#royce my beloved

[h0rr0rsaxo]

Okay so here is a request...this is not angsty I swear. But I wanna experiment with Anni and Royce lmao....poor dude-

Lets say that Royce walks into a bar and sits down about to order a drink, but he sits down next to someone and notices certain familiar features that this person possesses. It takes a second but it suddenly clicks and he realizes that this chick is Anni, who just earlier beat up his ex, Amber. I think that he'd maybe stare for a minute and Anni would just be halfway falling asleep and she'd end up leaning towards him, about to fall asleep on his shoulder before she practically jumps awake and almost falls off her stool. Royce is kinda like..."dude...you good?" and Anni just downs a drink and shrugs it off and maybe they start talking from there, maybe about their jobs, about how Anni beat the shit out of Amber, or maybe just shit talking Amber, because that's always fun. Its honestly just all up to you, it can be platonic or romantic and feel free to add or change anything, as always!

[ whiskey midnights. || simp party. ]

Warnings: Angst, if you squint.

Tags: @insane-horror-movie-addict

A/N: This is cute! They bonded omg-

Word count: 1,795

The heavy scent of cigarettes and cigars ate at Royce's nose, his chest refusing to breathe until he drank more. But what made him a bit more uneasy were the people both going in and out. Most of them were already drunk by this time of ten o'clock, and a lot of them gave off a questionable aura. They seemed the more happy type than anything and just wanted to have a good time. He didn't want to be so quick to judge— he didn't have any room to judge, he was ordering more food than drinks— solemnly chomping away at his burger as Lyon looked at him with amused eyes.

"You know," Lyon started, drying a pristine shot-glass with a soft-cloth, "You're the only guy I know who walks in here single, and leaves single. I'd assume by now that you'd get over Amber and just get with someone."

"Shut the fuck up." Royce's finger tapped irritably against the hardwood of the bar. His other hand sat beneath his chin as an irritated scowl graced his features, before stuffing his burger into his mouth. Everything around him spun, pulsed, vibrated, and tunneled. He felt sick to his stomach seeing all the couples making out, but the feeling was long passed when his entire body went numb and he angrily stared off into space.

"Every weekend you stumble into my bar, drink all my whiskey, eat all the food I have on the menu, and then start crying on the table. This is just sad, Royce. You need to drop that mysterious vigilante act, and get a date." Lyon shook his head at his friend, before he was called over by one of his customers. The bartender was quick with the order and his hands worked like magic. Tossing together the liquor ingredients to the drink, he threw it all into a shaker and shook it up vigorously. Unscrewing the top, he tipped the shaker over the martini glasses and poured a sum amount in each, making sure it was all even. He tossed in a toothpick and green olive in each, topping off the drink with a ring of sugar sprinkled over the lip of the glasses, flashing a quick wink to his customers.

"Give me another one, Lyon!" A figure plopped down right next to Royce, throwing her hand up with a drunken smile— she clearly was too drunk to even stand at this point.

Lyon smirked a little, "Haven't you had enough whiskey to drink already, little lady?"

"There's never enough, you jokin'?" A slight southern accent came out while she slightly glared up at the bartender. Lyon leaned over the counter and poured a small bit of whiskey in a small shot glass in front of her. She looked up at him and saw the amusement written across his face. She soon huffed and smiled, knowing it was now or never before Varrick inevitably found her and took her home. Taking the glass, she gripped it in her fingers, and gulped it down swiftly.

Royce peered at her curiously, squinting his eyes slightly to try and jog his memory from where he seen her before— the image of the girl finally giving his shitty ex what she deserved, the palm of Anni's plunged her knife into the front of Amber's head, twisting it, and popping it back out of her skull. That's right, she was the human who kicked Amber's ass at the arena, she made it seem so easy, and quite frankly, funny. Perhaps it was the whiskey he had been drinking, but the scene of the shorter woman kicking Amber's ass was hilarious. He was never one to associate himself with Slenderman proxies— some of them, like Toby or Varrick, seemed completely unhinged or cocky. He knew the majority of them, but he'd never got the chance to meet Anni.

Royce then watched as Anni's eyes rolled into the back of her head and she fell forward, nearly landing on his shoulder— before she quickly caught herself— nearly falling off her stool. He felt his face burn in embarrassment, coughing awkwardly, "Are you okay…?"

"Yeah, give me a couple minutes. My head is spinning like a damn wheel." Anni shrugged it off, telling Lyon to give her another glass. Nothing could make her lose control more than alcohol. Of course, that is the easier way to say that she had low tolerance when it comes down to it. Still, she enjoyed it as what she likes to call a ‘light’ beverage to cleanse her soul from any kind of sorrow.

This would lead her to have trust issues when it comes to drinking. It would either end up with her singing various pop music hits from the 2000’s that she memorized by heart and getting a cheer from the people around her or it would end up with her pouring her heart out to somebody, crying, and eventually picking a fight with them. Regardless, both possibilities are inherently embarrassing, and if anything she would like to avoid the worst-case scenario—losing her dignity. But still, this whiskey was irresistible.

“I thought… This was supposed to be a bar-night…with Varrick singing...why…” Anni turned to that certain, mysterious someone—

Royce Ellis. He smiles at her coyly.

"I guess he didn't show. I don't get along with the guy, but I have to admit, he has talent." He mumbled more to himself than her, tracing his gloved finger alongside the rim of his glass. She shook her head and shrugged, returning her gaze to the whiskey in her hand.

"So…I hope you don't mind me asking this but, why did you fight Amber?" His eyes flickered over to Anni, tilting his head curiously, awaiting an answers from the proxy,

"Why do you care? Don't tell me, are you one of her…'fans'?" Anni stated with a grimace while pouring herself another glass of whiskey— Lyon had just tossed her a bottle of alcohol from exasperation of constantly having to pour her more. Royce shook his head and looked over,

"Oh God no— I can't stand her." Royce just started eating his food as his other hand rubbed his forehead tiredly. Royce looked back down at his food and stared at it for a few moments, suddenly losing his appetite— thinking about her exasperated him, "She's actually my…ex."

"I didn't know she was capable of love."

"Trust me, she isn't. Amber is the most narcissistic person you'll ever meet— She cheated on me on our anniversary." His voice slurred and he took a quick drink of his bottled beer, "If anything, I was glad you kicked her ass."

"After hearing that, I think I might do it again." Anni frowned with disappointment and volunteered, causing Royce to stare over at her with a bit of interest. As he thought about it, he thought about how much he would've liked to enjoy that sort of hilarious entertainment— he smiled and shook his head.

"You'd be doing the world a favor." He slurred tiredly and Anni laughed at his disheveled hair as it poked up into the air.

"Still…I can't get over the fact someone like Amber got with someone as hot as you. No offense, but are you…blind?" Anni leaned over to him slightly— fluttering her eyes in slight confusion as she peered up at him with a questioning look. It didn't seem like she had realized she had complimented him so bluntly, but he definitely noticed. He had to draw his eyes away as he set down his beer, taking a deep breath to calm his boiling mind. But her appearance didn't push him away much, or his control wasn't that good, because his eyes couldn't help but steal another look as a crooked smile appeared onto his face.

"Hah….guess I am. We were together for three whole years, and I found out she was cheating on me for all three. Can you believe that?" She heard Royce scoff and looked over to see his hands rubbing his face. Anni turned to him,

"Normally I'd say no, but this is Amber we're talking about— so, yes, I can believe it." Anni shrugged, pouring another dosage of whiskey into a cup—

"Varrick tells me you're not much of a drinker."

"No..." Royce shook her head and looked down at her finger tracing against the bar-counter, "I never took to it as a sport like the rest of the Zalgo proxies."

"Well... here." Anni offered him the rest of her alcohol and Royce stared at it questioningly. Royce stared at the glass of wine with contemplation. He told himself that he would never let alcohol touch his lips during such a late time— just so he could manage to drive home without crashing. With a soft smile, Royce rubbed his head and looked down at his food sheepishly,

"Eh…noooo— I couldn't. I have to drive home." After that— it seemed he changed his mind almost instantly, downing the whiskey in her cup. Anni smirked at him,

"I thought you weren't gonna take it?" Anni hummed slightly, a cute little smug grin written on her face. Anni looked to Royce and he raised his glass, a clear buzz of the alcohol making his face numb,

"Hell, it's just one beer! Besides, you shouldn't listen to whatever bullshit I say, I'm an ass." He put the glass to his lips and dipped his head back so the alcohol would slide down his throat much easier. The whiskey burned down his throat and all the way down into the pit of his stomach, feeling the bitter aftertaste of the liquor on his tongue. He struggled to hide a stale face and managed to put on a smile, setting the shot glass back down onto the table. Lyon set the glass of wine he poured in front of her and Royce took it, sipping on it in an attempt to rid tongue of the leftover whiskey.

"No you're not." Anni laughed and ordered another beer, leaning her face into her palm watching him with amusement— he was so strangely interesting. Royce pouted,

"Yes I am. A complete and utter dickhole."

Anni put her hands up to his face, and once he took notice, he closed his eyes and flinched slightly as if he thought Anni was going to smack him— just like how Amber did. His muscles tightened but he grew confused when he didn't feel any pain coming from his face. He felt a warm sensation on his cheek, not that of a sting, but the warmth of a small breath and lips of another human being. He opened his eyes and saw Anni drawing back, her lips parted slightly. She smiled, "You give yourself too much credit."

[murmel-malt]

when you and your husband are at the funeral of your father's second wife and you see him and your cousin eye-fucking across the venue

[thornetabris]

it's me. im bitches.

[bonniesfamiliar]

I HAVE A NEW ICON AND HER NAME IS RHEA ROYCE

DESTROYED DEMON'S EGO AND LOOKED GREAT DOING IT.

[nikkiissleepy]

new survey for love nikki, has a section for what features u want to see in the future and gives rewards for completing

[bronzebtch]

MEMBERS OF THE HOUSE joy royce outlived her sister, lady of runestone, by ten years. she witnessed the accession of her firstborn, named heir at birth, ruben royce, at the age of twelve* years old. gerold royce, first cousin and sworn shield to lady rhea, passed two years after burying her cousin; citing the blame for her cousins' death, both brahm (rhea and joy's older brother, who passed away at aged ten) and rhea's, on his own missteps. gunthor went on to contest ruben's succession twice during his early reigns, gaining enough support to overrule ruben's commands and led many of house royce's bannermen into supporting arnold arryn during the vale's civil war. at this transgression, ruben would later sentenced gunthor to death.

[hisfavegirl]

Endless Devotion- Daemon Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary : Though the kingdom’s future was always at the forefront, it was the love between you and Daemon that would defy fate, a love that transcended the barriers of duty. The day you were born, the future had already been written for you, and yet, you and Daemon would challenge it with every breath you took, every moment you shared.

Daemon Masterlist.

You were the third child of Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa, born on a stormy night that claimed the lives of your mother and twin brother. The Maesters had whispered of your slim chances, but somehow, you survived—a fragile yet fierce reminder of the strength that ran in your blood.

Growing up, you were cherished by your father, Baelon, and doted on by your older brothers, Viserys and Daemon. The bond between the three of you was unbreakable, though it was clear that each of your brothers saw you in very different lights.

Viserys was gentle, the older brother who would read to you by the fire or braid your hair as you told him stories of your dreams. He had a natural inclination to protect you, a role he embraced as the future King of the Seven Kingdoms.

Daemon, however, was something else entirely. His affection was fierce, his attention constant. He was protective, yes, but also possessive. There was a sharp edge to his love for you, a depth that seemed to go beyond the bonds of mere siblings. Where others might have dismissed it as Daemon’s usual intensity, you could feel the weight of his gaze, the way his hand lingered on yours a moment too long, and the way his mood darkened whenever you spoke of marriage or suitors.

As you grew older, you noticed how Daemon’s attention never wavered. He always found excuses to be near you, whether it was accompanying you on dragon rides or sitting too close during family feasts. His words were often veiled with deeper meanings, and his actions spoke volumes he didn’t dare to put into words.

You loved both your brothers dearly, but with Daemon, there was an undeniable tension, a connection that made your heart race even when you wished it wouldn’t. You often found yourself questioning the nature of his affections and, more troublingly, your own.

As the years passed and the politics of the realm began to weigh on your family, Viserys took his place as heir to the Iron Throne, and Daemon’s restless spirit grew more pronounced. But no matter how far he roamed or how much chaos he caused, his attention always returned to you.

You couldn’t deny the warmth his presence brought or the way his protective nature made you feel safe, even as whispers in the court began to stir about the true nature of Prince Daemon’s feelings for his beloved sister.

The Throne room was heavy with tension as you stood beside Daemon, the newly crowned King Viserys sitting on the Iron Throne before you. His calm demeanor belied the storm brewing in the room. You glanced at your older brother, your heart heavy with uncertainty.

Viserys’s voice was steady, but there was a finality in his tone. “It is time to secure the future of our house, for the good of the realm. Daemon, you will marry Lady Rhea Royce of Runestone. The Vale is a strong ally, and this union will solidify our ties with them.”

Daemon stiffened beside you, his hands curling into fists. He shot Viserys a glare so intense it could have melted steel. “You expect me to marry her? A woman I have never met, with a temperament as cold as the mountains she comes from?” His voice was sharp, his disdain evident.

Viserys ignored his outburst and turned to you, his expression softening slightly. “And you, my sweet sister. Lord Jason Lannister has expressed interest in taking you as his wife. A match with the Westerlands will bring great strength and wealth to our house.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt the weight of Daemon’s gaze shift to you. His anger now burned hotter, directed at your eldest brother. “A Lannister? You would send her to Casterly Rock, to be a trophy for that pompous lion?” His voice grew louder, echoing through the hall.

Viserys’s expression hardened. “This is not a debate, Daemon. These matches are for the good of the realm, not for personal desires.”

“You mean your desires,” Daemon snapped, stepping forward, his anger barely restrained. “You sit on that throne and play the dutiful king, but you forget who we are. She is a Targaryen, not some pawn to be traded for gold and swords!”

You placed a hand on Daemon’s arm, trying to calm him, but his fury was like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. “Daemon,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Please.”

He turned to you, his face softening for a moment as he saw the uncertainty in your eyes. But when he looked back at Viserys, his rage reignited.

“If you think I will stand by and let this happen, you are mistaken,” Daemon growled, his voice low but menacing. “I will not let her be taken from me.”

Viserys rose from the throne, his patience thinning. “You will obey, Daemon. Both of you will. This is my decree as your king.”

Daemon’s lips curled into a bitter smile, his voice dripping with venom. “Then perhaps I am no longer fit to be your brother, if all I am to you is a sword to wield and a pawn to marry off.”

With that, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the hall, leaving you standing there, torn between your loyalty to your eldest brother and the fiery love and devotion of the younger.

Viserys sighed heavily, his face a mixture of frustration and sadness. “He will come to understand, in time,” he said, as if trying to reassure himself more than you.

You stood your ground, your heart pounding as you faced Viserys, who had returned to his seat on the Iron Throne. His expression remained stern, but you could see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he regarded you.

“Brother,” you began, your voice steady despite the turmoil swirling within you. “You must reconsider this decision. Daemon is not someone who will take this lightly, and you know it.”

Viserys exhaled sharply, leaning back against the cold iron of his throne. “You think I don’t understand Daemon? I’ve been dealing with his impulsiveness and defiance all my life. He will learn to obey, as we all must for the good of the realm.”

You stepped closer, your gaze unwavering. “You may think you understand him, but you do not see what I see. Daemon will not accept this. He will do whatever it takes to undo what you’ve decreed, and you know as well as I do that his methods are… dangerous.”

Viserys frowned, his fingers drumming against the armrest. “And what would you have me do, sister? Set aside what is best for the realm because of his temper? Because of his… feelings for you?”

The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, you hesitated. “This isn’t just about his feelings for me,” you said softly. “This is about preventing a fracture in our family—one that may be impossible to mend. Daemon’s anger is like a wildfire, and once it begins, it will burn everything in its path. Including you, including me… including the realm.”

Viserys looked at you, his expression softening ever so slightly. “You think I enjoy this? That I take pleasure in making decisions that hurt those I love? I must think of the greater good.”

“Then think of the consequences, Viserys,” you pressed. “Think of what Daemon might do. He is loyal to his family, yes, but his loyalty to me is stronger than any bond you could force upon him with a marriage to Rhea Royce. And if you send me to Casterly Rock… you will lose him. Completely.”

Viserys rubbed his temple, weariness etched into his features. “Daemon must learn to control himself, and so must you. I cannot rule with my heart alone, sister.”

“You must rule with wisdom,” you countered. “And wisdom means understanding the consequences of your actions. I am begging you, Viserys. Think this through before it is too late.”

For a long moment, silence hung between you. Viserys seemed to weigh your words carefully, his gaze searching yours for answers. Finally, he spoke, his voice heavy.

“I will consider it,” he said, though the exhaustion in his tone betrayed his uncertainty. “But know this, sister—whatever happens, I will do what I believe is best for House Targaryen.”

You nodded, though your heart remained heavy with doubt. As you left the throne room, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over—and that Daemon’s reaction to all of this would shape your family’s future in ways none of you could yet foresee.

You made your way to the training grounds, where the sound of clashing steel and labored breathing filled the air. Your eyes immediately found Daemon, his silver hair damp with sweat as he ruthlessly swung his sword at a weary guard. The poor man could barely keep up, his shield trembling under the relentless force of Daemon’s strikes.

“Daemon!” you called out, your voice cutting through the din.

He didn’t stop. His sword continued its brutal arc, forcing the guard back until the man stumbled and fell to one knee. You took a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Daemon, that’s enough!”

Still, he ignored you, his focus fixed on his opponent. The guard, clearly terrified, raised his hands in surrender, his weapon slipping from his grasp. Daemon sneered but finally lowered his sword, stepping back as the man scrambled to his feet and fled the training yard.

Daemon turned to face you, his expression cold and furious, his chest heaving. His violet eyes burned with anger, though whether it was directed at you or someone else, you couldn’t tell.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice low but sharp. “Go back to Viserys if you’re here to plead his case.”

You stepped closer, refusing to be intimidated. “I’m not here for Viserys. I’m here for you.”

He scoffed, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “What do you want, sister? To tell me to fall in line? To bow to his commands like a dutiful dog?”

“No,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “I’m here because I know you. I know how angry you are, and I know what you’re capable of when you feel cornered.”

His jaw tightened, and he turned away, gripping his sword so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Then you should also know that I won’t sit by while he takes everything from me.”

“You think this is about taking from you?” you demanded, stepping closer. “Daemon, this isn’t just about us. This is about the realm, about alliances, about keeping peace.”

He turned back to you, his eyes blazing. “To hell with the realm! To hell with alliances and peace! You are my sister, my blood, and I will not stand by while he gives you to some Lannister!”

“Daemon,” you said softly, your voice breaking slightly. “I don’t want this any more than you do. But if you do something reckless, if you act out of anger, it will only make things worse. For both of us.”

For a moment, his anger faltered, replaced by something raw and vulnerable. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to cup your face gently. “I cannot lose you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I won’t.”

You placed your hand over his, your heart aching at the desperation in his words. “You won’t lose me, Daemon. But we have to be smart about this. We can’t fight Viserys on this—not like this.”

His gaze searched yours, his anger giving way to a deep, simmering frustration. Finally, he sighed and stepped back, letting his hand fall to his side.

“Then tell me what to do,” he said, his voice quieter now but still tinged with defiance. “Tell me how to fix this without losing you.”

You hesitated, unsure of what to say. But one thing was clear—you would have to tread carefully if you wanted to protect both Daemon and yourself from the storm brewing around you.

You grabbed Daemon’s hand, pulling him forcefully away from the training yard. He resisted slightly, his voice sharp with frustration.

“Where are we going?” he demanded, his tone laced with irritation.

You didn’t answer, your grip tightening as you led him through the winding corridors of the Red Keep. He huffed behind you but didn’t pull away, his curiosity piqued by your determination.

Finally, you arrived at the council chambers where Viserys was still seated, reviewing documents and speaking with an advisor. He looked up as the door swung open, surprise flashing across his face as he saw you enter with Daemon in tow.

“Leave us,” you commanded, your voice steady and firm.

Viserys frowned but waved his advisor away. The room emptied quickly, leaving the three of you alone. He set his quill down and folded his hands, his expression expectant. “What is the meaning of this?”

You stepped forward, releasing Daemon’s hand but keeping him close by your side.

“You call yourself a king of fairness and justice,” you began, your voice steady but tinged with anger. “Yet you would take from us the right you claimed for yourself.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly in his chair. “And what right is that?”

“The right to marry the one you love,” you said sharply. “You chose Aemma, a woman you cared for deeply, despite the fact that the match was orchestrated by our grandfather. You didn’t resist it, not because it was your duty, but because it was what you wanted. And now you sit here, dictating our futures without a care for what we want.”

Viserys’s gaze hardened. “It is my duty as king to secure alliances for House Targaryen. Aemma was a choice that benefited the realm, as are these marriages I’ve proposed.”

Daemon stepped forward, his voice low and laced with anger. “Aemma was no mere alliance to you. She was your love, your comfort. Do not twist the truth to suit your decisions now, brother.”

You glanced at Daemon, grateful for his support, before turning your focus back to Viserys. “We are not pawns to be moved on your board, Viserys. We are your family. Your blood. Do not expect us to accept this without question.”

Viserys’s jaw tightened, his frustration evident. “And what would you have me do? Allow you to marry whomever you please, damn the consequences for our house?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, your voice unwavering. “If it was acceptable for you, why not for us? Do you fear that granting us the same freedom will make you appear weak? Or do you fear that we will make choices that do not align with your vision of the future?”

For a moment, the room fell silent, the tension between the three of you palpable. Viserys stared at you, his expression unreadable, before his gaze shifted to Daemon, who was watching him with barely concealed disdain.

Finally, Viserys sighed, rubbing his temples. “You speak boldly, sister, but you fail to understand the weight of a crown. The realm demands sacrifices, and those sacrifices often begin with us.”

Daemon scoffed, his tone biting. “Spare us the lecture, brother. You made your sacrifices with Aemma, but they were sacrifices you were willing to make. Do not expect the same from us when you refuse to acknowledge our desires.”

Viserys hesitated, the weight of your words clearly affecting him. He looked at you again, his gaze softer now, though still conflicted. “And what do you propose, sister? That I abandon my plans entirely?”

“I propose that you listen,” you replied, stepping closer. “Listen to us, to what we want, and find a solution that benefits everyone. You owe us that much, at least.”

Viserys leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful but strained. “I will consider it,” he said finally, though his tone lacked certainty.

It wasn’t the answer you wanted, but it was enough for now. You turned to leave, Daemon following close behind, his steps heavy with frustration.

“Do you truly think he’ll change his mind?” Daemon asked as you walked down the corridor.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, glancing at him. “But I had to try. For both our sakes.”

He was silent for a moment, then reached out to gently squeeze your hand. “If he doesn’t, I’ll find another way. I won’t let him take you from me.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but you said nothing, the weight of the situation pressing down on both of you as you continued walking together through the shadowed halls of the Red Keep.

You and Daemon walked together through the halls of the Red Keep, the silence between you heavy with unspoken words. The weight of your conversation with Viserys bore down on your shoulders, leaving you feeling drained and uncertain.

You glanced at Daemon, his expression unreadable as he walked beside you. Though his face betrayed little, you knew him well enough to sense the storm of emotions brewing within him.

“I love him, you know,” you said softly, breaking the silence. Your voice wavered slightly, but you kept your gaze forward.

Daemon stopped walking, forcing you to halt as well. He turned to face you, his silver hair catching the faint light from the torches lining the walls.

“I know,” he replied, his tone low but steady. “You’ve always loved Viserys. Just as you’ve always loved me.”

You swallowed hard, your heart tightening at the truth of his words. “But it’s not the same,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes softened, the anger and frustration from earlier giving way to something deeper—something raw and vulnerable.

“I’ve always known that too,” he said, stepping closer to you. “And I’ve never cared. Because I know you, just as you know me. You don’t want to lose him, but you’re terrified of losing me.”

You felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t want to lose either of you,” you whispered.

Daemon reached out, his fingers brushing against yours before taking your hand firmly in his. “You won’t lose me,” he said, his voice firm. “No matter what happens. Viserys can scheme and command all he likes, but I will not let him separate us.”

His words sent a wave of relief through you, though the fear still lingered. You knew how determined Viserys could be, and you knew the lengths Daemon would go to defy him.

“You promise?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

He tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I promise,” he said, his tone carrying that familiar hint of mischief. “Even if I have to burn the realm to the ground, I will not lose you.”

You let out a shaky laugh, his words both comforting and unsettling. But that was Daemon—wild, unpredictable, and fiercely loyal to those he loved.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” you said, squeezing his hand.

He chuckled softly, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “With Viserys as king, it just might.”

The two of you resumed walking, the tension between you eased but not entirely gone. You didn’t know what the future held, but as long as Daemon was by your side, you felt a flicker of hope amidst the uncertainty.

Two days had passed since your conversation with Viserys, and in those two days, the weight of his decision loomed over you like a storm cloud. Despite the pressure, you and Daemon continued to find solace in each other, meeting in secret within your chambers or his, navigating the hidden paths of Maegor’s Holdfast with the ease of familiarity.

This morning, however, was different. A summons had come from Viserys, commanding both you and Daemon to meet him in the council chamber. The air was heavy with anticipation as you and Daemon walked side by side through the Red Keep, the silence between you filled with unspoken thoughts.

When you entered the chamber, Viserys was already seated at the head of the table. His expression was stern but not unkind, and you noticed a hint of weariness in his eyes. The room was empty save for the three of you, the absence of the councilors adding to the tension.

Viserys gestured for you both to approach, and as you stepped forward, he sighed deeply, his hands resting on the arms of his chair.

“I’ve thought long and hard about this,” he began, his voice steady but tinged with exhaustion. “And I’ve come to a decision.”

You exchanged a glance with Daemon, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I was wrong to try to dictate your futures without considering your wishes,” Viserys admitted, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “You were right, sister. I made my choice with Aemma, and it was a choice I was fortunate to have. You and Daemon deserve the same.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the weight of his words sinking in.

“I’ve informed House Lannister and House Royce that the arrangements have been canceled,” Viserys continued, his tone firm. “You will marry each other, as you both clearly desire. I only hope this decision brings you happiness and strengthens our house.”

Daemon let out a quiet laugh, the sound laced with relief and triumph. “You’ve finally seen reason, brother,” he said, his smirk unmistakable.

Viserys shot him a pointed look but didn’t argue. Instead, he turned back to you, his expression softening further. “I only ask one thing of you both,” he said.

“What is it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Do not let your love for each other blind you to the responsibilities you bear as members of House Targaryen,” he said. “The realm looks to us for guidance, for strength. Be each other’s strength, but never forget the weight of the crown.”

You nodded, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Thank you, Viserys. I promise we will honor our house and our family.”

Daemon’s hand found yours, his grip firm and reassuring. “You have my word as well, brother,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically serious.

Viserys smiled faintly, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Then it is settled. The preparations will begin at once.”

As you and Daemon left the chamber, the reality of what had just transpired began to sink in. For the first time in days, you felt a sense of hope and relief, the weight of uncertainty lifted from your shoulders.

Daemon turned to you, his smirk returning as he leaned closer. “It seems the gods favor us after all,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

You laughed softly, your heart light for the first time in what felt like forever. “Perhaps they do,” you replied, your hand tightening around his.

As the two of you walked through the halls together, you couldn’t help but feel that this was the beginning of something extraordinary—a union born not of duty, but of love and unyielding loyalty.

You laughed uncontrollably as Daemon suddenly lifted you off the ground, throwing you over his shoulder as if you weighed nothing.

“Daemon! Put me down this instant!” you demanded, half-laughing, half-protesting, as you squirmed in his grip.

He only chuckled, his voice rich with amusement. “Not a chance, sweet sister. A betrothal like ours deserves to be celebrated.”

“Celebrated? By making a spectacle of me?” you shot back, still laughing as he carried you with effortless confidence.

“Precisely,” he replied smugly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Daemon strode confidently to where his horse was waiting. Setting you down briefly, he helped you into the saddle before mounting behind you, his arms resting comfortably around your waist as he took the reins.

“And where exactly are we going?” you asked, trying to sound annoyed, though you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips.

“To the Dragonpit,” Daemon replied, urging the horse forward.

“The Dragonpit?” you repeated, your curiosity piqued.

He grinned, leaning closer to your ear. “Caraxes and Maraxes deserve to know about our betrothal, don’t you think?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of your dragon, Maraxes, and Daemon’s Caraxes. The two dragons had always shared a bond, much like their riders.

The ride through the bustling streets of King’s Landing was exhilarating, Daemon’s confidence radiating behind you. His presence was as steady as the rhythm of the horse’s hooves, and you found yourself leaning into him slightly, the excitement of the moment overtaking your initial protests.

When you arrived at the Dragonpit, the cavernous structure loomed before you, filled with the faint echoes of dragon growls. Daemon dismounted first, his hands quick to help you down.

Inside, the air was thick with heat and the unmistakable energy of dragons. You immediately spotted the familiar forms of Caraxes and Maraxes, their red and silver scales gleaming faintly in the dim light.

Daemon smirked as Caraxes let out a low growl, his serpentine neck arching toward his rider. “There’s my boy,” he murmured, stepping closer to greet his dragon.

Meanwhile, Maraxes let out a low rumble of recognition, her sharp eyes locking onto you. You approached her with a smile, placing a hand on her warm scales. "Hi my love," The bond between you and your dragon was as strong as ever, a connection forged over years of shared battles and flights.

“Do you think they approve?” you asked, glancing at Daemon as he ran a hand along Caraxes’ neck.

He smirked, his eyes glinting with that familiar mischief. “They’ll have to. They’re bound to each other, just like we are.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his audacity, though his words carried a truth you couldn’t deny. Standing there together with your dragons, it felt as if the world had aligned perfectly for this moment—a celebration not just of your betrothal, but of the bond you shared, one that had always felt inevitable.

You watched the Dragonkeeper closely, noting the concern in their eyes as they observed Caraxes and Maraxes. One of them, a young man who had worked with dragons for years, hesitated before speaking.

“Maraxes and Caraxes have been acting out recently,” he said, voice low. “They’ve been more aggressive than usual, particularly Maraxes. We thought something was wrong.”

The other Dragonkeeper, an older woman, nodded in agreement. “It’s unlike them. We’ve been keeping a close eye, but nothing we do seems to settle them.”

You exchanged a glance with Daemon, who stood quietly beside you. The air around them felt thick with the dragons’ restlessness. However, as the Dragonkeepers’ gazes shifted toward you and Daemon, their expressions shifted from concern to shock.

Maraxes, normally a force of nature, moved with an uncharacteristic calmness. She stepped forward slowly, lowering her massive head toward you. Then, in an almost deliberate motion, she nudged you gently, pushing your body toward the area where she and Caraxes slept. It was a soft nudge, but it was clear that she wanted you to follow.

“Maraxes…” you murmured in surprise, but you allowed the dragon to guide you. You took a cautious step forward, feeling the weight of the moment settle around you. Daemon followed close behind, a knowing look in his eyes.

As you reached the resting place of your dragons, your breath caught in your throat. There, nestled among the bedding of fireproofed hay and soft stone, lay four dragon eggs.

The sight of the eggs made your heart skip a beat. You knelt slowly, reaching out with trembling fingers. The eggs were large, their shells shimmering with an iridescent glow, a mixture of deep reds and silvers that mirrored the colors of Maraxes and Caraxes.

Daemon stood behind you, his eyes softening as he spoke. “This… explains everything,” he murmured. “They’ve been guarding these. Their aggression, their restlessness—it was to protect their future.”

You felt a rush of emotions—pride, awe, and a profound sense of connection. The change in Maraxes and Caraxes was not just a random shift in their behavior; they had been preparing for something, something bigger than the two of you had expected.

“I didn’t know…” you whispered, your fingers tracing the smooth surface of one of the eggs. “They were expecting.”

Daemon moved to stand beside you, his voice low and reverent. “Neither did I. But it makes sense now. They’ve been waiting for their offspring. They’ve always been protective, but now… this is their legacy.”

The Dragonkeeper, who had been watching in stunned silence, finally spoke. “It’s extraordinary. The dragons have chosen to trust you both in ways we never imagined. Not only are they accepting of you as their riders, but now, they’ve given you their future.”

You felt a sense of awe wash over you, realizing that this moment was more significant than anything you could have imagined. Caraxes and Maraxes were not just dragons bound to their riders—they were family, and they were passing on their legacy to you.

Daemon placed a hand on your shoulder, his gaze intense but filled with something softer, something deeper. “This is just the beginning, my love. We have something far greater ahead of us now.”

You nodded, the weight of the moment settling in. You had always known that your bond with Daemon and the dragons was something extraordinary, but now, you understood just how much more it truly was.

The eggs lay there, waiting, as if the dragons were telling you both that they were ready for this next chapter—to share their legacy, their power, and their future with you.

After returning to the Red Keep with Daemon from the Dragonpit, the exhilaration of discovering the dragon eggs still lingered in your mind. As you made your way through the corridors, a servant approached and informed you that Queen Aemma had requested your presence in her chambers.

You exchanged a glance with Daemon, who smirked slightly. “Go on,” he said, his tone teasing. “I’m sure she’s been planning our wedding more than we have.”

Rolling your eyes but smiling softly, you left Daemon and made your way to Aemma’s chambers. When you entered, you found her seated near the window, her delicate hands working on a piece of embroidery. The golden light of the setting sun bathed the room in a warm glow, and she looked up with a gentle smile as you approached.

“There you are,” she said warmly, setting aside her work. “I was beginning to think I’d have to send someone to drag you here.”

You laughed softly and took a seat across from her. “I was at the Dragonpit with Daemon,” you explained. “But I came as soon as I heard you wanted to see me.”

Aemma’s smile widened, but there was a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “Ah, Daemon. I suppose he’s too busy parading you around on dragonback to think about the details of your wedding.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, feeling a sense of comfort in Aemma’s presence. She had always been kind and supportive, treating you more like a sister than just her sister-in-law.

“I thought we could discuss the arrangements,” Aemma continued, her tone softening. “Your gown, the feast, the decorations… all the things that men don’t think about.”

You nodded, grateful for her guidance. “I’d appreciate that, Aemma. I’ve hardly had time to think about any of it.”

She reached for a small chest beside her and opened it, revealing swatches of fabric in various shades and textures. “I had these brought in for you,” she said, holding up a piece of silvery fabric that shimmered in the light. “I thought this might suit you—something that reflects your connection to your dragon and your Targaryen heritage.”

You ran your fingers over the fabric, marveling at its softness and beauty. “It’s perfect,” you said, already envisioning the gown that would be made from it.

Aemma smiled, her expression thoughtful. “You’ll look radiant,” she said. “And I know Daemon won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

The warmth in her voice made your heart swell, and you reached out to squeeze her hand. “Thank you, Aemma. For everything.”

She squeezed your hand in return, her gaze steady and full of affection. “You’re family,” she said simply. “And you deserve to be happy.”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter and planning as you and Aemma discussed every detail of the wedding. For the first time in days, you felt a sense of peace, knowing that you were surrounded by love and support as you prepared for this new chapter in your life.

As you opened the door to your chambers, the familiar warmth of the room greeted you, along with the sight of Daemon standing near the fireplace. The golden glow of the flames reflected off his silver hair, giving him an almost ethereal presence. His arms were crossed casually over his chest, but there was an intensity in his gaze as he turned to face you.

“You’re here,” you said, raising an eyebrow as you approached. “I expected you to be… elsewhere. At the brothel, perhaps, celebrating your last night of freedom with Mysaria.” Your tone was teasing, but there was an edge of curiosity beneath it.

Daemon chuckled, the sound low and rich, as he stepped closer to you. “Is that what you think of me?” he asked, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Is it not true?” you countered, tilting your head. “You’ve always been so fond of such places. Why not indulge one last time before you can’t go back without consequences?”

He laughed again, this time louder, and shook his head. “You’re sharper than a Valyrian steel blade, aren’t you?” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. “But no. I haven’t set foot in a brothel—or seen Mysaria—since you came of age.”

That caught you off guard. You stared at him, trying to process his words. “What?”

Daemon stepped even closer, his expression softening as he looked down at you. “Do you really think I’d waste my time there, knowing what I know now? After realizing how much of myself I gave to the wrong people, the wrong pursuits?”

You blinked, still trying to make sense of his words. “What are you saying, Daemon?”

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His touch was gentle, but his gaze was anything but—it was intense, almost searing. “I’m saying that for too long, I gave my attention to the wrong women. Women who didn’t matter. Because I was too blind to see what was right in front of me.”

Your breath caught, your heart pounding in your chest. “Daemon…”

He smiled then, a rare, genuine smile that softened his features. “You’ve always been the only one who mattered,” he said softly. “And I’m not going to waste another moment pretending otherwise.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, you could only stare at him, your emotions a whirlwind of disbelief, hope, and something far deeper.

“Then why are you here?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “If not to celebrate your last night of freedom?”

Daemon’s smile turned into a smirk as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “Because I’m not losing my freedom,” he murmured. “I’m gaining you.”

The fire crackled softly in the background as his words hung in the air, and for the first time, you realized just how much this marriage meant—not just to you, but to him as well.

Daemon’s gaze softened as your hand gently caressed his cheek, your touch tender and full of unspoken emotions. His lips parted slightly as if to say something, but before he could, you rose onto your toes and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.

For a moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you. When you finally pulled back, your eyes met his, a quiet intensity passing between you.

“I’m lucky to have you, Daemon,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The raw honesty in your tone made his jaw tighten, though his eyes glimmered with something vulnerable.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you continued before he could, your hand still cradling his cheek. “If our father were still here…” you paused, a pang of sorrow in your chest, “he’d be proud of us. Of you, especially.”

Daemon’s expression faltered for a moment, his confident facade cracking as he absorbed your words. His hand came up to cover yours on his face, his touch warm and steady. “You truly believe that?” he asked softly, his voice almost uncertain, as if he needed to hear the answer more than anything else.

You nodded, your thumb brushing against his cheekbone. “I do. He would have seen the man you’ve become—the man who fights for what he wants, who protects those he loves. He’d be proud of you, Daemon. Just as I am.”

Daemon exhaled deeply, his forehead leaning against yours. “You give me too much credit,” he muttered, though there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Not nearly enough,” you countered gently, your own lips curving into a smile.

For a long moment, the two of you stood there, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s presence, the flickering firelight casting soft shadows around the room. It was a moment of quiet understanding, a bond stronger than any words could convey.

And in that moment, you knew—no matter what challenges lay ahead, as long as you had each other, you could face anything.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence near the window of your chambers, the cool night air filtering in as stars scattered across the dark sky. Daemon’s arm was wrapped possessively around your waist, his grip firm yet comforting. Your head rested against his shoulder, and the steady rise and fall of his chest matched the rhythm of your own breathing.

He broke the silence, his voice low and curious. “Why did you name your dragon Maraxes?”

The question made you smile softly as you turned your gaze toward him. He was looking down at you with a mixture of curiosity and fondness, his fingers absentmindedly tracing small circles on your side.

“She reminded me of Rhaenys’ Maraxes,” you said after a moment, your tone thoughtful. “The strength, the grace… Even as a hatchling, she carried herself like she knew she was born to be something great.”

Daemon smirked faintly, his eyes reflecting the dim glow of the moonlight. “And you always did have a penchant for the stories of our ancestors. I remember how you’d make me read them to you when we were younger.”

You chuckled, leaning further into his warmth. “Those stories are part of who we are, Daemon. Rhaenys and Maraxes… they were a force to be reckoned with. I wanted my dragon to carry that legacy, to remind the world of the power our family holds.”

He tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing against your temple as he spoke. “Maraxes suits her, just as you suit her. Both proud, unyielding, and utterly impossible to ignore.”

You laughed quietly, a soft blush creeping into your cheeks. “And what of Caraxes?” you asked, glancing up at him with a teasing smile. “He’s as wild and unpredictable as his rider.”

Daemon grinned, unbothered by your playful jab. “Caraxes and I understand each other,” he replied. “We don’t need names steeped in history. We make our own.”

Your smile softened as you looked back at the sky. “That’s why we work, Daemon. I carry the weight of the past, and you carve the path for the future. Together, we balance each other.”

Daemon didn’t respond immediately, but the way he held you tighter said everything. In his embrace, you felt the promise of a shared destiny—one that neither history nor the future could take away.

Your wedding day was meant to be perfect, and every detail had been meticulously planned. Yet, the air was thick with tension as a heated argument unfolded between Daemon and Viserys.

Daemon stood firm, his voice sharp and unyielding. “We are Targaryens. The blood of Old Valyria flows through our veins. This wedding should honor our ancestors with an Old Valyrian ceremony.”

Viserys, seated on the Iron Throne, was equally resolute. “This is a union that will be celebrated across the Seven Kingdoms. You will marry in the sight of the Seven, as is tradition.”

You stood silently between them, your heart heavy as you watched your brothers clash. Daemon’s jaw was set in frustration, while Viserys exuded the authority of a king determined to have his way.

“I’ve allowed this match to proceed,” Viserys added, his tone sharp with warning. “But do not mistake my indulgence for weakness. If you insist on this foolishness, I’ll put an end to it. Daemon will wed Rhea Royce, and you will wed Jason Lannister.”

The room fell silent, the weight of Viserys’ threat sinking in. You looked at Daemon, whose expression was a mix of fury and disbelief. His hands clenched at his sides, and you knew he was moments away from saying something he would regret.

Before he could speak, you stepped forward, your voice calm but firm. “We will marry in the sight of the Seven,” you said, your words directed at Viserys but meant for Daemon as well.

Daemon turned to you, his eyes searching yours for an explanation. You met his gaze with quiet determination, silently pleading for his understanding.

“This is about more than just us,” you continued, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your heart. “A wedding in the tradition of the Seven will solidify our union in the eyes of the realm. It will bring stability, which is what we need most right now.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened, his frustration evident, but he said nothing. You reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “It doesn’t matter how we marry, Daemon. What matters is that we will be together.”

Viserys nodded approvingly, his stern expression softening slightly. “It’s good to see one of you understands the bigger picture,” he said, his tone dismissive.

Daemon didn’t respond to Viserys. Instead, he turned to you, his violet eyes filled with unspoken words. After a moment, he gave a curt nod, his hand brushing against yours in a silent promise.

As you left the throne room together, you whispered, “Thank you for trusting me.”

Daemon’s lips curved into a small, wry smile. “You’re lucky I love you,” he muttered.

Despite the tension, his words warmed your heart. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you would face them together.

You entered Aemma’s chambers, the faint scent of lavender filling the air as sunlight streamed through the windows. She stood near a mannequin, admiring a breathtaking white gown made of the finest silk. Her face lit up as she saw you approach, her hands clasped together in excitement.

“There you are,” Aemma said warmly, gesturing for you to come closer. “I’ve had this gown specially made for you. I want your wedding to outshine even mine.”

You stared at the gown in awe. The intricate embroidery shimmered in the light, delicate patterns of dragons and fire adorning the fabric. The train was long and flowing, a masterpiece of craftsmanship, while the fitted bodice sparkled with tiny gemstones.

“You’ll be the most beautiful bride the realm has ever seen,” Aemma said, her voice filled with determination. “This wedding will be the grandest of all, as it should be.”

You smiled softly, touched by her efforts. “You didn’t have to go to such lengths, Aemma.”

“Nonsense,” she replied, waving her hand dismissively. “You’re my sister now, and this is the happiest I’ve seen Daemon in years. This marriage is a celebration not just for you, but for the family.”

She guided you to stand before the gown, motioning for her handmaidens to help you try it on. The silk felt cool against your skin as the dress was carefully draped over you. Aemma adjusted the neckline, stepping back to admire her work.

“You look perfect,” she said, her eyes glistening with pride.

You turned to look at yourself in the mirror, the sight taking your breath away. The gown fit you like it was made for you alone, the shimmering silk enhancing your natural beauty.

“I hope Daemon doesn’t cause trouble just so he can get a glimpse of you before the wedding,” Aemma teased, a playful smile on her lips. “He’s been restless ever since Viserys gave his approval. He might just break tradition.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “He’s always been impatient.”

Aemma took your hands, squeezing them gently. “I want you to know how happy I am for you,” she said, her voice soft with emotion. “You and Daemon… you belong together. This wedding will mark the beginning of something truly beautiful.”

Tears threatened to well in your eyes, but you blinked them away, nodding. “Thank you, Aemma. For everything.”

She smiled, pulling you into a warm embrace. In that moment, you felt the love and support of family surrounding you, giving you strength for the journey ahead.

After trying on the gown Aemma had prepared for you, you made your way to the throne room, which was abuzz with preparations for your fast-approaching wedding. Servants scurried about, setting up tables and arranging decorations with meticulous care. The banners of House Targaryen hung proudly from the walls, their red and black sigils casting a regal presence over the space.

You paused, taking it all in—the grandeur, the anticipation. This was more than just a wedding; it was a union that would be remembered for generations.

As you stood there, lost in thought, you felt a familiar warmth at your back. Daemon’s hands slid gently around your waist, his touch both possessive and comforting. He leaned in close, his breath brushing against your ear.

“I’ve seen you in your gown,” he whispered, his voice low and teasing. “And I can already tell they’ll speak of your beauty for centuries.”

You turned your head slightly, catching his smirk from the corner of your eye. “You couldn’t wait, could you?” you replied, a mix of amusement and exasperation in your tone.

“Patience was never one of my virtues,” he admitted, his arms tightening around you. “But it’s not just the dress. It’s you. I’m not sure the Seven or even the old gods could have made something more perfect.”

You felt your cheeks flush, but you quickly composed yourself, glancing at the bustling preparations before you. “Everything is coming together,” you said softly. “It feels… surreal.”

Daemon shifted slightly, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder. “It’s fitting, isn’t it?” he said, his voice softer now. “A grand celebration for us. For what we are and what we will build together.”

You turned in his arms to face him, your eyes meeting his. “And what is that, Daemon?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“A legacy,” he replied without hesitation. “A bond stronger than dragonfire, one that no one—not even Viserys—can break.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, the chaos around you seemed to fade away. All that remained was him, and the unyielding certainty in his gaze.

“Come,” he said suddenly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’ve grown tired of watching others make preparations. Let’s see to the dragons instead. Let them know that soon, we’ll be joined as one.”

You couldn’t help but smile, allowing him to guide you away from the bustling throne room. As always, with Daemon by your side, the future felt both thrilling and inevitable.

You gently patted Maraxes’ powerful back, feeling the familiar warmth of her scales beneath your hand. The wind whipped through your hair as you soared high above the Red Keep, the world below appearing as small as a map laid out on a table.

Beside you, Daemon and Caraxes raced ahead, the Blood Wyrm’s elongated form slicing through the clouds with ease. Caraxes let out a piercing roar, its cry challenging the skies themselves.

Maraxes, not one to be outdone, responded with a thunderous roar of her own, her wings beating harder as she surged forward. You gripped her saddle tightly, leaning closer to her neck to encourage her.

“Show them, Maraxes,” you murmured with a grin, the thrill of the flight coursing through you. “Show them what you’re made of.”

With a sudden burst of speed, Maraxes lunged forward, her massive wings cutting through the air with precision. The distance between you and Daemon began to close rapidly.

Daemon glanced back, his silver hair shining under the sun, and you caught the smug smirk on his face falter as Maraxes closed in.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” you called out, your voice carrying over the roar of the wind.

He laughed, the sound carried to you by the wind. “Careful, my love,” he replied, steering Caraxes into a sharp dive. “I’d hate for you to lose your nerve.”

But you didn’t falter. Maraxes followed Caraxes’ lead, diving with grace and speed that rivaled even the most seasoned dragons. The ground rushed toward you, but you trusted her completely.

As you leveled out beside Daemon once more, the two dragons roared in unison, their voices blending into a symphony of power and dominance. You and Daemon exchanged a glance, the exhilaration of the ride mirrored in his eyes.

“Maraxes is a true queen,” he said, his tone filled with pride.

“And Caraxes a worthy prince,” you replied with a playful smirk.

Together, you guided your dragons into a synchronized ascent, their forms weaving through the sky like a dance. In that moment, it wasn’t just the bond between you and Daemon that felt unbreakable—it was the connection you shared with your dragons, the legacy you were creating together, and the love that burned as fiercely as dragonfire.

You dismounted Maraxes with practiced ease, patting her side gently as she let out a low, satisfied growl. You turned toward Daemon, who had already slid off Caraxes and was approaching you with a small smirk on his face.

The two dragons, seemingly understanding their riders had finished their flight, began to walk together toward the Dragonpit. Their massive tails swayed lazily as they moved side by side, a rare display of harmony between the two fierce creatures.

Daemon’s attention, however, was solely on you. His sharp violet eyes took in your slightly disheveled appearance, a teasing glint in them. Without saying a word, he reached out and gently tucked a strand of your hair back into place, his touch lingering for just a moment.

“You look as if you’ve just fought in a battle,” he said, his voice warm with amusement.

You laughed softly, brushing dirt from your sleeve. “Flying with Maraxes always feels like a battle—she doesn’t let me relax for even a moment.”

Daemon grinned, his gaze flickering to the retreating forms of the dragons. “She’s a reflection of her rider, then. Stubborn, relentless, and utterly magnificent.”

You rolled your eyes at his words but couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto your lips. “And what does that say about Caraxes, then?”

“Loyal, fierce, and just unpredictable enough to keep things interesting,” he replied smoothly, his grin widening.

Shaking your head, you allowed him to help you onto his black horse, a sleek and well-bred creature that always seemed to mirror its master’s confidence. Once you were comfortably seated, he climbed on behind you, wrapping an arm securely around your waist.

The ride back to the Red Keep was peaceful, the rhythmic clatter of the horse’s hooves filling the quiet between you. Daemon’s hold on you was firm yet comforting, and as the walls of the castle came into view, you leaned back slightly into him, finding solace in his presence.

“You know,” he murmured near your ear, breaking the silence, “this is how it should always be. You, me, and the dragons.”

You tilted your head slightly to glance back at him. “And what of the world that waits for us within those walls?”

Daemon’s lips curved into a wry smile. “Let the world wait. For now, it’s just us.”

His words settled over you like a warm blanket, and as you passed through the gates of the Red Keep, you couldn’t help but wish that this moment could stretch on forever.

The day of your wedding had finally arrived, and your chambers were bustling with activity even before the first rays of sunlight graced the horizon. Aemma, ever the perfectionist, had gathered her trusted ladies-in-waiting to ensure every detail of your preparation was flawless.

You sat before a large mirror, dressed in the finest silk undergarments, as one of the maids carefully wove intricate braids into your hair. Aemma hovered nearby, her sharp eyes inspecting every detail, from the embroidery on your gown to the gleaming jewelry laid out on the table.

“This will be the grandest wedding the realm has seen,” Aemma declared with confidence, adjusting the tiara that would soon rest on your head. “You will be the vision of perfection, as you deserve to be.”

You gave her a soft smile, but your attention was pulled elsewhere. From the corner of your eye, you could see the faint outline of Daemon standing behind the sheer curtain at the far end of the room. His unmistakable figure was partially hidden, but you could hear the faintest sound of his chuckle.

You turned slightly in your chair, catching the amused glint in his violet eyes through the thin fabric. “Daemon,” you said firmly, though your lips quirked into a knowing smile, “you’re not supposed to see me before the ceremony.”

His voice came through, low and teasing. “I’m only ensuring my bride is being treated properly. Wouldn’t want them to dull your shine before the day even begins.”

Aemma turned toward the sound, her face a mix of exasperation and amusement. “Daemon, you’re being ridiculous. Out!” she scolded, waving a hand toward the curtain.

He only laughed softly, his silhouette lingering for a moment longer. “I’ll see you soon,” he murmured, his tone laced with a promise, before retreating out of sight.

You shook your head, warmth blossoming in your chest despite yourself. Aemma returned her attention to you, adjusting the intricate neckline of your wedding gown with care.

“He adores you,” she said softly, her expression unexpectedly tender.

You met her gaze in the mirror, a quiet smile tugging at your lips. “And I, him.”

Aemma’s smile deepened, and she patted your shoulder gently. “Good. Now, let’s ensure you’re ready to take his breath away.”

You were fully prepared, dressed in the stunning gown Aemma had so carefully designed, every detail perfect. Now, it was Viserys who stood by your side in the carriage as you made your way to the Sept.

The ride was quiet, the clattering of the wheels over the stone streets filling the silence. Viserys sat across from you, his face soft yet tinged with a sadness he couldn’t entirely hide. His violet eyes lingered on you, taking in the serene expression on your face and the subtle joy radiating from you.

“You look… just like Mother,” he finally said, his voice low and thoughtful. “She would have been so proud to see you like this.”

You glanced at him, touched by his words. “And Father?” you asked gently.

A small smile tugged at his lips. “Father would’ve been furious that you were grown enough to marry,” he replied, his tone lightening. “But he’d have been proud, too. Proud of you and of the match you’ve made.”

The mention of Daemon brought a new look to his face—one of conflicted fondness. He sighed and leaned back in his seat. “You and Daemon… You’ve always been inseparable. I only hope this union will bring you happiness, as much as it does the realm.”

You smiled softly, your fingers lightly brushing over the delicate fabric of your gown. “Daemon and I will do our duty, but this marriage is not just for the realm. It is for us.”

Viserys’ gaze softened further. “You and Daemon, happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for either of you.”

As the carriage approached the Sept, you caught a glimpse of the banners of House Targaryen flying high, the crowds gathering to witness the union.

Viserys reached out and placed a reassuring hand over yours. “The realm will celebrate today, but remember, this is your moment. Take it, and let no one tell you otherwise.”

You nodded, your heart steady with resolve. Today, you would not just be a bride but a queen of your own destiny, standing beside the man who had always been your closest confidant and deepest love.

You walked gracefully down the aisle, your arm linked with Viserys’. The grand Sept was filled with lords, ladies, and knights from across the realm, all gathered to witness the union. The light from the stained-glass windows painted the room in hues of gold and red, illuminating the Targaryen banners that hung proudly from the high arches.

At the altar stood Daemon, his usual air of confidence softened by the rare, genuine smile gracing his lips as he watched you approach. His violet eyes held yours, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away.

Viserys gave your hand a gentle squeeze before passing it to Daemon. His expression was one of reluctant acceptance, but you knew he cared for you deeply. Daemon took your hand, his grip firm yet tender as he pulled you closer.

The septon began the ceremony, his voice echoing through the sacred hall. He spoke of duty, love, and the strength of bonds forged in the light of the Seven. You barely heard the words, your focus entirely on Daemon—the man who had been your constant companion, your fiercest protector, and now, your husband.

When the time came to exchange your vows, Daemon’s voice was steady, yet laced with emotion as he spoke:

“With fire and blood, I bind my life to yours. From this day until my last, I am yours, and you are mine.”

Your own voice did not waver as you responded:

“Through the storms and flames, I will stand by your side. My heart is yours, now and forever.”

The septon proclaimed you husband and wife, and the crowd erupted in applause as Daemon leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that sealed your union.

As you turned to face the cheering crowd, Daemon whispered into your ear, “You were born to be mine, and now, the realm knows it.”

The two of you walked down the aisle together, hand in hand, ready to face whatever the future held as one.

The cheers and laughter of the gathered lords and ladies filled the air as you and Daemon stepped into the Great Hall of the Red Keep. The grand space was adorned with Targaryen banners, their crimson and black colors illuminated by the glow of countless candles. Tables were laden with the finest foods and wines from across the realm, a feast fit to honor the union of House Targaryen’s bloodline.

Daemon’s arm rested over yours as you descended the steps from the royal carriage. His smirk grew as he surveyed the crowd, his confidence radiating as always. You could feel his pride not only in himself but also in you—his wife, his equal.

The room fell silent as you both entered the throne room. All eyes turned to you, their murmurs of awe unmistakable. Your gown shimmered under the light, its white and silver fabric a reflection of the stars themselves, while your Valyrian features were framed perfectly by the intricate braids of your hair.

Daemon leaned in close as you paused at the entrance, his lips brushing your ear.

“They’re not here to celebrate the feast,” he murmured with a teasing tone, “They’re here to see the most beautiful woman in the realm.”

You smiled and gave his arm a light squeeze, your gaze sweeping across the room before the two of you moved forward, walking together with regal poise. At the center of the hall, Viserys stood waiting for you both, his expression a mixture of relief and joy as he raised a goblet to toast your union.

“Tonight, we celebrate not just the joining of two hearts but the strength of House Targaryen!” Viserys declared, his voice carrying across the hall. “May their love burn as brightly as dragonfire and stand as strong as the stone of Dragonstone!”

The crowd erupted into applause, and the music began to play. Daemon turned to you with a playful glint in his eyes, extending his hand.

“Shall we give them a dance to remember, my wife?”

You took his hand with a soft laugh, allowing him to lead you to the center of the room. As the two of you began to dance, the rest of the hall seemed to blur into the background, leaving only the two of you, your love, and the fire of House Targaryen burning brightly in your hearts.

The music swelled through the hall as you and Daemon danced, your movements perfectly synchronized as though you had been dancing together all your lives. The room faded away, leaving only the two of you in each other’s gaze.

Daemon’s hand rested firmly on your waist, guiding you effortlessly across the floor, while his other hand held yours with a gentle yet possessive grip. His violet eyes were locked onto yours, filled with an intensity that only he could convey. There was no one else in the world for him in that moment but you.

“You are breathtaking,” he whispered softly, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You smiled, your heart warming at his words. “And you look every bit the rogue prince they whisper about,” you teased lightly, though your tone was filled with affection.

His smirk deepened, but the love in his eyes never faltered. “Let them whisper. They’ll never know the truth of how you’ve stolen my heart.”

The music continued, and the guests watched in awe as you and Daemon moved as one, the perfect embodiment of Targaryen royalty. The way he spun you, the way you moved together, and the way he brought you back into his arms spoke volumes—this was not just a marriage of duty, but of deep, undeniable love.

When the music ended, the hall erupted in applause, but Daemon did not release you right away. Instead, he pulled you closer, his forehead resting gently against yours as he whispered, “We are bound now, by fire and blood. Always.”

You nodded, your voice just as soft. “Always.”

As the applause echoed around you, Daemon pulled you in even closer, his breath warm against your skin. He didn’t wait for the crowd to settle, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was full of promise, passion, and love. The world around you disappeared as you melted into his embrace, the kiss deep and slow, as though he was claiming you in front of everyone.

The sound of distant chatter faded as you lost yourself in the moment, feeling the weight of the vows you had just exchanged, the love you had built, and the bond that now tied you together. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, as if he couldn’t bear to be apart from you for even a moment.

When the kiss finally broke, Daemon rested his forehead against yours, his breath ragged. “I never want to be without you,” he whispered, voice filled with raw sincerity.

You smiled, your heart full, and softly replied, “And you never will be.”

The crowd continued to cheer, but it was just the two of you in that moment, lost in each other, knowing that this was the beginning of your forever.

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

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (7/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, mutual masturbation, targcets stuff, infidelity, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power, manipulation, violence, some kind of sexual harassment (unwanted touch), death threats, bad things ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

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

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Waiting for the arrival of his betrothed in the courtyard of the Red Keep, forced to do the deed by his mother, he thought, staring blankly ahead, that he longed to be anywhere else.

In his bed, in the Small Council chamber, on the back of Vhagar flying through the skies.

Even the vision of an evening spent with his cousin in the library teaching her the language of Old Valyria did not sound as awful as the prospect of what he would now have to do.

He was not good at pretending or lying – false flirting, sweet gestures and gifts to win the heart of a beloved woman were not his domain and aroused his pity. Conversing about nothing or romantic walks were also not what he wanted or needed.

He should be planning the war with Criston Cole, not courting a woman who was indifferent to him.

Worse, now that he had managed to forget what he had done to his nephew, he knew that along with Floris Baratheon's face all the memories, nightmares and unbearable pain in his eye socket would return.

He sighed, straightening up, standing with his hands folded behind his back as a couple of carriages drove through the gate, one with only the chests, the other surely with the person to whom they belonged.

Gods, how long was she going to stay here?

The door opened and he moved ahead reluctantly, needing to show at least a bit of courtesy, giving her his hand – Floris smiled at him gratefully and placed her soft palm on his, stepping out the carriage like the princess she surely longed to be.

"My Lady. Welcome to the Red Keep." He said, letting go of her hand, folding it behind him again.

A squeal and a cry of a little boy before Luke was swallowed by the Vhagar's maw.

He swallowed heavily, feeling a cold sweat on the back of his neck and an unpleasant stab of pain in his eye socket.

His betrothed bowed before him.

"My Prince. I am tired after my journey. Please, guide me to my chamber." She said, and he nodded, hoping that she was very tired and would not require any other effort from him.

He took a breath, surprised, feeling discomfort when they moved ahead and her fingers slid under his arm right away, snuggling into his side as if they were a pair of lovers.

He closed his eye and swallowed hard, feeling a tightness in his throat, rage, humiliation and shame, aware that the guards and servants might have been watching and mocking him, knowing how much he hated such familiarity.

For her, however, what was more important was not how he felt, but what she imagined in her head.

He was only to adapt to her fantasies.

As they walked into the chamber his mother had specially chosen for her, Floris smiled – her windows looked out onto the harbour itself, the beautiful sea and the sun.

He hummed, wondering if he would be able to escape.

"Get some rest, my Lady. I will see you at the supper." He said, wanting to take a step back and leave, but he heard her sigh quickly, seeing out of the corner of his eye her furrowed brow.

"I was hoping that we would get to know each other more closely. That you were also looking forward to this moment like I was. We could take a walk in the royal gardens and talk." She said with a hopefulness that made him feel a discomfort in his stomach.

He thought that he had not been waiting for this moment at all.

His brother had told him to get Borros Baratheon's daughter, and he did.

It was a decision dictated by politics, not the desire of his heart.

Deep down, he wished that as soon as the war was over their betrothal would be undone.

Storm's End would then no longer be of any use to them.

But he couldn't tell her that.

He finally looked at her, seeing her gaze full of desire but also excitement, as if she had already imagined what this marriage would give her – that he would surely slowly fall in love with her, that his behaviour was only due to embarrassment and his shy nature.

It didn't even occur to her that she could be indifferent to him, and that was exactly the case.

How was he supposed to make something out of nothing?

"What would you like to discuss with me?" He asked, wanting to shift the burden of this awkward exchange of words onto her.

His betrothed exhaled quietly, as if comforted that he hadn't left, though she smiled, something in her gaze that he didn't like.

"My heart broke when I learned of your lonely expedition. I understand, my Prince, that you did it for the good of the Kingdom, but you must know how awful and difficult the experience was for me, knowing that there was a young, unmarried woman at your side." She said in a way that indicated, in his opinion, that she was not sad because of it, but angry and irritated.

He hated it when someone did not say directly what was on their mind.

"At my brother's request, the Maester has dispelled your doubts, my Lady. My cousin remains untouched." He said coldly, however his grin was wide, menacing – he knew by the look on her face that she understood that she had frustrated him.

She, however, instead of accepting his explanation or negating it, decided to probe deeper into the subject.

"But did you touch her, my Prince? With your hands or your mouth?" She asked, looking at him proudly, as if she recognised that these questions were necessary for her to feel that her position remained unthreatened.

She felt his hands clench into fists behind his back.

"I touched her with my hands. It's hard not to when you're flying together on the back of a dragon."

"So I also want to fly with you on the back of a dragon." She communicated, like a child demanding the same toy from him.

He felt his teeth clench in his jaw, his heart pounding like mad in his chest with rage.

Who was she to demand anything from him?

Stupid cunt.

"I cannot agree to this, my Lady, for the sake of your safety. Your father has placed you under our protection." He said lightly, smiling so that for a moment he exposed his teeth, as if he wanted to bite through her artery.

"With you, I will certainly be safe." She didn't give up, clearly annoyed that he was denying her what he had given to another woman.

"I do not agree. Rest, my Lady. I will see you during supper." He replied and, without waiting for her farewell or a word, left the chamber with a slam of the door.

He felt like shouting, hitting someone, a guard or a servant, beating them until they lost consciousness.

And then he remembered.

Tyland Lannister's fucking servant.

It was time to make him pay for his lack of discretion.

"Robert is no longer serving in the fortress, Your Highness. He was moved to Casterly Rock by Lord Lannister." Said one of the boys when asked where he could find him.

His brother knew what he would want to do and removed the man from his sight so that he could not take revenge on him for his betrayal.

Fucking bastard.

He pounded his palms on the top of his table and cursed in rage, feeling like he was about to explode – he had the urge to ride to Vhagar, get on her back and burn everything he came across in his path.

He closed his hands into fists and leaned forward, panting heavily, feeling like a caged animal.

Why were there traps waiting for him on every side, set for him by his mother and his brother?

Why did he still experience from them the two feelings that caused him such pain: rejection and humiliation?

Sitting at the great table among the lords and their families, staring blankly ahead, pretending not to see the expectant glances of his betrothed in his direction, hoping for any kind of conversation, he thought for the first time in his life that he wished he simply didn't exist.

He wanted to disappear so that he didn't have to deal with all this.

What did he get in return?

A sad, disappointed look from his mother and a sneer from his older brother.

"What's that grave look, brother? Do you not rejoice at the sight of your chosen one, Lady Floris? She has come a long way to see your displeased face." Said Aegon and laughed, licking his lips, none, however, echoed him.

If it had been the first time, or the fiftieth time, but he could no longer count how many times he had humiliated him in this way in the presence of others, and he always, every time, felt the same squeeze in his throat, sadness and emptiness.

Why didn't he instead take him aside, ask him what was happening?

Doesn't he need help?

His brotherly understanding, advice, support?

Was he not worthy of this honour?

He sighed, deciding it didn't matter, when he heard the chamber door open and his King's attention turned to another guest.

"Ah, here is my dear, fearless cousin. Come here, my Lady, I have assigned you a seat next to my brother. Perhaps your presence will lift his spirits." His brother called out, and he closed his eyes and swallowed hard, not even bothering to look at the expression on his betrothed's face, hearing her twist next to him in her chair.

He wondered if it wouldn't be better if he just killed him.

He heard her footsteps behind his back, and a moment later he smelled her pleasant, floral scent – the servant had pushed back her chair for her. She sat down beside him, to his right, and for some reason he felt a little better.

She was by his side.

He didn't understand why, but he struggled to restrain himself from slipping his hand under the table and placing it on her thigh, wandering up and down, wordlessly letting her know that he missed her in some strange, twisted way.

She was always honest with him, his little dragon, her and her sweet, sharp tongue that cut like a dagger.

"My Lady." He heard Floris's voice to his left, leaning forward to see her better.

Gods, have mercy, he thought.

She was going to express her jealousy in front of everyone.

"I congratulate you on taming a dragon. No one expected you to succeed." She said with feigned admiration from which he rolled his eyes and shook his head, glancing at his cousin.

She, to his surprise was smiling broadly, her eyes shining dangerously, as if his betrothed amused her but also irritated her at the same time.

"I didn't believe it myself, my Lady. I was convinced that I would burn and become dust." She said with such light-heartedness that he and several people at the table chuckled at her words.

Why did he feel satisfaction?

"The gods have spared you. Will you stand to fight your father?" Floris continued, deliberately changing the subject to one that was uncomfortable for her, to force her to make a mistake and say something she shouldn't.

"Enough." He said impatiently, wanting to spare her this, however, his cousin decided to respond, finding her question surprisingly easy to answer.

"My dragon lacks experience and composure. I will be a mere support for the King and the Prince."

He smirked under his breath, thinking she had been clever in answering politely and cordially, while giving his betrothed no reason to mock or cause him or the King himself to distrust her.

To his relief, Aegon interrupted this exchange of words by ordering music to be played, and he decided to eat something, feeling that, indeed, his cousin's presence by his side had lifted his spirits and restored his appetite.

He pressed his lips together and sighed when Floris's hand brushed his wrist.

Did she have to touch him all the time?

Did she think it was romantic, that she was arousing his desire in this way?

The only feeling he felt was frustration.

"Will you pass me a tray of goose pate, my love?" She asked in a whisper, as if she was telling him some important secret, and he simply nodded, handing her the platter.

"Thank you." She said, but he answered her nothing, concentrating on his roast, hoping she wouldn't make him speak to her with his mouth full.

When he had quenched his thirst and satisfied his appetite, he thought it was time for him and his cousin to leave, however, they could not do so together – that would arouse the displeasure and curiosity of his betrothed, and he did not want that.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, trying to get her attention, but she was focused on cutting the meat, immersed in her own world, not caring about what was going on around her.

The desire to sink his fingers into her thigh returned to him with redoubled force making his manhood pulsate softly in his breeches, but he limited himself to pressing his knee against hers, hoping she would understand what he meant.

He saw that she froze and breathed a sigh of relief when she finally stood up, communicating to all assembled that she would retire to bed, to which his brother-king, already completely drunk, agreed.

He waited a long time before getting up himself.

"My brother. Are you leaving us already?" Aegon asked.

"I am tired." He explained, looking at him coolly.

It was not a lie, he thought.

"I will escort you to your chamber, my Prince." Floris said, immediately rising from her seat, and he nodded, wanting nothing more than to escape from this room as quickly as possible.

This was what his evenings were to be like for days, weeks, months, years, once she became his wife.

He swallowed hard, stepping out into the corridor, feeling the contents of his stomach and the roast he had eaten rise to his throat as if he was about to vomit.

He closed his eyes and pulled away from her as she tried again to grab his arm.

"No." He growled more harshly than he would have liked, feeling his heart pounding like mad as he simply walked ahead.

Her silhouette walked beside him, her face raised at him filled with bitterness.

"Why? We are betrothed. I long to feel your closeness, at least for a moment."

He stopped, looking at her as if he was about to tear her apart, feeling himself breathing loudly through his mouth.

"But I don't want it." He said in a breaking voice, thinking that perhaps if he played the wounded boy it would give him at least a little peace and space.

"It's just a touch of the hand, my love. Nothing bad." She said, against his request touching his arm again, stroking it in a gesture of comfort.

He closed his eyes and grinned coldly, shaking his head, feeling tears of despair under his eyelids.

He thought he hated her.

"Sleep well, my Lady."

"This corridor. This is not the way to your chambers." She said in a trembling voice.

He looked at her over his shoulder, feeling his heart thump harder in his chest.

"I need to do one more thing."

"Do you..."

"That's enough. One more word from you and I'll lose patience. Don't provoke me." He said and turned away, walking towards the library.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he looked over his shoulder and saw that she was gone.

He ran his hand over his face, thinking that he couldn't stand it.

That he had to somehow get rid of her from the Red Keep and his life.

His brother was not worth such a sacrifice.

He felt at home in the library – the old oak bookcases filled to the brim with thick volumes reminded him of his childhood, the years he had spent in that great hall, hiding from the world.

He pulled out a few of the books he had used himself to study, knowing most of them almost by heart, and spread them out on one of the tables where one of the servants had lit some candles.

"You may leave." He said, and the boy nodded and left.

When the door finally opened and he saw her, he froze.

She was wearing his mother's robe thrown over her nightgown, that was certain, however, he did not understand why she had put it on now – that attire should only be worn in the privacy of her own chamber, outside of it being in a degree of negligee.

He swallowed quietly, watching as her girlish figure moved across the floor towards him with a quiet rustling of the shiny, delicate fabric tied at her waist.

He had a feeling that if he pulled at the ribbon, he would reveal her entire beautiful, bare body before his eyes, hidden only beneath the thin layer of her linen shirt.

He grunted as she sat down beside him, smelling her pleasant, fresh scent, sliding a few books towards her.

He knew what he wanted to practice with her and he was doing it deliberately.

He needed to take it out on someone and she had become his victim.

"We'll start with the basics. The most important and simplest terms." He said, pointing his finger at one of the words.

"Jelmor." He hummed. "North."

"Jelmor." She whispered, her voice soft and calm, clearly focused on her task.

She really wanted to learn, he thought with surprise and pride.

The heritage she so despised had become dear to her.

He felt a pleasant warmth in his lower abdomen and satisfaction at the thought.

"Ñāqon. East."

"Nāqon." She said, however, with a mistake, not making the right sound at the beginning of the word.

"No. Roll your tongue at the n." He explained, and she swallowed hard, as if gathering the courage to say it again.

"Ñāqon." She said, slightly better this time.

"Better. Vēzor. South."

"Vēzor."

"Endia. West."

"Endia."

"Muña. Mother." He hummed, looking at her intently, and saw exactly what he wanted.

She froze completely, and her body tensed all over as if he had hit her.

"Muña." She said softly, warmly, her voice trembling slightly, betraying the pain she felt.

"Mmm. Kepa. Father." He said, and she looked at him in a way from which his manhood instantly swelled and pulsed hard, causing his lips to part in a sigh.

Her brown eyes were glazed from tears, her eyebrows arched in pain as if she was asking him why he was doing this to her.

"Repeat." He whispered.

"Kepa." She said, as if she was praying to one of the gods.

Kepa.

A single, lonely tear ran down her cheek, a sign that she still loved him, her father who had abandoned her, after all these years remaining a small child craving attention and praise, helpless and powerless, beautiful in her suffering.

Noble.

He lifted his hand to her cheek, for some reason wanting to relieve her, to let her know that he understood her, that he didn't think what she felt was a cause for shame.

She shuddered as his thumb brushed the wet mark from her plump cheek, the gaze of her doe eyes fixed on him, only on him.

"Trēsy. Son." He said softly, quietly, as if he was afraid to frighten her, his index finger running over her jaw, admiring the shape of her smooth face.

"Tresy."

"No." He said. "Trēsy. The letter 'ē' needs to be read deeper, as if you want to sing."

"Trēsy."

"Tala. Daugther."

He saw her shake her head, pressing her lips together as if to tell him that she was incapable of doing it, of uttering a word the meaning of which remained foreign to her.

She didn't know what it meant to be someone's daughter, just as he didn't know what it meant to be someone's betrothed, someone's son, someone's brother.

He pressed his forehead against hers, sinking his hand into the back of her neck, stroking soothingly her soft skin, feeling himself grow hard, his breath deep and uneven, filled with desire.

Her closeness was never forced, he thought with tenderness, to which his heart thumped harder in his chest.

Just like with her dragon, she allowed him to approach her when he wished, watching her from afar, circling around her until he himself, of his own accord, fell again and again into her arms.

"Tala."

"Hāedar." He hummed, feeling his erection throb hard in his breeches, his gaze fixed on her face. "Little sister."

She opened her eyes upon hearing those words, and he saw what he wanted in her hazy, hot gaze.

She was wet.

She merely sighed as his other hand did what he had longed to do since supper, touching her knee, travelling lazily upwards to her place of pleasure.

"Hāedar." She exhaled, her puffy, pink lips parted sweetly, her hard nipples peeking through her robe.

Gods, how he craved her.

I'm going to caress her, he thought, and then I'll take her here, on this table.

"Lēkia." He breathed out in a trembling voice, closing his hand over her womanhood, her eyebrows arching in disbelief as a quiet, innocent moan broke from her throat. "Older brother."

Say it, he thought, feeling his cock twitch in his breeches in impatience, his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

"Lēkia." She moaned as if calling out to him, begging him to end her suffering, and his hand immediately clenched in her hair allowing his mouth, swollen with desire, to close on hers in a greedy, hot kiss.

She gasped in his throat as their one lustful kiss turned into a second, a third and a fourth – a surprised murmur of delight broke from his lips as her soft hand touch his cheek, combing through his hair at last, her closeness so unforced, tender, warm, innocent, desired.

He thought he had never allowed himself to be kissed on the mouth by Madam, while his lips sank again and again into her helpless sobs of pleasure, breathing hard with the loud clicks of their saliva, his impatient, slick tongue forced its way deep into her hot throat as his hand lifted the material of her robe higher.

She mewled and shuddered all over, clasping her hands on his body as his fingertips finally dug into the leaking, silken structure of her folds – he groaned low, surprised to feel her cunt pulsing all over, hot and moist under his fingers, ready for his further caresses.

She wanted this.

She wanted him inside her.

He thought his cock was about to burst with desire, but he knew he couldn't take her yet, so in an act of desperation he grabbed one of her hands and pressed it against the throbbing, hard bulge in his breeches.

They both groaned, panting into each other's mouths, teasing each other with the tips of their wet tongues as, while his fingers circled around her little pearl, she trailed over his long, swollen manhood.

He pulled her to him, embracing her around the waist, feeling her sweet nipples pushing against the material of his tunic as her swollen lips and soft thighs parted invitingly before him with her cry of pleasure, the tips of his fingers pushing against her slit, ready to slide into her and feel how tight and warm she was.

A voice stuck in their throats and they both pulled away from each other as if burned, terrified when they heard someone open the door – in some subconscious, involuntary reflex he wiped his fingers, sticky with her wetness against his breeches, her hands quickly leaving the material of her robe down.

When he saw Floris's grave face he closed his eyes and sighed, feeling his heart pounding like mad in bitterness and disappointment, his cock pulsing and twitching in his trousers, not understanding why he had interrupted their caresses when what he had experienced was so pleasurable.

So right.

"The guards told me I would find you here, my Prince. I did not know you would have company." She said quietly, and he looked ahead with a blank stare, wondering how he could believe that she would just go to sleep, that she would not move after him, suspicious and full of concerns.

Rightful concerns, moreover.

"I am teaching my cousin the language of Old Valyria. It is the only way she can communicate with her dragon." He said, feeling only weariness and fatigue, not having the strength to look at her or speak to her.

He knew he had been cruel, but there was nothing he could do about it.

If she had been wiser, she would have seen that he did not care about her or her welfare and would have asked her father herself to break off their betrothal, not wanting to suffer such humiliation.

She, however, preferred to remain the prince's betrothed, even if unwanted one.

Floris walked over to the table and flipped through one of the pages, pretending to understand anything of what was written there.

"May I join you? I would also like to learn the language of your ancestors, my love." She said, and although he clearly asked her not to touch him, her hand laid on his shoulder.

He closed his eyes, feeling an unpleasant shudder.

Her hand on his shoulder or between his thighs, what difference did it make?

"I will not be able to concentrate with you standing by my side, my Lady." He whispered in a weak voice, for some reason feeling humiliated, having the urge to cry like a child.

Take your hand off me, he thought, but her hand slipped lower, to his forearm.

"Does my presence disturb you, my love?" She asked, but more than her question, his attention was drawn to the fact that his cousin wanted to get up from her seat.

"I'll leave you alone. With your permission." She said, and he pressed his lips together, feeling panic.

No, he thought.

Don't leave me alone with her.

"Daor, hāedar."

She looked at him in shock, her lips parted slightly in disbelief, her eyebrows arched in pain, in her eyes warmth, tenderness and something else from which he felt a pleasant tingling in his fingertips as he watched her sit back in her seat.

She stayed.

"What did you say, my love?" Floris asked, and he licked his lower lip, feeling impatience.

"I don't allow it. We are not finished yet. Soon her dragon will move to fight at my side and she must be ready. I ask that you never interrupt us again. If you wish, we will take a walk around the royal gardens tomorrow, just as you desire." He said, willing to give her what she wanted as long as she left him alone and took her hand off him.

"Is it because she is your cousin? Like any Targaryen you prefer your own kin?" His betrothed asked with anger, and something snapped inside him – his fists hit the table with all his might, both of them jumping as he stood up like an enraged lion, thinking he was going to kill this whore with his own hands.

Who the fuck was she to speak to him like that?

He could have had her tongue for that and sent it in a small casket to her father as a warning so that none of his daughters would appear in the Red Keep again.

"Lēkia." He heard her pleading voice, her soft hand gently touching his arm in an attempt to stop him.

He looked at her, at his hāedar, at her sweet face red with emotion, her gaze full of request, her puffy lips parted in an uneven, deep breath.

If he could, he would kiss her again, her moist lips, her long neck, her plump breasts, her hard nipples, her smooth stomach, to finally sink his face into her leaking, soft cunt.

For a moment he considered doing this, he decided, however, that doing so would humiliate her, and he did not want that.

Her hand let go of him when she saw that the first wave of his anger had passed, replaced by a second, much more threatening one.

He looked at his betrothed, at her face twisted in a grimace of anger and pain, at her eyes filled with tears.

She had come to marry the image of a man, not him.

"I will consider that you never said it, my Lady. Otherwise I would have to recognise that you intended to insult me and my family. And that would mean, in turn, that my betrothed is a fool. Is that how it is, my Lady?" He asked with a sneer in his voice, the corner of his mouth twitching when he saw the frown on her forehead at his words.

"No, my Prince. I am not." She said, looking at his cousin in a way he didn't like, before he could say anything, however, Floris turned and walked away, leaving them alone.

Silence fell – he glanced at his cousin out of the corner of his eye, partly hoping that they would finish what they had started, still half-hard, but he saw that her face was turned away in embarrassment, her figure bent.

Unlike him, she had a sense of shame, he thought regretfully.

"You may leave." He said.

She nodded and moved towards the door, as if she was afraid that if she looked at him she wouldn't hold back and they would both sin even more than they already had.

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard as the door closed behind her – he sat down in his chair, undid the belt from his tunic and untied his breeches, immediately putting his hand inside them.

He groaned throatily and leaned his forehead down, pressing it against the wooden table top, imagining that he was actually cuddling it to her sweet breasts, gripping his erection in his palm.

He imagined how he would do this to her – how gentle his thrusts into her delicate, warm body would be, rocking his hips lazily back and forth, rolling them each time his fingers squeezed the base of his swollen, pink cock, sighing in pleasure.

"– hāedar – oh, fuck –" He exhaled, speeding up, panting hard, imposing a more aggressive, faster pace on himself, squeezing his painfully hard erection with loud smacks of his palm against his stones, feeling that he would reach his peak embarrassingly quickly.

"– ah –" He moaned like a little boy, feeling tears under his eyelids at the thought of how great the relief that shook his body was, his mouth wide open as his pearly, sticky spend trickled down his fingers.

For a moment more he moved his hips in rhythm with his hand, imagining that he was deep inside her, in her warmth, snuggled between her soft breasts, calm and safe.

And then he opened his eyes and felt a squeeze in his throat, seeing the books and the candles all around him, feeling an embarrassing, painful emptiness.

His jaw trembled, his breath became heavy, but he did not allow himself to shed any tears, getting up from his seat, bringing himself to order.

He was just fastening the belt of his tunic when one of the guards suddenly rushed in, terrified.

"My Prince. Your prisoner has been attacked."

He stood over her bed feeling that he was quivering with rage, not hearing his mother's or his brother's discussion, looking at her gentle face immersed in sleep.

"Will she survive? We need her. How the fuck could this happen?" Aegon said, pacing around the room furiously, running his hand over his chin.

"In my opinion, she was hit in the back of the head with a long, heavy object, after which her head hit something hard again, probably the stone floor. This night will determine her death or life. If there has been bleeding inside her skull, nothing can be done." The Maester said, and he looked away, staring at Floris' face, who stood beside his mother, pale, afraid to lift her gaze to him.

For a moment he wondered, sure that it was her doing, whether to expose her in front of his brother, then, however, he decided that she might begin to say something about what she had seen, to spread rumours about his and his cousin's relationship.

He had to deal with her himself.

"We have fucking enemies everywhere. Maybe it was her father who sent someone to get rid of her?" His brother continued, thinking out loud.

Floris looked at him and nodded.

"It is very possible, Your Grace. Certainly Prince Daemon is furious that she managed to tame a dragon. Poor girl." She said, as if she was actually worried and sympathised with her, and he looked at her, grinning broadly.

I'm going to fucking kill you, he thought.

"Aemond. Do you find this amusing?" His mother said to him, snapping him out of his reverie.

"I find it very amusing, mother, because I think I know who did it." He said lightly, glancing at his brother, who spread his arms in a gesture of invitation.

"So tell us this secret." He said, and he looked at his betrothed with a smile.

"As soon as I am sure. Meanwhile, I will escort my betrothed to her chambers. She must surely be tired, and I do not wish to see her suffer a similar fate to my poor cousin." He sneered, cocking his head, stepping towards her.

"No need, my Prince, don't bother." She muttered, panicking, unable to look him in the eye as he towered over her.

"I insist."

Floris Baratheon's head slammed into the wall with all his strength as soon as the door to her chamber closed behind them – he grabbed her by the throat, holding the blade of his dagger against her chin.

"You will return to Storm's End and tell your illiterate father that our betrothal was broken because of you. Furthermore, you will tell him what you did to my cousin. You will say that the Crown could not, because of your unacceptable behaviour, bring about our marriage, but that the agreement between your father and the Realm is still in force. If your father objects, I will come to Storm's End on Vhagar once more, and I promise you that you will meet the fate of my nephew, you dumb, insolent cunt." He growled and let her go – Floris fell to her knees, drew in her air loudly and burst out sobbing, curling up in fear.

"– why are you hurting me? – I have nothing to do with it, I swear –" She mumbled, choking on her own tears.

"– and I swear you that if you insist on becoming my wife, I will hurt you every morning and every evening, for all the days of your life, and then I will fuck my cousin in the chamber next door so that you can listen to what pleasure means, which you will never know from me – you are to leave the Red Keep with the first light –" He said coldly and left, closing the door behind him with a loud slam.

When he returned back to her chamber, there were only the physicians and the Maester, who was supervising their work, laying cold cloths on her forehead.

"Did she get a fever?" He asked, sitting down beside her on the soft bed, touching her cheek.

It was hot.

"Yes." He said, bringing a new bowl of water and ice.

"Leave it. I'll do it myself." He said, rising from his seat, undoing the belt and buckles of his leather tunic, staying only in his white linen shirt tucked into his breeches.

"I will come to examine her again in an hour, my Prince." Said the Maester and bowed to him, leaving him alone with her.

He sat back on the bed beside her, pulling the cloth from her face, sinking it anew into the cold water only to place it on her warm forehead again.

"– umbagon lēda nyke, zaldrītsos (stay with me, little dragon) –" He hummed tenderly, his hand moving from her forehead higher, combing her soft hair with his fingers.

"– kepa –"

He froze, looking at her in pain, her brow arched in misery.

She thought he was Daemon.

He swallowed hard, leaning toward her, stroking her head with his hand as if she were a small child.

"– shhh –" He hushed her, his full lips pressing a soft, warm kiss on her hot forehead. "– you're safe now –"

She opened her eyes – he saw her tears, glistening in the candlelight, running down the sides of her face, as if his words had both hurt and soothed her.

He sighed as her small hand lifted to cup his scarred cheek, the tips of her fingers brushed against his skin.

"– lēkia –" She mumbled, something about the way she said it, the relief he saw in her eyes, made their lips press together in a sticky, tender kiss.

"– mmm –" She sighed as he repeated the caress with a quiet click of their saliva, running his thumb over her jaw and chin, sinking into the moist sweetness of her plump lips again and again, uniting with her in that innocent, intimate way.

They both breathed heavily as he pulled away from her, looking at each other for a moment, his erection pulsing hard in his breeches, letting him know he had to stop.

He couldn't take her now.

He hummed, seeing that she closed her eyes again, stroking her hot, rosy cheek with his thumb, her face nuzzled into his hand.

"– sleep, little sister – your brother will stay by your side –"

[beneathashadytree]

TEXTING THEIR DEAD BELOVED - TEXTING THE LOVE AND DEEPSPACE MEN

Warnings : their only love (the reader) is dead, no established relationship, implied spoilers for their myths, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : heart-breaking angst☹️

Additional notes : This was so challenging to write, nonnie… not just cause it was difficult in terms of writing, but in terms of stopping myself from SOBBING while making these😭 To anyone else reading this, my requests are still closed!! These are just old requests I had in my inbox🫶🏽

Tip jar!

Masterlist

Taglist: @angry-and-yandere @nxx-jordiepord @honestlyjustablog @dawnbreakersgaze @tartartagliaboo @lucis-noctiana @mushriiin @flurrina @reika-desu @randomidk-123 @tikitsune @cofijelli @roll-of-royces @loveyoutodeep @belovedof @obiwanmcprobie @hawtlineblingz @kalatipunan @eurekazz @bifedebruxa @thescribeswife @mysticangel123 @xenasolos @jvnluvr @dann-acalle @rosariymchapter @rin-sv14 @yololesgo @an-ever-angry-bi @semi-orangeapple @lavanderbliss @myturnwhen @winterlvod @carsonology @deepzombieyouth @respitable @stellisangelicus-world @kvsqkiii @bitchynightmarepost @snoozeflare @spotted-salamander @cindywasneverhere @ladyparamount @sncrly0urs @huntersmoon1 @musiclover2119 @girl-who-lives-in-delusion @milktsukii @fromdeepspace-withlove @flavoredhappy @hrhmimieucliffe @icedunderwaterroom @ay-chuu @granddearduck @skriblobz @honeyshoney149 (more in replies!)

Sign up for my taglist here!

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Threefold cord (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Daemon’s wife is presumed dead. But is she?

A/N: Blue beard, to finish my Halloween celebration because I cannot write on schedule. Also @just-some-random-blogger look! The fic I told you about.

Warnings: Hightower!reader x Daemon. Smut. Alicent, Gwayne and reader as siblings. Death of Rhea Royce. Happy ending!

“ARE YOU TRULY about to wed him?” You set your teacup down on its saucer. When your father had summoned you to the capital, you had known it was important news. But Alicent becoming a Queen? It surpassed everything you had imagined.

Your father wanted to make sure you were there to witness her triumph. Alicent lacked allies in court, beyond the Princess. And that relationship would sour as soon as the other girl heard just who her father was to wed.

Alicent was too naive to see it. Or purposefully blind. She claimed to not know what she had been doing when visiting the King, too. You guessed the thought made it easier to bear for her.

You didn’t blame her. King Viserys was old and beginning to show signs of being sickly. The thought of offering yourself to such a man, twice your age, on your father’s orders, wasn’t pleasant. You would rather pretend you were just being kind.

“It is for the best. Father says that he…” Alicent begins justifying her actions, and you tune out. You know it will just be a repetition of your father’s lectures. Duty. Bearing children. Women knowing their place.

You pitied her, for believing in his bullshit. It wasn’t as if either of you could escape your fate, but you at least tried not to lower yourself into thinking you were a lesser, gentler being, made to be bred. Instead, you enjoyed thinking you were a person. Just as human as any man, just as smart, just as strong. Only one trapped by your status as a noblewoman.

You sip at your tea. You are cautious not to make a sound when doing so, and not take too big of a sip. Anyone who gazes at your courtly smile and comely manners would not guess your innermost thoughts.

Alicent continues her tirade, describing animatedly how much she wants to do her duty and birth children. How she knows her body will not fail her as it did for the late Queen. She has an unfortunate thirst for proving herself, your eldest sister.

“And King Viserys asked me about you, the other day. He would like for you to marry Prince Daemon…”

The tea you are drinking goes down the wrong way. You start coughing, and have to hurriedly set down your teacup as to not burn yourself.

“Excuse me?” You say, once the coughing fit subsides a bit, and you are able to wipe your mouth with a napkin. “I will… What? Does father know of this?”

She looks at you, concerned, but says nothing about it. She pours herself another cup of tea.

“Prince Daemon’s wife has been missing for a while. They think she might have…” Alicent leans in, voice lowering. You are in the Tower of the Hand, surrounded by men loyal to your father, and yet she feels she cannot say it freely. You wonder what has Lady Royce done to scandalize her such. “Ran away. With a lover.”

“You prude!” You laugh. You had thought it much worse. “She wouldn’t be the first woman to do so, don’t be nai…”

“A female one.” Alicent interrupts, setting down her own teacup. The movement is a bit harsh, making the porcelain screech.

You open and close your mouth. You had not known that was even a possibility.

“How does one..?”

“Be as it may…” She raises a hand, halting you. “Father says you shall marry him, if he finds you agreeable.”

There was not much you knew about politics, but you were pretty sure the Prince despised your father and your house by extension. You doubted he would find you agreeable. Your father would doubt it too, but he was too blinded by the hope of getting Runestone.

Lady Royce had no heir. Her castle had gone to Daemon, the King needing little convincing to award it to his beloved brother. Imagining all that bronze in your hands, in House Hightower’s hands, would have him salivating. At getting his enemy away from court? That was only an unexpected bonus. If the man liked you and decided he wanted to play Come-into-my-castle with you, you were sure your father would dance a gig.

You wouldn’t. If it did happen… You shuddered, thinking of the man with the lecherous grin, always whoring. Twice your age, and crass as they came. The only times you had crossed paths, he had been busy ogling Alicent or his niece.

“I am not marrying him.”

Alicent frowns at you. Her eyes turn sad. When she gets contradicted, she looks much like a kicked puppy.

“I have never met him.” You explain, feeling guilty over upsetting her. She is just so much like your father, sometimes. It angers you, even when you know it is not her fault. She doesn’t have the same anger in her veins as you do. All she ever wanted was to please your father.

“He is looking for a wife, and King Viserys thinks it would be marvelous if you married him. I have told him all about you.” Alicent sounds excited about the whole thing, and just… No. You do not want to marry a man twice your age. Gross. Her tone turns softer. “I think it would be nice. To belong to the same House even after marriage. To be never parted from my sister.”

The want in her expression makes you soften. It is not often that Alicent admits to desiring anything, and you do not wish to discourage her.

“I’ll meet him.” You decide. “Just that.”

“Oh, how wonderful!”

And the Seven bless her, she actually seems delighted to hear it.

THE WEDDING IS awfully dull. The Septon drones on and on about the Mother and the Father, and the duties of marriage. Alicent looks stunning in her silk gown, beautiful but modest. It is no use. People already speak of what she has done to trap the King into marriage.

Princess Rhaenyra keeps sending her glares during the feast. Sometimes in anger, sometimes in hurt. She is not quite sure what to feel. You can tell from the way she pauses when looking at Alicent. You pity her too.

Losing a mother is a terrible thing. You can only imagine how much it hurts to see her replaced by a girl your own age.

The Princess is a woman who has everything and yet, it's still a woman. No power to stop her father from bedding her best friend, no power to change anything at all. The realization of her powerlessness is clear in her features.

In contrast, you doubt you have ever seen your father this happy. Ever. He is alight with pride. As if throwing his daughter to an old man is some great accomplishment. He has spared no expense on this wedding, the ceremony and feast lavish in a way that feels almost tasteless.

The pomp and luxuries have you feeling morose. You sip at your hippocras, tucked into a corner of the high table, and try to pretend you are invisible. Gwayne has left you far too soon, off to dance with some ladies.

He has always been the courteous sort, just like you. You enjoy watching him charm the ladies, and enjoy more the fact that he hasn’t tried to drag you to the dance floor.

For that, you are grateful. Some ladies are lively and dance as if gliding through water. You do not. Dancing had not been on the list of abilities you had acquired during your etiquette lessons.

It had always felt like peacocking to you. Showing yourself to others, showing how pretty you smiled, how graceful you were. The attention it brought made you uncomfortable. You much preferred blending in.

“Strange choice of drink you have there.” Prince Daemon says, sitting across from you. “Even stranger that you are still sitting at your sister's wedding.”

“I could say the same.” You reply, colder than you planned to. The hippocras is hitting you already, making your temper shorter. You have little interest in Daemon Targaryen.

There is a secret plan in your head. When you reach thirty, you will claim a sudden awakening of Faith and retire to the comforts of life as a Septa. You have done enough charity to know that Septas don’t do as much as they like people to think. The only thing you will miss will be the alcohol.

“Ah, but I am just sitting now.” He idly reaches for the carafe of hippocras you are monopolizing, and serves himself a goblet. “Is this any good?”

“At least it’s not dornish swill.” Dornish wine has to be the worst thing you have ever tasted, not even fit for pigs. Bitter and watery, the mere thought annoys you.

Prince Daemon barks out a laughter.

“Good Gods, where was Otto hiding you?”

“Probably in the same place as your decency.”

“Thread carefully.” Daemon’s expression turns far colder. His hand tightens around the stem of his goblet. “I might like your cheek, but I am still a prince of the realm.”

“One soon to be displaced.” You toast. A bit of hippocras spills from your goblet. You are far too drunk to care about his thoughts. “Be it by my nephews or your niece.”

His face reddens.

“Bitch.” He spits the word from clenched teeth. You laugh loudly.

“Knave.”

“You are an insolent little thing, aren’t you?” Daemon snarls, leaning over the table as if to throttle you. Drunk as you are, you don’t feel any fear. You have just enough rational thoughts left to believe you will be alright, since even the darkened corner you have chosen to sit in is too public for him to murder you without repercussions.

“I am small but fierce.”

“I can see that. Do all Hightower cunts have teeth?”

You smile at him, lazy and warm from the drinks you have had.

“I don’t know, care to find out?”

And Daemon laughs. He asks you to dance instead. As he twirls you and dips you, you come to find he is not bad company after all. And if you laugh a tad more than necessary, and accept his offer to walk the gardens the next afternoon, no one can blame you.

“IT IS BUT a couple of days.” Daemon says to you, softly. You lay on your stomach, head propped up on your arms. You twist your head just so to force him to see your sad little pout.

His hand comes to rub at your shoulders, as if you were a spooked horse he is trying to soothe. His touch is warm and calming against your bare skin.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

He has soothed you into complacency, this husband of yours. He allows you to indulge in fine wines, and be as frivolous as you wish. The only thing he asks of you is that you are warm and willing when he is. It is no chore.

Long gone is your rage. Now, you exist in a perfect bubble, where no one constricts your freedom. There is no screeching father to tell you that you are a disaster, nor is there a horrified Alicent. Instead, Daemon encourages all your eccentricities, and teaches you some new ones.

“Will you?” You roll on your side, stretching. You have done nothing today, not even dress. Daemon and you have spent the whole morning tangled in each other, warm and naked.

He smiles. That same grin that had once seemed so lecherous to you, now looks inviting.

You bite your lower lip, already anticipating what is to come.

“Minx.” Daemon laughs, before leaning in to press an open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder. The contact of his lips against your skin makes you shiver, a delicate sigh leaving you. “You won’t even notice I am gone.”

“Of course I will.” You whine, as he kisses a path down your spine. “Who will bring me such pleasure?”

A sudden, sharp pain on your arse makes you yelp and sit up. Daemon smirks, and feigns taking another bite out of you.

“You are so spoiled.” He laughs. “Cannot take even a little pain. I’ll leave you some coin, and you can invite your sister to keep you company. How does it sound?”

“Think the King can spare his Queen?” You have not seen your sister since your wedding. The ravens fly fast enough that you know the news already, but you doubt King Viserys will allow her to be out of his sight for long. Not when pregnant.

Daemon nips at your thigh. You jerk, but he coaxes you back into laying on your stomach.

“Before she gets too round to travel, yes. In a few moons, it will have to be us making the trip.”

“Gods, I hate babes.”

“So do I.” He rubs at your inner thigh, slowly prying your legs open. “So? Is my spoiled wife happy?”

“Very.” You rub your face in the pillow, all kittenish. You like being called his. “Do I get the keys of the castle, too?”

Daemon kisses the place where your thigh meets your arse. You can feel his smile against your skin, promising sin.

“Of course. Just don’t go into the room with the red door, alright? I forbid it.”

“You do?” You challenge, thinking it part of the game. So far, you have yet to explore all of Runestone, always too entertained by him to do so. There are a few rooms he is cagey about, but you have always blamed it on Daemon being very private and needing his space. He has never allowed you into his personal library, either. Says you would ruin the books.

You have never minded it. You understand your place here, the dumb young wife. Men never like thinking the woman they are with can be more interesting than them. To think you can also have an interest in books, apart from being frivolous, would be too much for him to handle.

The warning about the red door only registers to you as part of the games you usually play in the bedroom. Something he can punish you about later on, something that might excuse a round of rough lovemaking.

But his expression turns into a frightening mask of utter rage. He pinches you in the thigh, and this time, it really hurts.

“Fuck!” You cry out, fighting his hold. His grip has turned from the sweetest chains into unforgiving iron around your hips. You cannot move. Not even as he slaps your thigh, hard enough to make your eyes water. “Daemon, what the..?”

“I mean it.” He is cruel about it, slapping again the stinging flesh. “I do not want you in there. If you disobey, I’ll know.”

You stare at him, open-mouthed, You cannot comprehend how fast he has flipped, from kind lover to whatever this is. The rogue Prince is mercurial, you think, echoing the letter your father had once written complaining about him, his moods dangerous.

“Fine!” You cry out, desperate to evict this creature that has taken sudden hold of your husband’s body. “Fine! No opening the red door.”

Daemon softens then. His shoulders slump, and his face goes back into a mask of devotion.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you.” He presses a kiss to your thigh, to the place he slapped. You tense. “It is dangerous for you. Like the Moondoor in The Eyrie.”

Yet, as his touch turns back into loving, you do not forget. There is something about what lies beyond that red door that turns him into a monster. A creature capable of hurting even you.

You intend to find out what it is.

THE FORTNIGHT SPENT with Alicent is by far, the best of your life. Runestone is grand, with intricate tapestries and artwork decorating the walls. Your sister has always loved art, and the time spent surrounded by beautiful things seems to rejuvenate her.

Her pregnancy appears to be easy and without fuzz. There is no nausea preventing her from having as many lemon cakes as you two wish, or from exploring the Vale’s markets, trying on dresses and tasting expensive food.

The money Daemon has left you is enough to fund your shopping sprees. You have so much fun, running in the halls and trying on dresses, it feels as if you are little girls again. The only thing missing from your childhood is Gwayne.

So you send for him.

Despite how much joy your time spent with your sister brings you, you cannot shake the thought about the red door.

It is situated in one of the towers, near the place where Daemon keeps his books. You pass by it daily, for Alicent’s rooms have been placed in the same tower. Housing a Queen is no easy task, much less when she carries the heir to the Iron Throne inside her. She had come with servants and guards, who had to be housed too. There was no space but that tower.

That tower. Each time you pass it, you have to clench your fists hard to stop yourself from reaching towards it. Every time you open a door, your hands linger on the only key you will never use.

What lies behind the red door? What can possibly upset your husband such and change him from a careless hedonist into a violent man?

When no one is near, you kneel by the door and try to look through the keyhole. The lock on the door is old and smells faintly of iron. The only thing you can see looking through the keyhole is rust.

Trying to look under the door gives you the same results. Rust and iron, and a nagging curiosity that will not leave you alone.

You try to forget about it. You owe obedience to your husband, and you remember all too well the tale of the woman who owned a jar that should never be opened. It had been a favorite of your father during your youth.

A wife must never pry. For she might find something she doesn’t like.

Yet, when you think of Daemon grabbing you hard enough to bruise, you realize you already have found something you do not like. It is that thought what helps you make up your mind. One afternoon, when Alicent claims to be too tired to keep you company, you decide to open the door.

Your hands are slick with sweat, and shaking so much it takes you two tries to fit the key into the keyhole. Your heart feels like it will leap out of your chest. Suddenly, you are paralyzed.

You cannot turn the key. Your hands have gone rigid. Your fear overwhelms you. What could possibly be in here, if not a terrible secret?

You turn it. The lock clicks, and the door gives with an ominous creak. You step inside, as careful as you can. The floor is slick and sticky. When you look down, your shoes and the hem of your gown are tinted red.

You scream. You turn towards the walls, only to find more blood. Bloodied rags, stains, a bloodied dagger. You begin to feel lightheaded. When you stumble towards a corner, you see her.

A corpse of a woman, hugging her knees to her chest. Her body is rotting, half of her face gone, but enough of it remaining so you can see that it has frozen in an expression of utter horror, much like your own. She wears a rune covered armor, and has several cuts all over.

This time, you fall down. The keys slip from your grip, and you scream so loud, you are sure you wake the whole castle.

The missing Rhea Royce.

“Good gods!” Alicent cries out, behind you. You stumble to your feet, terrified. She cannot see it. Daemon… Daemon was going to kill you both. “What is this? By the Seven, is that..?”

“He is going to kill me.” You say, wiping the blood clinging to your hands on your dress. You try to clean the keys as well, but the stain won’t come out. No matter how hard you try. “He’ll know.”

“He is not going to, we can go to the King, and I am sure there is…” Alicent sounds horrified. She lingers on the doorstep, already on her nightshirt. Her belly is barely beginning to show.

“Alicent!” You say, sharply. “He’ll know. You have to run, Alicent. He will kill us both.”

“And leave you to die?” Your sister sounds indignant. “I cannot. You cannot…”

You cannot run, you wish to say. You cannot because if you do, Daemon will know even quicker, and chase you both. If you stay, maybe you can fool him. Or at least, give your sister a fighting chance.

“Please!” You cry. “Do it for the babe.”

Alicent’s lips turn white from the force she uses to keep them closed. She looks into your eyes, and hesitates. You fear she might not go through it.

“Go!” You cry, slipping on all the blood.

And Alicent, big brown eyes wide, hikes up her skirts and runs.

DAEMON NOTICES AS soon as he asks for the keys. You have never been a good liar, and the blood still stains them. When handing them over, you shake.

His smile drops. He no longer is the happy husband, but the creature that had frightened you the other night. The creature that had killed Rhea Royce, and took her lands.

“You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” He grabs you by the neck, snarling.“I told you to leave it alone.”

Your pulse begins to race. You cannot speak, and you can only take shallow breaths. Your panic must show on your face because Daemon smiles at you, coldly. He squeezes a tad harder, enough to cut off your breath.

You gasp. It comes out more like a choked hiccup.

“Look at what you are making me do.” When you are starting to feel lightheaded, breath coming out in desperate wheezes, Daemon gives you a shove. “I never wanted to do this. This is all your fault.”

“You don’t have to kill me.” You plead, voice shaking. “I’ll keep your secret.”

Daemon looks at you, and laughs.

“I assure you, I have not gotten away with it this long because I believe every pretty thing telling me they will keep their mouths shut.”

Your eyes widen. The phrasing is strange. Every pretty thing…

“There had been others?” Daemon scoffs at your question, but doesn’t answer. You look into his eyes, and try pleading once more. At this point, tears are streaming down your cheeks. You are sure you make a very pathetic sight. “Just… Don’t kill me.”

“Good Gods. Are all Hightowers this dumb or is it you and Aliwhore?” Daemon grasps your face, roughly. You cannot believe your ears. Where is all this hatred coming from? It seems like the man you loved, the one that had courted you for endless summer days, is gone. All that is left is his profound hatred for you and your family. Had he only pretended not to hate you, and was showing his true colors now? “At least die with some dignity, you pathetic cunt.”

Dignity. Dignity could buy you time. You need it, to think of a way to survive.

“Allow me to pray, then. To make my peace with my death.”

Prayer wasn’t your strong forte. But you guessed you could possibly buy an hour with it. You had never been as devout as your siblings, but you could pretend well enough to fill the time as you tried to make your own miracle happen.

Daemon studies your expression closely. He tilts your head up and down, and then gives you a patronizing little pat on the cheek.

“Fine.” He spits out. “Pray. Only a few minutes, not a second more.”

You walk past him, intent on going back to the tower where a statue of the Mother stands. You watch his face carefully when you pass by him, worried he is only toying with you and has no true intention of allowing you to pray in solitude. But he doesn’t stop you.

You make your way to the highest tower, kneel by the feet of the statue and weep. Your weakness only lasts you a moment because when you lift your gaze, you catch sight of a green standard approaching the gates.

Could that be..?

“Are you done?” Daemon asks, from behind the closed door. You can hear the drag of steel against steel, and picture him in your mind’s eye. Taking Dark Sister out of her sheath, face full of bloodlust.

“Just a minute more.” You beg, watching the rider stop at the gates and being allowed in by the guards. “Don’t kill me, please! Not yet!” You cry out, as loud as you can, hoping your voice carries.

Daemon bursts in, Dark Sister held by his side. His smile is cold, his face the image of calm. One would never guess he is about to kill someone by watching his expression. You notice the dagger he carries at his hip, but do not dare to try to take it. Not when Dark Sister’s reach is much longer.

“Oh, spare me the hysterics. More prayer will not spare you.” He lunges at you, and you evade him, but there are only so many places one can run to in a small room. Daemon catches you by wrapping your braid in his hand, giving you a harsh tug that makes you tumble down. You scream.

“Shut up. Seven Hells, quiet.” Daemon places the sword at your throat. “You will…”

The door is thrown open by a kick, the loud bang startling him and making his grip falter.

“She will do nothing.” Gwayne says, firmly. You can see Alicent standing behind him, wrenching her hands together. You have never been more grateful to see them. “Or I’ll gut you like a fish.”

“Oh?” Daemon shoves you. You do not fight his push, laying limply on the floor. He turns towards Gwayne, sword no longer focused on you. “You think you can beat me, boy?”

Gwayne cannot. He had lost to him in a tourney not even six months before. You do not hesitate. You grab the dagger at Daemon’s hip and stab him in the stomach, hard. And you do it again, and again, until your hands and face are covered in blood, and Daemon does no longer move.

You look up at your siblings, then. Alicent’s face is horrified, but when she senses your eyes on her, she smooths down her expression. Gwayne watches with vague interest. At some point, he seems to have taken Dark Sister from Daemon’s hand because he now holds it.

The three of you stare at each other. The blood on your hands is rapidly cooling and turning sticky. You wipe your hands on your dress.

You had thought you would feel something if you killed another person. Instead, you only feel numb. Empty. Daemon is gone, and so are his things. His kisses, his threats, the monster that lurked beneath.

It’s Alcent who first speaks, face pale. “The red room. We need to get to work.”

By the end of it, it is as if he never came home at all. The three of you hug, on the brink of tears. Another string tied you now, beyond the sibling bond. The man you had murdered, and the duty to forget him.

[isekai-crow]

Mashle Ending Cars

My Beetle is a massively certified mechanic in Japan who is a bit of a motorcycle fanatic. (I cannot emphasize how much I am understating the term FANATIC here.)

So naturally since I know nothing about cars and they're tangentially related to motorcycles, I asked him to tell me the names of all the cars in the ending, and he did well.

Mash - Nissan Fair Lady's Z 2008 model - He was able to get this one immediately and was like, "Anyone who knows their cars would know this immediately."

Lance - Beetle thought it was a Mazda RX-8 but it might be an import model - We guessed a Ferrari, but a lot of them have different headlight shapes.

Dot - Jeep Wrangler. Thats it. No numbers for you lmao

Finn - Morgan Plus 4 (had to google this one because too many similar looking classic cars and this STILL doesn't look exactly right.)

Rayne - Rolls Royce Phantom III baybee

I LOVE THAT THE AMES BROS HAVE CLASSIC OLDIE CARS. THEY'RE SO STYLISH. We already know that Finn is the only one in the main group with any sense of style and THIS JUST PROVES IT. I wanna go for a spin with him.

(Also classic cars as SO. FUCKING. EXPENSIVE. to own in Japan. The older your car is the more you pay in taxes. Which I wonder if it means anything here...)

Draco Malfoy Ryoh Grantz- Mercedes-Benz Vision Gran Turismo or one of the other versions. This also took a bit of googling cause he could only pin the Brand Name and not the car itself cause it's too new.

Harry Potter Orter Madl- Ashton Martin Vanquisher (THE NAMING SENSE. DID THEY PICK THIS CAR SOLELY FOR THE NAME VANQUISHER???)

Carpaccio - Porche Boxster - He picked up on the headlights immediately because we had a low budget Porche at one point, inherited from his brother.

Margarette Macaron - BMW r100 - This was of course the fastest on he pinned and AHHH MY BELOVED MARGARETTE they're so cool for riding a motorcycle.

Also.

The Mash's dads on a driving date.

Love that for them. So sweet.

And fucking of course this is a euphamism for magic and MASH IS THE ONLY ONE WITHOUT A DRIVER'S LICENSE SO HE'S PUSHING THE CAR.

AND THAT CAR IS IN PARK AND/OR HAS THE BREAKS ON because of course it fucking does why am I surprised lmao

This song is a banger too. When I get around to it, I wanna do a break down of the lyrics to this and other OPs and EDs.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Julie Andrews (The Sound of Music, Mary Poppins)—Oh where to start .... I'm not sure I even know how. She's just perfection. And it's not fair I can't bring post 70s work into this, because she just gets better and better, and her drag performance in to die for. But in the era I CAN talk about, she shows she has THE RANGE. Beautiful, feisty, funny, holding her own against Christopher Plummer, Paul Newman, Rock Hudson. Oh she's luminous.

Nadira (Shree 420, Dil Apna Aur Preet Parai)— She had a blast playing the femme fatal in Indian films in the 50s. Also the costumes she wore in Shree 420 are absolutely iconic. It's important to mention that she was Jewish. She was born Farhad "Florence" Ezekiel in Baghdad to an Iraqi Jewish family. They moved to India sometime in the 1940s. The funny thing is that she originally wanted to convert to Catholicism and become a nun but joined the film industry instead as her family desperately needed money. Even though she was unfortunately typecast in femme fatale roles after playing the nightclub entertainer Maya in Shree 420, she always gave 110% to every role she was cast in. Apparently she acted in a German film as well? She was also one of the most highly paid actresses in the Indian film industry and was one of the few Indians to own a Rolls Royce.

This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Julie Andrews propaganda:

"She has such a simple but amazing beauty to her. Not to mention her amazing and melodic singing voice!"

"Roles like nannies and governesses can make us forget how attractive she was! A perfect combination of elegant and adorable, with the most incredible vocal range to boot!"

"Besides having one of the most amazing singing voices ever to grace the silver screen, Julie always had an understated beauty to her that wasn't always shown off on screen. But it's there nonetheless because her characters managed to pull some of the hottest men ever to grace the screen."

"The juxtaposition between carefree Maria and stern but fun Mary Poppins shows the power of the acting of this HOT VINTAGE MOVIE WOMAN"

"Charming, genteel, incredibly charismatic, beautiful, and has an angelic singing voice to boot. Her screen roles as Maria in The Sound of Music and Mary Poppins are absolutely iconic for a reason and she originated several well-known Broadway roles before those."

"the most beautiful woman 12 year old me had ever seen possibly"

"OMG OMG OMG she’s definitely been submitted before how could she NOT but!!!! I loveeee her so muchhhh rahhhh prebby!!!! cool!!!! mary poppins the beloved <33333 some people dislike it but I love jolly holiday so much because it IS a jolly holiday with Mary!!! no wonder that it’s Mary that we love!!!!!"

"I know many people who were taught in singing lessons "when in doubt, pronounce words how julie andrews would pronounce them." THATS CALLED INFLUENCE. THATS CALLED MOTHERING THOUSANDS."

Nadira:

I just submitted a whole list of golden-era Bollywood stars without whom I thought this tournament could not conscionably be considered complete BUT Nadira has got my personal vote for Hottest of the lot. She played a bunch of delicious vamp roles in her youth before graduating to being a creepy spiderlady antagonist type in middle/older age. Rare is the still in which she looks like she's NOT about to gnaw your face off. Yow!

[pearlyiestofhearts]

What are they doing with Rhaena?

Breaks my heart that the show would have us believe Rhaena, the more maternal and non-combative sister, would just abandon her little brothers like that to chase a dragon.

Part of my problem with hotd s2 is the fact that Rhaena's character is clearly being changed. She's spiteful, impatient and more gutsy and testy, one would argue, than even Baela! They're clearly pushing that go-getter trait from Nettles onto her and as a result turning her into something she's not. Just like Baela is oddly exhibiting more book Rhaena qualities than show Rhaena!

Perhaps there's still hope. The finale didn't end with Rhaena mounting Sheepstealer and I love to believe the reason is that the writers observed the fan backlash whilst still in post production.

But even then, where do we go from here? I'd pitch a clue for them. Rhaena tells Joff that they can still participate in the war in their small way, that not everyone is destined to be a fierce dragonrider. Why not go with that? Why not explore the power and prowess of diplomacy through Rhaena like they did with Jace at the Twins? Why not bring in the Royces of Runestone who should realistically be threatening to fight for the Greens because of what Daemon did to Rhea and her murder not being avenged by the Crown all these years??

There's so much, honestly, that can be done with Rhaena. Including linking her with Addam who has claimed her uncle's dragon and still seeks his father's approval just like Rhaena does with Daemon!

But the big problem with hotd remains that the writers do not know how to handle women that are not fighters or more 'conservative' than their girlboss archetype counterparts. Therefore, Rhaena must be forced into the girlboss sector or be discarded and unexplored altogether like our beloved Helaena.

This is really upsetting.

[slavicdelight]

HIRAETH

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Targ! Royce! f! reader

Summary: Hiraeth - A Welsh word meaning a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return; a home which maybe never was. Nostalgia, yearning, and grief, for the lost places of your past or a sense of home.

Warnings: blood, murder, violence, angst, canon divergence

A/N: This is part 2 of EPHEMERAL

ღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღ

You awoke to the sound of crashing outside your chambers. Looking at the other side of the bed, you noticed that Aemond wasn’t there and the spot he occupied is cold, which means he has been gone for a while now. You stretched your arms and decided to get up to check the sound, only to find out that the doors were closed and you couldn’t get out. With a scowl, you tried to pry the entrance open, and when that didn’t work you banged on the wood and called out for help. The loud noise woke your daughter up as she started crying for attention, and you decided to stop your efforts and comfort her. “Good morning my dear girl.” you greeted Alysanne while picking her up from the cradle. “Oh, I’m sorry to have woken you little dragon. Did you sleep fine?” you asked and rocked her back and forth to calm her. When she opened her violet eyes to look at you, the love overcame you even stronger, she was your miracle, you didn’t know earlier that you could love someone as much as you did her. Nothing is equal to a mother’s love. You were so mesmerized by her, that you weren’t aware of the door opening and your husband walking in. Aemond stood in the doorway looking at you both, his heart warming up at the picture in front of his eye. You, his beloved wife, looked ethereal as always. The rays of sunshine, that burst through the window made the skin on your face glowing, and your attire added to the notion of thinking you an angel. Seeing you holding Alysanne, the epitome of the love you both share, made the sight even more beautiful. He slowly walked closer and placed his hands around your waist, making you jump a little.

“Aemond! You have frightened me!” you scolded him, turning to stand with him face to face. “I am extremely sorry, my love. It was not my intention.” he apologised with a faint smile, but the tone of his voice made you worried. There was something tense in it, and you wondered if it had anything to do with you being held in the room. “What’s wrong?” you asked him, making him sigh. He took the little girl from your arms, placing her back in the cradle, much to her protests, and led you to sit on the bed. You complied and waited eagerly for his answer, which he provided in an uneasy voice. “King Viserys is dead.” you sucked in your breath. The news wasn’t exactly unpredictable, but it still caught you off guard. While the king didn’t pay you much attention growing up, he was still your uncle, your blood, and that made you somewhat sad. “Oh.” was the only thing that left your mouth, as you were processing what you just learned, but your husband wasn’t done yet. “Apparently, he wished for Aegon to succeed him.” and with that your head whipped around to look at him so fast, that one could thing you broke the neck. This was new, as for years Viserys did nothing, but defend Rhaenyras claim to the throne and her position as heir, neglecting his other children in turn. Aegon as king was a bizarre thought. You also saw the distaste in Aemond’s features once he shared the news, everyone at court knew he detested his brother for everything he put him through as a child, and for being a useless waste of space. “I’m so sorry Aemond.” you told him, grabbing one of his hands to squeeze in a comforting manner. “For what? We all knew it would happen sooner or later.” you got up to stand before him and looking straight into his eyes you said “Yes, but he was still your father. You’re allowed to mourn for him” he stood up angrily and turned away to look into the burning flames in the fireplace

“He never noticed me. He never noticed any of us. It was always Rhaenyra for him. It was af if we were not his children, more like distant relatives he only had to see once in a while. He was no father to me. Criston Cole was more of a father than he was.” you walked to him and hugged his back, placing you chin on his shoulder. “What’s done is done. We need to get ready for our duties and coronation of a new king.” he said turning to you and kissing you on your forhead. In that moment a servant appeared and told your husband that his grandsire wished to see him. That left you alone in the chamber and you decided to call the maids to dress you and Alysanne for the day, as you were planning to check on Helaena and see how she was holding up. You chose one of your many beautiful sapphire gowns with long sleeves and dragons embroidered on the skirt, it was a gift from Aemond. The color resembles the eye he hides under the eyepatch. You also own a big collection of sapphire jewellery, the common folk taken to calling you and your husband the Sapphire Prince and Princess.

You sat with Heleana as the children played together with the maids watching over them. “How are you feeling, Hel? With the pressure of being crowned queen soon enough.” you asked your friend. “There is a beast beneath the boards.” she muttered, but quickly recvered to ansewr your question. “To speak truthfully, I don’t know. I never wanted the crown, all I wish for is spending time with my children, away from all these schemes and politics.” she said in a sad voice. You reached over to take her hand, which she accepted. It was known that Helaena did not like touching, but you were her sister, her dearest friend, and for that reason you were the exception. “I’m sorry about all of this. It shouldn’t have been your burden to carry.” it was a pity that she was married to Aegon, he didn’t deserve her. Soon Queen Alicent came to join you for tea and the three of you tried to forget about what was to come, if only for a little while.

time skip

It was time to crown the new king. You, Aemond, and Helaena stood in the Dragon Pit, watching people flooding in. Otto proposed to hold the ceremony before the eyes of common folk, so that they would recognize Aegon as the rightful king. It was a smart move, you have to admit that, but you knew that it would not stop Daemon and Rhaenyra from trying to take the throne back. In truth you didn’t care who sat the throne, all you wanted was to fly back to Runestone with your husband and daughter and live your life peacefully there. You begged Alicent to let you leave, that you wanted nothing to do with their schemes, but it all fell of deaf ears. She only told you that it was Aemonds duty to stand by his brother’s side, and as his wife, you should support him. Aemond noticed you anxiously playing with the ring on your finger and placed a hand on your back to help you ease up a bit. In that moment you saw Alicent arrive at the scene, which means Aegon is outside and the coronation is going to start. “People of King’s Landing. It is the saddest of days. King Viserys the Peaceful passed away.” started Otto Hightower and you heard the murmuring all around the pit. “It is also a joyous day, as he left us with his final wish for his son Aegon to succeed him.” The soldiers marched into the room creating a path for the late king’s eldest son to walk towards the stand. Once Ser Criston Cole placed the Conqueror’s crown atop his head, he stood up and looked at every member of his family for approval. When his eyes landed on you, you gave him a quick courtesy with a clenched jaw. He then turned to the crowd and lifted the sword, Blackfyre, and you could’ve swear that in that moment, he started to like his new position and power.

A few seconds later the happy shouts became screams of terror, as the ground began to fall and from below emerged a red dragon. It was Meleys with Princess Rhaenys at her back. The Red Queen came closer to where you all stood. Aemond quickly put you and Helaena behind himself for protection, and you noticed Alicent doing the same with Aegon in the corner of your eye. You thought to yourself that that was it, you would all die in the flames, but the dragon only roaerd in your faces and Rhaenys escaped, no doubt to Dragonstone to inform Rhaenyra and your father of what transpired. The image of Daemon made you shiver, now you were sure that he will be out for your blood.

Once in the safety of the castle, you hastily made way to the nursery to be with your daughter. You found her in the arms of one of the maids. You put her on the rug and started playing with her. About half an hour later Aemond came into the room. “They’re sending me to Storm’s End as an envoy. I’m to bind Lord Borros’ loyalty to our cause.” you frowned and tried to talk him out of it. “No. Have them send someone else and let us go back to the Vale.” you saw him lower his gaze and try to stop you, but you didn’t let him. “You know that Daemon won’t let this slide, he will be out for revenge against his wife! I don’t want us to be caught in the crossfire!”. “Aegon’s my brother. I have to do this, as it is my duty. I will go and offer the Baratheon fool Daeron’s hand in marriage to his daughter. I will be back before you know it.”. You didn’t like it and had a bad feeling, but you knew how stubborn your husband is and there will be no talking him out of it. You let him go, and for the next couple of days, you stayed close with Helaena and Alysanne. Finally, when you heard the unmistaken sound of Vhagar, you were elated, as it meant your dearest husband was back. Without a thought, you sprinted towards the council chamber where you knew he would head first. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what you heard next. Aemond Targaryen committed the greatest sin known to men - kinslaying. He murdered his nephew, Lucerys Velaryon in the skies, while chasing him on his war dragon. “You have lost only one eye, how could you be so blind?!” chastised him Otto Hightower, while the new king sat and laughed in delight. “You have doomed us all!” screamed Alicent and you were just horrified. You knew they would retaliate, ater all, your husband killed Rhaenyra’s favourite child. Your head kept spinning as images of could they do now invaded your mind. “The bastard is dead. Others would be soon too. It seems to me that we ought to have a feast in my beloved brother’s honour.” said Aegon and made no room to argue, while you just got up and ran back to your chambers.

When you entered your rooms, the tears spilled. You cried for the boy, for your husband and for yourself, but most importantly, you cried for your daughter. Now there was no way for you all to return to normal life, not when your husband began the war, that will certainly become marred with even more bloodshed soon enough. Aemond walked into the room not much later, and flinched when he heard your desperate cries. When he tried to touch you, you just backed into the corner. “Do not touch me!” you screamed, trying to compose yourself. “How could you?! Do you have any idea what you have done?!” you continued yelling. It was a good thing Alysanne was left under the care of Helaena and wasn’t there to witness the fight of her parents. “My love…” he started but you cut him off. “No! Don’t you dare! You put all of us in grave danger! They will want blood for this! My father won’t stop until he avenges Luke! Blood will flow this castle! There would be no peace for us! No mercy!” you started hyperventilating, you were having a panic attack. “Darling please, listen to me. I didn’t mean for it to happen. Vhagar didn’t listen to my commands. She devoured him on her own accord.” you just looked at him, your gaze full of hurt and fear, it broke his heart seeing you like this. “Your mother is right. You have doomed us all! You shouldn’t chase him in the first place, what did you expect to happen!?”. He noticed you shaking and took you into his arms as you tried to break free. After a minute of struggle, your energy drained out and you just accepted the hug, just laying in his embrace motionless. As much as you hated him for what he’s done, you loved him way to much to be angry for long. Now you needed to focus on protecting your family, no matter the cost, as you knew that the payment will come sooner or later.

It wasn’t until one night, when your husband was away gathering support for Team Green, that the retaliation for Lucerys came. You and Helaena were on your way to Queen Dowager’s chambers with your children, as it was a routine lately, to spend some time before heading to bed. Once you entered the chambers, you saw Alicent Hightower gagged and bound, as well as two unfamiliar men standing inside the room. Both quickly overpowered you and the princess and barred the door. “Tis’ nothing personal. A debt to be paid. Nothin’ more” said one while they both took the children captive. “The False Queen needs to choose, which son has to die. Fast before we make the choice ourselves.” said the other assailant. “Please! They’re innocent, spare them.” you tried pleading with them as Helaena offered hersef in the children’s place. “A queen is not a son.” said one man and ushered her to make a choice. You tried to get to the children but there was no way for you to do so, without harming the children in the process. “Maelor.” Helaena whispered. The younger son was still at the age where he didn’t understand what was happening around him, same as your daughter. “You heard that boy? Your mommy doesn’t love you” as while saying that, the man cut off the head of Jeahaerys, the oldest son of Aegon and Helaena, and the other one repeatedly stabbed little Alysanne in her cheast and belly. “NO!” you screamed as you saw the man throwing your daughter’s lifeless body, as if it was a useless rag. You and Helaena quickly made way to you fallen children weeping so horribly, that the whole castle heard it. The sound of grieving mothers tore through the walls, making anyone who heard it flinch. “No, no, no, no..”you muttered holding your daughter. “My light, please, open your eyes. Please.” you wailed as you rocked her in your arms, pleading to the Gods for it to be an awful nightmare. It was not an awful nightmare, but rather dreadful reality. The only thing you heard except for yours, Helaena and Alicent’s crying was the escape of the murderers and words “Black Queen sends her regards”.

While you were being attacked, your husband returned to the keep and immediately went to find you. Once in the castle, he heard the screams leading to his mother’s apartments and he hastily made way there, along with Aegon and Ser Criston Cole. They found the door barricaded and called for more guards to help remove the obstacle, and when it was done, they saw the most horrifying scene. Dead bodies of their children, weeping wives and their mother tired up and gagged. When Queen Dowager explained them what took place, they went inot the state of madness, Aegon started yelling how could the guards let it happen, that he wanted the men found and brought to him, he was inconsolable. Aemond on the other hand stood frozen, he knew it happened because of him,. His nephew and his daughter, his beloved Alysanne, were ripped away from this world because of his own stupidity. He caused that and he couldn’t even look into your eyes, nor Helaena’s. He was overcome with grief and loathing for his actions, but he knew he had to be strong for you, even though he wanted to break down into tears himself. “My love…” he tried to get your attention, but you were focused on your daughter’s face. You dress soaked in her blood, as you stroked her hair singing her favourite lullaby. There was no way for you to let go of her, your state was truly horrible. After sitting there for hours, Silent Sisters came to collect the body, but you didn’t want to part with her, with your sweet Alysanne. Aemond came up to you. “Darling…she’s gone. You have to give her to them. They need to prepare her for the funeral.” you were reluctant, but Aemond finally managed to convince you to let go of her body.

For weeks after that you were closed off, not going out of your chambers, dismissing everything that happened around you. You couldn’t bear the grief and the emptiness this brought you. Even at the funeral you blocked it all out, when the children’s bodies were shown to the people of King’s Landing declaring it to be work of “Rhaenyra the Cruel”. All you wanted was your daughter, but you couldn’t have her, as she was so cruelly taken from you. At the battle at Rook’s Rest Aegon got badly injured, it was a miracle he even pulled through, and your husband was crowned Prince Regent to rule in his stead untill the king recovers. He gathered the army and with the new Hand of the King, Ser Criston, he marched on Harrenhall. Aemond feared leaving you alone and decided it would be best to bring you along. During your stay there, your husband ordered the extermination of house Strong. No one was spared, but a witch named Alys Rivers, who Aemond taksed with your recovery. You and the bastard woman became fastly friends, and she helped you find the courage to join your husband on the battlefield. You wanted revenge and you were out for blood. Soon enough along with Aemond you were terrorizing the Riverlands and became a symbol of death, as you burned every keep, and every lord known to be loyal to the blacks. Vhagar and Canniball were a formidable duo that spread fear all around the realm.

Eventually, when you were away from Harrenhall, your husband received a letter from your father Daemon, that he’s waiting for him and wishes to battle. Without telling you, he made way towards the God’s Eye and without fear fought against your father. After you found the letter, you jumped atop the Canniball and flew towards the battlefield, only to arrive to late, as you witnessed Daemon jumping off Caraxes’ back and plunging Dark Sister into your Aemond’s good eye. You screamed seeing this and urged your dragon to fly faster. Aemond and Vhagar fell into the waters and sank into the lake, as you took on Daemon and Caraxes to avenge your family. The battle was tough, but you emerged victorious, thanks to stabbing your father straight through his neck. As you landed on the shore, you weeped. For your daughter, your husband, your mother who were all killed by Daemon Targaryen, as well as Helaena who committed suicide by throwing herself from the tower, landing on spikes. You were alone, you lost everything. You and Alys went into hiding, up until hearing the news of the death of Rhaenyra. Aegon fed her to his dragon Sunfyre, while her young son watched. Soon enough the king was poisoned by his own men, Alicent was confined to her chambers and was said to go insane. It was too much for you. All you wanted was to be back with your family, that’s why one day, when Alys wasn’t there, you decided to drink poison. Just before going to bed, you took a sip, and faded away into dreamland, where you saw your husband and your daughter eagerly waiting for you. You knew that you could spend eternity together.

ღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღ

A/N: Alright guys. The second part is here. Thank you for all the support you shown me on my first post. Soon I'll be posting more stuff on this page so stay tuned ♡.

@heavenly1927 @marihoneywk @nyenye

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Twenty-Two

Rating: Explicit Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

No tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

Tumblr Masterpost

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty | Chapter Twenty-One

AO3 LINK

Author's Note: I started a new job and promptly got bronchitis for two weeks, was fine for a week, then covid. I LIVED BITCH! and my brain is mostly working.

all my undying love to @vampire-exgirlfriend who will never let me drown in this story. Your reacts for this were amazing (Aegon wants them to be old people in matching windbreakers, it is known). Also, many many thanks to @selfproclaimedunicorn for all the talking, the giggling, the gluck gluck 3000, just… thank you. Thank you for being you. ANOTHER thanks to @darkwolf76

for your eyes on the first half of this chapter and loving House Strong as much as I do.

Thank you to SelfProclaimedUnicorn for letting me borrow Cassana AND MOMMY AND DADDY YORICK AND SHIREEN and Rhea Royce my beloved, and Darkwolf76 for allowing me to borrow Deirdre and sweet baby Dyana. Please check out their work!

Also, there's River Tongue in the second section of this chapter, but no translations because Abby doesn't understand it. Something Something we're touching upon the eradication of irish culture under the british. I said what I said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - Do We Get What We Deserve?

The outer bailey was bustling with the mid-morning crowd, the banners of Runestone flapping from the back of two wheelhouses that were settled in front of the hall. Larys said something about their cousin, Cassana, having arrived. Aegon recalled that one of Ser Simon’s granddaughters was married to the lord’s younger brother. House Royce was a far friendlier kin to House Strong, it appeared.

Abby was there, being embraced by a soft featured, robust young woman with dark curls and a smiling face that reflected the rest of the Strongs. There was a tall man, dark blonde and kitted in shades of purple and bronze, a half cape slung about him like a knight from a story beside a comely woman who could only be his wife, given their matching outfits. Aegon considered this, as Abby already seemed to cleverly sneak in the embroidery of Sunfyre on her gowns. Maybe they could start matching, like the horses.

“Your Grace, Lord Larys.” Ser Simon’s voice interrupted Aegon’s internal adventure down a road where he and Abby had matching dragon coronets to receive the Royce party. “Lord Yorick Royce, and his wife, Lady Shireen Baratheon, are here as Lady Jeyne Arryn’s official representatives.”

The bow Lord Yorick gave was flawless, tightly controlled and not over the top, nor was his wife’s curtsy overly exhibitionist. There was a difference in the Vale chivalry than that of the Reach. Aegon supposed it might be because life in the Vale was harder, what with the mountains and all that came with it.

“Well met, my lord, my lady.” Aegon inclined his head in turn, smiling. “Tales of your deeds in the Stepstones are still told at court. I hope to see you in my wedding tournament?”

Lord Yorick’s beard was slightly darker than his hair, flecks of gray peaking through. Many of the men had beards and Aegon was beginning to feel like he should give his own a go. He was unshaven that morning, his own stubble scratchy along his jaw. Certainly he could grow a fine beard.

“You honor me, Prince Aegon,” the other man said, a slight smile on his face and a glance down at the brighter smile of his wife, her hands wrapped comfortably around his bicep. “If you are not competing, then I shouldn’t feel so bad being able to crown my wife the Queen of Love and Beauty.”

“We heard your own nameday duel went quite well, Your Grace,” Lady Shireen complimented, and Aegon’s ears flushed red. “A wonderful debut.”

“It is my wedding and I don’t think I’d be forgiven for getting a gauntlet to the face and having my sweet lady play nursemaid as a start to our marriage.” Aegon shrugged, a lazy grin on his face. It earned the chuckles and amusement he’d been looking for.

“Playing a little nursemaid can sometimes ease the nerves,” Lady Shireen leaned a little closer, her deep blue eyes bright with mischief. Aegon could see the slight glimmers of resemblance between the lady and that of her niece, Cassandra, but the lady of Runestone lacked the predatory look that the younger woman held. Lady Shireen’s edges were softer in a way that reminded him of the hazy memories of Aunt Celeste, and even Abby in some of her more confident moments.

Aegon was very conscious not to let his eyes fall below the woman’s face.

Lord Yorick’s own cheeks flushed lightly, but he shrugged with a raised eyebrow in agreement. “There’s plenty of time for the prince to be given advice on his marital duties. We’ve been on the road since dawn, and I could use a bath.” They departed with courtesies exchanged and Aegon approached Abby who was giving a final embrace to her cousin.

“Deidre will be in the gardens with little Dyana,” she told Cassana. “And Morya has Gwenys as well.”

Aegon’s hand snaked out to grab her wrist and tug her over to him, automatically snaking his arms around her waist and pressing his face into the loose curls around her shoulders, half her hair woven in a braided knot at the crown of her head.

“Aegon,” she breathed.

He didn’t know if it was a protest or relief and he simply squeezed her tighter and pressed his lips to her pulse. It was easier to push away everything else that plagued him and sickened him when he was here with her. A tonic to his raw wounds, Aegon let himself drift into the clean scent of earthy rose and red currant perfume oil and soap.

“Did you eat?”

Her frustrated sigh was low in his ear, her hands pressing against his shoulders even if she wasn’t pushing him away. “Did you tell Wylla to make sure I did, or was that simply her being her usual bossy self?”

“I might have mentioned something in passing, but the gods know she won’t take orders from me.” But they had reached an understanding between themselves, in recognizing that they needed to make sure Abrogail Strong did not run herself empty as she was wont to do.

She tilted her head back and her fingers curled in his jacket. He knew he smelled of dragon and rain but she didn’t appear to mind. Her freckles were stark against her pale face and he took in the dark smudges beneath her eyes, but her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and so he did not worry overly much.

“Lord Elmo and some of the other river lords are here to discuss our marriage contract,” Abby said softly. “I think it took the queen and the lord hand by surprise.”

“Larys told me.” Aegon nodded towards the slow moving figure moving in the direction of the tower where his father and the royal household were put up. Abby moved to tuck her cool hand in the crook of his elbow, her other holding the blue wool cloak more tightly closed around her throat. It was a bit chilly that morning, although Aegon’s blood ran too hot to usually notice. “Elmo thinks I’ve come to take his paramount seat from him and feed him to Sunfyre.”

“I think he would still be upset even without the dragon,” she murmured. She’d told him of the rumors she’d heard during his feast, about how some of the lords were upset with the idea of a Targaryen encroaching onto their land. Which Aegon thought was utterly ridiculous. Abby had pointed out that when a Targaryen came into the Riverlands, they tended to conquer or cause other trouble. His gaze flicked to the melted towers high above them—the hubris and legacy of men come and gone long before him. “If someone is displeased with his ruling, then what’s to stop them from coming to you as a representative of the crown?”

“They just assume I’d hear them and not just send them on their merry way,” he scoffed with a bitter note to his voice. She squeezed his arm.

“It doesn’t matter, Aegon. It’s the perception of it. The implied threat. Not to mention the succession. If you’re seen as a figure in the Riverlands over the Tullys, that would change things.” As always, Abrogail was right when he let himself listen to her explanations. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t discussed it before, a plate of honey and cream cakes between them, her hands occupied with sewing while he fed her and himself. Still, he rolled his eyes, dragging his booted foot back and forth over the gravel and kicking up rocks.

“They’re already calling our wedding The Second Great Council,” Aegon sneered. “They’re all so eager to force such ambitions upon me.”

“Tis foul,” Abby returned with her own disgust. “At least we know what we’re up against.” Aegon’s chest warmed with her ‘we’ mention and he ghosted a kiss against her temple. The guards at the door to the tower bowed their heads and opened the heavy doors, whitewashed to hide the scars from the fire.

“We do,” Aegon murmured, shifting his arm to wrap around her shoulders and keep her close to him as they ventured into the tower where her family had perished. She trembled lightly beneath his touch and he gripped her arm, thumb stroking against the round of her shoulder. She was doing so well, holding herself together. He would give her what strength he had.

The hum of conversation could be heard as they headed down the hallway, the inner windows allowing the torchlight into the interior in lieu of outer windows.

“I hate the name,” Abby muttered, “Tower of Dread.”

“Then we’ll change it along with whatever other name changes you wish to make.” He raised his eyebrows at her, making a silly face, and Abby scrunched her nose as amusement pulled at her pretty mouth.

She was straight as an arrow as she walked, years of lessons pulling her spine rigid and tilting her chin just so. It was a facsimile of his own mother’s posture when faced with those who would underestimate her. Regal. Elegant.

Aegon dropped his arm from around her shoulders to stroke the spill of curls down her back before offering his arm to her so she could hold onto that instead of gripping her own hands so tightly about her waist he thought she might break her fingers. His own heart hammered in his chest, to be faced with all these lords and know that each moment in that room was a different level of judgment and assessment than he’d received those months before. Aegon had gotten on well with the men at the feast, plying them with fine wine and bawdy stories. He was good at that sort of thing; it’s when things became formal and full of layers that he didn’t understand that he struggled with.

“You’ll do well,” she whispered.

He pressed a quick kiss to her hair. “We’ll do well.” There was no doing this without her; he didn’t even want to try.

The second set of heavy wooden doors were opened, these ones newer than the others, to reveal the circular hall and the blazing fire in the great hearth that was taller than a man and just as ornately carved as the one in the Kingspyre tower. Some of the plaster frescoes high above them were patchy in places, revealing where new plaster had been replaced but not yet painted. There were tapestries similar to the ones in the other tower, these depicting hunting scenes along rivers and through weirwood forests. Aegon was distracted momentarily by one depicting women with flowing hair reaching out through the rivers, fish fins along their arms.

The table in the hall was enormous; a great wheel of wood cut from one of those great red oaks in the forest. Seated here, all were on the same level. There was no head of table, even if Queen Alicent sat in the mostore ornate chair there. It was the only denotation of status.

“Where is the king?” Aegon inquired of Grand Maester Orwyle. Mellos had retired back to Oldtown at the close of the nameday festivities to live out his last days in quiet. Aegon had felt relief at the change; the younger maester was far easier to deal with and didn’t look at him with rheumy eyes full of disdain.

Orwyle inclined his head to both of them, his hands folded beneath the large, gray sleeves of his robe and his maester chain clinking. “He is recovering from the long journey. He has bid the queen and Hand to handle these discussions Lord Elmo has…” The man trailed off, lips pressed together in disapproval, but of what specifically, Aegon didn’t know. “Found need of. It is good that you are both here.”

It was a surprising statement of encouragement that left Aegon momentarily stunned, Abby’s fingers curling into the leather of his riding jacket he still hadn’t changed out of. There hadn’t been time and it wasn’t as if Larys had brought a change of shirt for him. No matter. They were so concerned about his dragon and his title, let them be aware of it. His riding leathers were made of supple black leather with scalloped detailing along the shoulders and down his arms that looked like dragon scales. There was a shimmer in the leather when the light caught on it that gave the iridescent glimmer of gold from the gold thread stitching, and the buttons were gold as well, stamped with dragons. The lining was a fine, deep green and gold wool brocade, and the inside of the neck and his cuffs were a soft shearling lining. High in the sky, even his dragon blood could only do so much, and the garment would prove too warm soon enough. He was already tugging at the stamped buttons with his free hand, his other arm still clutched by Abby.

“Good morrow, my lords,” he called out with every ounce of mustered levity he could, leading Abby towards the vacant chairs on his mother’s right side. “Morning, Lord Hand,” he greeted his grandfather, who stood to Mother’s left, hand resting on the back of his chair. He leaned down to ghost a kiss upon his mother’s cheek, feeling her startle. “Mother, you look well rested.”

“Good morning, Aegon.” Mother’s dark brown eyes widened with surprise, an uncertain smile gracing her lovely face. “You were up early?”

“Nothing like beginning the day on dragonback and greeting Prince Daemon upon his arrival,” Aegon said, a brief, close lipped smile on his face before pulling out the chair to his left for Abby to sit in, and taking the seat immediately to his mother’s side. “It’s good that I returned as early as I did. Lord Elmo! It’s wonderful to see you again, as well as the other familiar faces here.” He grinned brightly at the assembly all while sick sloshed in his gut, the ribbon around his ribs tightening with the edges of panic. A servant poured him a goblet of weak wine.

Lord Elmo Tully was tall and deceptively broad, his coat a deep, dark blue with scarlet, four strand braids that looked like fishbones along his shoulders, red trim along his wrists. As he drew closer, Aegon noticed the buttons along the front of his coat were in the shape of fish, and the brocade pattern along the hem were also stamped in silver scale print. His face was tanner than when he saw him last; clearly a man who preferred riding horseback instead of a wheelhouse.

Handsome, to be certain, and Aegon wouldn’t forget that Tully had also sought Abby’s hand. Regardless of what Larys said, Aegon couldn’t fathom that he was not bothered by losing out on the chance for her. It was foolish to think otherwise. And Aegon didn’t think he could blame her had she picked Lord Elmo Tully over him. Seven hells, Aegon would have picked Elmo Tully had he been in her place.

“Likewise, your Grace.” His voice was low and smooth, water over river stones. While some of the others looked visibly surprised by Aegon’s entrance, other’s did not, and it appeared that Elmo Tully was unflappable as they came. “Although I know this conversation will be a complicated one. As I was stating to Lord Otto and her grace, vassals of mine have come forward with concerns over the past few months and I’m inclined to agree with them.”

His bright eyes cut away to look at Larys who was seated beside his grandfather. Aegon watched him settle comfortably in his chair.

“I must confess, I am confused as to why a contract that is not only approved by the crown, but by our Lord Paramount, Lord Grover Tully, is now suddenly drawn into question, and additionally, why my fellow lords are viewing myself in such a light.” Larys folded his hands on the table in front of him, a glance towards the Tower beside him. “I understand a certain amount of skepticism was raised by some, but as a beloved member of the queen’s household, my sweet sister-”

“There is no record of Lady Abrogail’s wardship under Queen Alicent,” Elmo Tully cut in, the room silent as his deep voice echoed across the large table. “House Tully had first right as your liege lord, Strong. Your father stated he was not interested in warding the girl.”

“Extenuating circumstances, Lord Elmo,” Otto Hightower did not raise his voice, but it carried to every part of the room. Aegon reached for his goblet and sipped from it to hide his confusion, wishing he had bread and some kind of meat to settle the alcohol in his gut from the night before. Larys hadn’t mentioned anything about Abby’s wardship during the carriage ride. Beside him, Abby was still, but her hand reached beneath the table to rest on his knee. It was purely comfort; for him or her, Aegon didn’t know, but he dropped his free hand down to tap two fingers against the back of hers in reassurance. “Lord Lyonel Strong was a member of the king’s Small Council, his wife, my niece, and the queen’s first cousin.”

“In addition,” Mother continued with a look of disapproval that he knew well and was grateful not to be under, “I had helped raise the girl since she was a babe. It was agreed between Lord Larys and myself that to remove her from my care would further upset her after all she had already endured. There was no reason to rip her from everything she knew.”

Aegon watched the eyes around the table swivel to look at Abby beside him and he turned their hands beneath the table so he could hold hers. Her fingers were cold and he gripped them tight.

“Abrogail had served as a companion to Princess Helaena since they were young girls,” Larys spoke, his words slow and deliberate. “The crown did not purchase her wardship before our father died, nor after, because I did not sell it.”

“Her ward price was nearly a thousand gold dragons!” Elmo snapped, his jaw ticking. “A portion of which would be paid to House Tully as your liege lord.”

“And the greater portion to House Targaryen, your liege lord,” Mother said sharply, the reprimand subtle but clear. “Are you upset, my lord, that your house lost income in this deal you’ve imagined having taken place?” Elmo’s nostrils flared. Mother frowned and waved to the servant closest to her. “It is early, and we have only just arrived. Please bring light refreshment. I think we could all use a bit of something to eat. I did not have time to properly break my fast this morning.”

Abby relaxed beside him and Aegon felt his stomach rumble as within moments plates were brought in and platters of freshly carved ham and steaming loaves of fresh bread were brought in. A sweet porridge with honey and molasses, morsels of dried fruit tucked inside, was set in front of them.

“You need to eat,” he murmured, spooning some of the porridge onto her plate along with a piece of ham. He helped himself to the crusty bread and slathered the red currant preserves across it, licking a bit from his thumb. He leaned over and whispered, “You are worth far more than a measly thousand dragons.” Abby scoffed but she picked up her spoon to take little bites.

Aegon looked to his mother who was helping herself to a piece of bread with delicate bites, and he realized that she had planned this. Larys had not spoken of Abby’s wardship, only of Aegon and Sunfyre being a threat. To get Tully on the defensive and make him look like his only issue with everything was due to money, not the perception that Aegon was here to cause trouble for him. Aegon looked at the other lords around the table, filing away his realization to think about later.

Elmo Tully’s face was no longer flushed with frustration. In King’s Landing, the man had been quiet, observant, but he’d also been with his father, who was the ruling lord. He leaned in conference with Lord Piper beside him, nodding quietly before straightening.

“Clearly there is much confusion that needs to be clarified for the peace of our vassals,” Elmo began again, his jaw no longer clenched and a slightly more relaxed curve to his shoulders. “Many have been under the ugly assumption that the laws of wardship were not followed. As we all know, the practice of warding our precious children is what helps keep the peace, strengthens ties, and ultimately serves our houses and the realm.”

“I completely agree with you, Lord Elmo,” Mother smiled her tight lipped smile that brought the youthful light back to her face. Elmo averted his eyes briefly and Aegon’s own narrowed a touch at the man’s reaction. “I can assure you, Lady Abrogail was never my official ward, although there are those who used the term for ease of explanation. She served as my daughter’s much loved companion, and I imparted the knowledge I had to her future role as a Lady just as I did when her mother was alive.” She let the silence hang with an expectant look.

Aegon noticed that neither his mother nor Elmo Tully offered any apology to one another.

“With that matter settled,” Otto said, wiping his fingers on a soft towel to be handed to the servant. “You made mention of several disturbing accusations towards the Crown that we felt were better discussed in casual conference behind closed doors than in the throne room in King’s Landing.”

“Several of my vassals expressed discomfort with Houses Bracken and Blackwood as well as House Tully being called before the Small Council. Additionally, this summons was then accompanied by the announcement that the king’s eldest son would be the next Lord of Harrenhal.” Elmo pushed his half empty plate to the side, the last bite of crusty bread abandoned. ‘A travesty,’ Aegon thought, and popped the last piece of his bread into his mouth. It was a little too big, his cheeks puffed slightly around it, but there was no choice but to commit. Now he was keeping up with the information Larys had given him. So not only did Elmo, who was pretending to be the acting Lord over his dying father, believe that Aegon was coming for his seat, but he also clearly believed that House Targaryen had what? Stolen Abby? Held her hostage to take her claim?

Aegon’s gaze flicked to his mother and grandfather briefly, but both their faces were impassive, schooled features impossible to tell what it was they were thinking.

“To be clear on the concern,” came the rasping voice of Lord Piper from Elmo’s right. The lord was older, thin as a reed, his graying brown hair curled around his ears and neck. “The Brackens and Blackwoods will tear each other apart any chance they get. It is an issue that myself and fellow houses are concerned about. We were fortunate that under his Grace, King Jaehaerys, peace had been brokered. With the wedding of Lord Bracken’s daughter to House Karstark and the discussions held in the capital, tensions appear to have eased. Some feel that this was the decision behind this marriage, and the presence of the crown in the Riverlands.”

The quiet after the statement was uncomfortable, and Aegon coughed as he swallowed his piece of bread. That also matched with what Abby had said Lythene Ryger had told her all those months ago. He ventured a look to his bride. Her face was pale except for the splotches of bright color in her cheeks, her rosebud mouth pursed with discomfort.

“Then allow me to gladly free you of these misconceptions, my lords,” Mother said, her chin tilted up and her gaze meeting each lord and lady in turn before finally landing on Elmo Tully. Her elbows rested on the arms of the ornate chair, hands folded loosely in front of her. She was utterly relaxed now and Aegon found himself mimicking the posture, even if he felt nervous and on edge. The food in his belly helped. He could feel Abby’s anxieties from her place beside him as keenly as if they were his own. She needed him to be calm. She needed his strength. His mother needed him to be reasonable. He could do this. “During Lord Lyonel’s time as Hand of the King, he and the king had discussed this betrothal. I had also discussed this betrothal with him on numerous occasions. Harrenhal had nothing to do with these conversations. Unless there’s the implication that he had a premonition of what was to happen here…”

The air rushed from his lungs, accompanied by a surprising sense of relief. Instinct compelled him to lift Abby’s hand and press a light kiss to her knuckles, holding her hand in both of his for a moment. She was finally starting to warm up and he looked to see her tension ease and finally relax back in her chair, if only a little.

Elmo Tully held Mother’s gaze for a long time, their eyes locked in some sort of silent conversation or contest, Aegon could not be sure.

“This idea that the crown would overstep themselves and park a dragon on your doorstep over squabbling houses is ludicrous, Lord Elmo,” his grandfather finally said. “We understand how the perception could have come about. Those who wish to sew discontent will always look for nooks and crannies to slither through.”

“No?” Elmo asked mildly, an arch of his brow as he propped his arms on his elbows, large hands folded in front of him. He wore no rings on his fingers, Aegon noticed. “Law states that through her marriage, Harrenhal will become Prince Aegon’s. He is not bringing lands to this marriage and instead, Lady Abrogail’s dowry is providing everything in this union. Seven protect her, should she pass without issue, Harrenhal becomes the prince’s… and then the lands will eventually pass to the crown.”

The implication was clear. Aegon was still the eldest son. Should Viserys change his mind on matters of succession and Aegon named King, then Harrenhal, its income and lands would pass from the Riverlands and become part of the Crownlands.

“The prince is bringing a dragon to the marriage,” his grandfather’s voice was equally mild, even amused.

“Should Prince Aegon pass without issue, Harrenhal will still be in the hands of my sister,” Larys spoke, reaching for his goblet. “It will not default to the crown, nor the prince’s next of kin. Abrogail will maintain her hold.”

“And what is to prevent the crown from simply marrying her to another one of the king’s sons?” Lord Mudd spoke this time. It was the conversation that his father hated and could only happen with him still abed. Aegon instinctively felt the prickle of anxiety and the shortness of breath that came when discussions that edged on the succession, as well as the terrible idea that Abby would just be given to Aemond or Daeron. Daeron was just a boy and the idea of Aemond and Abrogail in that way made Aegon’s blood boil, teeth aching to snap his jaw around his brother’s throat and rip it out. It didn’t matter if Aemond was betrothed, or if he didn’t covet Abby in the least. The mere thought of it incensed him.

She belonged to him, and to think her alone and vulnerable without him had Aegon threading his fingers through hers, the closest he could come to splitting open his ribs and trapping her inside where she’d be warm and protected, worth more than a thousand gold dragons or this castle or her inheritance.

Abby squeezed his hand with both of hers, thumb stroking along the back of his hand and he looked down at her. She was there, he was there. The tension eased only some.

“And should Lady Abrogail pass in childbirth without issue?” Posed Tully this time. Aegon thought he was going to be sick at the thought of it. The talk of all this death, hers and his, it hung over him like a specter, as if it were an unspoken wish. “Prince Aegon would hold ownership-”

“I do find it interesting how we are so quick to assume that I will die within a month of their marriage and not live a long life,” Larys cut in, a placid smile on his face. “It is only a deformed foot that I live with, not palpitations of the heart or fever or grayscale…” He trailed off with a wave of his hand. Tully and Lord Mudd both shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Beside him, Mother lifted her goblet and he could see the amusement on her face that she was trying to hide. Larys’ words were enough to cut through the tension and Aegon huffed out a snort. Abby giggled quietly beside him.

“Apologies, Lord Larys,” Elmo said. “But these are important discussions.”

“And the assumption that I myself would not have also thought of and worked out with the final negotiations?” Larys Strong shook his head, lips pursed. For a man who did not speak often, he had slid into the moment well. “I must say, the lack of faith you appear to have in me not only as a lord of a holding, but a member of the Small Council, and your direct vassal are fully on display and I am concerned that if these things were shared by Lord Grover, that it was never brought up during the prince’s celebrations.”

Once more, Aegon saw that Larys Strong had Elmo Tully on the back foot in front of several of the houses in attendance. There was no illusion to the privacy of this conference. Not from the servants in attendance, nor from the lords and ladies who would discuss this with others. He wondered if this was normal discussion between vassals and their lords. The mediation between Houses Bracken and Blackwood with House Tully in attendance had gone differently. His mother had defended House Tully when certain implications had come up. It was exhausting to watch and process, and Aegon felt like they were circling.

Elmo’s face hardened. “Lord Strong, you leave the running of Harrenhal to your castellian. You have not been in the Riverlands for any extended period of time since before your father took office as Master of Laws and later Hand of the King. I correspond more frequently with Ser Simon than I have with you until recently. What am I left to assume of you, my lord?”

“To be asked to serve the realm is the highest honor, Lord Elmo, and I do not regret my position, and neither did my father. Each raven sent to Harrenhal is reviewed and passed onto myself where my replies are sent directly to House Tully. I do not know the workings of the paramount house, and I am disinclined to assume anything, as it serves none. Your concern and those of my fellow vassals are noted, and our great queen and Lord Otto have been nothing but above board in our negotiations between the prince and my sister.” He inclined his head in the direction of Mother and grandfather, who returned the gesture. “Queen Alicent and her father work tirelessly with the king and any concerns that you have with his Grace's choices and decisions should be brought up directly with him.”

Silence filled the room once more and Aegon looked at Elmo Tully, stone faced and displeased at the failure of whatever outcome he’d been hoping for.

“Your concerns for Lady Abrogail are well intentioned, Lord Elmo,” Mother said. “And you do well to bring the concerns your vassals have to us, although I do wish we had discussed these sooner, and not on the eve of my son’s wedding.” The gentle rebuke was a statement of the obvious and she leaned back in her seat. “The assumptions made that the crown would engage in duplicitous behavior to undermine the sacred agreement between vassals and their liege lords will not be taken to heart and will be left at this table. I can also assure you, Lord Elmo, and your fellow lords, as well as Lord Tully, that the king and I thought long about this betrothal. The king had discussed this previously with Lord Strong and subsequently the new Lord Strong, and was happy to join our families. If there are further concerns, then when his Grace has recovered from the journey, we will be more than happy to discuss any lingering concerns. Are there?”

“Lord Mallister isn’t here because of Ironborn ships spotted near the Cape of Eagles.” It was Lord Ryger’s turn to speak up now. “They raided a few of the villages along the bay last year.”

“Then a dragon here in the Riverlands will be helpful,” Aegon declared with a grin. Not that he was happy about burned villages, but they were much further from his mind than this prime opening. “King’s Landing is but a few hours flight from here, so I would imagine the Cape of Eagles would be similar. It could be enough to scare them off.”

A murmur washed through the room, the tone much different than the distrustful gazes and whispers that held them only moments before. It didn’t matter if Elmo Tully and the other lords believed his mother and grandfather or not. Aegon had seen the opening to something that mattered far more: the safety and protection of these people. Flush with finding his way, Aegon stood, chair scraping across the flagstone, and tugged his riding leathers off. It was much too hot and sweat had started gathering along the nape of his neck. He rested a hand along the back of Abby’s chair, his body inclined towards hers.

“I understand your concerns, and I have listened to them in earnest. If you can be reassured of my commitment to your house, Lord Elmo, and to our fellow houses, then take this thusly. Our children will be of the Riverlands. I am as much invested in the safety and wellbeing and protection of these lands from the Ironborn and whomever else chooses to attempt to press advantage. I swear myself to this. And if there are still sore feelings over… whatever happened in the past in regards to wardship, then I would happily ward one of your sons, Lord Elmo. My younger brother, Daeron, would benefit from boys his own age, as he will be here squiring for my uncle, Ser Gwayne.” Aegon tilted his head, catching Tully’s gaze with a slight smile. “Ser Harwin spoke positively of his time squiring with you at Riverrun in his youth.”

“He did,” Abby said, her voice soft but steady. “And perhaps we can discuss in the future one of our sons fostering with you at Riverrun. My father always reassured me of the ease the partnership between our houses had, and we would like to continue that tradition. I may have grown up away from here, but the rivers run through my blood; Harrenhal is my home. Our people are my kin. The prince speaks truly. Our children will be raised with the customs and traditions of our home, and Aegon and Sunfyre will fiercely protect the sanctity of our realm.”

Many heads were nodding and Elmo’s gaze pinned Aegon in place and he met it without hesitation. Whatever his mother and grandfather plotted, it was beyond Aegon’s knowing. What he did know was that he needed to prove himself to Elmo Tully and the Riverlords, and finally start ripping these assumptions that he was some eager villain set to usurp everyone in his path. He tried to convey that in his look, his hand dropping from the back of Abby’s chair to her shoulder, fingers curling protectively over her slim shoulder. He didn’t want the throne. He didn’t want Tully’s seat. Aegon wanted a home.

Abby, and Harrenhal, were what he wanted.

Abby sat still as Sarra Frey wound spring flowers into her hair and Lythene knelt before her, tracing blue ink along her hands and bared arms. The gown she wore had slashed sleeves, a style she did not often wear without tighter sleeves beneath and the cool air spread goosebumps along her skin. Coupled with the ticklish tracing of the cold woad, she was doing her best not to shiver too much.

“You all have strange customs,” Rhea Royce said, crunching into a juicy, red apple, the juice running down her chin and she swiped it away with the back of her hand. “Won’t that paint turn her blue for days?”

“They make you visit the Bronze Kings for blessings at Runestone,” Cousin Cassana pointed out with a laugh, handing over fussy little Dyana to her mother, her elder sister Deirdre. “You know how those crypts are. I still feel like I’m being watched.”

“Besides,” Deirdre added, cooing at her daughter. “Woad doesn’t stain, and most certainly won’t stand up with all the wedding preparations.”

“Ah yes.” It was Wylla’s turn now, knocking her foot against Rhea’s knee as she leaned against a moss and ivy covered stump at the edge of the blanket. “We’re making an Abby stew of hot water and goat milk. What could survive? Lythene, do you think we could go ahead and paint her all over? Is that a custom here?”

Abby rolled her eyes with a smile as the women around her laughed at the joke. “I am sitting right here,” she pointed out in mock exasperation. “I like this. It lets me feel closer to my family.” Her cousins would remember if her mother had partaken in the riverland custom. She knew, of course, that Aunt Mya certainly had, as did great-grandmother Sabitha. Mayhaps her grandmother, Addison Lefford, did as well, although she was also technically a Westerlander. Abby had been overly worried that she wouldn’t get this, that the queen would overrule it in the name of legitimacy for Aegon.

She might have, until Elmo Tully and the other banners sat at the great table the day before to accuse dragons of coming to feast on fish.

Sarra’s fingers snagged on a knot and Abby hissed at the painful pull while the other girl immediately apologized. “Almost done,” she promised.

“I’m nervous,” Abby said while Lythene finished the swirl up near her shoulder. The green gown was not the traditional blue of a Riverlands bride, and it wasn’t anywhere near the style that usually was done, but it had made do in a pinch and Abby did her best to ignore the pang of inadequacy that kept threatening to surge up. It was a low, little thrum in the back of her mind, telling her that she was a false thing, that she had no claim to a heritage she’d been taught to be proud of, for she had not spent long summer days in the fields chasing lambs or taking oaths and prayers beneath the weirwoods and the seven in the family godswood.

It was said that the Harrenhal godswood was the largest in the realm - even bigger than Winterfell’s, which Abby had a difficult time believing. Wylla had no answers to it, since it had been some time since she had seen her cousin, the now Lord Cregan, but said that Harrenhal’s was very large. It was as if a whole forest had been encased in the castle walls. Abby thought it more than a little strange, since Harren the Black had no issue in chopping down every remaining weirwood grove for leagues to build the fortress, yet he left this one standing and even protected. Was his wife a maiden of the Riverlands? Had she managed to appeal to some sliver of better nature to protect this one tree from being sacrificed to Harren’s hunger? This tree that was witness to the fall of crimson leaves and bone bark, chopped and stripped and brutalized and splashed with blood of their people.

Wylla tugged on her hand and pulled her from the spiral of thoughts that clouded what was meant to be the happiest of times. “You. Get over here.”

“I am,” she grumbled and allowed Wylla to pull her along, gripping her skirts to make their way through the untended and overgrown path. A stream ran through the godswood and Abby let the sound of rushing water push away the shadowy haze that her thoughts had turned to more frequently since they’d arrived. What a sour and unhappy bride they must think she was. Wylla tucked their arms in together and she relaxed into it after all the time apart, finding comfort in her friend and her unwavering spirit beside her. The other girls laughed ahead of them, Rhea lingering on her own as she took in the sights and the crunch of her apple. Cassana, Deirdre, and little Dyana followed a bit behind, the sister’s catching up after their years apart. She was not alone even if the presence of what was lost lingered in every birdsong and every shadow of the towers. “Father would not wish me sad,” Abby confessed for Wylla’s ears alone. “But I cannot help it.”

“Of course you can’t,” she said reasonably. “But he would not want his absence to hinder your joy. You are happy, aren’t you? If you are not, I will deal with Aegon myself.”

“Are you simply looking for an excuse to do so?” Abby teased and Wylla had the grace to flush at being caught out.

“No, not… he’s been better.”

“He has. And I do like to see the both of you getting along, even if it’s about minding me like I can’t take care of myself.” She shook her head but there was a warmth of fondness at their apparent arrangement. Abby did not need minding; she was capable of looking after herself, but it warmed her to know that they were looking after her as well. “I am happy - to answer your question. I trust the gods to ensure that athair knows of my happiness, and mother sees it too.” Abby rubbed her thumb against Wylla’s black and silver sleeve to reassure her and herself, and found that her mood had lightened as they trooped their way through the woods.

“Here we are,” Deirdre announced, bringing the group to a stop. They had followed the steam through the forest for a good quarter of an hour, the path clear if overgrown. Here they came to a stop, not quite at the heart tree. Abby would make the final trek herself. Her elder cousin came to her side, a soft smile on her face and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Go, a leanbh, and speak with them.”

Her hands shook and Abby wiped her palms along the green wool of her gown. Wylla squeezed her arm with encouragement and they parted for her, letting Abby push through the last of the trees on her own.

Past the oaks and the evergreen, the bone white boughs of the great heart tree rose up. The stream widened here into a pool at the foot of the weirwood. Abby’s arms exploded into goosebumps and a hard shiver rolled down her spine, like the rushing of the water over the moss covered rocks before her. It was larger than the one in King’s landing, twisted and broad, reaching as high as it could towards the sun above. Her eyes searched for a way to approach, as she did not have any little raft to cross the waters. She remembered warnings as a child to be careful of the stream as there were spots that were far deeper than they appeared. Finally, she found the sliver of forest floor that reached the tree and she crossed it, another shiver coursing over her as if she stepped through some sort of threshold.

Before her, the tree stood, ancient and all knowing, holding the spirits of all who came before them. Abby noticed, being this close, that none of the other trees came near, as if they knew the weirwood needed room in this captive place.

You’re alone.

The thought struck Abby like a crossbow bolt between her ribs and she blinked past the tears that filled her eyes. The weirwood tree was alone here and it must be so foolish of her to feel such empathy for it but she couldn’t help it.

“I have returned,” she said, dropping her skirts and staring up at the angry face of the tree. “I have been gone for so long I do not know if I remember the song of the rivers, but I know that it’s called me all these years.”

There was no answer. Of course there wasn’t, but she waited all the same, meeting the hateful eyes of the visage before her. It was no surprise to her that the weirwood looked angry. It had watched slaughter and pain. Helpless, the both of them were when it came to the protection of their family, and Abby felt the heat surge through her chest, the anger she so rarely gave into burning brightly in this moment.

“I can’t bring them back, and I wish I could make them pay for what they’ve done,” she cried and closed the distance to stand closer to the face. So close now, she could see the fissures in the bark and so clearly the red staining of the sap. “I can only vow to you, on my life and my children, that we will protect these lands from fire and salt, from the cruel reach of our enemies.”

These were not the blessings asked from a blushing bride. Abby didn’t know what feeling possessed her. She only knew the certainty that the weirwood’s loneliness and her own could not be bidden. They shared this thread, this lonely thread, and she inhaled sharply. “You called me all these years, didn't you? You are why this place has always felt like home to me when I had no answer for it, isn’t it?”

The leaves whispered in the wind.

The stream continued to rush.

Abby continued to meet the angry gaze of the weirwood staring back at her.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was gone for so long.” Abby took a step, pulling her skirts up to make sure she didn’t trip climbing over the large, gnarled and moss covered roots of the tree. Tentatively, she reached a hand out as if touching the face’s cheek. She was meant to be saying prayers and asking for blessings like the Children of the Forest were above her in the boughs, listening and taking note.

This felt more right. She didn’t understand why but only knew that it felt like whatever had drawn her away from camp the other morning and towards the Red Wood. Abby wished she could put it to words. She wished that she understood all that was happening.

“Sióg bheag.”

She was speechless, her fingers curled against the trunk and her other hand gripping her gown. She could only hear the stream and the water. She couldn’t hear little Dyana’s babbles, or the laughter of Wylla. Abby shivered again. There were no dragon calls, she realized. There was nothing except the pool of water and the weirwood and them.

The man was tall. At least, Abby thought it was a man. He stood on the other side of the tree, the water of the pool lapping along knees covered by rough, dark green trousers, his tunic woven of leaves of dappled green and red, his arms bare and big like the strongman she’d seen fight the last feast day of the Warrior. It was the antlers that her gaze was ultimately drawn too. Antlers that looked like they were sprouting from his wiry red hair, bone white as weirwood boughs. His face was square and ruddy and worn, skin like leather, his beard long and hairy.

“Níl aon rud sa saol seo ach na crainn agus ní bheidh muid beo ach ar feadh tamaill bhig,” the man spoke, his voice rough as river stones, worn as if abused by smoke. His eyes were dark and his gaze impossible to tear away from. Abby frantically attempted to discern what he said. Trees? Life?

“I…” She swallowed and forced herself to breathe. She did know these words, even on a long forgotten level. “We will only be alive a short time… Pangur Bán… Pangur Bán….” Abby sang the last words uncertainly as the lullaby tugged at her deep memory. The words cracked from her, creaky from disuse as she sang. “An dorchadas a chasadh chun solais…”

Turn the darkness to light.

Silence fell and the weirwood’s leaves shuddered. Something tickled against her hair and cheek and Abby lifted her hand to pluck away one of the crimson leaves that had fallen.

“Duais tine gréine,” he said, tilting his head up to the sky. “Duais fola.” Prize? Sun prize? She didn’t not understand what sort of prize he meant by fola, a word she wasn’t familiar with.

“I don’t understand,” Abby confessed. Her voice trembled and she hated it. She hated that she was struggling with words spoken to her in the cradle. Words that were a part of her but long left unspoken and now rusty and creaky with disuse. “I want to understand.” She tilted her head, watching the way the antlers looked beneath the dappled light. “You’re from the Isle of Faces, aren’t you?”

He inclined his head slightly in what she could only assume was confirmation and she bowed her head in return. The Green Men were the protectors of the weirwoods, of the most ancient practices. Pilgrims seldom visited the Isle, but they did, many choosing to stay among the small community to pray, to protect the trees, to practice whatever vestiges of the magic that was left before the Children had vanished far away.

She tried to find the words and they came out pathetic to her ears. “I came for my wedding blessing. I didn't mean to disrupt your quiet.”

“A bride for Harrenhal.” The common tongue was so clear that Abby blinked, stunned into silence. “They leave quickly. Sickness. Water. Poison.”

Harwin’s mother had died from Winter fever and her own had died from a long illness. Larys and Cory’s mother had drowned. None that she knew of had been poisoned.

A bride with a broken neck. How tragic.

Abby’s knees buckled and she sat heavily down on the gnarled roots as the air was knocked from her. She tried to swallow and push the words out but her throat was closed and her eyes were hot. A shudder rocked her frame. She was so exhausted from her grief that Abby thought she should find it a relief that it would not be her grief to bear this time, but the idea of being parted from Aegon, from leaving him alone to the further machinations of his mother and grandfather, to whatever the realm chose. Would they think he had poisoned her? Would he be held up as the criminal by Elmo Tully?

To not wake up in his arms every morning? To not taste his kisses, to not feel his arms around her holding her together and trying to lend her strength?

It was a damning hell. It was not peace. It was not solace, it was agony.

“In four moons, you will be blessed.”

She blinked past the angry tears in her eyes. “What? But you just said-”

“In four moons, the gods will bless you.” He turned in dismissal and she pushed from the roots, crying out after him to ‘Wait!’ but he didn’t. What did this even mean? Was she going to die in four moons? Would the gods save her in four moons?

“Please! I don’t know!” She cried again, tears rolling down her cheeks. The Green Man mounted the bank and Abby drew back as she got a look at his legs. They weren’t human legs, they were like a deer’s: bent and furred.

Then, he was gone and Abby was alone.

Her and the weirwood tree.

Did you like this chapter? WHAT ARE YOUR THEORIES? What excited you the most? What questions do you have? I'm here to answer! And if you don't know what to say, please reblog to spread the love <3 THREE CHAPTERS LEFT.

NEXT CHAPTER

[thegreatyin]

MR PAGES MOST AUTISTIC BAT 2024 LETS GOOOO

bat tierlists how could you do this to me

i targeted you specifically for my psychic attacks obviously