoulders with a gentleness you thought so disjointed for a woman of her size and profession. You doubted she would have touched you if it weren’t for the haze of confusion that overpowered her usual meticulousness. 

“What is the matter? Speak to me, princess.”

“I-it’s absurd, I…” You trembled ever so slightly and could only pray that you were convincing. “The storm… well, it frightened me. I apologise. You mustn't be used to such frivolity.”

The tautness of her bow-strung body seemed to drift away all at once. Her shoulders drooped and she smiled, this time a thing of pure relief. “Is that all that this is?”

You nodded once, pulling yourself inward more and silently thanking whichever god had just granted you quick wits. She tsked softly and brought you closer to her. The warmth of her body was comforting, as alive as the spark upon a coal. 

“You can wake me when you’re frightened, my lady,” she breathed out, her breath rustling the hair at your ear. 

“I thought– I didn’t wish to burden you.” For once, there was a distasteful speck of truth in your words. She was a thing too gentle and straightforward for the ugliness of court politics. How could you ask her to help you usurp a throne she adamantly kneeled at the foot of?

“Princess,” she sighed, her hands trailing from shoulder to elbow. “Your brother has tasked me to protect you.” A lie, and yet she believed it so wholeheartedly. A loyalty as steady as a heartbeat.

“You cannot salve for every little thing that ails me.”

“There’s a sort of protection in comfort, is there not?” Such naive words, ones a child could have spoken, but they rang throughout your entire being.

She was diluted ink in the dark of the storm, but the whites of her eyes and teeth shone with the sheen of pearl. Your lips parted, drinking in a shaky inhale. You should have kept playing the delicate flower  in distress, but you were teetering on the edge of something dangerous and curious, a hunger that gnawed at the very marrow of your bones. A hunger that you had no choice but to satiate.

“And how do you intend to comfort me, dear knight?”

A moment of something heady passed, and you could practically see the churning of her mind, the weight of precariousness at her throat like a glinting blade. You knew then that the same starvation engulfed her own being, your hands slithering down to her wrists and clutching them. 

“I would do whatever you ask of me, My Lady–”

“No,” you cut her off, tracing a sliver of puckered flesh that outlined her bare wrist. A quaint shiver wracked her shoulders at the abrupt stone of your voice, unbidden. “No, Abigail. How do you wish to comfort me? Speak plainly.”

“I want…” Her voice was strained, the word leaden and fumbling on her tongue, her own will now foreign to her. Her hands tightened around your elbows. “What I want… what I desire, is not so easily spoken, princess.” 

Even in the dark, her eyes were the bottomless wells of a carefully guarded vulnerability. You wanted to chip away at that wall she had between you and her, between anyone but her fiery devotion and her own self.

You cupped her cheeks with the soft, uncalloused palms of your hands, watched as her reluctance dissolved with the touch. 

“Then show me.” 

Perhaps all that was needed was an uttered confirmation that you felt the same infuriating emotions. You had torn through the neat little bow of restraint that kept her being together, and now it was uncontainable, this ever-swelling.

There was a moment of hesitation, shared breath mingling sweetly, before she pressed her lips to yours. She cradled your waist as if you were porcelain, but her kiss was a beast of want, all teeth and tongue. Your back melded with the carvings of the door as she nudged you back, wooden jasmine blossoms and orchids keeping you tethered to the moment. You kissed back with just as much viciousness, astonished by your own affections welling up like crimson from a finger pricked.

It was with the ebb and flow of ocean waves that she let you go just as promptly as she had kissed you, her face a hazy mass of surprise in the semi-dark, leaving only the remnant of her warmth against your skin, the phantom of soft lips and tongue.

Her fingers scraped her blonde locks away from her face, chest heaving. 

“Princess,” she spoke through the ragged edge of her breath. There was a singed quality to her voice, raw and crisp. “Princess, it would be improper to continue.”

Disappointment, to your dismay, pooled in the pit of your stomach. You turned your head to the side and gave a feeble nod, swallowing at the thick knot lodged in your throat. Letting her warm your bed would be unwise, you reminded yourself now. It would serve no purpose to your goals, and a lovesick knight trailing you around was the last thing you needed. And yet... 

“We cannot cross that line,” she whispered. You felt the gentle snaking of arms around yours as you were pulled close to her chest, your ear snug against it. “But I am still here.” Her heartbeat was hummingbird-rapid, a reflection of your own.

She led you back to the bed and watched intently as you laid down beneath the smooth blanket. You stared in return. How was a person sharpened for such luridness able to wield tenderness the way she did a weapon? It was more frightening, you silently mused, than any tale of her violence could offer. It did little to divert the ache that seeped to your very bones, the craving for it.

Lightning still ruptured the heavens, followed dismally by a cacophony of thunder.

“Abigail.” Your hand drifted into the air, toward her. She held it gently in both of hers.

“Are you still frightened?”

Your plan for the night had been uprooted, and you had no choice but to remain here in this room. You traced each feature of hers with your eyes, lingering on the worrisome crease of her brow. Perhaps… “Yes, a little.”

Perhaps, this once, sweet selfishness was justified. Perhaps you could let this sordid business of trickery and usurpation float from your mind. This once…

“Will you lay beside me?” You sat up, peeling the blanket aside. “It would help me a great deal.”

“My lady…”

“Innocently, of course,” you reassured. “To know someone is beside me, to share that warmth… it would ease my nerves greatly.”

A beat passed, then another. “I think… It's something I also need. For tonight.”

“For tonight,” you echoed, patting the empty space of the bed next you. 

She clambered in beside you without another word, a slow exhale escaping her when her head softly hit the pillow. You could feel her breath fan over your face gently, followed by a soothing, steady hand on your arm.

“Will you hold me?” There was a waver in your cadence, something unbearably soft puckering to the surface. “Is that okay?”

 You were encircled by her arms, so gently that you felt, something swirl inside of you, just to then sink. 

Consciousness left her almost instantly at the feel of your body against hers. The comfort of someone to hold in the eternal stretch of night elleviated the quiet ache that thrummed and tugged at her own being. 

You listened as she slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep, until the sky stopped its tears and the only sound that could be heard was the rhythmic thump, thump, thump of her heart at your ear.

𖥸 𖥸 𖥸

The marble was icy beneath the soles of your feet, each footfall echoing softly through the desolate, cavernous halls. The lanterns flickered low, the walls cast in leaping, ravenous shadows. 

Wait for me at the entrance to the orchard, you had told your spy, an inconspicuous place for business made in the night, but as you reached the intricately designed archway, you were met with the absence of the living. The sharp smell of damp earth and overripe fruit wafted through the open space, yet it did little to calm the eerie feeling in your blood. 

Perhaps you were too late, or perhaps she had appeared conspicuous. A fist of disappointment twisted at your gut, but relief flooded your veins with it. There was silence, at least. Stagnance was a better ordeal than disruption. You turned away from the trees, feet almost silent without the usual finery adorning your ankles.

A whisper against the precious stone. Something scratching and picoting, until you felt the brush of it at your leg. Frozen, you peered at what had touched you. A piece of flimsy paper, the uncertain handwriting that you had come to know so well. Between the looping letters of secret after secret unfurled, vermillion stained the thin sheet. Vibrant. Fresh.

A man at the very first tree, the shimmer of the whites of his eyes furious and expansive. You knew this face, these pompous clothes, the cruel, all-knowing scowl on his lips. Your brother’s confidant and his closest advisor. If this man could stretch himself as thin as a carpet to soften your brother’s steps, he would have.

His movements were rigid, yet quick as he lunged in your direction, teeth bared and motivated by his sweltering rage alone. His cheek was streaked with the same shade of red.

“You treasonous whore!” He swiped his hands at you, but you scrambled away at the very last moment. “Traitor!”

“My Lord–” Your heart thrusted against your ribcage, your breath coming out in uneven, shattering breaths. There was no cajoling such a blind beast. His voice was much too loud, his body propelled by something untethered to reason.

You were going to be found out. He had the evidence and his screams were enough to alert any guards patrolling the slumbering palace. You had to do something, you had to–

He lunged forward again, forceful yet sloppy. Your body began to react on its own accord.

The blade was an ugly little thing, stolen from beneath Abigail’s pillow weeks ago and fastened in a makeshift sheath of torn silk and ribbon, held steadily enough by a bangle at your wrist. It was in your hand, slipping from the snugness of the material and clanging against the jewellery with the same delicate ring of anklet bells chiming in the midst of dance and song. A song of retribution, thrumming, awake and unabated, in your veins.

The moment was a blur, the contact of iron to skin one you could not even comprehend until a surprised, wet sound bubbled forth from the nobleman’s lips. He slumped forward against the blade, his eyes glassy. Lifeblood trickled down the hilt of the blade and down your fingers. The warmth of it made your stomach churn. 

Before you could pull the blade out, he swayed to the side, toppling to the ground with a sickening thump. Crimson bled across the stark white of the floor, pooling beneath his now motionless body.

The bile of pure panic rose to your throat, face leached of warmth. What have I done? What have I done? What have I–

“Princess?” A voice of honeycomb, even when it wavered with such uncertainty.

No.

You stared ahead, the bulky outline of her blurring only to refocus as she got closer. There was a look that had never graced her face before, one of confusion mixed with something akin to horror. Had she known this man? Taken orders from him?

But she did not look down at the grim image at her feet, but rather at you. Your stained fingers, the way your face had grown ashen and fear-stricken.

Her fingers ghosted over your cheek, but stopped short of making contact. “What…” You could hear the thoughts that knotted in her mind. How could such a sweet thing – you – do this?

A shout sounded down the hall, and you flinched, eyes darting in the direction as a new wave of bone-rattling fear crashed down upon you. There was a clamour, the sound of swords against urgently moving legs. 

Abigail pulled her hand away from you as if seared. Hardness seeped into the cracks where her moment of bare emotion shone. A moment ticked by, voices growing closer.

With a flash of movement, she yanked the blade out of the lifeless body beside her, a sickening squelch that did not seem to rattle her, and turned her back on you. Surely she had to be more selfish than this?

“Abigail–”

“Be silent and stay behind me.”

Your voice sank down into an urgent whisper. “Your recklessness is going to get you killed.”

Her head turned toward you then, her gaze meeting yours. Blue flame, a flicker of pure torment. 

“You have already made me your accomplice.” They should have been sweet, simple words, but they held the acrid tang of rotting fruit, bitter and wilting despite their saccharine nature.

They were encircling you in an instant, guards wearing the colours of the sun and the moon. Their swords were raised, but they waited for something…

The guards parted, roiling ocean waves. You watched as your brother stepped his way to the front, head held high.

Without a single word, Abigail dropped to her knees, the blade clanging against the floor and skidding away from her to rest at his feet.

Your brother did not spare her a glance. His eyes pinned you in place, cold and measured. He did not ask about the commotion or point grieving eyes towards his closest advisor. No, he already decided on what truth in this he would spin and alter in order to squash you beneath his bejewelled hand. 

As he stared you down, you gazed at the back of Abigail’s neck, peach-toned skin peaking beneath the cascade of blonde waves over her shoulders. You wanted to reach out, to touch her one last time if only to bid farewell.

Such a rotten heart you had. You felt it thump mournfully, greed winning out in the end. 

Your lips remained tightly locked as she took the fall for your turpitude, an act of the foulest betrayal.

As you watched them drag her away, you may as well have been clapping the chains around her wrists yourself. 

Who knew that even a blade of the soul could be double-edged?

[spider-stark]

house of the dragon masterlist // link to my general masterlist

General Warnings -

⚔️ This blog is 18+

🛡️ This particular masterlist currently contains only Aegon II Targaryen, Benjicot Blackwood, Aeron Bracken, Gwayne Hightower, and Criston Cole. however, i am open to writing about other hotd characters

⚔️ All of these fic's contain dark themes or content that is considered inappropriate by some readers, so adhere warnings! I am not responsible for your content consumption; so please read responsibly!

🛡️ If you happen to notice that something is not tagged appropriately or you feel a fic needs a particular warning, please let me know and I will do my best to correct this mistake.

⚔️ And, as always, happy reading!

A CRUEL FATE

⚔️ SUMMARY - Having been in love with Aegon your entire life, you always assumed that he never felt the same. Now set to wed his brother, Aemond, your frustration finally peaks and leads to you confessing your feelings.

🛡️ WARNINGS - suggestive language/actions, light use of y/n (sorry), sad aegon lol, obvious incest

LITTLE DRAGON

⚔️ SUMMARY - Your elder brother, Jace, attempts to teach you how to wield a sword. Aegon, your new betrothed, interrupts.

🛡️ WARNINGS - slight Jace x Reader, incest

THE CONQUEROR'S CROWN

⚔️ SUMMARY - After being captured by a member of the Kingsguard on your way to Winterfell, Aegon calls for you in the throne room.

🛡️ WARNINGS - light smut, oral, kidnapping, blades/blood, possible hematolagnia, eludes disappointed mom!rhaenyra (absolutely no bashing tho), and obvious incest

JEALOUSY

⚔️ SUMMARY - Dealing with the consequences of making Aegon jealous

🛡️ WARNINGS - abusive/toxic relationship, definite masochism, choking, brief mentions of blood, brief mentions of blades, targcest

PRECIPICE

⚔️ SUMMARY - Forced to attend a stuffy ball, you find yourself hiding beneath a table with Aegon.

🛡️ WARNINGS - implied targcest

SPARRING PARTNER

⚔️ SUMMARY - You and Aegon have hardly spoken since sharing a particularly sensual moment a month ago. Now he thinks he stands a chance in a sparring match.

🛡️ WARNINGS - implied targcest, hints to smut, blood, horny/stupid argon & reader

SWORN RIVALS

⚔️ SUMMARY - Taking up sparring with your sworn rival is likely never a good idea.

🛡️ WARNINGS - kieran burton fan cast, all character 18+, barely edited, blood, implied fighting, suggestive language but no real smut, likely ooc given that the episode hasn't even aired yet lmao

LADY STRONG

⚔️ SUMMARY - Stuck in the Riverland's on a marriage tour, you pretend to be Lady Strong when Benjicot Blackwood doesn't recognize you as the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms

🛡️ WARNINGS - kieran burton fan cast, all character 18+, not edited!!

THE BRIDGE

⚔️ SUMMARY - Your wardship with House Blackwood was meant to bridge the chasm between your families. Years later, you return to Stone Hedge as the whispers of war spread—only for Lord Tully to call for a hunt.

🛡️ WARNINGS - fem!reader, complicated sibling relationship, fighting, (probably excessive) mentions of blood, talks about hunting/killing wild animals, !angst!, adult language, reader def suffering from identity crisis, probably deviates from canon some, kieran burton fan cast for benji, all characters 18+

THE GOLD TANKARD

⚔️ SUMMARY - Benji is a regular at the tavern you work at—and you're starting to think he's forgetting his coin on purpose.

🛡️ WARNINGS - fem!reader, kieran burton fan cast, all characters 18+, suggestive/sexual language, not edited bc I'm lazy and wrote this for fun in like an hour

GOLD

⚔️ SUMMARY - You go sneaking through Bracken territory for some time alone with Aeron.

🛡️ WARNINGS - fem!reader, blackwood!reader, mentions of blood, mentions of fighting, no real plot, hurt/comfort, subtle rivals-to-lovers, aeron grabbing boobies lmao, maybe some grammar errors idk

LITTLE BRACKEN KNIGHT

⚔️ SUMMARY - You sneak into Aeron's room at Stone Hedge.

🛡️ WARNINGS - fem!reader, blackwood!reader not edited, suggestive language, hints towards smut but there is none, secret relationship trope ig, blackwood!reader being a little shit

A CONVERSATION BETWEEN OLD FRIENDS

⚔️ SUMMARY - Devotion will never be enough to make the Gods forgive you for the sin of your existence. They will keep finding new ways to punish you.

🛡️ WARNINGS - fem!reader, bastard!reader, septa!reader, mostly edited, heavy religious themes & guilt, angst, yearning, *slightly* ooc gwayne but mostly cause he's drunk and bitter lmao

SWORN PROTECTOR

⚔️ SUMMARY - After sneaking back into the Keep from a night spent out in the city, you find your sworn protector, Ser Criston Cole, waiting for you in your room.

🛡️ WARNINGS - fem!reader, targtower!reader, not edited, reader has mommy/daddy issues, duty turned devotion type bullshit, criston can't just guard a woman without falling in love ig, yearning

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Lost and found

Self-Aware BSD AU x SAGAU Imposter crossover

Self-Aware! BSD Characters x GN! Reader

Description: You dissapeared a month ago. You finally returned home.

Warning: OOC. Religious fanaticism. Non-descriptive torture. Reader almost get killed. English is my second language.

Normally, the atmosphere in the house was happy. Kids were playing on the playground, Akutagawa siblings often watch movies in the living room, Oda and Kunikida discussed books in the library. Sigma can start a spontaneous poker game. And much, much more.

But, most importantly, there were you.

In one moment, you were reading books with Poe, and Karl was sitting on your lap.

Next moment you were fooling around with Nikolai.

Then you were having a competition, where Tachihara with Teruko on his shoulders were racing against Tetchou with you on his back.

It was fun.

It didn't last.

The day you disappeared became the worst day of their lives.

No more laughing.

No more having fun.

They were searching for you.

Looking under every branch in the forest.

Breaking in every house, where people, that have even smallest disagreement with you.

Sleepless nights.

And constant search.

For their Dear Guiding Light.

______

Different religions have different things, that can be considered blasphemy. Yes, some acts can be called "universal" blasphemy. That everyone, no matter, where they are from and what their beliefs are, would call such acts blasphemy.

But, some religions, have something, that only for them will be viewed as blasphemy.

In Teyvat any resemblance to the All-Creator was the act of blasphemy. The worst sin. The High treason.

And sinners must be punished for the heinous act.

Creator would sit on their ivory throne and command their holy knights to destroy the Corruption.

Because The Embodiment of Divinity can't be wrong. Because The One, who brought life, are doing it for the good of the Teyvat.

So, when the news about another Sinner being spotted in Mondstadt reach Creator, they ordered their Divine Knights to Purge the Sin from Teyvat.

Creator love Teyvat. Creator love humans. Creator destroyed Celestia, an embodiment of Sin, that tried to destroy Creator, the moment they sat on the ivory throne.

Creator were freedom. That's why Barbatos didn't feel bad, commanding wings of Teyvat to feed the fire, that Knights of Favonius set, to burn the small cottage with you inside.

Creator were following their contact, the promise to protect Teyvat. That's why Morax didn't bat an eye, throwing a stone spear at a boat, where you were hiding.

Creator were internal. So Baal didn't regret unleashing the power of lightning on you.

Creator were a fake. It was real knowledge. But Real Sinner have power. Nahida were sorry, that she and Aranara's could give you only a small break.

Creator were Justice. Fontaine people were ready to hung you up. Real Sinner have power. Furina and Melusines were hiding you as long as they can. When you saw the enraged Neuvillette, who was ready to destroy the village, you left by your own accord.

For Creator, they would start a war. In Natlan you were almost caught. By pure luck, Columbina's attack didn't end your life.

Fatui's dream became reality, because of the Creator. Snezhnaya's people were ready to tear you apart.

Instead, they tie you up and drag you to the Ivory Throne.

_______

You didn't like being transported to Teyvat.

Yes, it was beautiful. But, you missed your friends and family. You missed BSD Gang.

Worst of all, you didn't have your phone with you. You can't even try to reach out to your world.

You decide to find Traveler, or Abyss Sibling, or Alice. Maybe, they can send you home?

You wished you stay in the wilderness.

People of Teyvat hated you. Traveler hated you. Abyss Sibling hated you.

Everyone called you a disgrace. Sinner. Corruption, that must be purged.

They try to burn you alive.

They chased you like a wild animal.

They wanted to kill you.

And every person who tried to help you were punished.

You had no idea, what happened to Nahida and Aranaras. And you hopped that Yoimiya, her father, Furina and Melusines were fine.

You were captured a week ago.

Week, full of torture.

Of boiling water, that was poured down your throat.

"Dirty heretic! Accept the cleansing of your soul from impurities!"

Of hot iron on your skin. Of terrible scars on your chest.

"Heretic"

And you were forced on your knees before an Ivory Throne.

Your exact double raise their hand.

And Five archons and one Hydro Sovereign attacked.

Arrows of Anemo. Spear of Geo. Sword of Electro. Wave of Hydro. Claymore of Pyro. Wave of Cryo.

You can't even scream. Boiling water burned your tongue and throat.

You were tried and wished for one thing.

To finally be safe.

The moment, before you were hit, the portal appeared under your legs.

___________________________

It was nighttime.

All of them gather in the living room.

Another day of fruitless search.

And no trace of you.

Suddenly, they heard a noise from the outside. The empty barn was shaking. The wight light was visible through the cracks in the old wood.

Everyone hurried here.

Tetchou got here first and opened the door.

Light faded.

You were there

You were laying on the floor.

Tortured. Branded.

And alive.

Chaos started. No one can stay silent even for a second.

Yosano got near you in a second. Not only because she ran towards you. Tachihara and Akutagawa literally carried her to you. Yosano used her ability without second thought.

Now, healed, you were still laying on the floor. From time to time, you let out a quiet sobs and 'please, I just want to go home'.

Everyone was panicking. Asking if you were alright. If you will be okay.

Fukuchi carried you home.

______

You were unconscious.

They bathed you, change your clothes and try to make you as safe as possible.

You were laying on your bed, covered in every blanket they can find. They brought even their own blankets. Somewhere in there were laying Rimbaud's coat, that he cover you with.

Your room was full of people.

BSD Cast were sitting on the floor, on the windowsill, on the edge of your bed.

Everyone was there. Even kids were allowed to stay up.

They were sitting close to each other. No one could phantom a thought of leaving you even for a second.

The night was sleepless.

_____

You thought, that you were dead in went to the afterlife.

Because, you can feel, that you were warm and laying on something soft.

You don't want to open your eyes. You wanted to stay in a warm, safe place.

More senses were back.

You heard birds singing.

And quiet sobs. Sound of steps.

And whispers.

"Myshonok, you can't leave us. Please, come back..."

"[Y/N], it's okay, take your time. You will soon be better, right? We will have fun pranking Vagabond..."

"The world without you will never be ideal... [Y/N]... Darling... Come back..."

Some voices sound closer.

"[Y/N]... Please, Birdy, woke up... My Dear, I missed you so much, please, come back!"

Someone was holding your hand, squeezing it. You feel, how, that someone's tears fall on your knuckles.

Another voice. This one touch your shoulder. The voice sounded broken.

"[Y/N], my precious Iris Flower... Wake up... I beg you..."

They also were crying...

Birdy... Iris Flower... Could it be?

You opened your eyes.

______

Two pair of eyes, one - dark brown, second - green and grayish came into your line of sigh.

Dazai Osamu and Nikolai Gogol.

Were you seeing things? Or you really were back.

You manage to whisper. You feel, that your tongue and throat weren't burned anymore.

"K-Kolya? Osamu?"

You looked around. Your friends were here.

"G-guys... E-Everyone..."

Before you can finish, you were swarmed by your friends.

Everyone tried to see you, to touch you. Kyuusaku, who manage to get to the front, climbed on your bed and hugged you.

"I knew it! I knew that you will be back! That you will return. B-because I told them all... that you will come back... you will certainly come back" Kyuusaku sobbed. Suddenly, they looked angry. "Where were you?! We were waiting for you... Searching for you... but you... completely, completely disappeared!"

You bit your lip and drew blood. For one moment, angry shouts of "SINNER" filled your ears.

Q cried again and hid their smeared face in your chest.

No. They are your friend. They won't hurt you.

You carefully hugged Q. You didn't feel any pain. You remind yourself to thank Yosano later.

"Good question, where were you, [Y/N]? Who... Hurt you?" spoke Mori. And you flinched.

One of the worst thing during The Imposter Hunt was Zhongli. More specifically, his voice, that sounds so similar to Mori's. During Nightmare-filled nights, that voice was cursing you, threaten you, promising to tear you apart.

In reality, you saw Zhongli saying that words. In your Nightmares, you saw Mori.

Zhongli made you scared of your friend!

Everyone noticed your reaction. Yosano spoke.

"[Y/N]... What happened? You were on a brick of death, when we found you..."

You still couldn't say a word. You were scared. You were terrified of returning to Teyvat.

Fukuzawa spoke next. He carefully picked up Kyuusaku and put them down on the floor. Then Fukuzawa with the same carefulness, propped you up against your pillow.

"We will discuss it later. Right now, [Y/N] need some food. Kitten, are you hungry?"

You slowly nodded. Oda, who was standing near the door, immediately left to get food from the kitchen.

The others stay in your room, looking at you.

This exact moment they made a promise to themselves.

They will destroy everything and everyone, who have hurt you.

And they will make sure, that this people will suffer.

[yanderes-galore]

9.) "The wound in your leg serves as a lesson, does it not?"

romantic Jace

34.) "No one else understands me except you!"

Platonic Luke

Reader had known the boys for her whole life. Reader kinda acts like a boy. She has shorter hair maybe shoulder length? And Jace when they were children would claim they were already married and she was like “um nah” and now that they are older Jace is demanding her to marry him saying “you can’t disobey me, I am your future king and you will be my queen” so reader decides to run away but like catches her and says something like “your the only person who understands how I feel” then drags her back while apologizing and tells Jace what happened. So Jace does something to her legs to make her un able to walk and run away.

Sure! I just hope I get characterization right :') This primarily focuses on Jace if that's okay.

Yandere! Romantic Jacaerys + Platonic! Lucerys Prompts 9 + 24

"The wound in your leg serves as a lesson, does it not?" - Jace

"No one else understands me except you!" - Luke

Pairing: Romantic (Jace)/Platonic (Luke)

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, The two manipulate each other, Delusional behavior, Violence, Possessive behavior, Forced betrothal, Medieval sexism/gender roles, Mature themes, Manipulation, OOC Jace, Cutting of Achilles Tendon, Forced relationship/companionship.

When you had met the two princes, you were a young princess yourself. However you were not like most princesses, choosing to sneak around and act like a boy instead. Such a thing wasn't common in the period... but your parents could never seem to stop you.

You used to play with them all the time as children despite the rumors that surrounded their birth. You were about the same age as Jace and Rhaenyra was pleased your parents allowed you to play with them. It was nice to not be judged for once... in return, Rhaenyra never minded your more boyish behavior.

Since you three were young, Jace had been attached to you. His brother, Luke, had seen you as an older sibling or friend. Jace, however, saw you as his future queen as the years went by.

Jace was told he was to sit upon the Iron Throne, while later on Luke was to sit himself on the throne of Driftmark. Neither of them were betrothed, Rhaenyra was still figuring such a thing out. You weren't betrothed either...

Making Jace's heart set on the idea.

"You and I are destined to rule!" Jace would always say to you, a smile on his face as he held your hands. "You have no betrothed, right? We'd be the perfect king and queen...."

Luke had always been one to support his brother. While Jace would ramble on and on about weddings and being the perfect prince for you... Luke would encourage it. You, on the other hand?

You didn't like to think of marriage.

While Jace was always excited about becoming king, ever since you were all young you resented your role of princess. You didn't like being wed off, you didn't like bearing heirs... you wished for a different life. Another role that wasn't playing princess.

Wanting to change roles was a sentiment you shared with Luke. The younger prince also didn't like the idea of ruling Driftmark. This was something that made you see Luke as a brother of your own... you were so similar... even if he kept encouraging his brother.

He encouraged Jace not only because it made the older prince happy... but it also brings you closer to Luke.

While you tried to distance yourself from the idea, Jace was hooked on the idea of courting you. To the point he even brought it up to his mother when he was younger. Rhaenyra was hesitant... but Jace looked so set on marrying you ever since you two were kids.

Such behavior only persisted as you three got older. You had tried to grow into your role, listening to your parents and wearing dresses. However, you never wanted anything big... you'd wear a dress you could move freely in.

Despite trying to look the part, you were still against marriage. You often told your parents about this... but of course they didn't understand. After all, royal families are often concerned with the succession of their bloodline.

You were still close allies with Jace and Luke. You often visited them but... you noticed Jace wasn't as intent on being flirty. He gave you a few thoughtful looks and grins, but now outright courting. Such a thought confused you... after all these years he's given up such fantasies?

It was a welcome change for you...

Until your parents announced that they had spoken to Queen Rhaenyra of Dragonstone... and betrothed you to Prince Jacaerys.

The news devastates you. Sure, Jace and you are childhood friends... but you didn't want to marry him. However... the news certainly explained why he had such a knowing gaze towards you. You're sent into shock and worry about the future.

But eventually... you end up meeting with Prince Jacaerys another day to discuss future relations... much to your dismay.

-🛡-

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this..." Jace whispers, holding your hand softly before kissing the knuckles. "You've managed to get even more beautiful, princess."

You sit with him and Luke in a room as your parents discuss with one another. Jace wears a smiles on his face as he gaze at you. You're his queen... you have been since he met you... he just knows it.

You look away with a frown, pulling your hand away. Jace seems surprised by your reaction and steps closer. Luke notices your hesitancy and pities it... he knows you don't really want this role... but you make his brother happy.

"Princess?" Jace whispers, stepping closer to hold your waist. "Are you nervous...? You know I would do everything in my power to treat you right as king... you're my future queen, after all."

"Jace..." You answer, a sad look in your eye. " You've been at this for years... don't you know I don't like the idea?"

Jace looks at you with a frown, pulling you close despite your squirming. Luke feels torn when he sees your sadness. He cares about both of you... but there was no way to win you both over, was there?

"Are you scared of when we consummate our marriage?" He whispers, making you freeze for a moment. "Or that others will judge us? There's no need... I won't let you be scared." You feel him kiss your cheek... and you push him away.

"I-I'm sorry... I just need to leave for a moment." You admit, stepping back. You go to leave the room, but Jace grips onto your hand.

"My lady..." Jace calls, tone oddly seeming to hide a warning. "Please don't leave... we can make this work!"

"Let go...." You whimper, Jace stepping closer to you as Luke goes to stand up.

"You aren't disobeying your future king, are you?" Jace whispers in your ear. "For my whole life I've wanted you as my queen... mother has given me such a chance. Why do you resist?"

The moment you hear a growl in his tone, you break away from his grasp and exit the room quickly. Jace calls your name but you don't listen as you rush down the halls. You weren't sure where you were running to, you just knew you needed to leave Jace.

Eventually you come across the gardens and find somewhere to sit. Your heart pounds in your chest at the thought of marrying Jace... not in the good way, unfortunately. You're scared of such an event.

You're so lost in the fear that you don't notice the young prince Luke approaching you.

"Princess...?" Luke asks hesitantly, the young boy sitting beside you. "Are you alright?"

"No..." You whisper, the small sound making the prince's heart ache a little. "I never wanted this... I don't want to be a queen...."

Luke frowns, remembering that you both hate the roles your parents gifted you. He didn't want to rule Driftmark. While he has pity for your predicament...

He too wants to keep you close, just like his brother.

"I know..." Luke sighs, eyes looking at you with sympathy. "No one else understands me except you... we're already like siblings..."

You smile softly at the young prince... but notice the darkness in his gaze.

"Which is why I can't wait for you to be my sister-in-law..." Luke smiles, your heart dropping at his words.

"My Lady!" Jace calls, anger in his voice. You freeze, wanting to run, but Luke grabs your arm tightly. You begin to realize Luke betrayed you for his brother...

Allowing Jace to pull you into his grasp tightly. Dragon blood does indeed run deep in the two princes despite their parentage... why else would they be so possessive of you?

"Queens shouldn't run from their kings..." Jace growls softly, nails digging into your skin. Luke begins to reconsider his decisions when he sees Jace slowly reach for his dagger. "Good kings need to teach their wives to listen, don't they?"

You feel yourself gently pushed onto the ground as Jace sits on your legs. You struggle but Jace orders Luke to hold you still. Jace, your king, holds a sadistic darkness in his eyes as he holds your legs.

"I'll make sure you never run from me again..." Jace whispers, kissing your forehead softly. You feel a sharp blade by your heel and try to move... only to be restrained.

"A wound on your leg serves as a lesson, does it not?" Jace grins dangerously as you feel the blade begin to bite your flesh.

"You'll never run from us again... welcome to the family, my beloved." Jace coos as Luke reluctantly covers your mouth.

The two make sure your screams are unable to be heard by your parents as the blade digs into your flesh... just one tendon cut free to hinder your movement...

By the end of it you'll be a bird with clipped wings... forever the spouse of a half-dragon.

[cheianimatez]

Doubts (Gaming x GN!Reader) (SAGAU IMPOSTER AU)

(Might be a bit OOC, pls correct me 🥲)

"G-Gaming...?"

Gaming's body froze, you knew his name. He lowered his weapon, his doubts coming back to his mind. Ever since everyone was given an order to kill the "imposter" by their "Divine Creator", he thought "Why the heck would we hunt someone just because they have the same face as them, that's a bit cliche 🫤", but he can't defy his god, for he fears punishment.

But you, you knew his name, like you personally knew him, unlike the one on the throne.

"You're not going to kill me...?"

His thoughts got interrupted by your voice, sensing fear in it. He sighed.

"Honestly, despite everyone claims you impersonated Our Grace, you never did anything wrong at all. You also knew my name, unlike the one on the throne who didn't knew me at all, or maybe anyone else"

You looked at him, your fear dwindling down but still kept your guard.

"Yeah, probably that. In fact, I literally appeared here, then everyone started hunting me, like bro, do I look like I'm going to do some heinous crimes that they don't think their Grace or whatever the heck they call them would do?"

Gaming tried his best to hold his laugh. Somehow, even in tough times, you surprisingly have humor (even speaking his language /j). Maybe that kept you sane while you're being hunted down or something.

Then they heard voices. It's the Milileth. Gaming looked at the "imposter", suddenly feeling bad for them.

And that's when he decided to be against the order, deciding his own fate by himself

"Hey, what are you- UHH WHAT THE F--"

Gaming them immediately gave you a glare to shut you up.

"Oi, quiet! I'm going to help this time because who the frick would order people to kill someone just because they have the same face as them?!"

You looked at him in disbelief. He's helping you? But I guess you should be grateful this time, the last time someone helped you is Bennett, Fischl, Razor, and Mona helping you to escape Mondstadt, then you got killed by the Acting Grandmaster Jean, returned home to your world, then managed improved your life there until you fell asleep at the end of the day, only to find yourself you respawned in Liyue, and now the Milileth, the Qixing, heck even the Geo broke ahh grandpa Archon started chasing you! And I guess I could say it's enough for you to slowly develop distrust against anyone. Until this guy started to help you.

"I'm going to take you to my house. My father will probably understand my doubts of this... order..."

You stayed silent as Gaming carried you on the back away from the hunters, safely hidden from them.

"You know, I really wanted to go home. I had known these types of events that would happen in this world when I came, but I half didn't expect this sht would happen to me. I don't want godhood, I don't want to become a god higher than the Archon, I don't like how really submissive but blind these people are when it comes to faith on their beloved "Creator". All I wanted is a perfectly normal life, here in Teyvat, and now I wanted to go back home because of what I suffered..."

Okay, now he felt really bad. You didn't deserved this! He felt thankful for following his guts.

"Anyways, Gaming, did you know I actually laughed at your voiceline about your troubles? Like the way you said "How much?!" and "I'm not paying for a few extra wet wipes!" got me rolling! Oh, and your thoughts on Qiqi, it's so wholesome! I'm glad Qiqi gets the respect she deserves..."

To be honest, when he brought you to his house, he is already flustered about how much you knew him, praised him, heck even he heard you said a lot people from your world liked him because of his personality. Gaming could feel like jumping to the atmosphere, he felt being recognized.

Meanwhile, you feel your trust coming back again, and it's directed towards the guy whom everyone in the fandom called him the "sunshine boi".

And you're quite thankful that he's not blind like those rodents (blinder than Dora the Explorer lol 💀)

"You know, I feel... happy about how much you knew me and praised me. I feel recognized unlike Our Grace for not answering our prayers."

ISTG THIS GUY IS MAKING OUR DAYS BETTER 😭😭💖💖💖

"Anyways, want some dim sum? 😃"

Yo, this is my first time writing a one shot in Tumblr. I usually write the stories on my notebook at school, and maybe sometimes post in Wattpad (I'm barely active there anymore, just only used it for reading purposes-)

[lady-pug]

Written Between the Lines

Chapter II - We Shall Find Our Answers

Summary: You and your family return to King’s Landing after several years, and you are dreading having to face your uncle again. While you cannot change the past, maybe the lines on his palm can show some insight into your future. And maybe, just maybe, the future might be bright for the two of you.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 5,5k

Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece)

Notes: Pssst. Hey, you. I’m back. And I bring thee the continuation of this story, which I had a lot of fun writing. I intend on writing more for this little universe, so if you've liked this story so far, please consider staying tuned for more parts to come!

Just for clarification, I don’t understand much about the rules and laws of monarchy, but since this is my story and I’m already saying ‘screw canon’, we’re also gonna say ‘fuck tradition’ (and if any of the characters, especially Aemond, seem a bit ooc I deeply apologize, I’m just trying very hard to Bob-The-Builder the events of the show)

Also, I have purposefully left the question of the reader’s father somewhat ambiguous so there can be more leeway for the reader’s appearance to be undescribed.

Thank you so so much for reading and I hope you have enjoyed this story! <3

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It had been several years since you had last stepped foot in King’s Landing. Not since the death of your aunt and father. Or fathers. Which meant you hadn’t seen Aemond since that fateful night in Driftmark. You’d been by his side in an instant once Luke had shaken you awake wailing like a babe that he had done something terrible. You had held his hand as the maester tended to his wound, much to his mother’s grief. She had even tried pushing you away from her son, but his hand held tightly around yours prevented you from going too far. He had wanted, no, needed the comfort of your presence. But that all changed when Jace explained what had transpired, what he had called your younger brothers and, by extension, yourself. You had dropped his hand as if it burned, feeling more betrayed than ever, not missing the way your hurt was reflected in his own eyes. Well, eye. He had tried to talk to you after everyone had been excused but you fled from him, not wanting to face him just yet. Perhaps never again, you had thought at the time.

Now a grown woman, you returned to King’s Landing once more, summoned by the court for a hearing in which Ser Vaemond Velaryon intended to question Lucerys legitimacy as heir to Driftmark (which he was in for a surprise as your mother did not intend to pass Driftmark down to Luke, but to Jacaerys instead, as previously discussed and agreed with your grandparents, Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys, while she would name you, her firstborn,   as heir to the Iron Throne after her). So it’s no surprise you were not looking forward to this visit at all. 

While you had kept in contact with Helaena through exchanged ravens, you hadn’t once written to Aemond, nor had he done so to you. You were dreading the moment you had to see him again, as you didn’t know how he would react to seeing you after the way you left things off in the past. In reality… you missed him. You missed having someone to talk to, someone who truly cared about what you had to say, who shared similar interests to you and enjoyed the diverging ones all the same. You missed your study partner, as Jace’s high valyrian was incredibly subpar, leaving him far behind you in his studies. You simply missed having him. 

The first moment you had laid eyes on him had been, unsurprisingly, in the courtyard. You’d been following after your brothers as they explored what had changed and what hadn’t around the Keep, trying to ensure they didn’t get into any trouble, when you noticed a small crowd forming around two men engaged in a heated training match. One was none other than Ser Criston Cole, who hadn’t aged a single day but looked like the stick up his ass had slipped even further in, and the other… 

You couldn’t help but stare, oblivious to anything else around you. He had grown quite a lot in the years you’d been apart. He was taller, his shoulders pulled back and his head held high, no longer the timid, self-conscious boy you’d once known. Where Ser Criston was strong Aemond was fast, his tall frame and lithe shape allowing for a more fast paced combat, his movements sharp yet swift and even somewhat… graceful. 

“You should clean up, right there.” you snapped out of your reverie, brought back to focus by your brother Jace, who motioned to the corner of his own mouth with a smirk hanging from his lips “You’re drooling.”

Feeling a warm flush on your cheeks you swiped the back of your hand across your mouth, finding nothing there, as Jace chuckled at your naivety and moved to join the crowd along with Luke.

Little cunt.

You followed after your brothers just as Aemond had his sword pointed right at Ser Criston’s neck. You couldn’t quite hear what they were saying, only catching the tail end of their conversation.

“Have you come to train?” he had been saying, his eye trained on Luke, some underlying darkness swirling in it, before his gaze finally met you and something shifted in it almost imperceptibly “Little niece.” 

The way he said it, the use of the once mocking title, left you reeling. The tone he used made it so you couldn’t quite tell if he had been sneering at you or in awe at your presence, if he was jesting or quite serious, mocking or sincere.

But your musings were interrupted by the gates opening, Ser Vaemond walking in as if he owned the place. Or like he was owed something from this place. It seemed your dreaded reunion with your uncle would have to wait.

As much as you hated being back in King’s Landing you couldn’t deny this place did manage to keep you entertained. The hearing had gone as well as one could expect, with Ser Vaemond hurling one insult after another at both you, your brothers and your mother and ultimately losing his head for it. All was well with your family, Jace’s claim to Driftmark and his status as future Lord of the Tides and your own as heir to the Iron Throne after your mother had been reaffirmed by the King himself, backed by your grandmother. 

During the whole hearing you couldn’t help but glance at Aemond from the corner of your eye every once in a while. He had a self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face all throughout Vaemond’s speech, the bastard, but once your mother mentioned her desire to establish you as her heir to the Throne something changed. His gaze met yours and his face softened, the smugness disappearing all together from his features. 

It was the last you saw of him, having taken off to the courtyard to relish in the diminishing sun as it lowered in the sky by sitting under the weirwood tree. Jace and Luke were enjoying a stroll around the Keep with their respective betrotheds, occasionally passing by your peripheral vision.

“I thought I’d find you here.” a voice cut through the air, souring your mood.

“Have you come to question my legitimacy as well, uncle?” you asked Aemond, who stood in front of you with his hands behind his back, before nodding in your brother’s direction as they skirted the edge of the courtyard “Be careful not to speak too loudly, we wouldn’t want you to lose yet another eye, now, would we?”

The smallest twitch of his eye was the only indication that he was bothered by what you said. You knew it was low, and you did feel a twinge of guilt about it, but the hurt you’d been cultivating for him since that night was festering in your heart.

“Always the jester, little niece.” he smirked, taking a seat next to you, keeping you on his good eye’s side.

“Only for you.” 

You both fell silent, the air around charged with years of tension built between the two of you.

“I haven’t heard from you in ages.” he spoke softly, facing forward.

“You didn’t write.” you jabbed.

“You didn’t either.” 

He had you there. 

“Helaena’s told me of your travels.” he tried again “You’ve visited quite a lot of places.”

“I wanted to see the realm.” you explained, feeling some of the tension dissipating as he extended an opportunity for you opened up “To learn the ways of the people we are to rule.”

He only hummed in response.

“And what about you?” you turned to him, noticing how his body seemed to instinctively turn towards you as well “How have you been faring?”

“Oh, you know.” he shrugged, nonchalantly “I have been busy, studying, training with a sword, as you’ve very well seen,” the smirk that formed on his face was enough to bring heat to your cheeks “and trying to stop Aegon from drowning in his cups every night.”

A giggle escaped from your lips, which in turn prompted a small grin from him. This moment, right here with him, felt like before; it felt freeing. The full weight of how much you had missed him hit you like a Vhagar-sized carriage. 

A moment of silence passed before he turned somber again.

“My mother has deemed it time for me to find a wife.” he spoke slowly, his words making something twist painfully in your chest “She’s been trying to find matches for me in some of the noble houses. But none of the ladies in court will even look at me.”

He cast his gaze down and away from you, his stoic demeanor cracking for a moment and giving way to a forlorn expression. It seemed… awfully familiar to you.

“I frighten them. Not just them, the maids too.” his voice was soft, resignation dripping from his words, the prideful man you saw earlier in the yard taking a step back to allow the shy and insecure boy you once knew to make a reappearance “I think your lines have lied to you. No lady would ever want a one-eyed husband.”

“Aemond-”

“I told you once before, I don’t appreciate your pity, niece.” his tone hardened, but it lacked venom, meaning he wasn’t angry with you, rather upset at himself.

You could only wonder how much the events of that night had changed him, for better and worse. He might argue that he had claimed a dragon, the biggest in the world, so that made things even but you could only imagine the kind of pain, both physical and emotional, he had gone through since then.

“For what is worth” you started, raising a hand to his face very slowly, giving him more than enough time to halt your movements. He flinched at first but eventually relaxed, allowing you to lay your hand on his cheek, your thumb rubbing softly against the end of his scar “I am truly sorry for what happened that night. You didn’t deserve any of it.”  

His hand raised, grasping your wrist and running his own thumb on the skin at the edge of your sleeve.

“What I said that night,” he closed his eye for a moment then looked at you again “it was unbefitting. I never meant to hurt you.” he paused, inhaling deeply before exhaling slowly, as if he was letting go of a lifetime of weight he’d been carrying “No more than I believe Lucerys meant to hurt me as badly as he did.”

It was an olive branch, you realized. Given how he now carried himself it was the closest thing to an apology you’d get. While he might not simply ever forgive your brother, he was willing to try and put it behind him, to let go of the pain, for you. And for that you��d forever be grateful to him. He tilted his head to the side, letting his lips linger on your palm for just a moment, before pulling your hand away from his face and carefully placing it on your lap again, both of you facing forward once more.

The silence that fell was not an uncomfortable one. It reminisced of the days you’d sit together in this same spot and wait for the servants to come fetch you when it was time for supper. But every nice moment had to be broken at some point.

“My grandsire and mother believe Aegon should be named my father’s heir.” he spoke after a moment, your head quickly snapping to look at him.

“What?”

“They believe that, as his firstborn son, he would have a better claim to the throne.” he glanced at you “That most lords would support him if it came to it.”

You were baffled by this revelation, even though you shouldn’t really be all that surprised. Otto Hightower was a cunt who would do anything in his power to have his own blood sit on the Iron Throne. As much as your mother resented her former friend you’d come to the conclusion that Otto had been the one responsible to sway Alicent against her. It shouldn’t come as a surprise he would be plotting against her. That’s why the man was smug about today’s hearing, and why his face promptly fell once Rhaenys made her support of Jacaerys, and by extension your mother, known. But…

“Why are you telling me this?” you questioned, confused as to why Aemond, the dutiful son, would tell on his family like that.

An amused grin, almost resembling a smirk, took over his features, his eye turned away from you.

“New information has come to light regarding the line of succession.”

Your heart clenched, a smile of your own appearing on your face. He recognized you as heir to the Throne, as a future queen. 

His smile, however, slowly slipped from his face, leaving a sad look in its wake.

“What troubles you, uncle?” you asked.

“I just-” he sighed, almost exasperated “I just do not understand how they could possibly believe Aegon of all people fit to be king. He, who disappears every fortnight for the Street of Silk, who’s barely ever sober during the day. He, who has his way with the servants while his own wife exists silently, he who, dare I say, barely understands a word of high valyrian and the importance of our family to the realm.”

His rant left him slightly breathless, as if he had been suppressing those feelings for a very long time. And although he had not dared say it, you heard the hidden meaning behind his words. If he, now a grown man, was anything like he was as a boy, he was much more suited to be king than his brother was. He was probably well studied in both history and philosophy, he knew his way quite well around a sword, as you’d seen, and he’d kept up with his lessons in high valyrian, like you had. He would make for a fine king, if it weren’t for your mother and, eventually, you.

And then it hit you.

Otto Hightower would do anything in his power to have his own blood sit on the Iron Throne.

“Give me your hand.” you spoke firmly. 

Aemond looked at you quizzically, taking too slow to comply so you forcefully grabbed his hand in yours, his palm facing upwards.

“Not this again.” he said, bemused.

As you ran your finger delicately over his palm, you took your time noticing the way calluses adorned the skin, once soft under your touch, probably from years of dragon riding and intense sword training. 

“Your line of life is still quite long, good.” you heard his scoff, although it sounded quite like a barely contained laugh “It means the Stranger will not come for you for quite a while still.”

His eye was trained on you as traced another line on his hand.

“And your line of heart still tilts upwards, so you will marry a woman who loves you dearly.”

You spoke with so much conviction, squeezing his hand, your eyes finally glancing up, locked firmly onto his own as you said it. 

“She’ll love and cherish you for everything that you are, unwaveringly and unapologetically. You’ll be hers as much as she’ll be yours.”

His eyes shone with barely contained hope, before you averted your gaze back to his palm.  

“And here,” you pointed to a small line near the bottom of his palm “is the line of the king. It appears only on the hands of those who are destined to rule over the realm.”

His smile wavered, but didn’t falter.

“You are jesting again, niece.” 

“I am not.” you shook your head, determined “The lines have never lied before, remember?” you mentioned, and he couldn’t argue with that, as the prediction you’d spoke of last time you found yourselves in this exact situation came true barely a few weeks afterwards “You will be king, Aemond.” 

You stood up quickly, barely brushing the skirts of your dress as you did.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

You took off before he could question you, rushing out of the courtyard in search of your mother. You had a matter most important you needed to discuss with her, one you’d already brought up with her many moons ago, but which at the time felt more like a distant childish dream.

Aemond hadn’t spoken to you again until it was time for supper. He had caught a quick glimpse of you sometime after you left the courtyard, speaking in hushed whispers with your mother while Daemon looked thoroughly vexed. But before he could approach you and inquire about your sudden departure earlier, both you and your mother took off to one of your chambers, he assumed, leaving his uncle to stare murderously at him. While Aemond wasn’t frightened by Daemon, he would even go as far as to say he admired the man, something about the way he was staring at him deeply unsettled him, so he decided to leave and wait for a better opportunity to speak to you, alone.

Now, during what surely was to be one awkward meal, he could see you from the other side of the table where you sat next to Baela. You looked positively radiant, smiling with your step-sisters and occasionally jesting with your brothers. From time to time you’d catch his eye, your smile turning mirthful, as if you knew something he didn’t. More than once throughout the night he caught you and Rhaenyra sharing a small, quick nod to one another, and Daemon rolling his eyes whenever he also noticed it.

After King Viserys congratulated Jacaerys and Lucerys on their betrothals, Jace leaned over Baela and whispered something to you. While he looked sullen, Baela had a small understanding smile as you tried to sooth him. His face softened as you grasped his hands, trying to reassure him of something, Baela supporting you quietly. The overjoyed smile that took over your features as Jace nodded lit something in Aemond’s chest, his heart skipping a beat.

At a certain point, after the King’s speech and Rhaenyra and Alicent’s toasts, Aegon got up and leaned over to “whisper” something to Baela, catching the attention of all those around her. Aemond couldn’t hear what his brother said all the way from his side of the table, but whatever it was Jacaerys looked like he was about to drive a dagger through him. But you and your sharp words were quicker.

“At least he can stay sober long enough to get it up.” you spoke, your voice loud enough for the entire room to hear “Can Helaena say the same about you, uncle?”

Several reactions could be heard around the table. Helaena herself snorted into the wine she had been sipping, Daemon laughed loudly from his place at Rhaenyra’s side and even a small, tired chuckle could be heard leaving the King’s mouth. Aemond couldn’t help but smirk as his brother all but crumbled back in his seat, a frown unveiling his embarrassment. 

Jace took his time toasting both his uncles but there was something… different in the way he addressed each of them. Whereas Aegon’s name was said with mocking admiration and contempt, Jace’s tone as he said Aemond’s name was laced with quiet resignation. And the tiny grin he directed at Aemond took him by surprise.

Helaena, a little bit tipsy at this hour, also took the opportunity to congratulate Rhaena and Baela in their betrothals, also taking a jab at Aegon’s already wounded pride. While he felt his chest fill with pride for his sister, Aemond couldn’t help but notice the moment you shared with your mother once again, the questioning look on her face and the determined nod you gave as answer to whatever question you found in the depth of her eyes.

“Speaking of marriage,” Rhaenyra started as she stood up and turned to face the seats of his father, mother and grandsire “my only daughter is now of marrying age as well.”

Aemond felt something twist painfully in his chest at the thought, turning his eye to glance at you and was surprised to find you already looking at him, the corners of your lips turned up in a soft grin.

“I would like to make a proposition.” your mother continued, turning to look at him, bringing his attention back to her. He felt his heartbeat increase as she stared at him for a moment longer, some heat climbing to his cheeks, before she turned to address his family once again, her eyes locked onto Alicent “I would like to propose we wed her to your second son, Prince Aemond.”

He barely registered anything else over the thunderous flow of blood against his eardrums, reflecting on the speed at which his traitorous heart was beating in his chest. He glanced back at you, watching as you smiled warmly at him. Something in him just felt right. He felt as if everything was falling into place within his life.

Aemond had never let himself want. He realized quite early in his life that he would only ever be the second son, and considering how much his father favored Rhaenyra over any other of his other children, he didn’t really matter much in comparison to his siblings. So he had learned never to wish for anything for himself, he had never dared hope that good things would come to him. And now here you were, the only one who has ever truly cared for him, offering something he never allowed himself to dream of.  

“And” Rhaenyra continued, drawing his attention back to her. There was more? What else could she possibly offer that could be worth more than that? He allowed himself a quick glimpse at Daemon, who once again looked bothered by what she was about to say “once I have come to pass and it is time for her to take over as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, he would be crowned king alongside with her. He would be not a prince, nor king consort, but a true king. They would rule as equals, and eventually their children would sit in the Iron Throne after them.”

What?

As soon as the words were out of her mouth his mind simply ceased to work. They were thinking of… what? His head quickly snapped to look at his family, wanting to gauge their reactions as well and assess if they were just as confused as he felt.

His father was positively delighted at the prospect of uniting his fractured family once more. His mother, on the other hand, looked irked at Rhaenyra for having sprung this proposition in front of Viserys, as he’d obviously agree, and she wasn’t looking forward to having a possible bastard as her son’s wife (even if she knew he once cared deeply for you). And his grandsire… he looked conflicted. Otto Hightower wasn’t an easy man to read, but he had been so caught by surprise that he was wearing all his emotions on his sleeve. While he, like Alicent, seemed bothered by the timing of this proposal, he also looked… intrigued?

“We were thinking of passing Dragonstone down to Aegon and keeping both Aemond and my daughter here in King’s Landing so they can learn with me and the council the ways of ruling, so they are well prepared when it comes their time to rule.” 

“And what of Lucerys?” Alicent questioned warily.

“He would live in Driftmark with Jace, learning the ways of salt and sea, in hopes of one day becoming my, and later his sister’s, Master of Ships.” Rhaenyra completed.

Silence ruled over the room for a moment, nobody daring to utter a word. Not even the servants, watching from the corners, made a single sound.

“And who was the one” Viserys spoke slowly, getting more tired as the night progressed “behind such a wonderful idea?” 

“I-” your mother started, but Daemon quickly cut her off.

“The girl did.” he nodded his head towards you, a smug smile growing on his lips at the prospect of possibly throwing you under the carriage. 

Aemond’s head snapped towards you, your smile never wavering. So that’s what you had been speaking to Rhaenyra all day. After your talk in the courtyard, you’d gone off to find your mother, to express your wishes not only to marry Aemond, but to also make him king. Just like the lines on his palm told you. But… why?

“And just what” Otto questioned, as if reading his grandson’s mind “has led the princess to decide to break hundreds of centuries of tradition and wish to share the Throne?”

Rhaenyra turned back to you, sending a silent question in your direction yet again. You shook your head and stood up, as if deciding to face the judgment of the Hightowers all by yourself.

“While my family has resided in Dragonstone for the past few years, my lord,” you started, an eloquence that indicated you’d been preparing, and maybe even rehearsing, this speech in your mind for a while “I have taken to flying around the realm on dragonback, visiting all of the Seven Kingdoms. I’d wished to see for myself and understand the people I’d one day rule over. However, being away from King’s Landing for so long also means I am not versed in the matters of court. Prince Aemond, on the other hand,” oh, how sweet your voice sounded when you said his name accompanied by his title “has lived his entire life here in the Red Keep. He’s been in these halls, around the lords and ladies of court, for quite a while and knows how such matters are supposed to work. I believe our knowledge combined will give us the strength, as a unity, required to rule over the realm together and establish a peaceful and prosperous reign.”

A sigh escaped your lips as you paused, your expression souring.

“And” you chuckled mirthlessly, your previously warm smile falling to a resigned one “I am a woman. The lords of the noble houses of Westeros may support my mother’s claim as they have sworn an oath to his grace, the King, but many of them are already of advanced age and may soon come to perish, some have already died even. While most of these houses are righteous and their sons and grandsons will likely honor their ancestors' wishes and support me as my mothers heir, there is no telling what will happen. They might not take kindly to yet another woman ruling over the realm, and especially one they didn’t technically agree on. So as much as I loathe to admit it, having a man by my side, supporting me as an equal, would strengthen my claim and prevent anyone from questioning me as queen.”

It made sense, all of it. Change as impactful as this tends to happen over time, not all at once, and it was known the men of the realm would not so easily accept a woman on the Iron Throne, something Aemond knew his grandsire was counting on to bring Aegon to power eventually, so it was a smart move to have a husband at your side. Your arguing was solid, and Otto Hightower seemed to agree as he reclined back on his seat, somewhat impressed.

Alicent, however, looked like she still wasn’t satisfied with your answer.

“And why would you wish to marry my son?” she questioned, her tone stern.

Your smile faltered briefly, betraying your confusion.

“Why, your grace, I believe I have already explained-”

“No,” she cut you off “you’ve explained why this union would be beneficial for you as a representative of the Crown. I want to know why you wish to marry him. You could have any man in the realm, hells, there have been rumors that Cregan Stark himself has requested an audience in Dragonstone, possibly to request a courtship for your hand.” That was before anyone knew Rhaenyra planned on making you her heir and it was believed you’d inherit nothing at all, Aemond caught himself thinking “So why do you want to marry Aemond?”

That had him leaning forward in his seat. He knew, logically, this marriage stemmed from convenience. He knew he, and you as well, were mere pawns in your family’s schemes. But he couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more behind your proposal. Even if it was just a political move, he would have accepted in a heartbeat but he dared to wish, no, hope that you actually wanted this, that you wanted him.

“I…” you fumbled for a moment, averting your gaze before steeling yourself, eyes locking with his mother’s once more “My uncle and I were close once, many years ago. We used to share a connection that has since been lost to time.” 

You took a deep breath, as if preparing to reveal your deepest secrets to the whole family.

“I would like for us to get to know one another once more and go back to the way things were. Maybe even strengthen our bond.” you then turned to him, your eyes soft and warm and with the slightest of glimmer to them, as if you were willing yourself not to shed any tears “And I believe, with time, I could learn to love him dearly. I would love and cherish him for everything that he is, unwaveringly and unapologetically.” your lips trembled almost imperceptibly, so much so that had he not been paying close attention to you he’d have missed it “I’d be his as much as he’d be mine.”

Aemond felt his breath hitch, his heart hammering in his chest once more. He didn’t know what to think. This, right here, seemed so unreal. Deep down he knew this might just be the solution to everyone’s problems, it could be the very thing that mended the divide that had been growing inside of House Targaryen, but… could it be possible? Would his family agree?

“I believe this to be an amazing occasion.” the King spoke, looking happier than he’d been in a long while, before turning to his wife “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Alicent in turn looked to her father for answers and Aemond waited with bated breath for his response. Otto’s word was law in her eyes, Aemond  knew, so he was the one who had final say in the matter. His answer came as a tiny nod and in that moment, as Aemond barely registered his mother’s next words, he had never been more grateful for his grandsire.  

“I am inclined to agree that this will be a most blessed union.” Alicent said, her smile, always cold when it came to you, warming considerably.

“It’s settled then. Looks like we’ll have a wedding even sooner than expected.” Viserys then tapped his cane on the ground “Let us have some music.” 

As the musicians started playing an animated melody, Aemond felt lighter than he had in years. He could hardly care for everyone around him, not even noticing anyone’s reaction to the news other than your own. With his eye focused solely on you he could see the relief settling in at his mother’s words as you beamed at him, more radiant than ever.

“Aemond, dear, why don’t you take your betrothed for a dance?” 

He was out of his seat before Alicent could even finish her sentence, crossing the space between you in wide strides and extending a hand to you. You accepted gracefully. As you positioned yourselves to dance, you smiled bashfully at him, looking down at your feet, slightly embarrassed.

“I hope you can find it in you to forgive me for bringing this up all of a sudden, uncle.” you explained, looking back at him “I didn’t want to waste another moment and risk losing my chance.” 

It was his turn to smile, not a smirk or a smug grin, a genuine smile. 

“There is nothing to forgive, little niece.” the way he said the moniker this time, once used to mock you, was so filled with only affection and care that it almost brought tears to your eyes once again.

You danced for a few moments in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. Then you leaned closer to him, as if wanting to share something privy to his ears alone.

“I told you once before, Aemond.” your smile turned into the tiniest of smirks “The lines don’t lie.” 

His heart clenched at the memory, which seemed so distant yet so fresh in his mind. He tightened his grip around you, bringing your body even closer to his own, wanting to feel you close to him, genuinely happy for the first time in a long time.

“Indeed,” he whispered softly back to you, leaning his head against your own “I guess they truly don’t.”

And then everyone is happy, Rhaenyra and her family don’t leave for Dragonstone before dawn, meaning she’s there when Viserys goes to sleep forever, meaning she’s crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, meaning the Greens don’t usurp the Throne, meaning the Dance never happened, meaning no one dies and everyone lives happily ever after, hurray!

(About Daemon's behavior, he’s not mad at reader or Rhaenyra, nor does he dislike reader in any way. He’s just resentful Rhaenyra hasn’t thought nor has she offered to what she does to Aemond in this story. And as we know, when these Targaryen boys are frustrated, they tend to lash out. Hope this clarifies some things!)

Tag List:

@callsignwidow

[camelotfallen]

eepy. gniiiight.

[beneathstarryskies]

Summary: It's been centuries since Ganondorf's victory in bringing Hyrule to its knees. However, victory is lonelier than he'd anticipated. The once great Demon King is a shadow of his former self, drinking his way through the castle's wine cellars and mumbling to himself in the dark. That is until one brave stranger wanders through the castle gates, led by curiosity...Or perhaps fate.

Word Count: 5,002

Warnings: mentions of violence, depression, Ganondorf is a recluse, beauty and the beast AU, might be OOC but i don't care this idea wouldn't leave me alone until i wrote it so here we are, overall it's pretty PG

Taglist: @emmacornell, @actuallysaiyan

In the remnants of a castle once grand but now desolate, Ganondorf wanders the halls alone. Some days he is focused on working his way through the wine cellar, but other days he mutters quietly as he wonders where it all had gone wrong. He’d achieved everything he wanted. He sits upon the throne of Hyrule, the entire realm under his control, yet as centuries pass the emptiness in his chest persists. Even the people of the realm stretching from the deserts of Gerudo to the flatlands of Akkala noticed the grip of the once fearsome ruler lessening. Only occasionally would he exert his dominance again, as though only to remind them he is still present. Even the darkness of his gloom seemed to fade from the landscape as life returned to normal for the people of the realm. Tales of the great demon king who once took over the kingdom are still passed from grandparents' mouths to the eager ears of children, but Ganondorf as they speak of him almost feels like fiction. 

It was this sense of safety and curiosity that led you to Hyrule Fields. A thin layer of snow is falling on the landscape as you walk through the fields. Your eyes widen as you see the castle, and the now-empty town surrounding it. The walls are covered in a thick layer of ivy vines, now brown and barren from the cold air. You carefully walk forward, tiptoeing past the gloomy black and red sludge as you pass through the gates. As you explore the once great Castle Town, you remember the stories you’d been told as a child. The horrible stories of a great big demon who took the form of a horrible pig. Every little noise sent your mind into a frightened frenzy, and you were beginning to wonder if staying here much longer was worth indulging your long-held curiosity about the castle. 

Ganondorf became aware of the intrusion when he wandered outside of the master bedroom onto the balcony. He looked down to see the tiny form of a Hyrulian woman poking around the old stalls in the market. Every so often he noticed her flinching and looking around as though frightened. Her attention soon turned to the wide doors of the castle. He recognized her intentions almost immediately, and he threw on a cloak to meet her at the door. 

When you push open the double doors, you let out a squeak of surprise at the large figure looming at the bottom of the stairs. Long red hair falls in front of his face and glowing yellow eyes stare at you with malice as he growls. 

“What are you doing here?” his voice, even as a whisper, echoes through the empty halls. 

“I’m sorry,” you stammer as you try to back away. You trip over your own feet and fall backward.  Just before you hit the ground, a large hand catches the front of your cloak. Suddenly, your feet are no longer on the ground. Ganondorf lifts you to force you to look into his eyes. 

“I asked a question, little one,” he snarls. “What are you doing here?” 

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” you stammer as your hands instinctively come to his wrist, grabbing on in case he drops you. “I thought--” 

“You thought the castle to be empty,” he finishes your thought. “Perhaps I have been too kind to your people, allowing them to live too comfortably. My existence having been relegated to folklore and legend, is that it?” 

“No!” you cry out, the thought of your kingdom being punished for your stupidity makes your skin crawl and your chest tightens with guilt. “No, it’s just…Me…I was curious.” 

“Oh,” he pulls you closer. “Curious? You wish to see my castle?” 

His words lull you into a false sense of comfort as you mistake his annoyance for understanding, “Yes, your Highness.” 

“I see, little one,” he throws you over his shoulder. “You wish to see my castle and know its secrets. I see…Well, I shall make sure you spend all the time you have left within the walls of this castle.” 

He walks you upstairs and tosses you into an empty bedroom. Before you can scramble to your feet the door is being slammed shut, and you hear the unmistakable click of a lock trapping you inside. You crawl to the door, standing on your knees as you bang on it desperately with shaking fists. 

“Please,” you call out. “I’m sorry! Please let me out! I’ll leave! I promise I won’t tell anyone I saw you!” 

Your cries and pleas fall on deaf ears. Ganondorf closed himself off to emotions like pity and empathy long ago. He ascends the remaining stairs to go to the master bedroom once more. He grabs his earlier forgotten bottle of wine and throws himself into his chair. He throws his head back and finishes the bottle in one long gulp. His heart is racing as he thinks about you. Your pitiful eyes as you tried to explain yourself, and then your tiny hands on his wrist to cling to stability. There’s something about your curiosity and bravery that piqued his interest. He can’t remember the last time someone ventured to the castle. 

Your cries and pleas continue for hours until you wear yourself out from exhaustion. You crawl onto the old bed and you begin sobbing until you fall asleep. 

_____

Ganondorf awakens when the sun is high in the sky. He has almost forgotten about having locked you away. You on the other hand have been awake since dawn. You’ve torn the room apart in search of some sort of escape. Realizing the king had you locked up tight, you felt a wave of defeat crash over you. 

“Damn it all,” you cried out and fell onto the bed with an annoyed sigh. Tears sting your eyes, but you try to hold them back. 

You could feel Ganondorf approaching before you could see him. His looming presence was difficult to ignore. He pushed the door open, not feeling even a moment of remorse as he saw your pathetic form on the bed. 

“You’re lucky it’s been ages since I’ve had anyone in this castle,” he speaks. “I require a new servant.” 

You sit up on the bed, turning to him with a look of indignation. 

“Who says I’m trying to become a servant?” you ask. Immediately you regret the question when his eyes begin to glow with anger. He reaches out to grab you by the collar of your dress, and easily he lifts you off the ground just like before. 

“The alternative is death,” he growls. 

You had no choice but to give in to him. He drops you back onto the bed before turning away. His imposing figure stalks to the door, only stopping for a moment to look over his shoulder at you. 

“Start by cooking breakfast,” he says, his voice a perpetual growl. 

You don’t know what else to do. There’s not much you can do besides go along with his orders. You go downstairs, and it takes a bit of searching before you find the kitchen. There’s almost no food in the pantries, only a few things you assume he must have gathered on his own at some point, or perhaps those from neighboring villages brought in the goods as offerings. You’re staring up at the shelves trying to plan a meal when his shadow looms over you. 

“A farmer nearby brings supplies,” his voice booms through the pantry. “In return, I keep the monsters off his sheep.” 

“Why would you?” 

He answers your question with another, “What threat does a farmer hold to my rule?” 

You don’t turn to him, instead, you reach up to the high shelf where there’s a bag of flour to try to reach it. You expect him to help you, but he doesn’t. He stands back and smirks as you climb up the shelves to grab the bag of flour and start to pull it slowly in the hope you can shimmy it down. Instead, it falls and bursts on the floor. 

“Now you have a breakfast to cook and a mess to clean,” he chuckles. “It’s good to see you can keep yourself busy.” 

He leaves you alone, and you manage to clean up. Then, you cook a nice meal considering what little you have to work with. After that, he tells you to pick a room and begin cleaning. 

The days continue in this manner. You cook and clean in the castle. Occasionally you manage to tease some semblance of conversation from him, if grunts and the occasional sarcastic quip can be considered as such. To your surprise, he’s not cruel to you. He’s just cold, almost apathetic as far as you can tell. You’re mostly kept to your own devices, which is lonely. As long as you do the chores, he doesn’t have much to say. 

Considering his indifference, you didn’t think he would put in any effort to stop your escape. Being able to explore the castle on your own for so many hours of the day, it had taken you a week to muster up the courage to try to leave. However, as soon as you passed through the gate gloom hands surprised you and dragged you back to your quarters. If he had known of your attempt to escape, he never spoke a word of it to you. 

_____

Ganondorf isn’t accustomed to having company anymore. The centuries have passed, and his former companions have fallen by the wayside. Either having fallen in battle or to the ravages of time. He tells himself he’s a lonely old fool the first time his heart races when you attempt to make casual conversation with him. 

His heart pounds even more so when you shyly ask if he misses being in Gerudo Town. Nobody over the years ever had the bravery to ask such a deeply personal question. You were sitting on the sofa by the fire mending a hole in your skirt when the question fell from your lips as simply as asking if the sky is blue. He looked up from the flames. 

“What a bold question little one,” he commented as he took a deep breath to prepare his answer. “I miss my sisters most of all, but none of the sisters I knew are living any longer. Those who inhabit that place are now strangers to me as I am to them.” 

A pang of sadness hits your chest, “Are there other things you miss?” 

“No, not necessarily. The blistering sun and unforgiving sands hold no sentiment except for how they made me strong.” 

“I see,” you say and quickly return to mending your clothes. 

“You need more attire,” he says. 

“You don’t need to worry about that.” 

“Ah, but you’re wrong. It is because of me that you are here, therefore it is my responsibility to care for you.” 

Your mind feels blank for a moment. Was that kindness? From the mouth of the demon king himself? Before you can say anything, he rises from his seat. He doesn’t bid you goodnight before disappearing. Nor do you notice him locking the castle up like he usually does at night. 

The next morning when you awaken, there’s a a pile of neatly folded clothes placed on the armchair in your room. You look through the clothes carefully. Among the more casual pants and blouses, you also find a beautiful gown. The material is soft, emerald green with gold floral embroidery along the hems. You assume it must have been by mistake that he brought something so elegant and beautiful to you. With great care, you hang the gown in the wardrobe, where among the shelves you find a new pair of shoes and a winter cloak. 

You get ready for your day, dressing in the new clothes he brought, and then busy yourself with chores. It’s nearly night when you hear Ganondorf stir. Looking to thank him for his gesture, you quickly make your way towards the staircase to greet him. However, the words are caught in your throat when you see him. 

He’s dressed in a fine, majestic robe. You recognize the patterns on it as being Gerudo. His hair is tied back, and the red beard that had been down to his chest when you arrived is neatly trimmed back up to his jawline. 

“Did you have something to say?” he asks, hoping to put a stop to your wide-eyed gaping. How long has it been since someone looked upon him with awe rather than fear? 

“Y-you look nice,” you smile shyly, having forgotten your original intentions for the moment. 

“Ah, yes,” he nods. 

You look down to the floor again then the thoughts return to your mind. You bounce softly on your toes and your eyes light up. 

“Thank you for bringing me new clothes!” 

“I told you I would,” he comes down the rest of the stairs and looks down on you but not with malice. “Did you find the gown?” 

Your eyes widen. So it hadn’t been a mistake? 

“Y-yes, I did! It’s so beautiful.” 

“I was hoping you’d wear it tonight,” he doesn’t sound as authoritative as he’d hoped to. 

“Oh, sure. I’ll put it on after dinner.” 

“No, don’t worry about dinner. Go change now.” 

With a short, courteous bow you make your exit. Upstairs in your room, you quickly bathe and then slip into the beautiful gown. Upon inspecting your appearance, you decide a bit more effort needs to go into it if you’re to wear such an opulent outfit. You brush your hair and braid it neatly.

 As you set to work on your appearance, you wonder what Ganondorf has planned for the evening. You’ve never seen him quite so…Handsome. He’s all cleaned up and dressed like the true king he is. Surely he wouldn’t go to so much effort for you, would he? No, you tell yourself that’s not possible. Perhaps he’s just having a bit of fun with you. After all, he’s been in this castle by himself for centuries. It would make sense for him to take to a bit of fanciness since he has someone around to share it with. 

Somehow imagining him seeing you as more than just a servant makes your heart flutter. You tell yourself you must be insane for thinking this way. Yet, he’s become more than a master to you. You’ve spent long nights sitting by the fire, listening to his tales of times long past. Somewhere among hearing his childhood tales of starvation and heat among his people and witnessing the opulence Hyrule hoarded, you began to understand his anger. Perhaps you couldn’t fully condone his path, but you could understand why he would grow to desire the conquering of the kingdom. You began to see through the dark, foreboding reputation of the demon king. 

As you descend the stairs, you notice more light in the castle than you’re used to at this time of night. The grand chandelier in the main hall has been lit along with the chandeliers on the stone walls throughout the corridor leading into the ballroom, as though lighting your path. As you open the large double doors, you see a dining table set up by the large windows looking out onto the courtyard. It’s filled to the brim with fruit, cheese, and dried meats. A bottle of wine is chilled by two glasses. Ganondorf stands nearby, his back straight as he stares out the window with his hands locked behind him. 

“Your majesty,” you say to get his attention. 

He turns to you, his eyes widening momentarily before his face returns to being neutral. 

“You look lovely,” he whispers, almost too quiet for you to hear it. You bow politely. 

“Thank you,” you smile. 

“I have set up dinner,” he explains. “You asked me once what it was like being the king of the Gerudo. I thought I would show you how I ate then.” 

“Oh?” You approach the table, and he quickly pulls the chair out for you. You thank him as you sit down. 

“The heat was intense. So, I often tried to eat light yet still filling meals. I ate considerably more than this, of course, but I thought you’d appreciate having more variety.” 

“You put this together?” 

He smiles as he begins pouring the wine, “Yes, of course. Can’t I do things for myself? Or do you wish to take care of me completely?” 

Your cheeks heat up at his double entendre. It takes you a moment to regain your bearings, trying not to imagine what all ‘taking care’ of him might entail. 

“I suppose it’s just unexpected.” 

He places a glass of wine by your hand, and you hear a deep chuckle from him as he sits across from you. 

“Believe it or not, back then I didn’t have many servants. The Gerudo people are prideful therefore believe it or not, they didn’t bow to me like I was a child in need of praise. I was proud to be self-sufficient.” 

“I see,” you smile. “So, what is all this?” you gesture to the ballroom all lit up and with a few flower arrangements scattered about.

“I thought you might enjoy a bit of grandeur,” he sighs. “Must you ask so many questions?” 

Your cheeks burn as you look down at your plate, “I only wished to know.” 

“All in due time,” he answers before beginning to pile his plate with food. 

You follow along, taking a bit of all of the offerings. It was a nice, light meal. Leaving you full, yet still energetic instead of ready to fall asleep in your chair. The wine made your cheeks burn and your muscles feel loose. Ganondorf encourages you to eat more if you need more, and you’re surprised by the way he seems to be taking such care of you even though he doesn’t seem the kind to have a caring bone in his body. 

After the two of you finish your meals, he takes your hand and leads you to the middle of the ballroom. He explains that he wishes to teach you some of the traditional Gerudo dances. He explains how often in his time as King, the dances would be performed with two women. However, as time passed and the Gerudo became more focused on finding husbands they began altering the steps. 

“Women are strong and can stand on their own, but I suppose as time passed they wanted to be more meek to attract husbands,” he explains as he shows you the steps as intended which would see your hips swaying carelessly. “Are you meek?” he asks with a teasing smile. 

“For you?” you giggle. “I think not.” 

He laughs, surprising you deeply yet thrilling you none the same. Soon he has you pulled close as you perform the steps as he’d showed you. One large hand rests on the small of your back as he guides you to move along with him. The ballroom is large, and it’s perfect for what he does. Every corner is explored by the gentle tapping of your feet, barely out of synch considering the difference in your size. 

“Come,” he says as he pulls you closer. He gently guides you to stand on his feet. The weight doesn’t seem to bother him as he holds you as close as he can. He moves the two of you as gracefully as waves across the ocean. There’s a softness in his eyes as he looks down at you, and finally leans closer. 

“Are you…?” 

Before you can speak, and ruin the moment, he presses his lips to yours. The warmth of his mouth spreads through you, lighting a fire in the pit of your stomach. His hands rest upon your waist and his feet go still as he loses himself to the kiss. Your fingers are small and gentle as they comb through his fiery hair. Finally, the two of you separate. He almost looks ashamed of his actions. He steps away, looking around the room like a wild animal in a cage searching for an escape. 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispers. “Intimacy shared when one is bound is a violation.” 

“Gan…Wait,” you grab his hand but he quickly pulls away. “I don’t feel that way with you.” 

“It matters not what you feel. The truth is unchanged. If I’d not forced you here, then this moment would have never come to pass.” 

“No, please-” 

“You should leave,” he growls. “Do not look back at this place. Leave me here.” 

“Just listen to me,” you plead. “Please, I want to stay!” 

“Leave! Now,” he bellows through the halls. “Do not ever return!” 

Tears fill your eyes as the sting of rejection fills your chest. You want to open your mouth and tell him how badly you wish to stay. Throughout your time with him you’ve seen him grow from being a reclusive, grumpy king to showing the side of him that’s charming. You’ve found yourself growing more confident and content as well. Despite everything, you seem to have brought out the best in one another. Yet, he’s pushing you away now. 

“If you do not leave, I will kill you!” he snarls, the threat as empty as the wine bottle on the dining table. He’d never be able to bring himself to harm a hair on your head. 

Without another word, you run upstairs to pack your few belongings.  _____

You were surprised by the greeting you’d received when you’d returned home. Your family was delighted to see you. Your mother doted on you for days, having spent the better part of a year thinking you had abandoned the family or worse got yourself killed. You have always been a curious one, after all. After all of your family realized not only were you in good health, but you weren’t going to share what you’d been through it was business as usual. There were chores to be done on the farm, and you were eager to busy yourself with mindless work. 

You missed him deeply. It was a surprising turn, even to you. At night when you sat by the fire, you often found yourself asking your family philosophical questions they couldn’t answer all that deeply. In your mind, you could almost hear the way Ganondorf would have answered them. The way he almost seemed to purr in the back of his throat when he sat back in his chair, rubbing his beard, as he considered how to answer your best. You remembered the way his eyes would light up when you’d managed to push a topic he was particularly interested in. His eyes would light up when you would argue with him, confidently asserting your thoughts, as though he was proud of you for being so willing to stand up to him. Meanwhile, you felt suffocated by returning to your old life. Your family are kind people, surely, but they’re also simple in their desires. You missed the thrill of being close to someone who had a worldview so interestingly different from your own who could both challenge and be challenged in exchange. 

Yet, you worked. Finding solace and quiet in the familiarity of it all. It was the same thing you’d found yourself doing up until the fateful day you had been at the castle. 

Did he know how much the time you spent with him meant to you? Somehow you felt that question burning in your mind for weeks. Maybe if you had told him the truth of your feelings sooner, then he would have never sent you away. If he had known you didn’t feel imprisoned with him, would he have let you stay by his side? Would the budding feelings between you have finally bloomed? Not having the answers to these questions was enough to drive you to madness. And yet…The answers would not come. 

Months had passed when the adventurer arrived. His name was Link, and as your family served him dinner he explained his mission. He was to free Hyrule from the Demon King, Ganondorf. 

“The Demon King has been silent for many years,” your father said. “Is such a feat really worth laying down your life for?” 

“He may be silent for now, but the conquering spirit in him still remains. Hyrule will not be free until he is gone,” Link replied. 

“Will peace truly ever return?” your mother asked.

“Yes,” Link said, with an unwavering resolve. “Princess Zelda will take the throne, and restore prosperity.” 

As all of you laid down in your bedrolls that night, you had tried to push away the fear. He had made sure you no longer felt like he was your problem, therefore you felt it was in your best interest to pretend it wasn’t. Whether Ganondorf lived or died, should have been of no concern to you. 

Yet, the next morning, you rise with the sun. You quickly go check the spare room, and see that Link has already left. His blankets are neatly folded and there’s a small pile of money off to the side. 

“No, no,” you whisper to yourself. 

You run to the stables and take one of your family horses. You ride towards the castle, praying that you will make it in time to save Ganondorf. Although truth be told, you didn’t know if it was entirely possible. 

The sun is shining brightly overhead, the sky a cheerful shade of blue. In the distance, you can see a dark, gloom-filled cloud hanging over the ruins of Hyrule castle. You wonder if Link has already made it there, and is now fighting Ganondorf. There’s a strange conflict brewing in your chest because you understand why Link wants to defeat him. You just can’t stand the thought of losing Ganondorf. You keep replaying that night in your head, and you wish more than anything that you would have fought harder to stay by his side. Knowing you may never get to tell him the truth of your feelings makes your heart sink into your stomach. 

As you arrive at the castle, the clouds of gloom have begun to fade. Leaving only rainclouds in their wake that are slowly being pushed aside by the soft breeze. Does this mean it’s over? Ganondorf has been defeated? 

You leave your horse by the gate and run past the walls. You see his large form hunched over on one of the balconies. Link lunges with his sword, and suddenly Ganondorf falls. He lands with a loud crash on the ground, sending cracks through the stone from the impact. Link stands at the edge of the balcony and crawls onto the ledge. He points an arrow bathed in divine light down at Ganondorf, aiming for the finishing blow. 

“No!” You cry out as you run to Ganondorf’s rumpled form. 

“Huh?” Link gasps as he sees you throw yourself over Ganondorf. Your considerably smaller form does nothing to truly shield him, but Link knows you wouldn’t be able to withstand the blast from the light arrow. “Move!” Link calls down to you. 

“No! I won’t!” 

“Little one,” Ganondorf coughs. “It’s over…Do not…” he trails off when he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks. He can’t remember the last time anyone cried for him, or if they ever had. 

“Please, I won’t let you die,” you cry softly and bury your head against his chest. You don’t care about the blood and grime covering him. You feel his large hand on your back, his fingers curling through your hair. 

“I’m glad you came, if only so I could see you one last time.” 

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “Don’t speak that way.” 

Link jumps down, landing with a thud on his feet, “You don’t understand. I have to finish him. Ganondorf has to die so Hyrule can be saved.” 

“Why does he have to die?” you sob as you continue clinging to him, your tears soaking into his tattered clothes. Link looks down, unsure of how to answer your question. Truth be told, he didn’t truly understand himself. Ganondorf had practically been dormant for half a century, and the monsters had slowly begun to fade away. 

“It’s fate,” Ganondorf tells you, continuing to rub your back. “Stand aside, little one. Do not weep for me anymore.” 

“Ganondorf, I can’t leave you like this,” you whisper. “I love you.” 

“Love?” he whispers as though the word is one he’s never heard. He wants to laugh, not at your feelings but at the notion of someone feeling something so gentle for him. “I…I love you as well, but it matters not now.” 

You look up, expecting to see Link standing over you. Instead, you see his retreating form. Almost seeming to sense your gaze, he looks over his shoulder. “Make sure he doesn’t give me a reason to seek him again. The two of you find somewhere to go, somewhere far away from here. I will tell everyone he’s dead.” 

“Thank you,” you whisper through gentle sobs. 

Ganondorf can hardly believe his ears. Had the hero truly decided to spare him? He couldn’t imagine a time when something like this would happen, and yet he knows there’s something he’s never had before…Rather someone. You must be the most precious thing he’s ever held in his arms. 

You embrace him again, savoring the beating of his heart and the warmth of him. Still alive, still breathing. He touched your hair, feeling the soft strands between his fingers. When you finally look up at him, there’s a sweet smile on your face despite the tears in your eyes. Then, you lean down to kiss him. His heart soars from the gentle affection. 

 It would seem fate had something different in store for him this time. 

[frankcastleonlyfans]

part three of dad!daemon headcanon pleaseeee🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐃𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄, 𝐏𝐓𝟑:

pairing: dad!daemon targaryen x mom!reader

author's note: last episode, aemond beat the shit out of baela and rhaena, and daemon didn't gave a single shit about his daughters being blooded and bruised. i thought i should rewrite that, specially because the day aemond lost his eye is a thing in our dad!daemon au. also, i'll make aemond a little bit ooc because he needs to be an asshole, AND, I changed the way aemond loses his eye.

reblogs, feedbacks and likes are appreciated. i hope you like it!

warnings: mentions of animal cruelty, descriptions of children getting harmed, aemond is his own warning, children cussing, this headcanon is pure chaos so be prepared.

· ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ୨♡୧ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ·

this takes places months before part 1.

Daemon hated Aemond.

At first you thought it was funny that a grown ass man had such hatred towards a little boy, but then, you saw it with your own eyes.

You and Daemon once watched the kids' dragon training lessons, and you noticed how Aemond's eyes squinted once your son commanded Araxes to dracarys.

So it started there. Your son had his own dragon — and so did your daughter — , and prince Aemond had none.

Daemon would always complain to you how Aemond was picking on Rhaegon during sword fighting training.

"He should be more violent, I don't want Rhaegon to let that prick hurt him."

"Now, you're the one who's picking battles with Alicent." You warned.

Aemond never liked the fact that Alyssa could watch their fighting training. She was a girl, and wasn't supposed to be there.

He couldn't hurt Rhaegon outside the training camp, so he discovered that it was easier to mess with the Targaryen girl.

When Alyssa found her pet cat beheaded under her covers on her blood stained bed, she left her shared room crying, not even answering to Helaena's questions.

She went to the boys’ chambers, where she found her brothers, and Jacaerys and Lucerys sleeping.

Alyssa woke them up and went downstairs to find their parents, hoping they could do something to punish Aemond for his actions. But unfortunately, they found the boy first.

"Cousin Alyssa! I see you’re crying... What's wrong? Didn't like my present?"

Alyssa ran to punch him in the face, but he punched her first.

It started a huge fight, where Rhaegon, Luke, Jace and Alyssa were against Aemond.

Aemond threatened to kill Luke and Alyssa, and Jace tried to stab him with a knife.

Aemond was the most gifted in body combat, so he quickly dodged the Velaryon boy's attack, and kicked him away.

Luke threw sand in Aemond's eyes while he held Rhaegon by the neck, and Jace threw Alyssa the knife.

"Take your fucking hand out of my brother!"

Alyssa wasted no time to cut Aemond's eye.

Aemond fell to the ground screaming, but it was too late when the guards finally came to his rescue.

"What's the meaning of this!?" Daemon stormed into the throne room where everyone was reunited.

"Alyssa! Rhaegon!" You cried out, taking your beated children in your arms.

"What did you do to them, you freak!?" Daemon hissed towards the sewed-eyed boy.

"You're seeing this, Viserys!?" Alicent yelled, "Where do you think your brother's children learned to bully our son?"

"His own brother bullies him!" Rhaegon pointed out.

Aegon was just as unbearable as his brother, but at least he wasted his time drinking instead of making your children's life a living hell.

"Aemond killed Alyssa's cat and punched her in the face!" Lucerys told his uncle, and Daemon groaned in anger.

"That bitch cut my eye!" Aemond uttered.

"You were suffocating my brother!" Alyssa remarked.

"That is enough!" King Viserys yelled, "I want you all to make up and forget this all happened."

"That is insufficient. Aemond has been damaged permanently, my king." Alicent stated.

"I know, Alicent, but I cannot restore his eye. What would you have me do?"

"There is a debt to be paid. I shall have one of Daemon's daughter eyes in return. Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Alyssa Targaryen."

Your eyes opened wide in horror as your daughter ran out of your embrace to hide herself behind Daemon.

"You will do no such thing!" You warned the queen.

Ser Criston stayed in his position while Viserys warned, again, that the matter was finished.

Alicent took the dagger that the king carried around, and came towards the girl, that was still being protected by her father's body.

Daemon acted quickly and unsheathed Dark Sister, pointing the blade to the Queen. All the guards took off their swords.

"Father!" Alyssa cried out.

"Give one more step and both of us will die." Daemon warned, "I'll cut your throat open like a piece of ham, and the King shall have my head. I don't mind dying for my family, your Grace."

Alicent threw the dagger to the floor and left.

Daemon gave you an apologizing look after putting himself in such danger.

You both took care of your children’s wounds, and find out that Maegon stayed in his room after Rhaegon ordered him to.

You took the boys to their room with Rhaenyra and her kids, while Daemon took Alyssa to hers.

"You acted bravely tonight." Daemon whispered against your little girl's silver locks, and gave her forehead a kiss, "I'm proud of you, my little stormfire."

[swxrxgini]

Can you please write headcanons for Bhallaladeva when instead of devsena, he became obsessed with reader after seeing her portrait. And requests his mother to arrange their marriage. Can you also please write how will he court her and act around her before and after marriage? Thank you ❤️

|: The apsara in the portrait...

Receiver....Author: "Hello? Yes, okay. Thank you for the request!! This psycho is definitely a fan favourite and I love him so much!"

Receiver....Synopsis: "The beauty of Heranshi was it's princess and upon seeing a portrait of her painted by a villager from Heranshi, the elder prince of Maheshmati falls for her after seeing her portrait.."

Receiver....warnings: "Hello? Okay, not many warnings, but Bhallaldeva is probably a bit tamer here since he's not so much behind Devsena so he doesn't feel like he's losing another thing to Bahubali, so he's a bit tamer and not so much after the throne now| Reader mentioned to have siblings and mentions of pregnancy| He's a bit OOC|| Part 2: Nsfw"

✤ Bhalleldeva is a man of refined taste as one would say, he's a royal and the elder son of Rajamatha Shivgami Devi and a crown prince. Of-curse he's known for his lavish tastes. He wanted the throne, but couldn't get it. So when Shivgami Devi sent him away for, he got delighted as it gave him a chance to earn the throne back.

✤ While Bahubali was away, Bhalladeva indulged himself in different things, drinks, games, fights and especially women..when one day, as he was having fun with drinks, he overheard a few of the noble men's servants talking about an apsara from Heranshi, "Have you seen her hair??", "So black and so long, perfect for a lady of her title" compliments after compliments poured from their mouths for the so called princess.

✤ And one thing led to another and he got the foreign nobleman to pain a picture of the so called apsara, he was curious, he couldn't lie..and he could see why people of your empire loved you so much, you were so gorgeous with your long hair, gorgeous eyes, and stories of your kindness and more only encourage his sudden infatuation with you.

✤ He told his mum on accident how much he had begun liking you, and she excitedly call for a meeting after Bahubali returned for a while and they visited Heranshi for a while and met with the king and queen, both of them glad to meet the great Shivgami Devi, and her sons, Bhallalldeva and Bahubali.

✤ They were invited by the king and queen for a festival and you held a dance performance as the princess of your empire and he was star struck, Bahubali would smirk and nudge Bhallaldeva's shoulders and tease him about being obsessed with you before even knowing your name, as Bhalladeva would push him away as he giggled softly.

✤ You and your siblings were introduced to Bahubali and Bhallaldeva and he got to know your name, Y/N, and he was swooning, you were even prettier up close..he could barely hold himself up and he swear to god he felt his knees buckle underneath his weight as you smiled at him.

✤ After a lot of talk, you and Bhalladeva were to be put into an arranged marriage and so he started courting you, he would bring your extremely gorgeous pendents and jewellery; anklets, armbands, earrings, necklaces, nose rings, bracelets, dress belts, expensive clothing, some even bejewelled with gold and stuff.

✤ Flowers, gifts, statues, portraits, expensive clothing, spoiling you with food you liked, jewellery you enjoyed beaded with your birth stones or gemstones, diamonds, gold, silver, platinum and so much more. He would gift them to you and though you found it a bit too extravagant, your parents were happy you had gotten such a wealthy and rich fiancee for yourself.

✤ He knows he's conceited, a bit cruel, a bit of a sadist and if we're being honest, not a fit person for someone as kind and gorgeous as you. So he had to suck up SO MUCH pride and go to Bahubali for advice or Kattappa if hes EXTREMELY desperate and ask them for advice and actually takes some things into consideration even if he thinks Bahubali just talks his brain and word vomits whenever he speaks.

✤ Bahubali actually thinks this engagement between you two is pretty beneficial, not only for the alliance of empires, but also to build his relationship with Bhallaldeva. And he is pretty happy to do so with his brother, even if he doesn't like his brother a lot.

✤ Bhalladeva and you would be sitting like eating lunch or dinner and he would listen to whatever it is you have to say if you're more talktative and if he's the more talkative one, he'd be trying to tell you as much as he can about the books he read, stories of his childhood, about himself, about his empire, Maheshmati, to you while you listen with interest. If you're both a bit closer at this point, you both might even feed each other.

✤ Eventually he did have to go back, but you got your parents to send you with him to Maheshmati for a while to see how living there would be like while Bahubali headed back to see Devsena with Kattapa.

✤ You and Bhalladeva got certainly a lot of time together, you did not like his father Bijjaladeva a lot who sneered at you, but you didn't say anything to Bhalladeva because you did not want to be disrespectful to him and his family, especially not his mum, who come to like you a lot...But after a while, Bhalladeva did catch the uncomfortability you got around his dad and asked you once while you both laid in his bed.

✤ You did eventually speak your mind out a bit, trying to be as respectful as possible, ready to be kicked out or whatever..but he sighed, internally he knew you'd be creeped out by his dad's weird, not because of his weird body stature, but rather by his scheming, sort of evil intended nature..He calmed you down, promise to protect you...and talked to his dad about it as well.

✤ Simply to say, his dad was not happy and did try to scheme your death, but he shut it down and gave a stern talking to his dad. While you and him slowly got closer and closer, until Bahubali came back with more news that he liked Devsena and the two fell in love and stuff, it was pretty rushed, but him and Devsena seemed closer than anything.

✤ You and Bhalladeva's marriage was first and since you were quite beloved for your kind, generous and wealthy reign in your family's empire, people welcomed you with open arms. As you and him got married in a lavish wedding, your mother cried.

✤ During your marriage, let's say they still had the shoe stealing tradition, and so your sisters stole Bhalladeva's shoes which were so huge compared to them, and they had to be extra tricky, they stole the shoes when he removed them and he couldn't even feel bad cause you were laughing softly, looking so pretty.

✤ It was a good bonding moments and he did give your sisters huge sum of money to get his shoes back as your sisters, you, Bahubali, your close families laughed gently, and you were accepted into the family by Shivgami Devi immediately.

✤ Bhalladeva did complain to you about how he wanted the throne and stuff, but trying to a form a relationship with you, advice on relationships and stuff all came from Bahubali and so the two formed a bond, he became more interested in spending time with you rather than running an empire and besides, his mum's judgement never went wrong.

✤ You thought he showered you with gifts before, he showered you with gifts and affection even more after marriage, constant kisses, constant spending time together with him reading you old stories of Mahesmati or Heranshi..whatever he can get.

✤ Both getting palmistry to see your future in marriage and he did not wish to tell you anything, no matter how much you demanded it. He definitely became more mellowed out and calmer after your marriage, constant affection in private, though in public, his hand is always around yours. People of Maheshmati think it's rather adorable and servants even more so.

✤ He sometimes has you watch his fights with Bijjaladeva, him sometimes making back-handed compliments which you threw back with equally sassy yet respectable comments which made Bhalladeva laughed, though he tried not to show it.

✤ You know in the first week of marriage, Bahubali was sitting on the floor with kid's toys and you bent down and held his chin and kissed his forehead like a mum and you both go so confused cause he called you mum on accident after that and Bhalladeva instantly though you both were drunk...

✤ Apparently Bahubali is your babyboy brother too. And you were so incredibly happy for him as his marriage was done to such a gorgeous girl which you definitely teased him about as he giggled like a babygirl, while Bhalladeva glared at Bahubali.

✤ He has portraits painted of you and he gets pissed off if they don't portray your beauty exactly as he sees it, whenever after a puja he gets prashad, he feeds it to you first before eating it himself, same of taking the puja from the diya, he does it to you first before himself.

✤ Very protective and possessive, his murderous tendencies do jump back in when some man or lady tries to disrespect you, he has threatened and maybe killed hurt some people, not that he will tell you.

✤ Always decorating you with stuff you have in your closet after a day because it's a way he relaxes, seeing you dolled up and pretty, as it's tiring for you, since you have to take off so many heavy gold, diamond, gemstone and silver and other jewellery.

✤ It won't be too long before you do get pregnant, if you want NSFW headcanons...that's another thing, request it and maybe I'll do it. Maybe add in some scenarios for this too, fluffy ones though.

✤ But seriously, you do get pregnant pretty quickly, cause man he's a..how to say, he desperately insatiable guy and he thinks you'd look gorgeous while pregnant, and have children with your looks who he thinks will be absolute beauties on earth.

✤ During his and Bahubali's coronation, you calmed his nerves and told him it's fine to be a commander of arms right beside the emperor too and Bahubali thanked you immensely for it that his relationship with Bhalladeva was healed and not torn apart for the throne. He took the oath as Devsena made you sit with her, since she was cooing to your pregnant belly the entire time and congratulating you

✤ Speaking of Devsena, you and her literally become best-friends, especially after her and Bahubali's marriage and she gets pregnant not too long after you, brothers are not so different after all.

✤ But before she was pregnant, she gifted you so many things and you gifted her so many things from your empire, Heranshi as well. You and her took so much time with each other that after a while the brother's got jealous of each other's wife for having so much attention of their wife on the other's wife...yeah..

✤ Overall, pretty cute marriage, he's head over heels, loves you, obsessed with you, kills for you, dies for you, decorates you and loves your kids a lot.

© This writing work belongs to me, swxrxgini, Aurelia, Rosilabeth, Cerine, kiara. Reblogging is appreciated, but plagiarizing or copying my works is forbidden, thank you for reading this and if you like this check out my blog!

[chigirisprincess]

Amour Courtois⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

— Chigiri Hyōma

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, gn afab!reader, aged up characters, reader is referred to as "your grace", their title is "heir to the throne", you wear a dressing robe, knight!Chigiri, slight ooc, power imbalance, slight dubcon, slight manipulation of station (reader using their power over Chigiri), kissing, oral (reader receiving), undressing, intimacy, light body worship.

⊹ Run time. 3.8k

⊹ Note. This is incredibly self insert and selfship coded so I am a bit nervous to share but I hope you enjoy nonetheless <3

❝As the heir to the throne it was important to have a devoted knight by your side and Chigiri, your sworn protector, well he was as devoted as they came. Even when your requests were unusual.❞

Your father's words have come to haunt you as you gaze into the set of rosy hued eyes that lay beneath the bruised silver armet– or perhaps taunt you. They’ve hung over your head and plucked at the strings pulled taunt around your joints, tossing you around to his whims. Marionette or heir to the throne, you wondered what the small folk saw when their gaze settled upon you, in those rare times when you were more than just a precious jewelled bared behind cold stone slabs. You didn’t wish to be either. Not now, in his presence or ever really. 

“Chigiri Hyōma you are henceforth indebted into the care of my only child, under their care you are expected to serve, protect, and fulfil their every wish or need.”

 That is what your father had told him, the day he was assigned your protector, your keeper. He was yours, and in some inexplicable way you were his. A mimic of the real thing to come, you too often thought, with the way you two were tied together. It was a curious thing, this charade. You couldn’t help but push the bounds, to see how honourable a man really could be in the face of temptation. 

“Is there something you need, your Grace?” Chigiri questions for the second since he stepped into your private chambers that evening, “If not, I’ll return to my postage outside your doors.”

Your dressing gown leaves you feeling too bare as he pins you beneath his eyes, “Yes, there was,” you can’t see any of his expression but you’d imagine it lies in a state of perplexion, “Come here.”

At your command, he saunters away from the door. He’d been practically glued to it, keeping himself pressed flush against it as you stared absentmindedly. The metal of his armour clanked uncomfortably with each tentative movement.

“Your Grace, surely you know that this is uncouth.”

“Is it?” You hum, your head falling to the side, “Why do you suppose that is, Chigiri?”

Resting his arms behind his back, his head dips into a slight bow, “You and I are unwed, alone together in your private chambers at the hour of the witch,” silence drifts between the two of you for a moment, “Forgive me but if I may be so bold but, if I recall your father forbade me from entering.”

“You are in my charge, you answer to me not to my father.”

The floorboards creak as you dare to take a step closer.

“He’s the king.”

“And one day when he has well and truly gone cold within the ground I shall be ruler,” you whisper, standing only a hare's breath away, “Even then, you shall still answer to me just as you do now.”

Your fingers itch to curl beneath his armet so you allow them to. The metal burns against your soft palms, the heat of his body’s melted into it, keeping it warm like a stoked fire. His long hair, the colour of the wild raspberries that grew a stone's throw away from the castle's carefully manicured gardens, was plastered with sweat against his alabaster skin. The apples of his cheeks were painted red. He was pretty, you would not have thought that he’d have such pretty lashes or delicate cheekbones. If you were to have imagined what he may look like beneath the layer of armour and thick cottony padding, you’d have assumed he’d be gruff and a bit rough around the edges with calloused hands and a splintered nose that had not quite healed right after a failed joust. 

If you hadn’t known better, at first glance you might have mistaken him for a prince.

“You’d do well to remember that, Hyōma.”

Chigiri stares with wide eyes, blinking rapidly in place of using his words, “You should not”

“Should not what?”

It’s an innocent question, one you already know the answer to; you should not call him by his first name. He was far below your rank, it was not only too casual but inappropriate– such intimacies were supposed to be reserved for only a special few.

“You know, your Grace,” Chigiri practically whines in discomfort, “If this were to go on, I could get in trouble.”

His adam's apple bobs uncomfortably when you bring your face closer to his, noses just mere centimetres apart, “Trouble? What such trouble should you be in if you’re fulfilling my whims?” Chigiri blanches, a blunder skewing whatever excuse he was ready to lay before you, “I wished to become acquainted with the man behind the armour, whomever Chigiri Hyōma was when unfettered by duty.”

“I-“

“Do you find that inappropriate?”

Tugging at the collar of the tunic he sports, Chigiri frowns, “I do not,” pressing his lips together, he tips his head downwards, “However might I remind you that I am far below your post, that I work for you. A friendship between us would surely complicate …”

“Who said it was friendship that I wanted,” You question. His helmet falls from your fingertips with a thud. Chigiri winced, forgetting that with a snap of your fingers another would replace it, “When did I say I wished to be your friend?”

“But, you said you wished to know me.”

Placing your hands flat against his chest plate, you laughed, “There are many ways for a person to know another.”

“Oh.”

His eyes flit away from your face, cheeks heavily flushing.

The corners of your lips lift without your permission, the smile crackling into something devious. He’s cute, the bashful look of shock somehow even more delicious than even the sweetest candied plum. Your hot breath fans across his face, with two fingers pressed against his jawline, you bring his gaze back to yours.

“Hyōma?”

“Yes, your Grace?” He whispers, like he’s scared to raise his voice an octave.

“Look at me,” you command, perhaps for the first time in your life.

His hands curl into fists at his side, “I am looking at you,” Chigiri’s voice crackles from the strain.

“No, really look at me,” it’s your turn to whisper. You’d scare him away if you didn’t, “You’re not seeing me.”

“I do not understand what you …”

There’s something ethereal about how he’s bathed in the warm, soft candle light that flickers. Even if he’s unable to see you to truly see what has been simmering for months on end— you saw him. Inexplicably it was there even if he didn’t notice it, but you liked it. You liked the way he unknowingly pressed his cheek further into the palm of your hand as he searched in earnest to understand what you meant. 

His gloved hands come to rest upon your shoulders, the leather is rough against your supple skin and it makes you shiver. For a moment his eyes roam from yours down to your lips, and then they slip down the length of your neck to where his hands sit, for the first time taking notice of how your dressing gown has begun to slip, exposing you to him. 

Curling his fingers around the thin fabric, he tugs your robe shut, “My apologies,” he mutters, swiftly turning his head away from you.

“It’s quite alright,” your thumb smooths across his skin, just barely skimming the corner of his mouth, “I appreciate how earnestly gallant you are.”

Sliding your hands down to his chest piece, you allow your eyes to drift down the expanse of his torso.

“It’s a shame I’m not.”

Chigiri lifts his arms when you hook your fingers beneath the chest plate, without a word, “You weren’t raised to be,” he says it like he understands you. He hasn’t tried to, he couldn’t have if he wanted. Conversations in passing revealed to little when you wished they’d reveal more, “How could anyone expect you to be.”

“I’m selfish,” you supply before biting down on your bottom lip. The white tunic he sported clung to his frame, exposing the shapes of his body that were usually so well hidden, “You can say it, I’ll allow it.”

“You’re not.”

The smile you offer him is weak, but it placates him all the same, “But I am,” laying your hands flat against his chest, right where his heart erratically pangs against his ribs, you sigh, “That is why you’re here because I’m selfish and you, well you’re the very best of them.”

“I have my faults, more than you know,” Chigiri admits, his breath catching, “You just don’t know me well enough to have seen them.”

You would have liked to tell him that it was for the best but that’d make you a hypocrite too. 

“That is untrue.”

Chigiri opens his mouth to refute but he snaps it shut when you hold up a finger before him.

“And remember it is treason to question my judgement.”

The chuckle that escapes you brings a small smile to his lips, “I shall continue to keep that in mind, your Grace”

“My name.”

The tips of your fingers graze against the collar of your dressing gown as you smooth them against your chest. Chigiri’s eyes follow the movement of your hands, a certain intensity simmering behind them as he watches. You wonder if he’s expecting you to slowly unwrap yourself, chaste and pious even when twisting the bounds of the society you’re meant to uphold one day.

“Pardon?” Clearing his throat, Chigiri forces his eyes to focus back onto your face.

“My name, I want you to say it. No more of this “your Grace” nonsense.”

Chigiri has always been good at taking commands. Your name rolls off his tongue with practised ease. A delightful shiver trickles down your spine and you have half a mind to ask him to say it again. It sounds like it was destined to live within the crevices of his throat, whispered over and over again against the shell of  your ear and mouth like some sort of well sought secret. Maybe it was.

He says it again without you having to ask, his eyes growing lidded.

It was his duty to fulfil your every whim and wish but only within the confines of this castle. With the way he said your name, tasting each syllable like they were the rarest of wines, you thought it might have been his life’s mission. In this moment at the very least.

Chigiri’s hand shakes as he brings it towards you. The palm of hand is calloused just as you thought it’d be. He cups the underside of your jaw, his thumb biting into the fat of your cheek uncomfortably. His touch is awkward and clearly unfamiliar even for himself but his smile is tender. Furling the worn material of his tunic within your fists you tug his body against yours. He’s warm and firm, the feeling of another all too heavenly.

“May I…” A small frustrated whimper crackles through his words, “May I kiss you.”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips.

He’s fighting the urge to call you by your title, the need to be a gentleman, to be perfect, was strong. Any ounce of couth or refinement had left long ago, if it had even been there in the first. You weren’t sure it had. You had spent many moons dancing around the complicated feeling that arose whenever you allowed your thoughts to linger on him for too long. If you asked, no matter how much Chigiri tried to deny it, you wouldn’t believe that he hadn’t harboured any impure thoughts for you. No matter how genteel or well mannered he was. A fire lived within his eye, his pink irises burned a dastardly rouge from within his large silver helmet. Even when you couldn’t see them you could feel it, directed towards you even when the room was filled with gossips in search of something to bite, it was there. There was nothing chaste or respectable about a man being plagued by all consuming thoughts of another.

“Please,” you all but whine, your voice turning low and needy, “Please kiss me.”

The lack of command or conviction behind your words shocks him but it thrills you. Tomorrow you’d laugh at how pathetic it was, to feel so fulfilled simply by giving your control to your knight but for now you relish in the uncertainty and the feeling of anticipation as you wait for Chigiri to make his move. Your entire life has been nothing but that, acting first with or without thought. It was exhausting. But, you had always supposed there were worst things to experience in life and now you were faced with one of them— the desperation of deprivation as you sat in wait.

His breath fanned across your face as he leaned in closer to you. Stray strands of his hair tickle you as he hovers close. You think you’ll begin to beg if he makes you wait any longer, hoping that he’d get any such satisfaction from bending your resolve so effortlessly. As if your need hadn’t been so apparent.

“Hyōma, please,” you pleaded.

It borders on desperate and you like it. 

The press of his lips against yours is firm and pleasant. You don’t have much to compare it to but then again neither does he. What matters is that you like it. Your toes curl within the confines of your plush slippers as a feeling of elation sweeps through you. It settles goosebumps on your arms and burns your face uncomfortably hot but it gratifies you. 

If you could pull Chigiri any closer you would– squishing your two bodies together to be one if you could, your hands would settle on fervently twisting his shirt as if that would placate your need for him. Teeth and tongue clash awkwardly when being flush against one another isn’t enough. It couldn’t be, the fire that stirred deep within your belly was ravenous. You were unsure there was anything that would be enough to quell that aching flames that wished to consume you. It’d see you ruined, leaving you nothing but ashes amongst the floorboards and you’d allow it– for him. Chigiri’s hands have dipped past your shoulders and rested low on your hips, it’s far past the respectable touch you thought he’d been so keen to keep.

Your name sounds like a melody when it's whined between sloppy, depraved kisses. If you could commit it to memory you would, “Your Grace,” he shudders, embarrassed by how debauched he’d been, “I’m … I-”

His lips are swollen and slick with saliva. The sight only makes the fire roar even greater within you.

Chigiri’s mouth falls shut when you shush him, all too eager to devour him once more. Tugging at the buttons that keep your dressing gown close, you haphazardly unfasten them. Somewhere in the back of your mind your thoughts begin to wander, wondering if Chigiri were to unbutton them with ease. You’re quick to settle on an answer as you gaze back at him; he would, he was good with his fingers and hands. It was almost dastardly the way Chigiri always managed to draw attention to the skillful way his nimble fingers effortlessly laced his doublet up after a spar or absent mindedly twirled his dagger around.

“You can look at me,” you whisper, as the gown slips off your shoulders to pool around your feet. Your nipples pebble from the chill that carries in through the window, and you can’t hide the shiver that follows.

His gaze isn’t scrutinising, not in the way you feared others might have been. Still, you cast your eyes to the floor and allow an air of bashfulness to surround you. As if, averting your gaze would make his any less powerful. You could feel his eyes trailing up the length of your lengths, they roamed over the curves of your hips and drank in the sight of the thick thatch of curled hair at the base of your pelvis. Chigiri’s eyes burned holes into your body, they seared a path and stained your body with his essence– he had hardly touched you and yet you were marked.

Chigiri’s hands twitch by his side, “You are absolutely stunning,” he breathes, his chest heaving with each deep breath he takes.

Before you can muster up a response, he’s sunk to the floor in front of you. The floorboards groan beneath his knees as he shuffles forwards to grasp your calves.

“Hyōma?”

It’s his turn to shush you, quieting the questions on your tongue. Taking a step back, you stumble against the baseboard of your bed. Your fingers curl around the thick wooden post in hopes of disguising the way they tremble. You’re unsure if it’s the nerves or excitement. It might be both with the way your stomach lurches and is tickled by fluttering butterfly wings. 

You wonder where his pride has gone when he shuffles forward once more, or if it was even there in the first place. Perhaps devotion took its place. Is that what knights were taught? To be dutiful was to shirk all sense of personal identity. That couldn’t be right, you thought. When amidst a spar, duel, or tourney, Chigiri seemed to be replaced with a fiery eyed monster in the face of competition. You wondered where it went in the quiet of night or when he stood five paces behind you.

It’s overwhelming, the sight of nothing but pure devotion in his eyes as he gazes up at you. His hands caressing your legs before an experimental kiss is pressed against your knee and then one to the freckle that sits just above it. His hair tickles and you giggle. 

“Spread your legs,” he huffs into your skin, his teeth lightly grazing thigh as he speaks, “Now.”

Your heart feels funny when it begins to race. And it’s there again, that tiny pinprick of excitement that sends your head reeling with the rush. It electrifies you, the commanding tone he sports for the first time. You spread your legs just as he asks though your nerves thrum from within your veins. The looks he sports makes you curl in on yourself, you’ve never seen such a predatory glint rest so easily in a man’s eyes.

Delicately placing one hand under your knee, he hooks one of your legs over his shoulders, “Is this comfortable?” Chigiri questions, “If not, I’ll happily-“

“Yes,” you breathily reply as you dare to slip your fingers through his silk hair, “This is perfect.”

“You’re perfect.”

The heat that fills your cheeks does little to rival the molten lava that fills your belly and melts your legs. Your breath catches in your throat when dips his head between your thighs, his tongue, warm and wet, darting out to lick up the seam of your cunt. His name becomes tangled with a moan as you struggle to take a deep breath. 

Allowing your eyes to flutter, your nails press into the carved post of your bed, your other hand still thread between strand of his hair tug roughly on them with little care, “Fuck!” You curse, for the first time in your life, “You’re so … You’re so good with your tongue?”

You don’t mean for it to come out as a question but it does, your voice pitching upwards and morphing into a small squeal as his lips wrap around your clit. 

“Gentle,” he whimpers against your mound, his eyes falling shut when your nails roughly bite into his scalp, “Be gentle with me.”

A small apology passes your lips but you don’t mean it, not really. It’s said to pacify the artificial wounds of red hot desire. You think he’d look darling with more– spatterings of hued violet that edged on yellow along his jugular and down his chest. They were marks that claimed him, they were far more tangible than gold rings and gaudy diamonds. If your insincerity was obvious, Chigiri doesn’t say anything too busy focusing his sights back on your wet, quivering cunt. He laps at you like he’d died otherwise, the obscenely loud wet smacks of his mouth and tongue against you filling the room and drifting out through the open window. At least, the courtyard below was empty at this time of night.

His nails dig into the fat of your thigh as his grip on you tightens. A heady haze settles across your mind as pleasure zips up your spine. It forces a truly pathetic mewl past your lips, one you weren’t sure you were capable of making.

“Hyōma … Hyōma,” you chant, like a melody, “There, right there.”

Your lolls to the side and your body threatens to become jelly as the fire is stoked and then awash with a chilling clarity that leaves you shivering in his hold. 

It’s debauched, the way Chigiri slurps at your folds and tongues your hole to catch each drop of cum before it drips down his chin or smears across his flushed cheeks. But, you find yourself smiling at how eager he is, even when you know you’ll bruise because he’s holding you like you’ll slip away in the blink of an eye. Maybe you would. Once the sun rose and rosters woke the servants the castle would be alive and bustling– whatever bubble you created for the two of you would be broken. Still, it doesn’t stop you from yanking him into your embrace, your lips sloppily moving against his. You taste yourself on his mouth and tongue, and it makes you moan in delight.

His cock throbs from within the confines of his breeches and he can’t help but push himself against your puffy cunt in search of reprieve, “I… let me escort you to bed.”

“We’re already here,” you snort in a positively undignified manner but it manages to ease the earnest, rigid demeanour Chigiri sports the moment he realises what he’s done.

“Right.”

His smile is weak but it’s there nonetheless. 

Placing his large hand on the small of your back, he helps you round the corner of your bed. Pulling back your duvet, you prop yourself up against your plush pillows. Chigiri stalls, standing awkwardly like there’s something more he wishes to say.

“Well, this is where I leave you, your Grace,” he smiles, pulling your blankets up to cover your bare breasts, “I hope sleep finds you easily … and happy name day.”

Just as he moves to turn around, your hand darts out to grab his, “Wait,” you pant, “I want you to stay, I command you to stay.”

There's no power behind your words, no real command but he takes it anyways, as if he could use your selfish whims as an excuse for the desire that burned him to.

So he says because how can he refuse his heir on their name day. It would be too cruel after the first taste of indulgence.

© all content belongs to dearbraus. do not modify, repost, or redistribute.

[mikathemonster]

“under my skin”

author’s note: okay, SO. y’all seem to be eating these fics up ravenously, so here I am to supply food to the starving wolves. eat up, baby! I'm so nervous since this is my longest fic yet, but here’s some fun and sexy (slight) enemies to lovers smut to spice up the fluff I've been writing lately. don’t say I never did anything for you guys. happy holidays, happy new year, and happy reading :)

Pairing: Kíli / Gender-neutral Human Reader

Word Count: 14,873

summary: forced to be allies for the sake of preventing war, kíli could do nothing but find his way under your skin...

content warnings: Post BOTFA, Everyone Lives! AU, Enemies to lovers, minor injuries (but ouch man they hurt), a poorly written fight scene (im so sorry in advance), possible OOC Dwalin (let me know what y’all think), blood, mentions of violence (it’s LOTR, y’all), smut, fingering, handjob, unprotected sex, oral (male receiving), praise, cursing

DO NOT REPOST OR COPY. MINORS/AGLESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

No matter the obstacle in your harrowing journey, the reward was all you needed to quickly motivate yourself again. What journey, you ask? Why, it was an adventure of great status and power. Commissioned by the King Under the Mountain himself, you (along with a hand-picked team of established dwarves and men) were tasked with hunting down and tracking a rather grisly enemy: Aevar Godfred. Once a man known for his high position among the ranks of Gondor, he was now an exiled thief on the run. His latest snatching had been of three precious jewels of Erebor. Now, these jewels weren’t nearly as precious as the Arkenstone, but they were still regal enough, crafted by Thorin himself to symbolize the current royal line of Durin. One for the king: an emerald that glowed with a radiant green shimmer. One for the crown prince: a ruby that flickered like the flames of the forges. And the last one for the youngest prince: a sapphire that reflected light just like the vast seas.

Aevar, under the cover of night and the kingdom’s banquet of Durin’s Day, had snuck into Erebor and stolen the Royal Jewels, his slippery self escaping into the night only to finally be noticed the next morning by guards when it was found that the jewels had left the treasury. An issued warning had been sent to Gondor, but after being informed that Aevar himself had been exiled, Thorin had decided to settle matters by his own means. A simple capture mission, one that Thorin was hoping would end with a blade to the thief’s slimy neck once he was returned to Gondor.

You remembered Thorin’s words the day this journey had been pushed onto you as clear as ever. It was night, and the torches had cast a glowing aura about the king as he sat upon his stone-carved throne. You, along with two other dwarves known as Dwalin and Kíli and another man named Sigfred, kneeled before the throne as Thorin’s gruff and commanding voice filled the bedrock walls.

“It is upon you that I delegate this mission,” he said. “Two weeks past, a sniveling thief fell under our noses and stole precious jewels of the kingdom. Jewels that belong to royalty.” His expression was proud and bright, but his voice held a dark tone that conveyed his authority with a scary countenance. “Word spread to Gondor, but it now comes to our own hands to deal with this sniveling coward. Under the guidance of Balin, I have assembled you four to carry out this mission. Word has come to us that the thief has been spotted south of Mirkwood. I suspect he may be running to Rohan or the Wilderland for shelter. You are to find him, hunt him if you must, but return him alive and restore the jewels. I promise you will all be handsomely rewarded upon your successful return.”

You all raised your heads to look upon the king, who now stood proudly above you all with a daunting presence. “To aid us in our mission, Gondor has sent Y/N.” With a raised hand in your direction, the king introduced you to your group, and you stood tall. “They are our insurance, and are in charge of keeping you all to our word that no harm comes to Aevar Godfred.”

You nodded in agreement, bowing. “While he is your enemy, I can assure you that we plan to deal with him swiftly. We exiled him in the hopes that he would rot away. Now, we plan to imprison him for the rest of his days so he can torment no longer.”

“That should’ve been your first decision,” one of the dwarves piped up, and you turned to meet his glare. Two fierce brown eyes met yours, their deep color matching the fiery attitude as the younger dwarf of your troop.

“Kíli, hold your tongue.” Dwalin warned, his own steely eyes now turned to the young prince.

“I’m sorry Uncle, but I cannot. I will not,” the young dwarf said, who you now knew to be Erebor’s Prince Kíli. And what an ignorant prince he seemed to be. “Why does Gondor wish to keep their thief after banishing him to be our problem? Why now do they intend to dispose of him?” The young dwarf stood now, palms open to Thorin in a silent plea of an explanation.

“To avoid battle.” You interrupted, growing impatient with him so soon after meeting him. He looked to you confused, before returning his quizzical glance to his uncle, who merely nodded.

“It was agreed that Aevar Godfred would be returned to Gondor as an insurance of no ill will between our kingdoms.” His voice was softer now as he approached his nephew, offering an apologetic hand on his shoulder. Carefully, he leaned into his shoulder, his voice dropping to a whisper. “We cannot afford to wage any kind of disagreement with Gondor over this man, nor can we afford his burglary to go unpunished. This is the only way to assure both.”

Though you couldn’t hear the words Thorin had whispered to Kíli, you figured you already knew based on Kíli’s reaction, his eyes widening and his jaw setting tightly. His tongue had left him, only responding with a small nod of acknowledgement before Thorin pulled away, casting a glance to you before returning to his throne.

“As I said before, Y/N will be your aid and your warden. I trust you all to behave.” Now back to his regular gruff self, he cleared his throat. “Offering his services to us freely, Sigfred here will serve as your guide. His knowledge of the Wilderland is vast, and I pray it will serve you well on this journey.”

Sigfred too now rose, a silent nod from the ginormous auburn-haired man, whose mustache twitched as his gaze pierced through you. You had heard tales of a wandering ranger from the Wilderland, their rumors passing off as myth as it was hard to survive without aid in those lands. After all, nothing came from the Wilderlands save for wild beasts of enormous strength. But here he stood, six feet and four inches tall, with hair covering his chest and arms as shown through his tunic.

“As for warriors, Erebor supplies the journey with Dwalin and Kíli.” Thorin finished his introductions, his hands offering the two dwarves, of which only Dwalin was left kneeling. But that didn’t last long as he finally stood, arms crossed.

“For the journey, I offer my axes,” he grumbled. His voice was deep and gruff, and scars littered his arms, reminiscent of battles long ago.

“And I my sword and bow,” spoke Kíli, who now seemed to know how to bite his tongue.

“It is done, then.” Thorin said with a nod. “By first light, you all shall begin your journey. Rest now, and be swift.” And with a single hand he dismissed you all, leaving you to return to your lodgings within the mountain halls. But as you left, you felt Kíli’s gaze bore stubborn holes into the back of your skull.

That was three weeks ago. It was the money that kept you here, you had to remind yourself. Nothing else but the bounty of gold promised to you by the King Under the Mountain himself, Thorin Oakenshield. Nothing else, despite the fact that you were already beginning to feel your patience wearing thin. In just three short weeks, the young prince of Erebor had been nothing but insufferable and unprofessional. Constantly up to pranks at the expense of you and your sanity (he had attempted to jest with Sigfred, but it seemed the poor dwarf prince was intimidated by the silent man who stood almost two feet taller than he), he was driving you up a wall. The few times Dwalin had put him in check were the only moments that brought you relief these days. That, and the quiet nights you all slept in the shadows. It seemed the only good thing Kíli provided was his skill with a bow and scouting. Though, a part of you was also entertained by his stories, which he told often to Sigfred whenever he could. Though intimidated, it seemed the young dwarf was also awestruck by the tall ranger. It was only when he told such stories of dragons and elves that you found yourself fully listening to him.

But as more days passed, he seemed to be getting bolder. To begin the next week, he had decided to swipe your clothes while you were caught unawares, hiding them while you were bathing nearby! You were lucky it was Sigfred and not Dwalin who found you panicking naked about the springs, pushing your embarrassment down knowing for a fact that the quiet man wouldn’t tell a soul. You were lucky he had helped by finding and bringing you your clothes (lest you be caught meandering naked just outside of Mirkwood) but still, a part of your dignity had evaporated that day. You could feel yourself being pushed to the brink by his antics, and weren’t sure just how much you could take it.

A few more days passed, and finally you had a lead on Aevar Godfred. You had caught wind of a strange man shirking about past the Brown Lands, headed west towards Fangorn. You thought that he was possibly trying to run to Rohan in hopes of sanctuary, as Thorin had theorized all those weeks ago. Mind set on tracking him, you followed Sigfred as he led the way, his fast legs leaving you and the other two dwarves quite winded by the time you set up camp the next night. Quickly, you all settled under the shelter of wooden ruins that must have been a stable at one point. Dwalin was quick to get the fire going, sending out Kíli to go hunting for tonight’s dinner. Sigfred, who was a vegetarian, was put on watch.

With a tired demeanor, you sunk to the ground, sitting near Dwalin at the fire. For now, while Kíli was away, you could relax. A sigh escaped your lips, and you tried to stretch your back, thoughts eating away at the back of your mind. “I worry about our journey ahead,” you said. Dwalin responded with nothing, but the glint in his eyes told you he was listening. “I’ve heard rumors about Fangorn Forest, and it’s not one to lose yourself in.” You straightened your back, leaning closer to Dwalin, your voice now a whisper. “They say the trees there are different, they’re not normal. They… they can speak to each other. Whisper, mumble, and moan. And sometimes, they say they can even walk.”

“And does someone of your status believe these tales?” Dwalin mused, and you could hear a slight mocking lilt to his voice, though you took care not to address it. He didn’t seem spooked by your words, not in the slightest. “Why lead us there then?”

“I hope to go around,” you replied. “But if Sigfred finds more tracks, we may have no choice but to venture into those woods.” You leaned back, laying on your back now among the grass and twigs. “I’m beginning to worry about how long this is taking. Surely Erebor wouldn’t claim war over something small like this.” You had muttered the last part to yourself, but Dwalin’s keen ears had caught it.

“Thorin would not choose war so easily, not since the days of the dragon,” he said. “But I say murder lies on his mind often with the likes of thieves.”

You nodded, listening. It made more sense to think of it like that, and it started to make you wonder if the council of Gondor had sent you here as “aid” merely to appease the stubborn dwarves. A milk run of sorts. A small errand to busy the minds of children. You groaned at the thought, not too pleased with the idea of possibly being a scapegoat for something as small as this.

The sound of returning footsteps stirred your thoughts, and you were quick to stand back onto your feet. You knew it was Kíli, and if Kíli was returning so soon, you had no doubt that his antics would as well. You weren’t in the mood to deal with him, especially now with all these doubts swimming in your head. You needed to clear your mind, and so you walked away from the fire and into the night. Not too far, mind you, but far enough to feel alone with the crickets and the stars. They were shining brightly tonight, and you wondered what it would be like to touch one as you sat back in the grass. You wondered what it would be like to fly up, up, up into the sky and sit on a cloud, far away from dwarven princes and thieves and political feuds.

You weren’t quite sure how much time had passed before you had finally decided you should return, standing up and dusting yourself off before a soft voice cut through your thoughts.

“Are you not going to eat?” The voice startled you, coming from right behind you and causing you to trip and fall backwards on top of the poor person. Well, maybe they didn’t deserve that much pity, as you quickly realized it was Kíli who had startled you.

“Gods, make yourself known next time!” You grumbled, annoyed, and you brought your fist to his chest in spite. But after a quick wince of pain, all he did was smile, and suddenly you realized how close you two were, with you still on top of him.

“My, my. Falling for me already?” He beamed, coughing out a pained chuckle with his cheeky grin catching you off guard as you hurriedly sat up and away from him, trying your best to regain your composure.

“Don’t get it twisted,” you said. “If I spend one more minute this close to you, I think I’ll go insane.”

He too started to rise, propping himself up on his elbows. “I think we finally agree, but don’t go making empty promises.” He chuckled, and you could have sworn he even winked. The gall! The nerve! Gods! Your cheeks heated up in anger and embarrassment at his words.

“The only promise I’ll give is my hands around your throat if you don’t stop.” You warned, finally finding the courage to stand.

He sighed wistfully, getting himself back up. “I’ll warn you; don’t go making promises you can’t keep, now. You’d be surprised to find I might like that.”

Your eyes widened, and your ears and cheeks flushed again. You were so unbelievably caught off guard by his flirtatious comments that you couldn't even remember why he had come to retrieve you in the first place. Now he was beginning to push his luck. “Will you stop these jokes, already?”

“Jokes? I can assure you that I’m definitely into-”

“No, stop! Stop it! I’m done!” You said, frustrated. “For two months now we’ve been at this, and for two months now you’ve made a complete fool of me! I can’t take these pranks of yours anymore, I refuse! Hiding my weapons was mildly annoying, painting my face in my sleep was immature, and don’t even get me started on hiding my clothes while I’m bathing! Is nothing sacred to you?”

His eyes widened, surprised by your outburst. A heavy silence fell as he studied your face carefully. He took a step closer, his eyes holding some sort of apologetic worry that seemed so foreign to you now compared to his usual grins. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop.” His words were honest, and his voice had softened. “It was all in good fun, I meant no ill will.”

“Good fun?” You scoffed, crossing your arms. “I was left to wander around naked because of you!”

“A sight I wish I could’ve seen,” he coughed to himself. “But really, I meant nothing by it. Despite how lovely it is to see you flustered, I don’t wish to make an enemy of you.” He spoke truthfully, though hidden was another truth you couldn’t fully discern. Offering a hand, he looked into your eyes with his own deep brown ones that shone in the starlight. “A truce. I promise to leave you alone for the rest of the journey, I swear.”

You were suddenly finding yourself taken aback by how quickly his mood had shifted from playful to serious. Before the journey had even started, he had been glaring daggers into your backside. What could have possibly made him change his mind in these last two months? Even his pranks had gone from tormenting the group as a whole to being more targeted towards you as of late. What was in his mind to focus so much attention on driving you insane? But his expression was earnest, and it suddenly made you second-guess yourself, now embarrassed that you had made such a big deal of it all. “No, you… You don’t have to do all that.” You sighed, swallowing your pride for the first time with him. “I just… If we are to continue being allies, then I can’t keep being some little game for you to entertain yourself with. I deserve some respect.”

He nodded, understanding now that his attempts of flirting with you had come off as harassment, and was feeling deeply ashamed. “You deserve so much more than that,” he said, retracting his hand. His voice had said those words so softly, like a feather caught in a breeze. And just as quickly as silence fell again, he was quick to do a silly little bow to you.

“From now on, I’m at your service,” he smiled. “Allow me to extend my services for your forgiveness, if you’ll allow it.”

You swallowed, not sure of what to make of his gesture. Perhaps he was simply joking again, but perhaps he wasn’t. And perhaps you were willing to risk those odds, for some reason. You stood for half a second before sighing. Your mind was made up. “Alright,” you spoke. “But one more chance. That’s all you’re getting, so you better not disappoint me.”

Relieved you accepted him for now, he beamed, and in the same breath realized just how much he was beginning to fall for you.

Finally, you were hot on Aevar’s trail. Two and a half months into your journey, with which Kíli had thus been true to his word, and you had found it. Hidden just in front of the forest’s entrance, in a now-abandoned shack along the main road, you had spotted a campfire. And not just any campfire, but the likes of which belonged to Aevar Godfred. You knew him well based on his face, for he had been born with a scar along his cheek that was hard to miss through the windows of the shack, and even harder to forget. Behind trees, you kept hidden, retreating back to tell the others of your good fortune. Finally, this would all be over soon. Or at least half of the journey would be.

It seemed the only one who had been excited by the news was Kíli, his eyes shining brightly and eager to get to work when you had told the group of your findings. Dwalin himself had also shown relief, though from all his years he knew better than to celebrate early. Sigfred, for once, showcased a small smile, though concern still laced his brow. Now, all that needed to happen was the forming of a plan. After quick deliberation, it was settled; you’d all wait him out and sack him in his sleep.

Hours passed by until the fire’s light was seen dying, and further scouting from Kíli proved useful as ever. Aevar Godfred, the scourge of both Gondor and Erebor, was finally asleep.

With careful steps and baited breath, you all surrounded him, wary of waking him. It had been decided that the “sacking” would go along in this fashion: Kíli, with a drawn bow and keen eye, would keep his sights drawn on Aevar in the event that he tried something nasty upon waking. Dwalin, armed with his sheer muscle, would guard the door of the building. Sigfred stood guard outside, for he was the last resort if Aevar tried to make a break for it. And as for you, you carefully made your way to Aevar’s sleeping figure, maneuvering his weapons away from his sleeping body until you were ready for the next step.

Quickly, you gave a glance to Dwalin, who nodded to let you know that he was ready any time. Turning your glance, you now looked at Kíli, who looked quite intimidating now that his weapon was drawn. He gave you a knowing look, slowly nodding, and you knew it was time. You drew a breath, unsheathed your dagger, and pounced.

You awoke the thief with a start, your blade drawn to his neck as you straddled his body, digging your knees into his wrists to prevent him from moving. His head whipped wildly about, assessing the situation, before his head made contact with yours, and hard. Your grip faltered for a moment, and Aevar took his chance. Springing up, he swung his legs at Kíli, missing the dwarf’s fired arrow just barely, though it cut his cheek. Down Kíli tumbled, and down Aevar flew to swipe at his weapons, but not before you threw your dagger as a quick-ditch method. It managed to pierce him in his backside, and the traitor let out a great howl of pain, dropping to his knees but still desperately scurrying to try and retrieve some sort of weapon.

“Dwalin, now!” You commanded, holding your head in your right hand. You wondered if it would bruise, but found yourself more annoyed that Godfred had gotten you with such child’s play. Kíli himself was also finding himself annoyed, not having missed a target in a long while. He would later blame it on the cramped space, but that was no matter for now.

Dwalin was swift as he was scary, kicking Aevar down onto his stomach and holding him there with his foot before binding his hands behind his back, all the while with the cowardly man howling and moaning. With one swift hit, Dwalin knocked the man out, and his body thumped on the broken wooden floors.

“Dwalin! We need him alive!” You said, worried.

“Alive,” he repeated. “And I’d rather think quietly, too.”

You groaned, not wanting to bicker. The important part was that you got him. You had ensnared your prey, and despite the annoyance you were thanking the stars that it had been so easy. Stumbling onto your hands and knees, you issued another order.

“Kíli, find the jewels. Quick.” You said, and Kíli wasted no time in searching, tearing apart Aevar’s things one by one. But he was starting to get frustrated, with each bag and nook and cranny turning up empty.

“They’re not here.. They’re not here!” He looked at you with exasperation, and you finally stood up, dumbfounded.

“Look again, Kíli,” Dwalin commanded. “Find them now.”

Both of you now searched, hands tearing the place apart together until just under the floorboards, you saw something shine from the moonlight trickling in the window. Quickly, you got on all fours, prying the floor open only to cut yourself on a sharp nail. You winced, a few curses expelling themselves from your lips as you stumbled back, catching yourself with your elbow. Kíli was quick to notice, casting a worried look to your current state before finishing what you had started. He pried open the floor, and there they were. Tucked and wrapped in a loose scarf sat the jewels, the sapphire peeking out in the moonlight. It was the sapphire that you had seen.

“We found them!” He called out, a laugh of relief escaping him as he raised them in his hand to show Dwalin and Sigfred, who had finally come in after realizing all had went well so far.

You smiled in relief, but quickly found yourself focusing back on your hand, which now felt as though it were burning and going numb at the same time. Though it was bleeding a lot, as being a long cut that ran from your middle finger to the base of your thumb, you were lucky it seemed to have only cut skin and not tissue. But still, it was deep, creating a thin gash on your hand. This plus your combined headache was making it harder for you to stay present in the moment. Your head pounded still from the impact, and you partially wondered if you were having a concussion. You ripped off some fabric from your tunic, quickly wrapping your hand for now, though you knew it would have to be treated sooner than later. But now, there was still work to do.

Just one hour later, you had all set up inside the abandoned shack. Quickly, everyone had gotten to work. Sigfred had been put on watch after tying and binding Aevar up to one of the shack’s foundational beams tight enough that you almost pitied him. Keyword: almost. Dwalin had rekindled the dying fire just in time for rain to begin falling, with droplets peppering in through the broken patches of the thatch roofing. Kíli had raided the rest of Aevar’s belongings to supply everyone with decent enough rations, and you… You hadn’t been much help, not that you could help it. You leaned against the wall of the ruined building, wincing at any slight movement in your right hand due to the placement of the cut. A part of you silently wished it had been your non dominant hand; at least then, you’d still be some sort of useful.

Taking a seat by your side, Kíli put both of your rations on the ground before leaning closer, his brows furrowed and laced with concern. “Let me see,” he said, awfully close. And reluctantly, you offered him your hand. You had half the mind not to just because of how much he seemed to get on your nerves, or how much you wanted to seem strong despite the burning feeling, but you were worried too much about it being infected to be in any position above him right now.

His thicker fingers delicately unwrapped the tunic scraps off of the cut, soaked in blood that now looked dark from the amount you had bled. His jaw set tightly after getting a good look at it, and he drew a skin from his bag. “We need to clean it,” he said. He opened the skin with his teeth, pouring a liquid on your wound that you quickly realized from the smell and awful sting alone was liquor, quite possibly ale. You hissed, tensing everywhere as your head fell back against the wall in pain. It ebbed in your hand, a burning and stinging sensation that made you want to chop the whole hand off and be done with it. You bit your lip hard, groaning in pain. You had tried jerking your hand back to you, but Kíli’s once delicate hold now gripped your wrist tightly to make sure he didn’t miss any spots.

“It has to be cleaned,” he explained, though you already knew that quite well. “You’re doing well, it’s alright.” His reassuring words startling you as you quickly met his gaze, a sense of uncertainty in your eyes. Perhaps he pitied you right now, you thought to yourself. He was being too nice, and you didn’t know how to respond to it. It seemed like another prank, another ruse. You broke the eye contact held between you, your pride getting the best of you as you only nodded. Eventually, the pain dulled down, and Kíli’s grip loosened, setting your hand down to retrieve some fresh gauze to wrap your wound.

“It’s not too deep,” he said. “But you won’t be able to make much use out of your hand for now.” You turned back to him, refusing to take your eyes away from him now as he wrapped you up. No, it wasn’t refusal, now that you thought about it. You simply couldn’t look away. You had become all too interested in the concentrated gaze he held, his hair falling in the front of his face. Without a thought behind it, you raised your other hand to his face, tucking away the loose hair behind his ear. He tensed at the contact, quick to look at you all wide-eyed like a deer caught at night. You couldn’t read his face, and soon realized just what you had done. Coming back to your senses, you cleared your throat, sitting up straighter.

“It is… Um, is it finished?” You asked. Kíli took a second longer to bring himself back, before he too cleared his throat.

“Yes, yes,” he said. “But be careful. Here.” His hands left your own, and you found yourself being disappointed by it, though you didn’t understand why. He handed you your food for the night, and you softly thanked him, being careful with your injury as you ate.

“He’ll be waking up soon,” Dwalin grunted, and you were reminded that you had an audience this whole time. “What’s the plan from here?”

“Gondor isn’t too far from here,” you spoke carefully, envisioning the route home in your mind. “But the jewels and prisoner must be returned to Erebor.”

“And so they shall,” Kíli nodded, now seated next to Dwalin, leaving his spot beside you. Again, disappointment crept into your mind from the gesture, but you still didn’t understand why you felt such a way.

“Aye, they will.” Dwalin agreed. “But traveling with a sniveling thief won’t be easy. I doubt he’ll be more than willing to come along, and I don’t want more dead weight for the journey back home.” He grunted disapprovingly, not liking the idea of traveling with Aevar. Not that you blamed him, though.

“As much as it doesn’t sound appealing, it’s what your king wanted us to do.” You said. “Gondor, if they even still want him, will want him from your kingdom more than my own hands.”

Kíli quirked an eyebrow in confusion, looking at Dwalin and then you. “What do you mean by ‘if’ they still want him?”

You sighed, finishing your meal quickly. “My orders were more vague than I told you; I’m not entirely sure what will happen to him once he’s brought to Minas Tirith. But regardless, we should follow along as we have. We should leave early tomorrow and make use of the light. I’ll take first watch.”

Kíli was still curious of your orders, but decided against discussing further. It was late, and everyone was tired from the journey. Sigfred let out a small sigh of relief after being relieved from his duty, and soon everyone was preparing for the night to sleep.

Night crept on, much like the thunderstorm that raged overhead, and you had been at watch for a few hours now, with everyone sleeping at the other end of the shack. You too had begun to start feeling tired, but the thunder clapping flooded your ears and kept you awake. It seems it managed to stir others at times too, for soon Aevar awoke, tied down and gagged. You rolled your eyes at the sight as he began groaning and sputtering muffled curses at you through the fabric stuffed in his mouth, quite enraged to be in his current state.

“Silence,” you ordered, keeping your voice low. “You have no one but yourself to blame. We’re taking you back to Erebor, where your punishment awaits.”

But Aevar was a fool, and a stubborn one at that. Managing to spit out the gag to your surprise, he then spat venom at you. “Do what you will, but as soon as you fall asleep I’ll unbind myself, slit your disgusting throats and be off with what’s mine. I stole them once and I’ll do it again.”

“Oh, don’t make me laugh,” you scoffed, glaring at him. “Give it up; you have no power here, nor anywhere else for that matter.” Your words were fueled by your distaste for his pitiful arrogance. “Did you really think you were so smart? So clever? You stole something when nobody was watching, and now act as if you’ve hung the stars themselves. Get a hold of yourself, Aevar. You’re nothing but a worthless cheat.”

“So says you, who bends every which way for the sake of a man you call King.” He said. “And I’m the one without worth? If I’m but dirt, then what does that make you?”

You didn’t answer at first, but your expression became stony as your free hand held the hilt of your dagger tightly. “It’ll make you nothing but a distant memory by the time we arrive in Erebor. Now be quiet if you know what’s good for you. It would be wise for you to keep your tongue once you’re there, unless you’d like for me to cut it out?”

“You don’t scare me,” he hissed. “You’re just a slave to your government. A pawn to your politics. And a whore to your-”

Quickly, you decided you had had enough of his mad ramblings, grasping the blade of your dagger to strike him in the head with its hilt, knocking him unconscious once more and right in tandem with an awful clapping of powerful thunder. He made another slimy grunt before going out cold, and upon seeing the slight cut on your hand from your grip, you dropped the blade, watching it clatter to the floor. You were lucky this cut was lighter than the one on your dominant hand, and even luckier that your dagger was dull. Only a few drops of blood escaped before you wrapped your other hand as best as you could, relieved that you could still use it despite your rashness leading you to now have two cut hands.

But you hadn’t been quiet enough, it seemed. From hearing the clatter, Kíli awoke, his eyes squinting in the dark to find you standing over Aevar’s body, which had sunk back into his original position. He stood up, making his way behind you as he peered over at the thief, who now lay unconscious. His gaze shifted between the dagger on the floor and the thief tied up. “What happened?”

“He woke up, just like Dwalin said,” you spoke plainly. “So I put him back to sleep.” Now starting to ebb away from your dark thoughts, you turned to look at the dwarf. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” he lied, his voice soft. “The thunder. It’s just loud tonight.”

You nodded, sitting back down against the wall like you had done earlier. “I see. It’ll probably continue on until the morning, too.”

Concern laced his brow as he studied your face, kneeling now in front of you. “Y/N…” Your name sounded so delicate on his tongue. “Is… Is everything alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” you said. “He just… He got under my skin, that's all.”

Now Kíli nodded, and repositioned himself to sit next to you. “I see.” A small pause as he attempted to cheer you up. “And here I was, thinking that was my job.”

You gave a weak chuckle, smiling softly as your head leaned back, hitting the wall. A comfortable silence fell over you two, or as silent as you could get with the commotion going on outside. “Listen, Kíli,” you whispered.

“Yes?” He looked at you, his eyes shining like stars in the dark sky. You didn’t understand why you thought of them like that, but you did.

“About earlier. I wanted to thank you for patching me up. I should’ve said it earlier but I let my pride get in the way. I’m sorry.” You spoke earnestly, wanting to wipe the guilt out of your memory by setting the record straight. “You’ve been true to your word since our last conversation, and here I am still finding myself not trusting you. It’s unfair. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he smiled, letting out a breathy laugh. “I’m nothing but trouble in your eyes, you have every right to keep looking over your shoulder. I’m just glad you didn’t suffer anything worse.”

You sighed, nodding with a hum of acknowledgment, but his words seemed to bite you on the inside. Another pause came, followed by your voice. “You’re not.. You’re not trouble.” You spoke carefully, not even entirely sure where you were going with this yourself. “I’m just not used to such antics, least of all from a prince.” He chuckled at this.

“Sometimes,” you looked away, not being able to look at him while you admitted the next bit. “I suppose sometimes, they could even be considered funny.”

You kept your gaze away, but saw in your peripheral that Kíli seemed shocked by your words. “Funny? Oh Mahal, how hard did he hit your head?”

You whipped your head back around at the accusation, finding it already annoying that it had taken so much pride to give the dwarf a compliment. “Oh please! If he had hit me any harder I may have said I was in love with you,” you said sarcastically, but it seemed that Kíli didn’t find it as funny. Or not at first, at least, as a gruff chuckle left him a bit delayed.

“Ah, I see.” He said. “Well, it’s good to see you’re not hurt in the head, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to insult me nearly as easily.” He gave a cheeky grin and you rolled your eyes, shrugging off his teasing. “I like seeing this side of you, Y/N.”

“What, injured?” You raised your wrapped hands, confused by his statement.

“Open,” he said, and continued to elaborate at the sight of your raised eyebrow. “When we first met, you were so cold and kept mostly to yourself. I’m glad the journey has brought us closer.”

“And when we first met, I could say the same of you,” you retorted. “Don’t think I didn’t notice your glares and sneers when I left each room.” Kíli shrunk a little at this, finding himself embarrassed.

“I was…” He explained. “I was rather rash in my thoughts, I’d say. But I know better now. I think I know you a little better now, too.” You scoffed at this, rolling your eyes.

“Oh really? And what have you found out, you little spy?” You taunted, raising a brow.

“That you’re just as strong as you are stubborn.” He began. “That no matter what happens, you always seem to be able to motivate yourself and get back up again. And that you take your job seriously. So seriously that you never seem to have time for a joke or a laugh. But when you do laugh, your eyes crinkle up like paper. It makes me wish to see your laugh more often.” He looked over at you, meeting your eyes now. Your face was flushed from hearing such words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to escape his stare. No, you found yourself lost in it. Two swirling pools of a deep brown that seemed to drown you. So deep, in fact, that you feared if you dove in, you might never come up for air. You found yourself speechless, not sure of what to say or how to continue such a conversation. Kíli continued it for you.

“You also have quite a temper,” he laughed. “You get wrinkles on your forehead, especially when you’re cross with me. And your fist stings just as hard as your glares. It reminds me sometimes of my mother; it seems you both think I’m reckless.”

Finally, your words returned to you as you cleared your throat to find them. “Well she’s right, you know,” you said. “You are reckless. A complete idiot driven by impulse. But you’re smart, nonetheless.” You sighed, pushing your pride aside for just a moment, long enough to admit your favorite things about him. “You’re incredibly skilled with a bow, I’d say you even rival elvish warriors.”

“You think so?” He asked, smiling. You nodded.

“But your strategies need more work. You’re smart with a blade, and you’re incredibly determined, but you’re still impulsive. You don’t look out for yourself enough.” You tried your best not to scold him, but still found yourself frustrated at the facts. “You try your best to look out for everyone else in the group, but do nothing for yourself. It’s exhausting. If you continue to do so, you’re only going to get yourself hurt.” You wanted to say more, but bit your tongue, lest you admit a tiny part of yourself cared about him.

“So the immovable Y/N truly does worry about me,” he teased, but his face dulled at the thought. “But you’re right. At least, that’s what I’ve been told many times by many people. I let my emotions get the best of me, it seems.”

You felt bad for chiding him, shifting yourself to face him more as you sighed. “It’s not entirely a bad thing, you know.” He looked back up at you, curious for you to say more. “Emotions are good, it means you have a heart, and that’s very rare to find these days in times of war. You have the heart of a warrior, Kíli.” His smile returned at your words, and he found himself falling deeper into your eyes this time.

“You know,” he spoke, his voice soft. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a soft spot for me.” You flushed again, your eyes going wide. “Either that, or you’ve gone delirious with infection. I think it’s poisoning your mind!” Your breath of relief (that you weren’t even aware you had let out) left him laughing at your disposition.

“Well if that were the case,” you grumbled. “It would be from your own lack of medical expertise.” Kíli smiled, rolling his own eyes, and you were beginning to find yourself very tired from the night, your eyelids growing heavy and your yawns coming in more frequently. The thunder outside now seemed so distant in your sleepy mind. How long had it been? Four, five hours? You stretched your exhausted body, trying to find comfort against the wall.

“I can take over,” he spoke, stirring you from your thoughts. “I don’t mind. You need the rest, anyways.” You shook your head no, stubborn as you were.

“I’m fine,” you said.

“You’re tired,” he said. “Just rest. I’m quite awake now, don’t worry. I can stand watch.”

You sighed, not wanting to bicker. “Fine, but only for an hour. Not a moment longer, wake me up once it’s over.” You groaned, resting your head against the wall to sleep, not bothering to move from your spot, still intent on watching later as you shut your eyes.

Kíli huffed at your stubbornness. “Y/N, here.” You felt his hand come across your face, guiding your head into his lap. Your eyes shot open for a second, startled at the gesture.

“What… What are you-” you tried to speak, but were interrupted.

“Shh, rest now,” he said. “I don’t want you to have a stiff neck for the journey back. Unless you’d rather take the floor?”

You said nothing in response, not having the energy to fight or the courage to taunt him back. A small sigh left your lips and you closed your eyes again, drifting off to sleep.

The next few weeks seemed to fly by. You all wasted no time in hurrying back to Erebor, though the journey itself would take another month and a half. Your days were filled with hiking the forests, hills, and mountains as the sun rose and set around you all constantly. But despite the fast progress you had been making, the journey was far from quiet. Aevar made sure of that, constantly whining and groveling only to spit insults whenever someone wasn’t giving him the attention he so desperately sought. You had all realized early on that rendering him unconscious never solved the problem like you had hoped it would. So instead, you had chained him up, tying his hands together with a long rope you could pull on to ensure he followed. It was mostly Dwalin’s job to do this, being one of the more physically strong ones. Sigfred had been in charge a few times in the past, but quickly found he didn’t have half the stubborn determination that Dwalin did.

Kíli had been put on as the leader of the pack lately, often scouting ahead and helping ensure the road you all traveled was safe and swift. He seemed to have a new energy about him lately too, but you chalked up his eagerness as just wanting to be home soon. You too were ready to return to Erebor already, the journey having set a new ache in your bones that you wished a decent bed would soothe. But you’d be lying if you said you also didn’t share a newfound energy. And it wasn’t because your hands were healing up quickly, either.

Ever since that first night with Aevar, you had found Kíli invading your mind much more than you deemed necessary. You now watched him closely, catching yourself studying him like a prey does of a hunter, though you knew in your heart that he was no such thing. But still, you found yourself strangely timid around him now. His smiles slowly became contagious, his laughs leaving you flustered now. You had no clue what to make of it, and silently cursed yourself all the while. You didn’t want to address the fact that you were finding yourself more and more drawn to him, and had silently chosen not to address any of these feelings until you reached Erebor’s mountain gates.

But it was on days like this that you were finding it harder and harder to do such a thing, as Kíli seemed to always want to be at your side whenever there was a break to do so. Not that you had any courage to deny him, though. A secret part of you enjoyed the way his face seemed to light up during your conversations, a stark contrast to how you two had originally gotten off upon meeting each other.

The night was young, and you had all just reached the dense and dark forest of Mirkwood, setting up camp quickly. It was better to go through Mirkwood during the day, for it was so dark at night that you couldn’t even see your hand if you waved it in front of your own face. Sigfred had gotten the fire started, with Dwalin taking first watch, tying Aevar to a tree, much to the thief’s dismay. It was your turn to hunt tonight’s dinner, as your rations were all running low, and so you set out just a little ways away from your campsite.

Determined, you snuck around the fields surrounding the forest until you found a small river. With eager eyes, you stepped into the shallow end of the waters, drawing your daggers as you let the moonlight glimmer off the stream, waiting eagerly to see the shimmer of fish scales. Though it was a lot of waiting, you were eager and patient for the reward of fresh fish. One by one, you managed to stab each fish with great accuracy, only gathering enough to eat for tonight; any leftovers would probably spoil during the remainder of the journey. Waiting just a little longer to catch one last fish, your focus was stirred by footsteps approaching you. You looked up, keeping your dagger taught in your hand, until you realized it was just Kíli who stood at the top of the riverbank, peering down at you. You sighed, relieved it was just him.

“You know, for a dwarf,” you chuckled. “You’re quite the master of stealth. It’s starting to scare me how quiet you can walk.” He smiled, running a hand through his hair.

“Apologies, I meant not to startle you. I actually came to offer aid; there’s not much to do at camp.” His hands drifted to his bow, holding it up for you to see. You nodded in acknowledgement.

“I appreciate it, but I’m almost done. You can help me carry these back though, if you’d like,” you gestured to the fish, and he nodded with a delighted hum, climbing down to the edge of the river’s shores to get a closer look after putting his bow away.

“A fine dinner, I’m sure,” he grinned. “Caught by an even finer hunter, no doubt.” You flushed at his words, fiddling with your dagger to avoid looking nervous. His words were like honey, and if you weren’t careful, you’d find yourself stuck in their sweetness. A part of you wanted to talk about your newfound feelings, though this was all foreign territory to you. You didn’t even know where to start.

“You’re too kind,” was all you could mutter out before hunching back down into the waters to search for the glimmer of fish again. You needed a distraction, something to pull you out of the enchanting reverie of Kíli Durin, and he could sense this, growing a little concerned.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, seating himself next to your pile of caught fish, all of good size for tonight’s dinner. You dare not look back at him, feigning ignorance.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” You spoke absentmindedly, trying harder to focus on your hunting. And soon, you saw another shimmer of scales heading right your way.

“It feels like you’ve grown a little distant, ever since that night we caught Aevar,” he said, causing you to slip up and narrowly miss the fish. You huffed quietly as you watched it dart away with frantic speed. It seems there was no avoiding this, no matter how hard you wanted to. You stood straight again, looking at him nervously.

“What do you mean?” You asked, hoping it was enough to make up an excuse for. What you hadn’t expected was to see Kíli’s expression so worried, almost afraid. But not the fear one has in danger, no. It seemed like an emotional fear, an anxiety over the anticipation of your conversation. And it seemed you shared it, too.

He chose his next words carefully. “You talk less, at least when you’re around me. You no longer seem to enjoy being near me once we make camp. I just… Is it something I did? Did I make you uncomfortable in some way?” His eyes seemed to hold a slight hurt in them, and it broke you in two to see him in such a way.

You mentally cursed yourself, not realizing in your own emotional troubles that you had also brought Kíli some pain. You quickly shook your head, denying his questions. “No! No, I promise that isn’t it,” you said. But you didn’t know where to go from there, your words catching in your throat. Kíli stepped forward, his boots almost submerging in the river’s waters.

“Then what is it, Y/N?” His voice always spoke your name so beautifully, so delicately, and you wanted to tell him that, but now wasn’t the time. You weren’t even sure if you could bring yourself to tell him. You yourself didn’t even fully understand how you felt towards him, and it seemed to only bring frustration to you, especially right now when all you wanted to do was shout about how you couldn’t erase his smile from your mind.

“I…” you tripped over your own thoughts, finding yourself frustrated to tears that you couldn’t even say such a simple thing. But then again, it wasn’t simple. Not to you, at least. “You don’t bring me discomfort,” you reassured. “I just… There’s so much in my mind right now, and I have no idea how to tell you about any of it.”

Kíli took a step further, now in the waters with you as he approached, his hands reaching out for your own. Gingerly, you took them, drawing a breath. His gaze was so gentle, so patient. “Is there anything I can do to help ease your mind?” he offered, and you frowned, unsure of what would even help at this moment.

“I don’t know,” you said. “I’m not even sure I know what to make of these thoughts for myself, Kíli.”

“Then tell me what ails you,” he said. “And I will do my best to help.”

You exhaled, nodding as you collected your thoughts. “It…” you started nervously. “It’s so strange, the way I feel about you. At first, I thought you must have hated me. Why else were you always out to get me with your pranks and your jests? Or your mocking, flirting comments? But as soon as I addressed it, you were so quick to stop…” You looked back at him, and he nodded, begging you to continue. Encouraged, you took a breath.

“And then that night, the night we captured Aevar Godfred, and you patched up my hand… You looked so beautiful then. Your kindness made me feel so many different things, so many things that I haven’t felt in quite some time, if at all. And your words, oh your words!” You chuckled, both frustrated and amused at your current plight. “Every time you speak such beautiful words to me, it’s like reading poetry. But even ink on paper cannot compare to the things you speak of sometimes. And your smile is like starlight; it makes the sun hide away, knowing it cannot shine half as bright. You make me feel so many different things that I cannot begin to explain or understand, Kíli. And it hurts me to see you hurt because of my struggling mind. But I don’t know what to call these things I feel towards you, I really don’t.”

You had gone from smiling to now sad again, realizing that despite getting all of these feelings off of your chest, you still didn’t understand what they meant. Kíli opened his mouth to speak, his eyes glittering again as the stars above reflected in them, but you cut him off short. “But I can’t keep avoiding you anymore, not if it hurts you like this. But I also can’t bear to part from you. My heart, it aches for your smile, for your voice, it aches for you.” You were starting to realize just what your words and feelings met, but you couldn’t bring yourself to admit you might be in love with him until you heard him answer you.

“Oh, amrâlimê,” he smiled, tucking some wisps of your hair back behind your ear. His voice was so delicate as he spoke, and your eyes widened at the use of his native tongue. You had no idea what he had said, and wanted to ask, but knew it wasn’t the time. Not now, at least, when you awaited his answer. Your eyes searched his, anxious and confused at his smile as you awaited his answer. “Only you can be the one to say what this feeling is, but I can finally admit in confidence that I too feel the same.” He brought your hands to his lips, kissing them gently, despite them smelling of fish.

“You’ve set my heart on fire,” he said. “And no matter how you try to put it out, there will always still be at least one ember burning brightly, smoking only for you. My heart burns for you, amrâlimê. I burn for you.”

“You know your heart so well,” you smiled, feeling immensely happy at his words. “But how can you know for sure that it is I who it belongs to?”

He stepped forward, closing the gap between you two even moreso, his left hand coming to rest on your cheek, and you leaned into his touch as he wiped a runaway tear away. “You might not like this, but I’ve known it ever since I hid your clothes that day in the river.” You laughed, finding yourself amused by this.

“Really?” You chuckled, poking fun. “Making me miserable made you fall for me?”

He grinned, laughing. “I was never doing it to make fun. Well, maybe a little. But every comment, every joke, every prank, that was my way of telling you I liked you, though I’m a little embarrassed that they were interpreted so wrongly.”

“Every comment?” You mused. “Even the ones about wanting to see me-”

“Yes, but that’s not the point right now,” he cut you off, embarrassed. “Those words are for a different mood entirely, not right now. But yes… They were all true.” He muttered the last sentence, avoiding your eyes as you laughed. It was all falling into place in your mind. How could you have been so stupid, so blind by your determination towards the mission?

“Kíli…” you breathed, and his eyes met yours once more as you looked at him nervously. “Can I kiss you?”

He smiled, all too happy at the question. “Of course, amrâlimê. Always, now and forever.”

And slowly, as your eyes darted between his own and his lips, you leaned in, meeting his lips in a soft and light kiss. The act itself was quite foreign to you, but it felt right. Gingerly, your hand went up to his face, and his other hand moved up to gently place itself over your hair as your lips danced together in a beautiful song sung by the words you two had just exchanged. His lips were slightly worn and rough from the journey, but you didn’t care as you wrapped your injured hand around the back of his neck for support as you leaned in. It was such a lovely thing between you, a token of your mutual feelings for one another, that you thought you could kiss him like this forever. But all too soon, you pulled away at the sound of much heavier footsteps, your senses going on alert. Kíli did too, taking a step back to look behind him.

“What’s going on down there?” It was Dwalin, and he sounded quite annoyed. “You two have taken so long we thought you drowned.”

Kíli laughed and you breathed a sigh of relief that it hadn’t been some stranger. “I can assure you, we didn’t drown!” He called back, causing you to look away in embarrassment, eagerly grabbing the fish.

“Well if you don’t hurry back, then I’ll make sure it happens myself!” Dwalin warned, casting a disappointed glare before finally leaving the riverbank. You sighed again, this time out of anxiety. But the grin of a madman that lied on Kíli’s face was more than enough to raise your spirits again.

“Amrâlimê,” he said, walking up to you as he grabbed the remainder of the fish from your hunt. “I love you. And I understand if you need more time to think upon it, but I want you to know how I feel. I’ve never been more sure of anything. When we’re back home, I want to show you just what you mean to me, if that’s alright with you.”

You drew a breath, finding yourself speechless at his declaration of love. Thinking for a moment and silently thankful he would give you time to think, you nodded with an eager smile. “Then I’ll be waiting for that day, when it comes.”

Finally, after two months since capturing Aevar, your group had completed the long journey back to the mountain halls of Erebor. It all seemed so long ago from when you had all first set off on this trek, parts of it fading off into distant memory.

You all had been welcomed warmly by Balin and Thorin, and upon the sight both Kíli and Dwalin seemed overjoyed to be back home to their lives and their friends and their families. You and Sigfred were both glad that the journey was now over, but it seemed as though the both of you felt out of place within the stone caverns. After all, you had only come as aid; this wasn’t your home. Though home, for the both of you, seemed so far away. A selfish part of you would’ve preferred to stay here and not worry about the troubles of Gondor, but you could tell Sigfred was itching to return to his homelands in the Wilderland.

Hours later, you were all summoned to a meeting with Thorin, most likely to discuss your success, your rewards, and the new objectives surrounding Aevar Godfred. You weren’t too excited about having to travel back home with him; it was safe to say you had barely tolerated the journey thus far with the cowardly thief. But for tonight, you could relax. After all, there was to be a banquet held in your group’s honor, a celebration of the return of the royal jewels (with tighter security, of course).

Slowly, you came into a side room of one of Erebor’s many halls, finding yourself in a sort of gathering area, a war room of sorts. A strong stone table lined the middle of the room, and you could see Kíli already seated at the end of it. Everyone else had yet to arrive, and you found yourself growing nervous at being alone in the room with the prince. Butterflies tickled inside you as you made your way closer to him, and his eyes lit up upon seeing you. Gods, those deep brown eyes that had you hooked since you first saw them. Only now instead of rivalry and arrogance, love lay behind them.

“Amrâlimê, there you are.” He smiled, standing out of his seat to pull your own chair out for you. Taking your place next to him, you returned the smile as you sat down. “Will you be joining me at the banquet tonight?”

“The banquet?” You said. “I’d like to, yes. But I’m not sure I have anything to wear for such an occasion.”

“Nonsense, you’re perfect the way you are,” he smiled, taking your hand in his as he placed a gentle kiss on it. You couldn’t bite back the smile that crept onto your face again.

“Listen, I’ve been meaning to tell you that-” And just before you could tell the prince how you truly felt, in walked the rest of your party.

“My apologies for my lateness,” Thorin said, followed closely behind by Dwalin and Balin as he sat at the head of the table. Balin, carrying four large pouches, stood beside him. Dwalin sat down just as Sigfred entered, and soon the entire party was seated. “Now, onto business.”

The meeting droned on for about an hour or two, as it began with you all recounting your journey to the King Under the Mountain. You told him all about the journey of capturing Aevar, who you were told was locked away in the dungeons. The whole time, Thorin was silent, his stare unreadable. Finally, after finishing your recollection, he nodded to Balin, who gave each of you one of the heavy pouches. Peeking inside, your eyes widened at the glittering jewels which lay inside. Thorin was no cheat when it came to rewards; this was more than you had ever expected!

“And now to our next ordeal,” he said, and you returned your gaze to the king. “We sent word to Gondor shortly after you left, asking what we were to do with the prisoner. They still request he return with Y/N to Gondor, but not before they send a caravan to aid in the journey back. We expect them to arrive within the next few days.”

You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding, both relieved and upset about the opportunity to return home. Though you missed the White City, you knew that it also meant parting from Kíli, something you weren’t ready to do just yet.

“Y/N, we’ve arranged a room for you to stay here for the time being until the caravan arrives.” Thorin said. You nodded in respect.

“Thank you,” you said. It was all you could let out.

“As for you, Sigfred,” the king turned to the tall man, who seemed much uncomfortable in the stone chair, though he tried his best not to show it. “It seems this is where your service ends. On behalf of Erebor, we thank you. You are welcome anytime within our gates.”

The two men shared a nod of respect, and soon the king stood tall. Or as tall as one could when he was 5’2”.

“I shan’t keep you all any longer. This group is now dismissed, but leave not before treating yourselves to tonight’s banquet, as a token of our thanks to you.” And with a strong nod, he dismissed himself, leaving the room with Balin trailing behind. Sigfred was the next to leave, followed by Dwalin shortly after. You rose from your seat, about to leave when a hand took yours.

It was Kíli. “Y/N, you had something to say earlier, before everyone came in?” He stepped closer towards you, and you had to push away the sad thoughts as best as you could. You didn’t want to risk crying in front of him again.

“Ah, right,” you said, chewing your cheek to keep your voice from breaking. “I’ll be leaving soon, it seems.”

He nodded, sensing your sadness. He shared it. “Yes, it seems so.”

“But I…” you swallowed. “I don’t think I’m ready to go, Kíli.”

He stepped forward again, his hand cupping your cheek. “What is it, my love? What troubles you?” His voice was so soft, and you couldn’t help the tears that slipped past your eye.

“I love you, Kíli,” you breathed. “And I feel so selfish because it’s taken me so long to figure it out and yet I still have to leave.” Tears fell from your eyes as you looked down at the man who had stolen your heart. But he only smiled at you. A small smile, one that hid sadness with hope.

“Amrâlimê,” he spoke. “There is no one else who could occupy my heart the way that you have, and even distance couldn’t change that.” Both of his hands now clasped themselves around yours as he brought them to his heart. “I am yours, Y/N.”

Desperately, you leaned in with the need to feel his lips on yours, and he was much obliged to provide such a thing for you. “Can we just…” you breathed. “For tonight, can we pretend that I’ll stay? Please? Just for tonight.”

He gently placed a kiss on your lips, a smile gracing his features. “As you wish. Tonight, I won’t leave your side. I am yours for as long as you want me.”

The banquet raged on all throughout the night as the flames of the torches and lanterns burned brightly within Erebor. The kingdom was joyous and generous in their celebrations, it seemed, as you witnessed several arrays of meats, meads, and cheeses served on long tables full of drunken dwarves. You relished each bite that came your way, knowing you hadn’t been treated to a feast like this for a while since your journey. Cheers and laughter rang loudly in tandem with the music, of which Kíli was helping to supply. For as long as you had gotten to know him, you found yourself still surprised by him as he wielded a fiddle before you, his smile so wide his eyes squinted tightly when he did. Even the ever-grumpy Dwalin found himself strumming the viol in the throng of musicians that bordered the ballroom!

Which of course, leads us to discuss the ballroom. A huge space in the middle of the banquet’s hall, dwarves and dwarrowdams alike danced like fire lay at their feet, their movements and jumps in accordance with the strong beat of the music that echoed off of the bedrock walls of Erebor. Even Sigfred, who hadn’t shown any hint of a smile on your journey, was cheering wildly as he dragged you onto the dancefloor with him, his tall stature helping to make space for the two of you to dance in the crowd. It was a wonderful night, and you had quite forgotten your troubles of hours earlier.

Soon, you felt arms wrap around your waist, and you turned just in time for Kíli to give you a cheeky wink and whisk you off away from Sigfred in a dance of your own, your bodies syncing up with the rhythm as laughter kept your bodies moving to the beat. Your hands never left his as he jumped about, his hair creating a mess all over his face as his smile grew a slight sheen of sweat from his abundance of movements. Though you were one to talk, as you were sure you were quite sweaty yourself from all the movements you had been putting your body through on the dance floor.

Soon, the previous song ended, and you dragged Kíli off of the floor and back towards the end of the hall where the food and drink lay, your body desperately needing water. Quickly, you found a pitcher, bringing it to your lips.

“My, you’re so quick on your feet! I didn’t take you for a dancer, my love,” he grinned, taking the pitcher from you as he stole a gulp for himself. Gods, you still found yourself getting giddy every time he called you his love.

“And I didn’t take you for a musician,” you said. “You surprised me!”

He smirked, winking at you. “Well, I can guarantee there’s plenty more where that came from.”

You took back the pitcher, raising a brow in curiosity. “Oh? Like what?”

He offered his hand, leaning in closer, a newfound mischievous glint in his eye. “I can show you, but first, why don’t we find somewhere a little more private?” Your heart skipped a beat at his words, knowing their hidden meaning as you set the pitcher down and took his hand, eager to follow with a grin.

He led you through the twists and turns of the stone-carved halls until he eventually brought you through a pair of deep oaken doors to what looked like a beautifully carved bedroom. The stone bed that lay in the center of the room was wide and exquisite, draped with fabric that formed a canopy above the soft mattress below. Shields decorated the walls, along with Kíli’s sword and bow hung on a wall to the left. A fire lay glowing in the fireplace to the right, which glittered with gems that were embedded in the mantelpiece. Another door lay to the right, one that you figured led to the bathroom. This must have been his own bedroom.

He guided you with him as he sat at the foot of the bed, with you taking your seat next to him. “I tried to make it more comfortable, wondering if you’d ever join me here.” He said, and you smiled, still tipsy from the ale as you kissed his cheek.

“It’s gorgeous in here, Kíli. They tell no lies about dwarven hospitality.” You sighed, letting your back hit the mattress until you sat up quickly. Kíli raised a brow.

“What’s wrong?” He said.

“It seems I’m quite winded from dancing,” you said, feeling the back of your shirt. “I’m in need of a proper wash.” You sighed to yourself, amused by how hard you had been going during the party. Kíli took this as an opportunity to feel his own tunic, laughing at his own sweat.

“You’re not the only one, then.” He said. “If you’d like, I can draw you a bath.”

You raised a brow. “You won’t wash up?”

“After you, amrâlimê,” he smiled, planting a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll let you have the hot water first.” You leaned into his touch, smiling. Ever the gentleman, he was, as he got up from where he was seated to go run the bath. But with some new courage, you stood up to follow him, gently taking his arm.

“Or,” you said slowly, stepping closer over the shorter man.

“Or?” He questioned, stepping closer and closing the gap between you two as a mischievous glint sparked in his eyes. “Or what?”

“Or maybe,” you continued. “We could share the hot water? Together?”

“Together?” He said a bit too eagerly, a cough escaping him as he tried to hide his reaction. You smiled at this. “Together, together! Amrâlimê, I’d love to.” He couldn’t hide his grin, too excited about the idea.

“Good,” you said. “So why don’t you draw the bath and I’ll join you in a few minutes?” He shook his head all too eagerly, like a puppy dog when you mention the words “treats”. Quickly, he left you to prepare the bath, and soon you realized just how fast your heart was beating. Where had this sudden boldness come from? You chalked it up to the energy of the party mixing with this ale in your system; yes, that had to be it.

Soon, after ridding yourself of your party clothes (a.k.a. the clothes you had been traveling in for the past few months) and finding a towel to cover up with, you gently knocked on the door to the washroom, your heart hammering in your chest. You heard a distant hum from Kíli on the other side, and took it as your sign to enter.

Opening the door to the dimly lit room, you smiled at the sight of so many candles lit, their flames casting dancing shadows on the walls. A waft of warm, steamy air hit your face as you entered, a relaxing sigh drawing from your lungs at the scent of the woodsy oils he must have used for the water. It was at the end of the room where Kíli sat in the tub, suds covering him as the ends of his hair were damp, a soft smile on his face as his eyes welcomed you in. You felt all warm inside, he made you feel so safe.

Which was good for your nerves, as was the dim lighting, as you crept closer to the tub until you were now standing in front of him. He looked at you with admiration in his eyes as he offered his hands to ease you into the tub. Gently, you took them, letting the towel fall to the floor and trying so hard to meet his gaze as you heard a small gasp leave his lips. Slowly, you crept into the tub, and he guided you to sit in front of him, leaning your back against his chest as he peppered your shoulder with kisses and soothing rubs.

“Amrâlimê,” he whispered in between kisses. “You’re beautiful…”

“Really?” You asked, a part of yourself feeling unsure as to believe him.

“Even the greatest masters of stone in Erebor could not carve a figure as divine as yours,” he said, and you felt your face heat up. You couldn’t help the smile that slipped into your face. “Mahal took great care when he thought of you, my darling.”

“Let me see you,” you said, now eagerly wanting to gaze upon your newfound love. You turned your head to look at him, to which he chuckled as he sat up straighter in the warm waters of the tub. You twisted yourself now to face him, your eyes transfixed on his own figure, which was worn and weathered with hair and scars of years past. His body was history itself, like a book you so desperately wanted to read. Carefully, you hovered your hand over his chest before letting it land right over his heart. His heartbeat was steady; so calm, so soothing. You could fall asleep listening to it.

“It beats for you, amrâlimê,” he said, bringing your gaze back up to his face. “Only you.”

You leaned closer, dangerously closer, as your other hand went up to cup his cheek. Your noses touched from how close you two had gotten, and you thought that you wouldn’t be able to breathe unless he exhaled. Your eyes flitted to his lips for a split second, but the young prince keenly caught it. “Show me,” you said, and with those words you began a wild night for yourself.

Kíli closed the gap between you two, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss that was slow and full of young love. His hands roamed from your face to your shoulders until they found their places in the curve of your hips, holding you closer to him. In an effort to be more comfortable, you sat between his outstretched legs, sitting back on your knees in the sudsy water. He smiled into the kiss, a culmination of all his feelings for you taking over as your hands reached his hair, tugging lightly. That was all the encouragement he needed.

Pulling you closer, the kiss slowly became more intense, filled with more passion and even more pent up urges. His thumbs carved their prints in your hips, and you let out a small whine from the feeling. Quickly, he pulled back, chest heaving from lack of breath as concern laced his brow. “Is everything alright? Did I hurt you?” His eyes darted across your features as you flushed in the dim room.

“Quite the opposite, I promise.” You said. “Do it again.” And with a crazed smile, he dove back into your lips.

Soon his tongue made a quick swipe between your lips, and you let him in with open arms and a drawn out whine as he deepened the kiss between you, your tongues dancing with each other as you found yourself hooked on his taste. You wanted more of it, and desperately.

Wanting to change it up, you moved your kisses to his jaw, trailing down lower and lower until you found your perfect battlefield: the little dip between his neck and his shoulder. With eager intensity, you bit down softly, tracing little kisses and bites wherever you could, resulting in a breathy groan leaving his lips. “Y/N…” his voice whined, needy and full of want, and you couldn’t help but smirk as you came back up.

“Yes?” You feigned innocence, wrapping your arms around his neck as you looked down at your love, and he sat up, his grip on your hips tightening a little as he found his opportunity to attack your own neck.

You gasped as the touch, a small sigh leaving your lips as he placed love bite after love bite until he found the one spot that left you weak. “Fuck,” you breathed out a moan and you felt him smile against your skin. “I need you, Kíli. Please.”

“Begging already?” He smiled. “Amrâlimê, we only just started. Now relax, my love. I’ve barely begun.”

A small huff left your lips as his own returned to your neck, peppering in a few more bites that would later develop into beautiful bruises before trailing down to your breasts. His touch as delicate as his tongue darted out to lick a stripe over your nipple before taking it into his mouth, rolling his tongue around the swell of it as his eyes never left yours. Your breath hitched, and you felt yourself growing more and more needy, rubbing your legs together for some sort of friction as the warm water was beginning to feel much, much hotter. Your hands dug into his hair, tugging and twirling as his tongue danced shapes over the swell of your breast, biting softly. A moan escaped your lips in surprise.

His hands now moved from your hips to your inner thighs, gently pushing them apart as you helped him spread your legs. His calloused fingers, which were softened by the water, traced circles on the inner part of your thighs, slowly inching their way closer and closer to your heated core. “Come now, Y/N,” he purred, pressing a kiss to your breast before shifting to give the other one some attention. “You can get louder, can’t you?”

With a shaky breath, you nodded, and he smiled in return, his fingers ghosting along your slit until he gently pressed one further, allowing it to slide into you with ease. You couldn’t help the delicious groan that left your lips as you finally began to feel some sort of stimulation down there that you desperately needed, your hips rocking to swallow his finger up to the very knuckle. You wanted more, and he was more than happy to oblige, dipping a second finger into you as his thumb found your clit, delicately tracing shapes onto it. You clenched around his fingers as they slid in and out of you with curved expertise.

“That feels so good,” you mewled, your voice carrying out as a whine, and you were rewarded with a kiss as Kíli brought his lips to yours. His fingers slowly began to quicken their pace, his thumb never leaving your most sensitive bundle of nerves as his lips enveloped yours in a sloppy kiss. You broke away, needing to breathe as soft moans and pants left your lips. “Faster, please Kíli.”

“As you wish, my love,” he smiled, placing a kiss on your jawline as his fingers now curled inside your tight walls, the water beneath you sloshing with his rapid movements as his thumb continued its unrelenting attack on your clit. “I only exist to please you. That’s all I want to do right now.” You could feel yourself building up inside, the tension pulling at every nerve in your body as you could sense you were almost ready to snap. You looked down at him with hungry eyes, now seeing that he too was quite aroused, his erection poking out of the waters as he worked his magic on you. But just as you were about to bring it up, you felt yourself snap, a string of broken moans and whines leaving your lips as your vision blurred for a split second and you felt yourself come completely undone. But Kíli didn’t stop there, no. He continued his torture, keeping up his pace to allow you to ride out your high until he slowly came to a stop, pulling his fingers out of you.

You fell forward onto him and his strong arms caught you, tucking away some of the hair that had fallen in your face. He looked at you again with awe, drawing you in for a chaste kiss. “You look so beautiful when you’re wrapped around my fingers,” he said, a smile on his lips. But you weren’t done, no. You brought him in for a kiss of your own, a needy groan resounding in his throat as your fingers delicately went down to wrap themselves around his length. He shuddered at the touch, and that one act of his was more than enough to make you ready for another round of fun.

Gently, you ran your hand up and down the length of his shaft, bringing your thumb up to rub small circles over his slit, which was eagerly leaking pre-cum in your hand. “Please, amrâlimê, I can’t handle your teasing,” he whined.

“Begging already, are we?” You whispered in a mocking tone, mimicking his words from earlier as you lowered your face to his solid member, placing a kiss on his swollen tip. His breathing hitched, his eyes clouded with want. “But I thought we were only getting started?” His hips raised out of the water to give you better access as you placed teasing kisses along the length of him, your tongue licking a stripe that led you back to his tip until you took him into your mouth. He moaned loudly at the touch, his hips bucking ever-so-noticeably, and you felt so powerful in this moment. Slowly, you lowered your head along his length, wanting to see just how much of him you could take into him before you swallowed around him, causing him to curse.

“A-amrâlimê,” he stuttered. “Please.” His voice was so breathy, so whiny. You loved it.

Slowly, you began bobbing your head along his shaft, your hands busy with keeping your body from falling over him as your hair fell in your face. Ever the gentleman he was, he was quick to tuck your hair back and grasp it in his fist, careful not to force your head despite how much he wanted to feel you gag on him. His hips bucked again as you kept getting faster and faster, wanting to bring him to completion before he quickly grabbed your throat, forcing you to meet his face as he brought you in a forced kiss.

You pulled away to look at him as his chest rose and fell dramatically, breath leaving his body in his aroused state. “Did you not want me to-” You spoke in a confused lilt, but he cut you off.

“No, not before I feel you again,” he breathed. “I’m already jealous that I didn’t get to taste you first, my love.” You smiled, chuckling as you brought his hands to your hips again, letting him guide you over his length. There you hovered, bringing him in for a kiss in the hopes it would distract you from any pain that was soon to come.

“Kíli, I love you,” you breathed in between kisses. “I’ve never wanted anyone to touch me as badly as I do now with you.” His tip rubbed against your core, and you let out a small whine. “Please, I need to feel you inside me already.”

“Oh Mahal…” That was all the motivation he needed, it seemed, for soon he sunk you quickly onto his length, splashing some water around you as you cried out at the delicious feeling of him stretching you out, his length already reaching places you had yet to even discover about yourself. You let out a string of curses, all moans, as you clenched around him in delicious pleasure. Gods, he felt amazing. You rolled your hips over him, craving some more of that delicious friction you had felt earlier, and you felt him shudder again. Gods, it turned you on to see his eyes glazed over like that, looking at you with such want and love that you wanted to consume him.

“Amrâlimê, let me show you just how much I feel for you,” he said. “Let me take care of you.” Slowly, he rolled his hips in tandem with your own, slipping in and out of you with ease as his thumb quickly found purchase over your clit again, rubbing slowly in tandem with his thrusts. The water around you sloshed and splashed with your movements, but that was the least of your cares as pleasure rocked through you, tearing you piece by piece until you were nothing but putty to be kneaded by the man you loved, who thrusted into you with increased pace with each movement. He was hitting every spot inside you, filling you so deliciously until he eventually found your sweet spot inside, causing a moan to rip from your lungs.

“Fuck, Kïli,” you said, your mind melting and only thinking of the pleasure he was bringing you as his own moans rang in your ears. “Right there, please. Don’t stop!” You felt that same pressure building up in you, the tension pushing and pulling as you looked at Kíli with lust-filled eyes. His own eyes met your gaze as he planted more kisses on and between your breasts, biting and pinching at the skin as he maintained his pace, but he too was beginning to feel the tension you had so intensely started earlier.

With shared moans that echoed and bounced off of the stone walls, you found yourself coming undone around Kíli, pleasure taking over as he helped you once again ride out your second orgasm. Your skin felt like it was going numb while being on fire all at once, and you relished every moment of it with ragged breathing. With a few more thrusts, Kíli too came, pulling out of you just in time to avoid any unprecedented consequences as his back hit the walls of the tub, his breathing uneven as he gently pulled you into him, kissing all over your face which held a small sheen of sweat from both the party and your latest festivities.

“I’ve wanted this for a while now,” he said, his voice soft as he kissed your forehead. “It seems as though all my thoughts of you are improper as of late.” You chuckled, leaning into his touch.

“Well then we’ll have to spend more time exploring those thoughts, now won’t we?” You teased, and a fired up groan sprang from Kíli’s lips as he brought you into another kiss.

“I’d love nothing more, amrâlimê.”

And for a while, you two stayed like this, with not a care in the world of whatever was going on in it. For now, you could focus on nothing other than the intermingling of your two heartbeats. Time seemed to slow down for you two as the candlelight danced on the walls, and you were content. Because in this moment, nothing else mattered except for you and your son of Durin. Not the fact that soon you would have to leave Erebor entirely, nor the fact that there were probably some people searching for you two at the banquet. All that mattered right here, right now, was how much you were in love with this man and wanted to be with him. Nothing else.

“Come on,” your love said. “Now we really need to wash up.”