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hisfavegirl · 2 months ago

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Choices - Aemond Targaryen x SisterWife!Reader x Aegon Targaryen.

Summary : you were tired of being just a shadow, after that night something inside you changed. the choice you made that night changed your entire life.

After that night — the night you found yourself once again in Aegon’s arms, wrapped in his warmth until the break of dawn — you made a decision. No longer would you allow yourself to be consumed by the ache Aemond had caused. The pain had festered for too long, and you were done being a prisoner to it.

As you stepped out of Aegon’s chambers that morning, the castle corridors seemed quieter than usual, though you knew it was only an illusion. Eyes followed you. Servants, guards, and courtiers glanced your way, some pretending to be preoccupied while others stared openly, their gazes sharp with judgment or curiosity. Their whispers echoed softly behind you, low murmurs carrying words you didn’t care to hear.

But you didn’t falter. You kept your head high, spine straight, and your steps measured with purpose. The faint smirk on your lips was barely noticeable, but it was there — a silent defiance. Let them talk. Let them wonder. Let them think whatever they pleased. For the first time in a long while, you felt in control. You had spent too long chasing affection from a man who refused to see you. Now, they would all see you.

The light fabric of your gown swayed gently as you walked, the cool morning air brushing against your skin. You could still feel the warmth of Aegon’s touch lingering on you, like an invisible armor shielding you from their stares. Your heart didn’t ache this morning — not for Aemond, not for anyone.

As you approached the main hall, you saw Alicent at the end of the corridor. Her eyes met yours, narrowing with a look you knew well: suspicion. Her gaze flickered to the way your hair was still slightly tousled, the faint mark barely hidden beneath the neckline of your gown. Her lips pressed into a firm line, but she said nothing. She didn’t have to. Her silence was its own form of disapproval.

But you didn’t slow down. You walked past her with that same unshaken grace, ignoring the weight of her gaze on your back. You had made your choice, and you wouldn’t apologize for it. Let them all watch. Let them all whisper. None of them had ever truly seen you before. But now, they would.

You were in your chamber, brushing through your silver hair in front of the mirror, the soft glow of the morning sun spilling through the window. The air was calm, the gentle chirping of birds outside offering a rare sense of peace. You adjusted the neckline of your gown, letting it rest just right on your shoulders. But that peace was short-lived.

The sound of your chamber door being thrown open echoed through the room, making you flinch. The handle slammed against the stone wall with a loud clang, and as you whipped your head around, your heart froze. There he stood — Aemond. His face was a mask of fury, his single eye sharp and burning like wildfire. He didn’t wear his eyepatch, and the sapphire in his empty socket caught the morning light, making it gleam with an eerie brilliance. His chest rose and fell with the weight of his breathing, his fists clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles had turned white.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. His gaze bore into you like a blade, unwavering and filled with rage that simmered just beneath the surface. It wasn’t the cold indifference you’d grown used to — no, this was something much more dangerous.

“You think I wouldn’t hear it?” he hissed, his voice low and venomous. He took a step forward, slow and deliberate, like a lion stalking its prey. “The whispers. The stares. Do you know what they’re saying?” His voice grew louder with each word, his tone sharp as steel.

You didn’t respond, your jaw tightening as you kept your ground. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you refused to look away. Let him rage, you thought. Let him see that I am no longer his to break.

He took another step forward, his gaze never leaving you. His lips curled into something caught between a snarl and a sneer. “They’re saying you left his chamber this morning.” His words came slow, deliberate, as if he wanted to savor the taste of them — as if saying it out loud made it more real. His eye narrowed, his gaze raking over you as if searching for evidence of your betrayal.

“Say something,” he demanded, his voice sharp like a crack of thunder. “Deny it. Dare to lie to me.”

You exhaled slowly, straightening your posture. You felt the warmth of defiance rise in your chest. No longer would you tremble beneath his gaze. No longer would you be the one left unseen, unloved. If he wanted the truth, you would give it to him.

Your eyes met his with quiet, unyielding strength. “Why should I?” you asked, your voice steady and clear. “It seems you’ve already decided what to believe.”

His nostrils flared, and for a moment, his eye darted to your neck. You knew what he saw — the faint mark that lingered just above your collarbone. His lips pressed into a hard line, his chest heaving. His gaze lingered on that spot for far too long before his eye snapped back to yours.

“Is this how you get back at me?” he snarled, stepping even closer, his face inches from yours now. “Him?” He said it like a curse, filled with disgust. His breath was hot, his presence overwhelming. “You’d disgrace yourself — disgrace me — just to prove a point?”

Your eyes narrowed, your lips curling into a bitter smile. “Disgrace you?” you repeated softly, as if tasting the words yourself. You tilted your head slightly, letting him see the mark more clearly, daring him to look at it. “You speak of disgrace, husband, but tell me —” Your voice was quieter now but sharp as a blade. “Was it not disgrace when you left me for her?”

The words hit him like a slap. His eye widened for a moment before it narrowed into a glare more dangerous than before. His jaw tightened, the muscle there twitching as he clenched his teeth. You saw it — that flicker of guilt, that fleeting moment of realization. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by pride and rage.

“You forget your place,” he said coldly, his voice like ice.

You raised your chin, your gaze never leaving his. “No, Aemond,” you said firmly. “I’ve only just found it.”

Silence hung between you like a drawn sword, sharp and dangerous. His breathing was heavy, his gaze wild with emotions he refused to name. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t cower. For the first time, you stood as his equal — no, more than that. You were beyond him now.

Without another word, he turned sharply on his heel, his black cloak whipping behind him as he stormed out of the room. The door slammed shut, the echo reverberating through the stone walls. You exhaled slowly, letting the tension drain from your body, your heart still pounding like a war drum.

Your gaze shifted to the mirror. You stared at yourself for a long moment, fingers brushing over the faint mark on your neck. Slowly, your lips curved into a small, victorious smile. Let him rage. Let him burn. He had his chance, and he threw it away.

You stepped into your mother’s chambers, the air thick with tension. Alicent stood in the center of the room, her face hard with disapproval, eyes sharp like the edge of a dagger. Her arms were crossed, her fingers tapping slowly against her sleeve — a silent warning you knew all too well.

Beside her stood her. Your sister. Helaena. Her soft, distant gaze remained fixed on the floor, fingers nervously twisting together. She looked as innocent as ever, unbothered, unaware of the weight of it all. But to you, she was a symbol of everything you had lost. Every unspoken word. Every stolen glance. Every moment of your husband’s love that was never yours to begin with.

“Sit,” Alicent commanded, her voice firm, unyielding. You knew better than to refuse. Slowly, you walked toward the chair across from her and sat, keeping your back straight, head held high. If she wanted to scold you, she would have to see that you were no child to be lectured.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Alicent’s voice was low but sharp, every syllable cutting through the silence. Her eyes bore into you, searching for a hint of shame. “The entire Keep is whispering about you. About him.” Her lips curled with distaste at the mention. “Do you think this is how a princess behaves? Do you think this is how a wife honors her vows?”

You kept your gaze on her, unblinking. “Did he honor his?” you asked, your voice quiet but unyielding. “Did he honor me, Mother, when he left me to wither in the shadow of another woman? Did he honor me when he sought solace in her arms instead of mine?"

Alicent’s face stiffened, her nostrils flaring as if you’d struck her. She stepped forward, her eyes narrowing with warning. “Watch your tongue,” she hissed. “You are his wife. It is not your place to question him. It is your duty to endure.”

“Endure?” You let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking your head. “I have endured, Mother. I have endured his indifference, his silence, and his loyalty to someone who was never his to love. And you expect me to endure it forever?” Your eyes flickered to Helaena, still quiet, still absent in her own mind. “Is that what you taught her too?”

“Enough!” Alicent’s voice cracked through the air like a whip, sharp and final. “Do not speak of your sister in this.”

But you didn’t stop. Not now. Your eyes locked on Helaena, and for the first time, she met your gaze. There was no malice in her eyes, only confusion, and somehow that made it worse. “You took him from me,” you said, voice laced with quiet fury. “You didn’t even know you were doing it, did you?” You tilted your head, eyes narrowing. “Do you know now?”

“Stop this,” Alicent snapped, stepping between you and Helaena. “Do not blame her for your failures.” Her voice was colder now, laced with disgust. “I raised you to be better than this — to be better than your selfishness. Do you think Aegon cares for you? Do you think that boy sees you as anything more than his next distraction?”

Your heart twisted, but you didn’t let it show. You had already asked yourself those questions, lying awake at night in the stillness of Aegon’s chambers. You had seen the shadows of doubt creeping into your mind. But here, before Alicent’s judgmental gaze, you wouldn’t break. You couldn’t.

“At least he sees me, Mother,” you whispered, eyes narrowing into slits. “At least he doesn’t pretend I’m invisible.”

Alicent stepped forward, her face inches from yours now. Her gaze was fierce, unrelenting. “He will ruin you,” she said with quiet fury, her voice deadly calm. “And when he’s done, when he grows bored, you will be left with nothing. No husband, no name, and no place in this world.” She leaned in, eyes hard as steel. “Is that what you want? To be nothing?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your eyes burning with unshed tears, but you did not let them fall. “I was already nothing to him,” you said softly, each word hitting like a blow. “At least now, I am seen.”

Alicent’s face twisted in disappointment, her lips pressing into a thin, angry line. She shook her head slowly, eyes filled with something like pity. “You are lost,” she whispered, stepping back from you as if you were something tainted. “And you will regret this.”

“Perhaps,” you replied, rising to your feet, your heart pounding but your voice unwavering. “But at least I will regret it on my terms.”

You turned to leave, walking past Helaena without sparing her another glance. She didn’t stop you. She never did. And as you left, you heard Alicent’s voice behind you, cold and sharp as ever.

“Don’t come to me when he casts you aside,” she said, her tone final, like a judge passing sentence.

You didn’t turn back. Let her think she had won. Let them all think that. You had nothing left to lose.

You walked along the garden path, your gaze soft as you watched your daughter chase after a butterfly. Her tiny feet padded across the grass, her giggles filling the air with a melody sweeter than any song. Her silver hair shimmered in the dappled sunlight, her little hands reaching for the butterfly that danced just out of her grasp.

A smile tugged at your lips. Moments like these felt like fleeting dreams, too delicate to last but too precious to forget. The weight of everything else seemed lighter here, where only the sun, the breeze, and your daughter’s joy existed.

From the far end of the garden, you noticed a figure approaching. His familiar, unhurried stride was impossible to miss. Aegon. He walked with his usual air of mischief, hands in his pockets, his eyes locked on you with a knowing grin.

“Look at her,” he called as he drew closer, tilting his head toward your daughter. “Chasing dreams she’ll never catch.” His tone was playful, but his eyes lingered on you a moment too long.

“She doesn’t know that yet,” you replied, watching your daughter spin in circles, trying to catch the butterfly as it fluttered just beyond her reach. “Let her believe she can.”

Aegon’s grin widened at that. “Spoken like a mother.”

By the time he reached you, your daughter had already noticed him. Her eyes lit up, and she abandoned her chase, running toward him with all the speed her little legs could muster. “Uncle Aegon!” she cried, her voice high and delighted.

“Little dragon!” he laughed, crouching down just in time to catch her in his arms. He lifted her with ease, spinning her around, her giggles turning into shrieks of joy. “Higher? Higher, you say?” he teased, his voice loud with mock surprise.

“Higher, Uncle! Higher!” she squealed, her arms stretched toward the sky as if she could touch the clouds.

Aegon obliged, hoisting her even higher, spinning her in wide circles that had her squealing with glee. His laughter mixed with hers, louder and freer than you’d heard in a long while. It was so genuine, so unburdened, that you felt your heart tighten.

He finally set her down, but she refused to let go of him, her small hands clutching his tunic as she leaned her head against his chest. He glanced at you, his breathing slightly uneven from the effort, his smile quieter now.

“Looks like I’ve been claimed,” he said, his voice laced with affection as he ruffled her silver hair. “Can’t say I mind.”

You chuckled softly, stepping closer. “You’ve always been her favorite.”

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes flicking to you with something sharper, something unspoken. “Am I?” he murmured, his gaze lingering on yours just a moment too long.

Before you could respond, your daughter tugged at his sleeve. “Again, Uncle Aegon!” she pleaded, looking up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

“Again?” he repeated, feigning exhaustion as he let out an exaggerated sigh. “You’ll be the death of me, little dragon.” But despite his words, he crouched down once more, letting her climb onto his back like a rider claiming a dragon.

“Ready?” he asked, glancing back at her.

“Fly, dragon, fly!” she declared, her small fists clinging to his tunic like reins.

With a grunt of effort and a laugh on his lips, Aegon straightened, carrying her on his back as he jogged around the garden, her squeals of joy trailing behind them.

You watched them, your heart swelling with something you couldn’t quite name. For once, everything felt… simple. No whispers. No stares. No burdens too heavy to carry. Just laughter, sunlight, and the sound of your daughter’s happiness echoing through the garden.

You and Aegon walked side by side through the corridors of the Red Keep, his arms steady as he carried your daughter. Her little hands clung to his collar as she leaned her head on his shoulder, her soft giggles filling the silent hall. You couldn’t help but smile, your gaze fixed on them — your heart lighter than it had been in days.

The faint echoes of whispers followed you. Maids glanced from behind pillars, guards exchanged quick looks, and noblewomen passing by slowed their steps, eyes lingering with curiosity and judgment. The weight of their stares was a familiar burden, but today, you chose to ignore it. Their words, their gossip, their assumptions — none of it mattered.

“Look at her,” Aegon chuckled, glancing at your daughter in his arms. “Falling asleep on me after all that excitement. Typical little dragon.”

“She knows where it’s safe,” you replied softly, your eyes shifting from your daughter’s peaceful face to his. He gave you a grin, one that was far too self-assured, as if he knew exactly what you meant.

His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, everything else fell away — the murmurs, the stares, the weight of expectation. It was just the three of you walking down a corridor that had once felt so suffocating but now seemed less so.

But not all eyes were so easily ignored.

From the shadows ahead, you felt it — the cold, sharp gaze of Aemond. His presence was unmistakable. He stood at the end of the corridor, his hands behind his back, his posture rigid. His one eye, the one that mattered, was locked on you. No — not just you. His gaze shifted to Aegon, to your daughter nestled against him, then back to you.

You felt the weight of his stare like a blade pressed against your back, sharp and unforgiving. It begged for your attention, demanded it. But you didn’t look at him. Not this time.

You tilted your chin higher, your smile never faltering as you turned back to Aegon. He noticed, of course. Aegon always noticed. His grin grew wider, bolder, as if daring Aemond to act.

“Don’t look back,” Aegon muttered low enough for only you to hear, his voice laced with quiet defiance. “He hates it when he’s ignored.”

You bit back a laugh, glancing up at him with a raised brow. “Good,” you whispered back.

With that, you continued forward, side by side with Aegon, ignoring the burn of Aemond’s gaze like it was nothing more than a chill in the air. And for the first time, you didn’t feel small. You felt seen.

As you walked past him, Aemond’s hand shot out and gripped your wrist with unyielding strength. You gasped, jerking back, but his grip was like iron.

“Aemond, let me go,” you hissed, twisting your arm, but it was useless. His one eye burned with something wild and furious.

“No.” His voice was low, dangerous, like the calm before a storm. He yanked you forward, pulling you along the corridor.

“Aemond!” Aegon’s voice echoed from behind, sharp and commanding. You glanced back, heart pounding, seeing Aegon striding toward you with purpose. “Let her go!”

Aemond didn’t stop. His fingers dug into your wrist, his pace steady and unrelenting. You stumbled to keep up with him, barely able to keep your footing. The cold stone walls of the Red Keep blurred as you moved past them.

“Aemond, stop!” you snapped, your voice sharp and defiant, but he didn’t even flinch. The guards and maids in the corridor turned away, their eyes averted, unwilling to intervene. No one ever did.

When you reached his chamber door, he shoved it open with one hand and dragged you inside. The door slammed shut behind you with a deafening thud, the finality of it making your chest tighten. He released you with a forceful push, and you stumbled back, clutching your wrist, your heart pounding like a drum.

Your breath was ragged, your eyes sharp with fury as you glared at him. “What is wrong with you?” you spat, your voice sharp with disbelief. “You have no right to—”

“No right?” Aemond’s voice was eerily calm, his words cutting like a blade. “I am your husband. I have every right.” He began to pace in front of you like a predator stalking its prey. His eye, sharp as ever, never left you.

“You are a fool if you think you still have that right,” you hissed, your eyes narrowing with defiance.

His head snapped toward you at that, his jaw tightening as his nostrils flared. “Careful,” he warned, his voice low and icy.

But you were done being careful. The weight of everything came crashing down on you. Your chest felt tight, but your resolve had never been stronger. You stepped forward, your voice unwavering as you met his furious gaze head-on.

“Don’t you dare talk to me about rights, Aemond,” you seethed, fists clenched at your sides. “Not after what I heard last night. You have no right to be angry. No right to drag me here like some possession. No right to demand anything from me — not after you crawled into her bed.”

Aemond froze.

The silence that followed was suffocating. The only sound in the room was the distant crackling of the fire. His face went still, too still, the flickering flames casting shadows that made him look almost inhuman.

He turned slowly, his gaze locked on you now with a dangerous intensity. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, his voice tight and controlled.

You laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Don’t lie to me, Aemond. I heard you. Your voice. Her voice.” Your eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but you refused to let them fall. “I stood at the door, Aemond. I heard you.”

His eye flickered, his mask cracking for a split second before he composed himself. “It’s not what you think,” he said, his voice quieter now, but there was no apology in it. Only pride.

“Don’t insult me,” you bit back, your eyes stinging with the betrayal that burned in your chest. “Don’t stand there and pretend it meant nothing. Don’t stand there and act as if I’m blind. I am not her, Aemond. I never will be.” Your voice cracked on the last word, but you lifted your chin, defiance blazing in your eyes.

He took a step toward you, but you raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks. “No. You do not get to touch me. Not after this.”

He tilted his head, his eye narrowing as if studying you in a new light. His lips pressed into a thin line. “So this is why you’ve been running to Aegon?” he sneered, his voice low and cutting. “You think he’ll love you? You think he can give you what I can’t?”

“At least Aegon sees me,” you shot back, taking a step forward. Your breath was shallow, your heart racing, but you didn’t stop. “At least he doesn’t pretend I’m someone else when he touches me.”

Aemond’s face twisted into something raw, something dangerously close to pain. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his breathing heavy.

“He will ruin you,” Aemond said, his voice shaking with barely restrained rage. “He will ruin you, and you will come crawling back."

“Then I’ll ruin myself,” you whispered, your voice hoarse but unwavering. You stepped past him, your gaze fixed on the door. “But I will never crawl back to you.”

You didn’t look back as you walked away, your hands trembling but your heart steady. The heavy thud of the door echoed behind you, but it didn’t scare you this time. For the first time, you felt free.

It had been a month since the night that drove you further away from Aemond. The distance between you two had grown into an unspoken chasm. You no longer sought his gaze, and he no longer reached for you. Instead, you found solace in Aegon and your daughter. Aegon was always by your side — in the gardens, at meals, and even during the quiet hours of the night when the world outside seemed to forget you existed.

Your mother, Alicent, watched you closely. Her disapproving gaze followed you wherever you went. She didn’t need to say it aloud — her silence was louder than any scolding. Her subtle warnings were clear: Stop this behavior. Fall in line. Do your duty as a wife. But how could you, when your husband’s heart had never belonged to you?

Then the news came.

The whispers spread through the halls of the Red Keep like wildfire. Servants murmured it as they passed, and the nobles whispered it behind raised goblets of wine. Princess Helaena is with child.

Your heart clenched in your chest. You stopped breathing for a moment, and then it all clicked into place.

It wasn’t Aegon’s.

You knew it the second you heard it. Your blood ran cold, and your mind filled with images you had tried so hard to bury. The sounds you heard that night outside Helaena’s door, the low whispers, the soft creak of the bed, and the unmistakable voice of him. Aemond.

It had been him all along.

Aegon had been with you that night amd the night after, his arms around you, his voice reminding you that you were seen, that you were wanted. There was no doubt in your mind that the child Helaena carried was not Aegon’s. It was Aemond’s. Your husband. Your own husband had betrayed you in the most devastating way.

Rage, sadness, and something else — something colder — coiled in your chest. You always knew, didn’t you? Helaena had always been the one he adored. You had seen it at every family supper, every glance he cast her way, every moment he chose to sit beside her instead of you. He had always been hers. You had been nothing but a shadow of her, a stand-in for what he truly desired.

The realization left you hollow. You could feel it gnawing at the edges of your mind. But this time, you refused to cry. You refused to let him break you again. Your gaze hardened, your breathing steadied, and you lifted your head.

If he wants her, he can have her.

But you would not be silent. You would not be small. You had your daughter. You had Aegon, and perhaps that was enough. Let them whisper. Let them stare. Let your mother scowl. You had already endured enough heartbreak to last a lifetime, and you would not give them the satisfaction of watching you shatter.

Not this time.

You walked hurriedly toward your husband’s chambers, your heart pounding in your chest. The cold stone floor of the Red Keep echoed beneath your feet, every step filled with purpose. Tonight, it ends. Tonight, we face the truth.

Reaching his door, you didn’t bother to knock. You pushed it open with enough force to make it creak loudly, the sound echoing through the room. The warm glow of the fire bathed everything in flickering amber light.

There he was.

Aemond sat by the fire, his long silver hair untied, cascading over his shoulders like a silk curtain. He looked different like this — younger, perhaps even vulnerable. His blue eye, the one that had always cut through you like a blade, was locked on the flames. The sapphire in his other eye socket shimmered faintly in the dim glow. He hadn’t bothered to wear his eye patch tonight.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t turn to face you. He knew you were there. He always knows when you’re there.

“Have you come to accuse me again?” His voice was low, dangerous, but there was something brittle beneath it. “Or is it more of your petty rebellion for everyone to see?”

His words were like arrows aimed at your heart, but you refused to let them hit their mark. You stepped further into the room, closing the door behind you with a soft but firm click.

“You know why I’m here, Aemond.” Your voice was steady, colder than the sea on a winter’s morning. “We are going to end this tonight. No more pretending.”

He let out a bitter laugh, tilting his head back to rest against the chair. His eye finally moved to you, sharp as ever, full of cold fire. “Pretending? Is that what you think I’ve been doing?” He leaned forward slowly, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. His gaze never left you. “Careful, wife. You may not like the answers you receive.”

Your fists clenched at your sides, nails digging into your palms. He dares to play coy? After everything?

“I heard you that night, Aemond,” you said, each word like a stone thrown into a still pond. The silence that followed rippled with tension. “I heard you with her.”

He didn’t deny it.

He didn’t even blink.

Instead, he tilted his head to the side, regarding you with that same calculating stare he always gave his enemies on the battlefield.

“So, you’ve decided to play the victim now?” he said, his tone sharp and mocking. “You, who spent your nights in Aegon’s arms while our daughter slept alone?” His voice was louder now, filled with venom. “Do you think I don’t hear the whispers? Do you think I don’t see the marks he leaves on you?”

Your breath caught in your chest, but you didn’t let it show. You refused to be the one to break. Not this time.

“Don’t you dare twist this on me, Aemond,” you snapped, stepping forward, your eyes blazing with fury. “I did not betray you first.” You pointed at him, your voice growing louder, stronger. “I was yours. All of me was yours. I waited. I hoped. I endured. While you sat there, loving her.” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. “Do not speak to me of betrayal when you gave me nothing but scraps.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he said nothing. His fingers twitched like he was moments away from lashing out, but he held himself still.

“You are a fool,” he hissed. “You think love is something that is given freely, something that is owed to you. It is not. I gave you my name. I gave you a child.”

“You gave me nothing but pain!” you shot back, tears threatening to spill, but you refused to wipe them away. “You gave her everything, and you left me to rot.”

He stood then, slow and deliberate, his tall frame casting a long shadow over you as he approached. He stopped just before you, his gaze bearing down on you like the weight of a thousand swords.

“And yet,” he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous whisper, “you keep coming back.”

The words were like a blade to your chest. Your breath hitched, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. You looked up at him, eyes filled with all the hurt, all the rage, all the love that had twisted into something cruel and unrecognizable.

“Not anymore,” you said, voice hoarse but firm. “This is the last time, Aemond. You can have her, have all of her. I won’t fight for someone who never fought for me.”

His face remained a mask of stone, but his eye flickered with something. Regret? Doubt? You didn’t know, and you didn’t care.

You stepped back, heart pounding like a war drum. Your hands felt cold, but you didn’t let them shake. With one last glance at him, you turned toward the door.

“Don’t you dare to walk away from me,” he growled, his voice rough like thunder in the distance.

But you didn’t stop.

Not this time.

You reached for the door handle, and his voice came again, softer but no less sharp.

“If you leave now, you don’t come back.”

You froze for a moment, letting his words sink in. Slowly, you turned your head just enough to look at him from the corner of your eye. You met his gaze, unflinching, steady as the tide.

“I already left, Aemond,” you said quietly. “You just never noticed.”

And with that, you opened the door and walked away.

Before you could get far from his chamber, you heard the sharp, hurried sound of footsteps behind you. Your heart jumped into your throat, but you didn’t stop walking.

Then, a strong hand seized your wrist.

“Aemond—” you gasped, turning your head just as he yanked you back with enough force to make you stumble. Your back hit his chest, and his grip on your wrist tightened like an iron shackle.

“Let me go,” you hissed, twisting your arm to free yourself, but his hold didn’t budge. His fingers dug into your skin, firm but not painful — not yet.

“Not until you listen,” he growled, his breath warm against the side of your face. His voice was low, sharp, and dangerous, like a blade being drawn from its sheath. He pulled you back into his chamber, slamming the door shut behind him with his free hand.

“Listen?” you spat, yanking at his grip again. “I have done nothing but listen, Aemond! I listened to your silence. I listened to your lies. I listened when you let me hear you with her!” Your voice cracked with raw emotion, but you didn’t care.

He spun you around, and for a moment, you were face-to-face with him. His eye burned with barely restrained fury, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. His jaw was tight, his lips pressed into a thin, angry line.

“Say it,” he said through gritted teeth, his eye locked on yours with a heat so intense it could burn. “Say what you’re truly angry about.”

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill, but you refused to give him that satisfaction. “Don’t pretend you don’t know,” you bit out, chest heaving with barely restrained emotion.

“I want to hear you say it,” he demanded, his voice harder now, like steel striking steel. His eye flickered with something wild, something desperate. “Say it.”

“You want me to say it?” you shouted, slamming your free hand against his chest, though he didn’t flinch. “Fine. I’m angry because you chose her! Her! I was your wife! I am your wife! And you betrayed me!”

Your breath was ragged, each word like a piece of you breaking off, shattering on the stone floor.

“And you think I betrayed you first,” you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of it all. “But you left me long before I ever went to Aegon. You left me alone, Aemond. Alone.”

His face twisted, lips parting as if to argue, but no words came. For the first time, he looked lost. His grip on your wrist loosened just slightly, but he didn’t let you go.

“I never left you,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, as if that was supposed to be enough. As if words could undo everything.

“Liar,” you whispered, tears now falling freely. “If you didn’t leave me, why was I always alone?”

Silence. His face, his cold, perfect mask, cracked for just a moment. He opened his mouth, but nothing came. No excuses. No lies. Nothing.

His silence was louder than any confession.

You felt your heart break all over again.

“Let me go, Aemond,” you said quietly, not as a demand but as a plea. Your eyes, red with unshed tears, met his. “Please.”

His fingers hovered for a moment longer, as if unsure whether to hold on tighter or finally let go. Then, slowly, his hand slipped from your wrist. The warmth of his touch faded, replaced by the cold air of the room.

He didn’t stop you this time as you turned around.

He didn’t follow when you opened the door.

And he didn’t say a word when you walked away.

You ran toward your chamber, tears streaming down your face like an endless river. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat louder than the last, fueled by a storm of anger, hurt, and betrayal.

Reaching your door, you shoved it open with trembling hands. The wood banged against the wall, but you didn’t care.

Then you stopped.

Your mother, was already there. She stood in the center of the room, her eyes immediately locking onto yours. Her expression shifted from calm patience to sharp concern the moment she saw your tear-streaked face and heaving chest.

“What’s wrong?” she asked urgently, stepping forward, her voice laced with worry. Her gaze scanned you from head to toe, searching for an injury or any sign of what might have happened.

Your chest heaved with a sob, and you didn’t hesitate. You threw yourself into her arms, wrapping yourself around her like a child seeking shelter from a storm. Her warmth enveloped you instantly. Her hands pressed firmly against your back, one of them cradling the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair.

“Mother,” you gasped between sobs, “he’s gone too far this time.”

Alicent stiffened at your words. Her arms remained around you, but you could feel the shift in her. Her breathing slowed, her posture grew more rigid.

“What did he do?” she asked softly, but there was no softness in her tone — only cold, sharp control. The same control she always used when the world demanded more from her than she could bear.

You shook your head against her shoulder, tears soaking into the fabric of her gown. “He—” your voice cracked, thick with emotion. “He betrayed me again, Mother. I heard him. I heard him with her.”

Alicent’s breath hitched, and her fingers stilled in your hair. Her jaw tensed against your temple, and for a moment, she didn’t speak. You felt it before you heard it — the cold, quiet fury settling into her frame.

“Helaena,” she muttered, her voice so low you barely caught it. Her grip on you tightened. “I warned him. I warned him.”

You pulled back slightly, wiping at your face with shaking hands. “He doesn’t care, Mother,” you said bitterly, eyes filled with pain and exhaustion. “No matter what I do, he always goes back to her.” Your voice broke again, and fresh tears welled in your eyes. “Am I not enough?”

“Don’t say that,” Alicent said firmly, cupping your face in her hands. She tilted your head up so you had no choice but to meet her gaze. Her eyes, filled with a mix of heartbreak and fierce protectiveness, bore into yours. “You are more than enough. Do you hear me?”

You nodded weakly, but doubt still clung to your heart like thorns.

Her gaze hardened, her lips pressed into a thin line. “If he cannot see it, then he is a fool,” she said with quiet conviction. “And I will not let my daughter be broken by a fool.”

Her words settled over you like a balm, momentarily easing the ache in your chest. Alicent pulled you back into her embrace, holding you tighter than before. For the first time in a long while, you felt like someone was on your side.

You continued to cry in your mother’s arms, your body trembling with the weight of everything you had endured. Her fingers stroked your hair in slow, soothing motions, the same way she had done when you were a child afraid of the dark. But this darkness was far more suffocating.

“I’m sorry,” Alicent whispered, her voice strained with guilt. She pressed a kiss to the top of your head, her hand resting firmly against your back. “I should have listened to you. I should have seen it.” Her voice cracked slightly. “I thought I was doing what was best for you, but I failed you.”

Her words only made you cry harder, the release of all your unspoken hurt pouring out at once. You clutched at her gown like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.

“Tell me,” she said softly, voice steady but laced with desperation. She pulled back just enough to see your face, her eyes scanning yours with fierce determination. “Tell me what I can do to make it right. Anything, my sweet girl. Anything.”

You sniffled, wiping at your tear-streaked cheeks, and for a moment, you hesitated. The weight of the words you were about to speak hung heavy in the air. But you had thought about this for too long, dreamed of it too often to stop now. Your lips parted, and your voice, though hoarse from crying, came out clear and unwavering.

“End it,” you said, looking her directly in the eyes. “End my marriage to Aemond.”

Alicent’s eyes widened in shock. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she said nothing. Her gaze searched yours, as though hoping she had misunderstood. But there was no mistaking the resolve in your face.

“You want me to… annul your marriage?” she asked cautiously, as if testing the weight of the words on her tongue.

You nodded firmly, your eyes unyielding despite the tears still clinging to your lashes. “Yes,” you said, your voice stronger now. “I don’t want to be his wife anymore, Mother. I’ve given him everything, and he’s given me nothing but pain. He doesn’t love me. He never did.” Your eyes hardened, your jaw set. “And I won’t waste another day of my life waiting for him to see me.”

Alicent’s face twisted with conflict. She glanced away, her brows furrowed in deep thought. Annulment was not a simple thing, not for people of your station. It would bring scandal, whispers, and questions from every corner of the court. And yet, none of that seemed to matter to you anymore.

“I know it won’t be easy,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “But you asked me what you could do to make it right, Mother. This is how.”

Alicent’s eyes returned to yours. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes shining with the same fierce love and protection she’d always given her children. Slowly, she nodded.

“If this is what you truly want,” she said slowly, her voice heavy with certainty, “then I will make it so.”

Relief washed over you like a wave, and for the first time in so long, you felt as if you could breathe again. You leaned forward, wrapping your arms around her once more, your tears now a mixture of grief and hope.

“Thank you,” you whispered against her shoulder, your voice muffled but full of meaning. “Thank you, Mother.”

Alicent held you tighter, her resolve hardening like steel. “No one will hurt you again, my love,” she vowed softly. “Not him. Not anyone.”

You stood by the window, eyes distant as you gazed at the horizon. The cool breeze brushed against your face, carrying with it the faint scent of salt from Blackwater Bay. The world outside felt vast, free — a freedom you had been denied for far too long.

The creak of your chamber door broke the stillness. You didn’t turn, already knowing who it was. His footsteps were slow, deliberate, the soft thud of his boots on the stone floor echoing in the quiet room.

“Should I be worried?” Aegon’s voice came from behind you, light and teasing as always, but there was something gentler in his tone this time. “You look ready to fly away.”

You glanced over your shoulder at him. He stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe with his arms crossed, his head tilted slightly as he studied you. His violet eyes weren’t hazy with drink for once — they were sharp, clear, and focused entirely on you.

“I’m not flying anywhere,” you murmured, turning back toward the window. “Not yet.”

Aegon stepped further inside, closing the door behind him. His footsteps grew closer until he stood beside you, his gaze following yours out to the sea. The two of you stood in silence for a moment, the weight of everything unspoken hanging heavily in the air.

“Mother told me,” he said quietly, his eyes flickering toward you. “About the annulment.”

You stiffened slightly but didn’t look at him. “Did she?”

He nodded, leaning forward, his forearms resting on the windowsill. His gaze was distant now, his smile faint but knowing. “She did,” he said, his voice unusually serious. “About time, I’d say.”

A dry laugh escaped you, short and bitter. “It won’t be easy,” you muttered, your fingers lightly tracing the cool stone of the window ledge. “There will be questions. Judgments.”

“Let them judge,” Aegon replied, his tone sharp with defiance. “They’ve judged me my entire life, and I’m still here.” He turned his head to look at you, his eyes warmer now, his gaze steady and unwavering. “You’ll be here too.”

You finally looked at him, really looked at him. There was no mockery in his eyes, no smirk on his lips. Just quiet understanding. It was rare for him to be this sincere, but when he was, it struck you more deeply than you cared to admit.

“I’m tired, Aegon,” you confessed softly, your voice barely a whisper. “Tired of fighting. Tired of hurting.” Your gaze dropped to your hands, fingers clasped tightly in front of you. “I just want peace.”

Aegon reached out, his fingers gently brushing against yours before fully taking your hand in his. His grip was firm, grounding, but not forceful. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your temple.

“Then let me help you,” he said, his voice so low it was almost a plea. “Let me give you peace, even if it’s only for a little while.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You glanced up at him, and for a moment, all you could see was the boy he had once been — reckless, wild, but always searching for something more. He wasn’t perfect. Far from it. But he had always seen you.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned into him, letting his warmth seep into you. His arms wrapped around you, his chin resting lightly on top of your head. For once, you didn’t feel the weight of the world on your shoulders.

For once, you felt safe.

You froze in his embrace, your breath hitching in your chest. The words hung in the air like a spell, heavy and inescapable.

“I love you,” Aegon whispered, his voice so soft it was almost lost in the quiet hum of the wind outside. “More than a brother should. More than I ever should.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, a wild, chaotic rhythm that drowned out every other sound. Slowly, you pulled back just enough to look up at him. His eyes — those sharp, tired violet eyes — were locked on you, unguarded in a way you had never seen before.

“Don’t,” you said quietly, your voice trembling. “Don’t say things you can’t take back.”

“I won’t,” he replied without hesitation, his gaze unwavering. His hands remained on your waist, gentle but firm, as if afraid you might run. “I’ve held it back for too long. Lying to you, to myself, pretending it was just brotherly affection.” He shook his head, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “But I’m done pretending.”

You shook your head slowly, stepping back, but he didn’t let go of you completely. Your hands pressed against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. “This is madness, Aegon,” you said, your voice cracking. “They already think the worst of me. If they knew about this—”

“Let them,” he cut in, his voice sharper this time, his eyes blazing with defiance. “They’ve called me worse. Drunk. Useless. A failure.” He took a step forward, closing the distance again, his face inches from yours. “But you — you’re mine. You always have been.”

Tears stung your eyes, a mix of anger, confusion, and something far more dangerous. “I’m not yours, Aegon,” you said, though your voice was weaker than you’d intended. “I belong to no one.”

His gaze softened, his hands sliding down to your wrists, holding them gently. “No,” he agreed, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “But if you ever wanted to be, I’d never let you doubt it. Not like him.”

You flinched, his words cutting deeper than any blade. He didn’t have to say Aemond’s name for you to know who he meant. The memory of betrayal burned fresh in your mind — the nights you had waited for Aemond, the cold emptiness of his absence, the hollow pain of knowing he had chosen someone else.

Aegon saw it all. He always had.

“I’m not him,” Aegon murmured, his voice breaking slightly. “I won’t leave you wanting.” His thumb brushed away a tear that had slipped down your cheek. “I won’t make you beg for love that’s already yours.”

You closed your eyes tightly, tears falling freely now. The weight of it all — the betrayal, the loneliness, the anger — came crashing down on you. But with it, there was something else, something you had tried so hard to deny.

Warmth. Safety. Him.

Your hands slowly unclenched against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. Your breathing was shallow, uneven, your mind at war with your heart. For so long, you had fought to keep your dignity, your pride. But for once, you just wanted to feel loved.

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. He didn’t move, didn’t push. He just waited. No smirking. No taunting. Just him.

“Aegon…” you whispered, barely a breath.

“Say it,” he urged gently, his voice raw, desperate, yet patient. “Say you don’t want me, and I’ll walk away. I swear it.”

Silence filled the space between you, the only sound the unsteady beating of two hearts. Your lips parted, but no words came. Your hands slowly tightened in his tunic, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.

You didn’t say it. You couldn’t.

Because it wasn’t true.

His eyes flickered with something between relief and disbelief, his breath shaky as if he had been holding it for far too long. Slowly, he leaned in, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t.

And when his lips finally met yours, it wasn’t harsh or wild. It was soft, steady, and certain — a promise, not a demand. His hands cupped your face with the gentleness of someone holding something fragile and precious. You felt the heat of him, the certainty of him, and for once, you didn’t feel like you had to fight for it.

You just felt loved.

Days passed, and you remained in the quiet solitude of your chambers. The weight of everything — betrayal, heartbreak, and uncertainty — settled heavily on your heart. The walls felt both like a shield and a prison.

Your daughter’s laughter was the only light in your days. She would run into your room, her little feet pattering against the cold stone floor as she climbed onto your bed, babbling about butterflies, flowers, and whatever small adventure she’d had that morning. Her warmth reminded you that not everything was lost.

Sometimes, your mother would visit. Her presence was quieter now, less judgmental, as if she’d finally realized how much she had failed to see. She wouldn’t always speak, just sit beside you, her fingers brushing through your hair like she used to when you were a child. No words were needed in those moments.

And then, there was Aegon.

He came more often than anyone else. Sometimes he brought wine, other times small trinkets for your daughter. His visits were loud and unbothered, like a storm forcing its way into your still, quiet world. He would joke, tease, and try to make you laugh, though he rarely succeeded. But his persistence never wavered.

He never asked for anything. Never demanded. He just stayed.

But they never came.

Helaena never knocked on your door. Not even once. Perhaps it was guilt, or perhaps she simply didn’t care. Aemond’s absence, however, was a deeper wound. For a time, you had waited for the sound of his footsteps, the familiar thud of his boots against the stone. You hated yourself for it. Hated that part of you still wanted an explanation, an apology — anything.

But it never came.

Then, one morning, the whispers reached you. The servants spoke quietly as they passed your door. You overheard their hushed words about Aegon going to the Queen. Demanding that his marriage to Helaena be annulled.

“She’s with child,” one of them had said. “The Queen won’t allow it. It’s already too late.”

Your breath caught in your chest. You knew it wasn’t Aegon’s child. It couldn’t be. He had been with you. Every night, every moment since that fateful night, he had been with you.

The truth settled over you like a weight you couldn’t lift. It was Aemond’s.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your gown, nails digging into your palms. You thought you had buried that pain. You thought you had buried him. But hearing it spoken aloud, knowing that his betrayal had consequences beyond your own suffering — it shattered something inside you.

When Aegon arrived later that day, he found you standing by the window, staring out at the gardens below. Your expression was distant, hollow. He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned against the fire place, arms crossed, watching you quietly.

Aemond stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling with sharp, controlled breaths. His single eye burned with fury, the flames of his rage barely contained. Behind him, your mother’s voice called his name, sharp with warning, but he didn’t move. His gaze was locked on you — on you and Aegon.

You rose slowly from your seat, your heartbeat thundering in your chest. Aegon remained seated, his eyes narrowing with lazy defiance as he tilted his head back, watching Aemond like one watches a beast deciding whether to lunge.

“Aemond,” your mother’s voice came again, firmer now, closer. “Don’t.”

But he didn’t listen. His gaze flickered to Aegon, his lip curling in disgust, then back to you. “So this is what you’ve become?” he hissed, his voice low but dangerous, like a snake coiling to strike. “Parading yourself like some… common whore in the arms of our brother?”

Your breath caught in your throat, rage and disbelief mixing into something sharp and searing. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms.

“You dare speak of shame to me?” you shot back, your voice trembling not with fear but with barely restrained fury. “After what you’ve done with her? After you betrayed me for Helaena?” You stepped forward, your eyes locked with his, daring him to deny it. “Don’t speak to me of dignity, Aemond. You lost the right to judge me.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, his eye narrowing to a slit. He took a step forward, his movements slow, predatory. “Helaena is the mother of my brother’s children,” he said coldly, each word measured like the swing of a blade. “She is my sister, my blood. I have only ever done my duty to her.”

“Duty?” you laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and hollow. “Is that what you call it now? Did duty drive you to her bed? Did duty make you hold her the way you never held me?” Your voice broke, and you hated it, hated the crack of vulnerability that slipped through. “Don’t speak to me of duty, Aemond.”

Behind him, Alicent stepped into view, her face pale with shock and shame. Her lips parted, but no words came out. She glanced between you and Aemond as if realizing, for the first time, the full weight of what had been broken.

“That’s enough,” your mother’s voice was hard, the voice of a queen. “Both of you.” She stepped between you and Aemond, placing a hand on his chest, forcing him to step back. “You have done enough damage, Aemond.” Her eyes met his with cold finality. “Leave.”

But he didn’t move. His gaze shifted, not to Alicent, but to you. His eye softened, his lips parting like he was about to say something — something important, something he hadn’t said before. But then his gaze shifted to Aegon.

Aegon, who hadn’t moved from his seat, watching it all with a calm, arrogant grin. Slowly, he raised his cup to Aemond in a silent toast, his eyes glinting with mischief and triumph.

That was it.

Aemond’s mask of control shattered.

With a snarl, he lunged toward Aegon, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him out of his seat. Aegon laughed, even as he was shoved against the wall, his grin unfaltering.

“Hit me, brother,” Aegon taunted, his voice low, his eyes wild with challenge. “Hit me like you want to. Hit me, and watch what happens next.”

“Stop it!” Alicent’s voice rang out, her hands trying to pull Aemond back, but he wouldn’t let go.

“Is this why you wanted your marriage annulled, brother?” Aemond growled through clenched teeth, his face inches from Aegon’s. “So you could claim her for yourself? She’s mine. Mine!”

You stepped forward, voice sharp and clear as steel. “I am not yours, Aemond. Not anymore.”

His grip on Aegon faltered for just a moment. Slowly, he turned his head to you, his breathing harsh and uneven. For a heartbeat, he looked at you not with rage, but with something closer to pain. His lips pressed into a hard line, and his eye searched yours like he was looking for something that had already been lost.

“No,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “You are mine. You have always been mine.”

Your heart twisted, but your resolve didn’t waver. You shook your head slowly, stepping back, putting distance between you.

“Not anymore,” you said, voice steady, final. “I belong to no one but myself.”

Aemond’s gaze flickered with something raw, something close to heartbreak. He looked to your mother, his eye silently pleading for her to stop you, to do something. But Alicent lowered her gaze, her fingers brushing her forehead like she carried the weight of every mistake that had led to this moment.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you pulled your hand from Aemond’s grip, but he caught it again, his fingers wrapping tightly around yours. His eye was wild, filled with something raw — desperation, regret, and anger all at once.

“Please,” he said, his voice breaking in a way you’d never heard before. “Don’t do this. Don’t leave me.” His fingers tightened around your wrist, and his breathing grew heavier. “I can fix it. I can fix everything."

You shook your head, your eyes filled with hurt, but your resolve did not waver. “It’s already done, Aemond,” you said, voice steady despite the storm in your heart. “The marriage is annulled. There’s nothing left to fix."

Aemond’s gaze flickered to your mother, searching her face for some sign that it wasn’t true. “Mother,” he breathed, his voice filled with disbelief. “Tell me it isn’t true. Tell me you wouldn’t do this to me.”

Alicent’s face was a mask of quiet sorrow. Her eyes, though filled with love, held none of the mercy he sought. “It is done, Aemond,” she said softly, her voice heavy with the weight of her choice. “I will not see her suffer any longer.”

The words struck him like a blade. His grip on your wrist faltered for a moment, but he didn’t let go. His eye darted back to you, filled with panic now, as if he were drowning and you were his only lifeline.

“No,” he muttered, shaking his head like he could deny the reality of it. “No, you’re mine. You promised me. You vowed before the gods.” His breathing grew shallow, his face twisted with something far too close to heartbreak. “You belong to me.”

Your chest ached, but not with love — with the weight of everything that had been broken. You took a breath and met his gaze with unwavering strength. “I belonged to you, Aemond. But not anymore.” You pulled your arm back, trying to free yourself from his grip, but his fingers only dug in deeper.

“Don’t do this,” he hissed, his voice low and filled with warning. “You don’t get to walk away from me. You are mine.”

“Let her go, brother,” Aegon’s voice cut through the tension, sharper than steel. He stepped forward, eyes locked on Aemond, his grin gone, his usual air of indifference replaced with quiet menace. “You’re making a fool of yourself.”

Aemond’s gaze flickered to Aegon, his face twisting with rage. “This is your doing, isn’t it?” he snarled, his grip on you tightening like a vice. “You’ve poisoned her against me.”

“You did that yourself,” Aegon shot back, his eyes narrowing. He moved closer, his steps slow but purposeful. “Let. Her. Go.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched, his whole body tense as if he were a bowstring pulled too tight. His breathing was ragged, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might strike Aegon.

But then Alicent stepped between them, placing a firm hand on Aemond’s chest. “Enough,” she said with all the weight of a queen’s command. “Let her go, Aemond. This is over. Accept it with dignity, or I will see you escorted from this room by force.”

Aemond’s eye darted to Alicent, disbelief flickering across his face. “You would turn against me too?” he asked, his voice cracking with something far too close to a child’s plea for his mother’s love. “For her?”

Alicent’s face softened with sadness, but there was no doubt in her eyes. “For all of us, Aemond,” she said quietly. “Including you.”

His fingers loosened. Slowly, reluctantly, he let go of your wrist, his hand lingering for just a moment longer before falling away completely. He stared at his hand as if it had betrayed him. He turned on his heel, his strides slow but deliberate as he left the room. The heavy sound of the door slamming shut echoed in the silence that followed.

You rubbed your wrist where his grip had left a faint mark, your breathing shallow. Aegon stepped closer, his eyes scanning you with quiet concern. “Are you hurt?” he asked softly, his gaze falling to your wrist.

You shook your head, eyes still on the door. “No,” you whispered, your voice steady but drained of emotion. “Not anymore.”

Alicent stepped forward and cupped your cheek, her eyes filled with guilt and quiet pride. “You were brave,” she said softly, her thumb brushing your cheek. “Braver than I ever was.”

You leaned into her touch for a moment, letting the warmth of her comfort wash over you. But then you straightened, your eyes hardening as you gazed toward the door where Aemond had disappeared.

“I’m done being afraid of him,” you said, your voice sharp as steel. “He can rage, he can threaten, but he will never control me again.”

Aegon’s smile returned, softer this time, tinged with something like pride. He stepped to your side, close enough for his arm to brush against yours. “Well said,” he murmured. “He won’t touch you again. Not while I’m here.”

For the first time in a long time, you believed it.

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arcielee · 1 year ago

Text

Ours never knew peace.

Summary: On the morning of the Great Tourney of Harrenhal, Lyanna Stark's granddam visits to give her an heirloom, a necklace with a sapphire stone... Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader Word Count: 7600 Warnings: Third POV and first POV, AFAB, mentions of infidelity, graphic violence, character deaths, and there is a hyperlink for the smut, so mind those warnings too. Author’s Note: I definitely played with the timeline of the Dance of the Dragons a lot to fit with the narrative. Also, the idea is the bloodline stems from Cregan Stark's sister, which is why Lyanna's granddam is still kicking. Also, this was not beta read, please feel free to DM me any mistakes you may find 💜 A huge thank you to my Tumblr kindred spirits: to @aegonx for this inspiring gifset, and to my darling @itbmojojoejo for these perfect dividers 🦝💜 Also, to Hozier. I started writing this in June and had not touched it until I started listening to Unreal Unearth. The title for this and the smutty one-shot are from the song Francesca.

“I have a gift for you, my dear.”

Lyanna was leaning against the ornate balustrade and watching how the sun rose above Gods Eye. She drank in the sight of the rays dancing against the blue-green gemstone surface, shimmering with the rippling waves that met with the shoreline and towards the center where the Isle of Faces jutted upwards; she saw the weirwoods shift lazily with the breeze, its red foliage breaking away and littering the laketop, drops of blood.

She pulled her eyes away to see her granddam standing in her room, poised with her walking cane; a handmaiden was in tow, carrying a wooden box that had once been intricately carved into, though its detailing was now worn with age.

Her granddamn was the matriarch of House Stark and the only mother figure she had ever known as hers passed away when she was very young, leaving Lyanna with her father and three brothers: Brandon, Eddard, and Benjen. Though she originally had come from a noble house in Oldcastle, she had been proud to don the grays and whites of House Stark, dignified in such a way it seemed that she was born into and not just married.

Her reputation was notorious and though some would consider her shrewd, Lyanna knew her granddam had a sharp mind and wit, an undeniable ability to see beyond the façades of court with her storm colored eyes; she was gallant, devoted to her husband until his last breath and remained in Winterfell after, her devotion extending to the North.

“This is my home,” she had explained as if it was the simplest thing. “Always.”

Time now showed itself in silver streaks, a bold contrast with her dark hair that had been meticulously combed and knotted at the base of her neck, showing the severity that lined her features. This look alone had the other handmaidens–who before had been aimlessly flitting around her room, coaxing Lyanna to ready for the day’s events–quickly excuse themselves, allowing her a moment alone with her granddaughter.

“Set it there,” and the remaining handmaiden jumped to command, placing the wooden box on the vanity before following after the others.

There was the click of her cane with her sure steps, one hand resting on the gilded handles and the other coming to place on the edge of the wooden box, its brass hinges groaning in response to her opening it. Placed against the velvet inlay was a necklace of a peculiar silver that did not shine, but seemed to permeate a strength despite its delicate, celtic chains interwoven with one another; its pendant, a sapphire stone no larger than a silver pence, was nestled in the same style, curled around to hold it in place.

Only the stone gleamed, just like the water’s surface–alluring, calling, but she kept her hand at her side. “It is beautiful,” Lyanna acknowledged.

“It is reforged Valyrian steel,” her granddam continued, and she was pleased to see how her eyes widened with a reverence for the rare medium. “This is a heirloom that has been passed down, once belonging to your thrice over granddam. It is something for you to wear today.”

Lyanna remained rooted, only a wistful sigh in response. “This is my duty in life now, to be adorned in gems and silks and rare silvers, just to be shown off at this event.”

“It is our lot in life, yes,” her tone cut through the self-wallow. “Lord Whent wants nothing more than to parade the money he poured into this cursed castle, to show off his simple-minded daughter to the highest bid. The queen of love and beauty,” and her laugh was sharp, “only her brothers would defend that nepotist title!”

Lyanna felt her lips curl; she loved her granddam, dearly, especially when she was unabashed with her bold opinions. Her eyes fell back to the necklace. “Love and beauty,” Lyanna murmured. “No man has want for a clever wife.”

It was her turn to sigh. “This can be true, but some are fortunate with their matches.”

“Robert has no want for a clever wife,” Lyanna continued as if she had not spoken. “He wants something docile and pretty at his side while he wags his cock at every set of tits in Westeros.” She could see how the inside sagged with the weight of the necklace and a bundle of parchment that was tucked beneath, hidden in the folds of the fabric.

Her granddam plucked the paper bundled together with string and then moved back towards one of the overstuffed chairs in front of the fireplace. “My dear girl, love is always unexpected. Perhaps in time, despite the faults you each share,” she gave a knowing look as Lyanna moved back towards the bed, “you, hopefully, may have a gradual love and respect grow between.”

“He is already convinced it is love,” she sat back on the mattress, sinking against the goose feather pillows piled at the head. “But it is with this idea of me. He does not know me, who I am truly or what it is that drives me…” her eyes were drawn again to the box, opened still, and to the glint of the sapphire. “How did this come to our possession anyway?”

“It was a gift,” her granddam scoffed, untying the string and smoothing the letters on her lap.

Lyanna closed her eyes a moment, her own smile playing at her lips. “Yes,” her tone forced, “but who would have gifted this to her to begin with?”

Her granddam hummed, now her turn to smile. “How clever of you to ask, sweet girl,” but she did not answer Lyanna. “I saw how you are blossoming into a lovely young woman, especially after last night’s banquet,” and she saw that her granddaughter grinned, cheeky. “Ancestry has its weight with House Stark, and I thought now is the time to gift this necklace, just as your grandsire gifted it to me, and how it was given to your mother, who listened to me read this, years ago,” and she gestured to the letters.

Lyanna reached for the pillows, fluffing them and sinking back into them, her arms folding behind to hold her head upright. “I would never deny my granddam of my company,” she teased.

“Yes, how kind of you,” her tongue wet her lips, her eyes flitting over the first page. “Now shut up and let my old eyes read.”

And so she began.

It was the unmartyred act of my mother to bring me into the world. My father was a proud man, an honorable man who would never blame me, but I could see how he would wilt in my presence; perhaps it was that I reminded him of her as I grew, reminded him of the cost of her life so I may live instead. My brother, Cregan, kept his grief quiet, though it clouded his storm-gray eyes with this pain, this hurt that shadowed behind his irises.

With the unsaid, I know my existence haunted my father, Lord Rickon Stark, the Warden of the North, to his grave. It was only then that Cregan truly recognized me with our sorrow now shared, as well as the burden as our uncle Bennard was quick to come to Winterfell, bringing his shrewd wife and his sons, our wretched cousins.

I could only watch from the shadows with how Cregan fought to stay afloat with the smothering regency brought with them; our uncle was cunning, wishing to isolate my brother, which was why it was decided for me to be sent away to King’s Landing. It was under the promised lady-in-waiting for Princess Helaena Targaryen, though its true intention was for me to marry a Targaryen prince, for the opportunity to have a Stark within the royal inner circle and a direct line to the Iron Throne.

Cregan hugged me farewell, the whispered promise that he would write, and I was ushered into the carriage, cramped with my trunks, and my aunt Margaret, with her wardrobe and endless idylls of how I would lure King Aegon II.

I reminded her that King Viserys was not dead, and of the crowned Princess Rhaenyra. She bristled with her response: “No woman will ever rule the Seven Kingdoms.” She embellished this, and her inane plans to make me a princess; I had just turned ten and three with the soured taste of her words the further south we traveled.

We arrived at the capital almost two months later, coming as the last of the daylight disappeared in the horizon, with the full moon and stars already glowing in response. I wished to sleep, but was forced to bathe, to be soaked in a gilded tub with rose petals that floated on the surface while hands flitted over combing and scrubbing and cleaning every bit of me, all while my aunt hovered with her critiques.

The next day was our debut luncheon, allowing my formal introduction to the House of the Dragon. My aunt was peevish that the king did not join, we still met with the queen and Lord Hand, who introduced Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena.

It was said that Prince Daeron was away in Oldtown and Prince Aemond would not attend either, but did not speak more of it.

The prince and the princess held their old blood features, the shades of purple in their gazes and the gold-silver of their hair, a contrast to their mother’s auburn and her dark eyes that were watchful and worrisome.

Prince Aegon already had an exhaustion lining his face, with shadows that stretched beneath his lilac eyes, something heavy for someone only two years older than myself. In time I would learn that his shoulders sagged with the forced Hightower expectation placed, and its accompanying slow suffocation. The prince responded to it as well as any adolescent with unwanted responsibility: to rebel.

The princess–who we learned, to the woe of my aunt–was his betrothed, but that day she also became my savior, in a sense. Though she carried her own burdens, something deeply rooted within the ichor of Old Valyria that surged her veins, her company was enjoyable, nonetheless.

I enjoyed my time spent with the princess, learning of her fascination with entomology, with a favoritism that stemmed towards arachnids; though I found it unsettling, I still knew it was better company than my aunt. I was devoted to the task to fill mason jars with dirt, leaves, sticks to create little habitats for her ever growing collection, and it became our daily ritual to walk the gardens of the Red Keep, always in search of more to add or to release others who dutifully served their time in their glass confines.

One thing I noted was her utterances, her singsong riddles on repeat. “Be mindful,” she said with a hum one afternoon.

“Of what, princess?”

“A song of ice and fire,” her eyes were glassy, sorrowful. “It is a tragedy, again and again…”

My evenings were held captive by my aunt and her ever growing determination to force her way into the royal social circles; her daily mantra to remind me of the two remaining Targaryen princes, how I need my focus to be on snaring one of them.

I knew that Prince Daeron was a child and away in Oldtown, which left the second son of King Viserys, Prince Aemond, who I thought peculiar and quiet. He was isolated the first six months after we arrived, and I heard the whispered incident at Diftmark that had involved the crowned princess and her bastard sons; I also learned how it ended with the loss of his eye, but that was not learned until Princess Helaena brought me to visit with her brother.

“It would be good for him,” and her lilac eyes sparkled.

He was sullen, but rightfully so; he was still bandaged and refused the milk of the poppy, though I knew he was hurting, his anguish was vicariously heard with the roars of his dragon, Vhagar, whose bellows rattled the entire capital, leaving the inhabitants uneasy.

Eventually, Prince Aemond healed enough to leave his room, though the queen was still adamant he not venture outside of the Keep. I watched him, a dragon caged, stalking the corridors, a dark passing in search of confrontation, his unbridled want for vengeance and his inability to see it through; a tormented unrest, an unruly anger from the injustice of what happened that fateful night at Driftmark.

I had been present for over a year and would inevitably have the misfortune to cross his warpath, alone, without my shield of his sister. It was a foreboding presence that drained the air, a palpable anger that hung heavy, and I flinched, perched by the window, curled up with Ten Thousand Ships.

“What are you doing here?” He spat.

I remember how his anger darkened his features shown, but the rest was still hidden beneath bandages wrapped around his silver head. “Reading,” was all I dared reply, refusing to look away from the pages as if the very tale of Nymeria held me captive.

“They educate the women in the North?”

His words were mocking and this is when I pulled my eyes away to meet with his one uncovered. “The North does not only teach their women how to read, but how to fight as well, my prince,” my tongue had a life of its own I could not control, sneering his title in return.

Her granddam paused a moment, peering over the edge to see how Lyanna had shifted; she was now closer towards the foot of the bed, curled up with one of the pillows, her eyes glowing with admiration.

“My great-great-great granddam was fearless,” Lyanna concluded.

She chuckled in response. “It is a trait in Stark women, that is for certain,” she clucked her tongue. “Stark men also search for strong women to survive the winters. Maybe another day I will tell you about your great-great-great aunt Alysanne Blackwood.”

Her eyes shone. “I would like that very much.”

And then, her granddam continued.

I would learn that Prince Aemond was just lonely; allowed out of his quarters, his mar was forever isolating with how the castled treated him with kid gloves, like an open wound that never healed despite the jagged red of new flesh mended, cutting from his brow to his cheek and peeking beneath the eyepatch he took to wearing. Though he would never apologize for that day in the library, the next time I found him within the walls I saw he was lost in the pages of Winter’s Kings, or the Legends and Lineages of the Starks of Winterfell.

I could only assume it was all the apology that could be expected of a dragon prince.

Our friendship was something predetermined by the gods, or this was what Princess Helaena wholeheartedly believed; for a time, we were a trio of lonely souls akin and knitted together until the princess inevitably became pregnant with the twins. And then, there was the subtle change of our dynamic with the seasons passed, an initial wariness that settled in the edges of his features that only softened whenever I took his hand and pulled him forward.

Perhaps he believed that I would abandon him for his sister’s company, which would be expected of her lady-in-waiting. But I did not.

Instead I indulged the prince and his company, and we became inseparable; whether we visited with his sister, playing with the little prince and princess, while Helaena budding with a third, or going to the courtyards to train under Ser Criston’s watchful eye and my aunt’s apparent disdain. It was then that the evenings became our own and spent in the library of the Keep; it was here that Aemond dared remove his eyepatch, the sapphire stone that showed brilliant from his scarred socket.

The first time, I stepped closer so his nervous exhale fanned my cheeks; I could see the plumes of pinks to his features, my fingers ghosting his jawline as I attempted his ancient tongue. “Gevie.”

Beautiful.

Prince Aemond was respectful, always, but he was also fearless with me, allowing the same sense of freedom in return, to speak my mind as I always had. But I faltered with what I truly wished to say: that the years crafted him beautiful as any Targaryen prince, with sharp edges chiseled from marble stone, his lips that curled with a perpetual smirk as he voiced his peculiar insight which always led to a good natured battlement between us, leaving me flushed.

And then the day came that he took my hand, that his palm now enveloped my own.

It was the familiar touch now paired with a feeling, a fluttering in the pit of my stomach that I could not place, though writing these words allows a clearer perspective with the retrospect: that I was falling in love with him.

My aunt grew more insufferable with the passing days, though I expected as much with the letters I exchanged with Cregan. I knew his every action in Winterfell, what he was learning, of his sweetheart Lady Arra Norrey, my new nephew, but mostly of how our uncle continued to tighten his hold. My brother was a wolf, restless, and spoke that his hour was coming; and meanwhile, I continued to play my role, a simpleminded girl from the North.

My aunt tsked. “He will never see you as more than a plaything,” as if this was a cruel fate. In truth I was still so unaware of what was growing within the confines of my heart, but I knew that I only wished to remind at his side, devoted, present, always.

So when Aemond asked that I finally become acquainted with Vhagar, I went. I remembered how my hand fit within his as he pulled me to follow his steps, moving through the ingresses that weaved with the castle walls. We broke out to follow the coastline, a crisp salt air and the clouds covering the sun, heavy with the threat of rain, but Aemond promised we would rise above them.

I followed his long steps until we came to where Vhagar waited for her rider, diligent, alert.

Dragons are magnificent creatures, and I swear them sentient with the bond I saw between Aemond and the she-dragon. Fear trickled my spine, but Aemond held onto my hand and I tightened in response to the massive eyes that focused on us, her pupils constricting in query. Aemond held up his other hand, the honey spill of his soothing voice of his old tongue to coax her and allow me to climb aback.

I then felt the gaze of Aemond and refused to allow my fear to root me, moving to take the bottom rung of the rope ladder; he was pleased, a hum, the slight curl of his lips, and followed behind me with his promise that he would not let me fall. At the top, he pushed past to settle into the saddle, then reached to pull me behind and I settled against his backside.

“Just hold onto me,” he murmured, bringing my arms around his slender waist.

This moment I was adamantly aware that he was no longer that sullen child that sneered within his gilded cage, but against my hold that Aemond was solid, lithe, and so warm with a woodsy musk mixed with smoke against his skin.

Pressed against, I was able to feel his low baritone command Vhagar, followed by her jolted steps forward, the beating of her wings to take flight. To feel this power beneath you is indescribable; I could not help my scream, my laughter from the exhilaration that that spate my veins; I dared not close my eyes, tears streaming, and I peered to marvel at how small the capital seemed beneath, how large the shadow we cast overhead.

It was a newfound euphoria, and I felt my cheeks burn from the crisp air above the gray clouds, but I also knew it was from my close proximity to Aemond. I held onto him as we soared out over Blackwater Bay, and sighed from the touch of his gloved hand, from the heat that permeated through the leather when he placed it over my own.

And I knew then that I never wished to let him go.

He eventually brought Vhagar back to land onto the grassy knolls outside the city; the afternoon was growing late but there was still enough light to return. Aemond warned that my legs would be shaky and again he moved first, again with the promise he would not let me fall.

I still trembled when he set me on the ground, his large palms kept their hold on my waist and my hands rested on his broad shoulders. My eyes were wide admiring the beauty of his mussed, silver braid, his cheeks lined with his dimples with his pursed grin. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Enjoy myself?” I was incredulous, I was a mess; windswept and blooming red, a grinning fool with tear-streaked cheeks, “Aemond, you showed me the heavens.” And a boldness pressed me onto my toes, my lips against his.

It was my first kiss; it was a heartbeat’s length, it was everything, and when I pulled back, I fell solid to the earth, my soles grounded back on that gassy knoll. I looked up into his bicolored gaze, the lavender of one eye and the gleam of sapphire for the other that stared back.

Aemond was unreadable in that moment, and I felt my blood surge from my heart and pour into my face; the quiet that settled between us the same length of the years I had spent in King’s Landing, a choking regret that burned in my throat with the thought that I had ruined everything built between us.

Then he kissed me back.

And I felt alive once more with the touch of his arm that curled around my waist, how his other hand followed the curve of my spine, tangling into my hair and holding me to capture my mouth. His lips were warm and soft and his tongue clever in a way that drew the very breath from my lungs. I melted against him, my fingertips soft to follow the sharp contours of his jaw, trailing his neck and grasping his collar to bring him even closer.

We only parted for air; the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath his riding leathers, the crimson on his cheeks with his quiet confession, something he held close to his heart.

“For how long?” I breathed

And he thought for a moment. “Always.”

To take his hand now was finding a piece that I did not know was missing from me; our fingers interlaced in a way that felt akin as if I held my own hand, though I knew it was him from the warmth of his skin, from the fire in his blood. By now the tendrils of dusk began to curl over the city, its amber hues bold against the blues and purples of the coming nightfall, but we continued our leisure pace back, Aemond and I.

We were greeted by the gold cloaks at the gates and they escorted us back, and though he did not let go, I saw that it was no longer Aemond who held my hand but the second son of King Viserys, a Targaryen prince. He was stoic, but this time I could tell the other emotions that flittered beneath, his uncertainty of what awaited, but above that was his determination.

We finally came to the barbican of the Keep where we were greeted by his queen mother, my aunt, and several White Cloaks.

Relief washed over the queen while my aunt raged, lifting her skirts to meet us in the courtyard, her nails biting with her grip on my arm and pulling me back; the rushed spill of her words, “I cannot believe this unseemly behavior of a lady, unchaperoned with a prince! We are leaving this moment–”

I tried to twist away but she held on still, a madwoman. Aemond moved after, quick, and his anger burning from him and his long legs moved to block her path. “She will not be leaving.”

The finality of his words, the barrier his form created halted her at once and I felt my heart between my teeth. “My prince,” she stammered in response. “We must leave this very moment! We have imposed on your hospitality far too long as it is, and when my lord husband hears of her behaviors–”

But she was unaware that Cregan and I wrote, dutifully; he shared his life within the walls of Winterfell, as well as his growing concern with the regency our uncle imposed still. She also did not know the newest letter I had received, how my brother was now the proper Warden of the North and our uncle imprisoned; my aunt paled with my words and it was commanded for her to be taken away. She did not leave quietly, her wails echoed and I watched impassively, knowing her every action was a self-serving and a selfish ploy for power for herself, her husband, for those wretched cousin kin in the North.

And I knew I would not miss any of them.

Ever the diplomat, the queen stepped forward with her congratulations for my brother, her condolences for the betrayal within our family, her practiced concern for my well being and its shift to confusion that knitted between her brows when she saw how I smiled at her son. She offered my escort back to Winterfell, but I was quick to decline as I knew I could not leave Aemond.

I saw the understanding began to roll over, and she then asked her son if he loved me. Aemond responded, “I believe I always have, mother,” and I knew I loved him in return.

It was decided that the ceremony would be held in the Royal Sept, and chaperoned until, though Aemond stole a moment to gift me this very necklace. I could feel the power of Old Valyria thrum from the metal, adoring how it was woven around the sapphire stone; he told me it was a piece kept from the same stone fitted for his eye.

I lifted my hair and turned my back towards him, my skin prickling from his touch to clasp the necklace around my throat.

He hummed. “Gevie.”

Only a week later, and the service seemed surreal. I felt his warmth that held to the robe he brought around my shoulders, the touch of my palm on top of his large hand kept me grounded while the Septon wrapped the ribbon around; shy glances shared, me to Aemond and seeing his gaze on the sapphire stone beneath my collarbone. The muted words called for a kiss and I burned when Aemond captured my mouth with his own.

The celebration after was an intimate meal with the king, who was a man withering away beneath a gilded mark, the queen, his siblings, and the Lord Hand, who seemed pleased with the idea of solidifying a truce with the North.

But I could not think of politics this night, not with the subtle touches from Aemond, a warmth that curled in my lower abdomen when he inevitably took my hand, his low voice that tickled against my ear. “Come with me, my sweet wife,” as we walked towards his quarters.

Her granddam stopped abruptly, flushed. “Well, you understand what is implied.”

“Understand what?” Lyanna quirked her brow.

It was a pregnant pause that allowed her eyes steel onto her granddaughter, and Lyanna returned her gaze with a cheeky, taunting grin.

“It would serve you well to not agitate your elders.”

“What a bore I would be if I was just another docile woman of nobility?” Lyanna countered, gleefully. “Granddam, Robert has bastards and I am no fool, I do not believe his immaculate conception claims…”

“Yes, you are very bright,” she huffed. “Now hush up and let me read.”

Our marital bliss that followed left me in a haze; Aemond was not one for public displays of affection and how I craved his subtle touches, his lingering hand that would have me blushing furiously in response. He would only hum, his perpetual smirk that played on his lips with my every visceral response to him.

I wrote to Cregan and informed him of our union; he was quick to respond with his congratulations, as well as his newfound concerns, asking if it was true that the crowned princess had sired bastards with the intention to make them her heirs without ownership of her actions.

“Our father was honorable until his last breath,” he wrote, “I would not besmirch his memory or our house, our legacy, for an oath made for bastard-born heirs to the Iron Throne.”

This was a topic I had already discussed in length with Aemond, even before we had even kissed. I was aware of his scar and its cause, and I knew of the old blood and the features lacking when it came to his nephews, something made apparent for the claimant hearings of Dirftmark, as well as the cruel response of Prince Daemon when a lord spoke out loud what the court was thinking.

I answered my brother truthfully, knowing full well that this would sway the North behind Prince Aegon II.

And then King Viserys met his inevitable demise; the small council moved quick to announce that his final words were that he wished his firstborn son to take the crown. Aegon panicked, but my husband and Ser Criston fetched him, washed him, fed him, but also comforted him.

It would be Ser Criston who coaxed him to the coronation, to be the one to place the crown of steel and rubies on top of his silver head, announcing: “King Viserys is dead, long live King Aegon!”

My husband would be sent to Storm’s End to negotiate a betrothal for his brother, Daeron, to one of the Four Storms. It resulted in tragedy, or vengeance on who spoke the narrative. The room stilled with Aemond’s words, the unspoken terror in the queen’s large, brown eyes, the shock that lined the severe features of the Lord Hand, but it was his brother, King Aegon wearing the Conqueror’s Crown who spoke that Aemond had shown the true blood of a dragon.

But in the quiet quarters we shared, Aemond lamented the loss of life, the war it started, a guilt that weighed heavily, and once more I saw the sorrowful prince when I first came to King’s Landing.

“There will be repercussions for my actions,” he rasped, unable to meet with my eyes. “I have ruined my namesake, and I have cursed our family…”

“War seemed inevitable,” I began slowly, my hands careful to hold his jaw, to bring his gaze to my own. “And with it comes rash decisions, with impossible choices to be made…I trust it was not intentional, but even if it was, cursed or not, I am still yours, husband.” A soft kiss to seal my words. “Always.”

War and its bloodshed was rampant in Westeros, and my brother wrote they would travel South when winter ended to help King Aegon with his rightful claim. I feared for the delay, for what would follow Storm’s End, and how it seemingly unleashed the Rogue Prince.

Hired men with the monikers Blood and Cheese came in the night, and I knew them to be sent for me, as one repeated, “An eye for an eye, a son for son,” but followed with his slow realization, “she is not a son,” before his sword was drawn and struck Prince Jaehaerys.

The screams of Helaena resounded against the cobblestone; Aemond found us covered in blood, his rage and his grief conflicting on his angular features. The king cried for vengeance for his firstborn son, to search for these men and place their heads on spikes; the kingdom was repulsed by the murder of the princeling, a martyr made with his blood spilled.

Aegon’s bloodlust made for rash decisions and the battle of Rook’s Rest; though one dragon and its rider slain, its cost was the king crippled in a way that he was not fit to rule. So Aemond stepped forward to take the title Prince Regent and the Protector of the Realm, a natural role that was suited for the second son.

The Rogue Prince struck against the Riverlands, torching until ash remained. In response, the now Prince Regent and Ser Criston left to claim Harrenhal.

I was told to wait, to remain at the side of our grieving queen, my sister by all accounts; I watched over sweet Helaena, coaxing her to eat, washing her, sitting alongside her in the haunting silence of the quarters that somehow still echoed her screams from that fateful night. We were often left alone, as the maesters and the dowager queen never left King Aegon’s side, and I remained with her until I received the latest letter from Aemond.

Harrenhal had been dispelled of every Strong traitor to the crown, and he spoke of a witch he wished me to meet, that I was to leave King’s Landing and be by his side, as the gods ordained.

A quick kiss to the silver head of Helaena and I left the castle, careful to retrace our steps that led to the coast and I continued until I was back on the grassy knolls from what felt like a lifetime ago. I waited the skies until I felt the rumbled call of Vhagar in the distance, gleeful when she finally landed and watched my prince descend to envelope me in his arms, his whispered adoration, “My love, my sweet wife.”

We returned to Harrenhal to meet with the witch he spared, a hushed reverence when he told me of her abilities. “She sees much and more.”

I could see she was hardened by life, but her expression was kind when she greeted us; her eyes roamed around, watchful, looking through to my bones and only then did I understand what my husband meant.

At supper, we sat around the table, along with Ser Criston, and her eyes watched the flicker of candlelight, the flames licking her irises, before she spoke: “Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.”

Aemond finished chewing before he asked her. “And I am which?”

Alys’ eyes were black, her painted lips curled and framed around her pearl teeth. “To be the greatness, you must end the madness,” was all that she offered, and then, “the Rogue Prince is coming.”

Ser Criston looked uneasy, but it was a silent understanding in regards to her statement, something that pressed heavily on us both. King Aegon could only have a true chance to rule the realm if his sister lost the power she had with her husband, the Rogue Prince; it was known that he was unruly, untamed, but loyal to a fault, and willing to see it through to its brutal end.

That night, we fell back into an intimate embrace, cherishing the feeling of skin to skin–

Her granddam was crimson. “Oh, my, I believe I should skip this as well–”

She watched her granddam a moment, the intrusive thought to take the letters for her own readthrough, but it was muted by a growing sadness that began to settle in the edges of her sharp features. Lyanna knew well the history of the Dance of the Dragons, something scrawled on scrolls and tomes, its tragedy saved in ink and tucked away.

And still, she had to know this truth.

“Please,” and her voice was soft. “Please, continue.”

And granddam did.

It was the 22nd day of the 5th moon and we waited on the shores of Gods Eye, myself, Aemond, and the witch. Ser Criston rode North to meet with my brother, and we remained, waiting.

It had been a vision for Alys, something sinister; it was no surprise when the wyrm screeched its arrival, circling above, wary of Vhagar, before finally landing. Prince Daemon had an arrogance with his dismount, with his walk towards us.

There was a symmetry as they squared towards one another; the Rogue Prince was cloaked with the past and my Aemond embodied the future, the true hope for House Targaryen. My husband faced him, unflinching, his brow furrowed with his ever present determination, while Daemon rolled his eyes over the each of us, sucking his teeth.

Aemond broke the silence. “You were a fool to come alone.”

“Were I not alone, you would not have come,” Daemon was amused.

But it did not deter my dragon. “Yet you are, and here I am,” he sighed. “You have lived too long, nuncle.”

“On that much we agree.”

The prince retreated to his wyrm and Aemond looked to me, his eye pleading, the glassy lavender that bore through my skin, and the gleam of sapphire for the other. He then dipped forward to kiss me and the tears pearling in the corners of my eyes spilled onto my cheeks at the taste of him, the touch of him; I knew I could never imagine anyone else. Those words stilled on my tongue, how I wanted him to beg to stay with me, but I also knew that he must.

“Do not say it,” my voice broke, hushed against our kiss swollen lips. “Just come back to me.”

His two fingers pressed against the sapphire pendant I wore, before leaning forward to press his lips to my hairline, and then he climbed aback Vhagar, his lithe body quick to mount. I remained on the sand with the witch at my side, and we watched these winged beasts rise above us.

Dragons are truly magnificent, but they are also equally deadly. I trusted Vhagar was loyal to Aemond, but also knew it matched by the bond shared between Prince Daemon and his wyrm. It was said that Targaryens are closer to gods than to men, and I believed this as I watched them on dragonback, circling above the massive lake. Their roars vibrated through to our bones, the snapping of the jaws like cracks of lighting and their flames that singed the threads of my gown from my place on the shore.

My eyes did not leave, and I asked Alys. “Will he live?”

She was quiet for a moment. “The memory of him will live on,” and I felt her hand reach and touch my stomach.

And all I could do was hold onto my pendant with prayers to the old golds, to the new gods for mercy for my husband, whose child I carried.

They did not listen.

It was a clash of scale and bone, something that reverberated to Harrenhal and rattled the castle walls that still stood. The wyrm’s screams were cut short as the massive maw of Vhagar clamped onto its neck, and its talons flailed and cut deep into the old dragon’s underside. Blood rained onto the lake and I watched, struck with mortification at the dull glint of Valyrian armor, the flash raise of Dark Sister, and I knew it was over.

I remained on the shore as the waves created from the fall of dead dragons crashed against the sand, a blood foam that flooded and wet my skirts. I remained still as the sun tucked beneath the horizon, until I heard the call of the witch.

“My lady, the wolves have arrived.”

This would be the shift of power needed for King Aegon II; the Rogue Prince was dead and his men fell to the sword under the command of my brother and Ser Criston. Cregan was shocked to see me and I was stoic still, dumbstruck with my grief that did not feel real; we returned to King’s Landing with the Northern army, quick to dethrone Rhaenyra and place her in the cells with the company of all the lords who supported her.

King Aegon was scarred cruelly with a gimp to his steps, but he made his way to the Iron Throne, his crown of rubies and steel, and greeted his mother and the queen. This joyous moment died as I was tasked to share the news of the death of Aemond, of my husband and father of my unborn child; we cried our heartbreak, but I had no tears left.

This pivotal moment would be known as the Hour of the Wolf by our history. It will speak of the heroism of Prince Aemond and what he sacrificed to kill the Rogue Prince, of how my brother descended onto the capital with a vengeance and helped return the throne to its rightful heir. The casualties of war included the bastard princes, as well as both sons of the king.

When King Aegon learned that Prince Daeron the Daring met his fatal end, he decided mercy on the remaining Targaryen princelings, Aegon III and Viserys II, with his solemn vow to raise them as his own, as his heirs to the Iron Throne.

Cregan served as Lord Hand through my pregnancy, for the birth of my darling Lysara with a patch of silver that showed against her dark curls and her eyes the same as her father’s, lavender. My brother had also been widowed but met the Lady Alysanna Blackwood, a woman I admired fiercely, and Lysara was smitten with, and was thrilled when I learned I could call her sister.

It was then Cregan asked to be relieved so he could return to the North, to his son, and I asked to go with him. My time in King’s Landing was over, with every stone haunted with presence of Aemond; I already swore I would never marry again, would not dare have another set of hands touch and taint the memory of his hands against my body, his touch forever etched onto my skin and seeded into the marrow of my bones.

Aemond would return to me at night, a silver dream, my body thrumming with the warmth of his touch, his gentle kiss, the low murmur of his voice, but it always ended the same: my realization when my hands pressed to his chest and felt no heartbeat.

That I would never feel it again.

The pain of losing him has not dimmed nor diminished with time, but I do not mind it as it serves as my reminder that he was real, and that the love we shared was real.

As the witch predicted, Aemond also still lived within Lysara who was solemn, brilliant, and as determined and stubborn as he had been. I made sure to do an annual trip to King’s Landing, allowing her to meet her granddam, her royal family, and so that my daughter could learn that her blood not only held that of the Andals, the first men, but also of the fire that licks within her veins.

Which is also why I write this, along with the gift of the necklace. It holds legacy, but also the reminder of the words Queen Helaena spoke to me when we were girls, something said a lifetime ago and before I could comprehend the weight of them.

There is something in the blood of House Stark that calls out to these dragons, perhaps an ancient power of the old gods or a kindred spirit, the disparate bond of ice and fire, a clash that is brilliant, violent, and tragic, always.

As she once said: a song of ice and fire, it is a tragedy, again and again…

It ended with a finality that rested against her chest. This was a tragic history of the crown, something already written with facts and dates, but this was a personal storying stemming from the blood of Stark woman, and only now did Lyanna begin to understand how the stories remained so vivid, so detailed despite its years of retelling.

But also…

“What does this mean for me?” Her voice was soft, an almost childlike naivety to her tone. “I am already engaged to Robert Baratheon.”

Her granddam watched her, a tight lipped smile in response as her mind returned to the feast of last night, to the looks shyly exchanged between her granddaughter and the crowned prince, Rhaegar Targaryen, as he played his harp for her. It left her unsettled with a hunch, an inkling about this interaction.

Instead she agreed. “You are right,” and she sighed. “Let me help you get dressed for the tourney.”

The new Harranhal swelled with the life for the festivities, with the kingdoms’ best sent in response of Lord Whent’s invites; the new cobblestone seemed bright against the darkened foundation that still held, its ghosts trapped still and trampled underfoot by the crowds as the seats filled, the echoing chattered excitement that vibrated.

It dimmed with a hushed reverence to see Prince Rhaegar Targaryen entering the field on his steed; his lavender eyes scanned the masses, an intent to spot one soul in particular, and she unknowingly called to him with her sweet smile, by the glint of the sapphire that rested against her chest.

There's not one thing that I would change.

Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @snowprincesa1 @hb8301 @lovelykhaleesiii @darylandbethfanforever9 @namelesslosers

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#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x stark!reader #tragic romance #inspired by hozier #ours never knew peace #rhaegar targaryen #lyanna stark #rhaegar x lyanna

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svearehnn · 2 years ago

Text

winter's frost | azriel x fem!reader

Summary: As Kallias' sister, you're expected to help maintain good relations with allied courts. Your newest ally leads you to the Starfall celebration, and it ends up changing your life much more drastically than you expected.

warnings: cursing

part two

It wasn’t your choice to go to the Starfall celebration in the Night Court. No, with your brother’s newfound alliance, you were required to attend the foolish party when you would rather be curled up in your room at the Winter Court, preferably with a good book and a steaming cup of tea.

Involuntarily, you rolled your eyes as you made your way out of your room, the gossamer of your steel blue gown whipping around your feet. You hated to admit it, but Viviane did a wonderful job at hunting down this dress. It was plated with silver metal around your bodice, the bejeweled collar connected by interwoven chains. It was complete with a smattering of sapphires adorning it, twinkling out at the top of the mostly sheer skirt. A warrior’s dress, beautiful but deadly, the plating similar to the armour you so often wore.

As you made your way down the stairs, you heard Viviane gasp in excitement whilst you fiddled with the quartz crown that adorned your head. “You look magnificent!” Viviane breathed out, a wide smile on her face. Her hand reached out to adjust the stray curls framing your face before stepping back to get another look at you. You smiled tightly at her before flicking your gaze to your brother.

“How long do we plan on staying there?” Kallias’ icy eyes were made of stone, his lips set in a harsh line.

“However long I deem is necessary to show Rhysand that he has our support.” You huffed out a breath at his response, your hair swaying at the movement.

“Then lets get this over with,” you quipped as you placed your hand on his arm. The three of you were swiftly encased in black smoke as Kallias winnowed your group in front of the House of Wind. You couldn’t help the gasp that left your lips as you caught sight of the dazzling house, more akin to a castle than anything. However, you weren’t given more than a couple seconds to admire it as your brother and his mate made their way to the front doors. You followed suit rather languidly, coming to a stop in front of the marble doors. Kallias raised his hand to knock, but the doors flew open before his knuckles could even touch the doorframe.

“Kallias, I’m glad you could make it.” A dazzling smile flashed and you knew immediately that the raven-haired man at the door was the High Lord of the Night Court. “Viviane, pleasure to see you again. You’re looking lovely as always,” he spoke as his eyes flicked over to hers before landing on you. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Rhys, and you are?”

You refused a curtsey, instead bowing your head slightly as you chimed out your name and rank. He smiled again before waving the three of you in, his magic swelling, nearly causing a tremble in your hands at the intensity of it. “Well, I won’t let you idle outside in the cold any longer. We have wine and an assortment of food waiting for you.”

Once again you followed, keeping to the back in hopes that conversation would not be struck with you. However, as always, your luck was as rare as a four-leaf clover in winter.

“I never knew Kallias had a sister.” Rhys stated, his violet eyes meeting yours for a split second. You willed your expression from a scowl to a tight-lipped smile, already dreading the night to come.

“I’ve kept well hidden.”

“You have indeed.” He responded. Before he could inquire any more about you, a swift excuse left your lips.

“If you don’t mind, I would like to grab a glass of wine.” With a dip of his head you were excused, and you heard the start of a courtly conversation that would have had you ripping your hair from your head. You neared the refreshment table, admiring the faelights above you that twinkled like starlight as you walked. There wasn’t much for Starfall decorations, though you didn’t think the House of Wind needed any more ornamentation.

As you filled a glass with deep red wine, you let yourself study the room and its occupants. It was filled with nobles, all dressed in extravagant clothing that was similar to your own. At least you didn’t come overdressed, you thought to yourself. Another pass of the room had a glint of blue sparking your curiosity. Your gaze shifted over to a male dressed in a simple black button down and trousers, that blue flash coming from the jewels atop his hands. His wings protruded from his back, tucked in tightly as if hiding from sight. Your eyes widened a bit at the muscles flexing beneath the fabric, the slight scowl on his face, and the allure in his hazel eyes as they gazed back at you. Quickly you looked at your drink, swirling its contents as you tried to ignore the heat in your cheeks.

You didn’t usually get caught staring, but by the gods was it hard not to stare at him. Risking another glance, you brought your glass up to your lips to hide your wandering eyes. His attention was focused elsewhere, now intently set on the male in front of him and the blonde on his right. You swallowed harshly, watching as a small smile perked up at his lips. Shadows lapped around his feet and shoulders like a running river, constantly moving, never ceasing to slow, but rather always fluttering. He was ethereal, and that was a thought that had never crossed your mind when it came to a fae.

“You must be Kallias’ sister.” A voice soothed in your ear, causing a slight jolt to wrack your bones. The female laughed, a sound that rang like a windchime. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Feyre.” As your heart lulled to a soft beat once again, you nodded out of respect, admiring her kind eyes and the twinkling onyx jewels atop her head.

“It’s a pleasure.” She smirked, motioning towards the male you had been eyeing with a dainty hand.

“I assume you haven’t met Azriel yet, considering your staring.” Your cheeks flushed again and she giggled, obviously sensing the shift.

“I wasn’t staring,” you grumbled, taking another sip of your wine.

“He doesn’t bite.” She laughed, taking your hand and dragging you towards the three fae that you had been spying on from afar. “Hey!” Feyre called in greeting, gaining the attention of them, much to your chagrin. “This is Y/N, Kallias’ sister. Y/N, this is Mor, Cassian, and Azriel.” You smiled softly with wide eyes, cursing your unfiltered thoughts for this moment. If you had kept to a corner, eyes glued to your glass, then this wouldn’t have happened. Yet, here you were.

“Hey, it’s nice to meet you. Gorgeous dress, by the way.” The blonde smiled warmly, her eyes glittering and glazed from a couple glasses of alcohol.

“Thank you.” You muttered, fidgeting with a stone on your gown. You chanced a glance at Azriel again, only to find him already looking at you. A common occurrence tonight, you supposed.

“Well, I’m going to grab another drink.” Feyre declared with a wink as she pulled Cassian and Mor along with her. The two of them were smirking as well and you knew that she had put her Daemati skills to use. You cleared your throat, intending to refill your glass as well, just to get out of the conversation that was bound to take place. But as you went to take your leave, Azriel’s hand clasped around your wrist softly, keeping you in place.

“Why have we never heard of you before?” He asked, his words practically matching Rhysand’s from earlier. Usually you would grace that question with a forced smile and a short response, however, breathing in his euphoric scent had you feeling rather vulnerable.

“Um, Kallias and my father thought it best to keep my existence within the shadows.” You replied, nerves caressing your skin, inducing a shiver to crawl down your spine.

“Because of your magic.” He stated. You blinked at him in shock.

“How did you know that?” A miniscule smirk pulled his plush lips up, and for some unknown reason you wanted to kiss it off of them.

“I can sense it. It’s strong.”

“My magic is glamoured. How can you–” He shook his head in answer before gesturing towards your glass.

“Let me refill that for you.” There was no time to respond as he took it from your grasp and disappeared amongst the crowd. You glanced after him, but instead you met Kallias’ eyes and Viviane’s cheeky thumbs up. With a scowl you stalked off to the balcony, hoping for some privacy to redo your glamour. Much to your surprise, you found that your glamour was fully intact, leaving you in awe.

“How?” You muttered to yourself. Nobody else had sensed it, nobody but him. An electric touch hummed underneath your skin. You pressed a palm against your heart, feeling it skip, that pulse buzzing against your bones before you turned to face him. He was swathed in shadows with a hand extended out, a full glass of wine as an offering. You took it with an uneasy smile as that electrifying static increased at the brush of your fingers.

“Starfall will start soon.” You nodded at his words, glancing warily up at the sky as he came to stand beside you, your shoulders nearly touching.

“What’s so special about Starfall, anyway?” His lips tilted up in that ever soft smile that he seemed to own.

“Just watch.” As his words left his tongue, a streak of light entered the sky, covering you with a dull glow. Another and another passed by until the sky was full and your eyes were wide in wonder. You had never expected Starfall to be spectacular; it always seemed like just another pointless reason for fae to get together and drink themselves drunk, but standing there, you knew that was far from the truth.

“Shit,” you breathed out, eyes never leaving the sky, even though you felt his piercing gaze on your skin. You reached a hand into the darkness of the night, stretching over the railing as if you could touch one passing by. Azriel chuckled beside you, causing you to quickly pull your hand back in embarrassment. When you turned to look at him, a chord struck in your chest and that tingle of electricity that had been sizzling in the distance sparked. You felt a tug, body jolting a step toward him as he did the same.

“I–”

“You’re my mate.” He took another step, your noses almost touching, breathing in each other’s air as you just stared, taking in his eyes as if they were the stars that fell from the sky.

“Shit.” You repeated, placing a hand just below your throat as if the touch could bring more air into your lungs. Azriel reached out, a glimmer in his eyes as he placed his hand over yours and you knew that this was the touch of an exploding star, that he was the one you were reaching into the sky for. The bond plucked like a harpsichord string as soon as the two of you touched. It felt like home–it was home. He was home.

“Funnily enough,” you started, a brittle laugh leaving your throat, “I was actually dreading coming here tonight.”

“And now?” He queried, his head tilting like a curious animal, fingers moving and intwining with yours.

“Now, I can’t quite see why I was dreading it so much.” A smile lit up his features, bigger than you had seen all night, and your lips twitched to reciprocate the motion unknowingly until the two of you were grinning at each other like long lost friends.

“I’ve been holding out hope for a while now.” He murmured as he leaned closer, noses gently brushing, lips almost touching.

“Hope for what?”

“Hope that you existed.” You could feel his heartbeat in the crisp air, feel his wings stretching as he began to close the gap between you, to interlock your two souls as one.

“Y/N, we have to go now.” A voice broke the two of you out of your trance. Azriel’s hand fell back to his side as you were pulled away, his eyes unwavering from yours until you disappeared behind the door. You had your sights set on nothing but his lingering figure as the rooms flew past you in a blur. Once the cold air of winter hit you in the face, you snapped out of your stupor and wrenched your arm free from your captor.

“What the hell!” You exclaimed, the bite of the wind fueling your immediate anger. Viviane’s eyes bored into yours, silver lining her tear ducts as she moved to grab you again.

“We have to go,” she pleaded, “we just caught word that several Naga are loose on the grounds and they’re wreaking havoc. We have to go.”

As swiftly as your anger came, it dulled, your eyes turned to steel, and your jaw set. You nodded once, ripping the crown off of your head as you followed Viviane to Kallias’ form. A dull pain sat in your chest as you placed a hand on your brother’s arm. You still felt his eyes on you as the three of you erupted into shadows and smoke, leaving the Night Court and your mate behind.

#part two will come!#acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #sjmaas #sarah j maas #text #textpost #a03 #a03 fanfic #a03 writer

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humanpurposes · 2 years ago

Text

Come So Close That I Might See, part i

Desperate to secure her position, Aegon's wife turns to Aemond for help // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x OFC

Warnings: 18+, language, infidelity, smut (p in v, female receiving oral), breeding kink (kinda), and also a bit of fluff.

Words: 4800

A/n: this is my first oneshot! I've been sitting on this for literally months and finally got round to editing it. Also available to read on AO3.

Every breath Lucia took was like ice in her throat.

Her fingers came to toy with the Valyrian steel band around her ring finger. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take. Five years of whispers behind her back, agonising audiences with the Queen, the Hand and her Westerling and Lannister uncles. “The realm needs a son,” they all said, as if she hadn’t known that the moment she had said her vows to Aegon fucking Targareyn.

Her husband knew what he was doing. He had all but confessed countless times how he resented his position, how he did not wish to be crushed under the weight of duty despite the ambitions of his mother and grandsire.

She knew her duty, to give King Viserys another grandchild to dote upon, give the Hightowers the heir they needed, and secure her own position as the wife of a future King.

For Aegon, a child would be a burden, another duty to squander. He demanded use of her hands and her mouth of the few occasions he bothered to visit her bedchamber, but otherwise he was content to pounce upon the nearest serving girls or fuck his way through Fleabottom.

Five years of humiliation.

She anticipated what talk might stir with the arrival of the King’s guests at court. A great feast had been planned, to celebrate the new additions to their family. Helaena and Martyn Hightower were due to arrive from Oldtowen to present their daughter, Rhaella, while Princess Rhaenyra had delivered her second son with Daemon, another silver haired Prince, named in honour of the King.

She delighted in seeing Helaena again and could hardly contain her excitement when she saw a flash of cobalt blue in the sky that marked the arrival of Daeron and Tessarion. The Prince and Princess had been both sent to Oldtown so soon after Lucia’s marriage to Aegon, but she missed them more than she did her own siblings in the Westerlands.

Then came the party from Dragonstone, Rhaenyra, Daemon, and their small army of children. Aemond had tested her memory before their arrival; Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Baela, Rhaena, Aegon and Viserys.

Aegon was nowhere to be found when they were welcomed into the throne room. Lucia half hoped the captain of the city watch would come to her with news that his corpse had been found on the floor of a tavern. Instead she stood between Queen Alicent and Prince Aemond.

When the three boys with Velaryon blue cloaks and unruly dark hair bowed before the King, Aemond leaned into her ear. “That’s the bastard I have to thank for my sapphire,” he whispered.

Aegon eventually made an appearance at the feast later that night, sauntering in as the main courses were brought out. He already had a glazed look in his eye and dark purple stains in the corners of his mouth. Lucia shared a pointed glance with Aemond as her husband took his place beside her.

She did not have to suffer Aegon for long. Once the music picked up and the dancing began, Daeron was the first to lead her to the floor. Then, from the other side of the table, Jacaerys took Baela’s hand and joined them, the four of them dancing, twirling and laughing together, regardless of the scowls that came from Prince Daemon and Otto Hightower. Then came Lucerys and Rhaena, and after them followed Helaena and her husband.

After a few exhaustive rounds, Lucia thought she might need a glass of wine to recover her strength, until her eyes fell to Joffrey, looking a little abandoned. She took his hands and led him through a dance, which mostly involved them spinning in circles rather than following the steps. The boy looked up at her in awe as she twirled them around the floor.

“The Strong boys” were not so bad, she thought, they were gracious and lively, but in the back of her mind she couldn’t quite forget the terrible scar that slashed across Aemond’s face. She looked back to him as she danced. She expected to see that stoic, silent fury she had become so accustomed to, instead he looked rather… she settled on amused. His eye was softer than usual and his lips curled ever so slightly into– not quite a smile but it was hardly a frown either.

And each time she turned her head he was already looking at her.

She felt the whole thing had been a success. Until Lord Tyland came to her the morning after Rhaenyra’s departure for Dragonstone.

He barged into her chamber, standing over her as she took her breakfast. “We cannot delay any longer.”

“Good morning to you too, uncle.”

“How often do you share a bed with your husband?” He hissed.

Lucia swallowed her mouthful of blackberries. “Not often.”

“Speak plainly,” he demanded. “You are the wife of the King’s oldest son, you are not entitled to privacy.”

Clearly. She took a breath. “He will not come to my bedchamber, if he can help it, only if he is too drunk to remember he despises me. And then he… is never able to fulfil his marital duties.”

“This cannot go on.”

“And yet it has been the case for four years, uncle. Aegon simply does not wish to make me a mother. You may seek to ask the Queen to lecture him, but I am not the one at fault.”

“That is simply not good enough.”

“So what would you have me do?”

“Whatever it is you must do. You have seen how disputes of succession cause instability, and without an heir, Aegon’s position, our position is not secure.”

She knew little of the arrangement between the Hightowers and the Lannisters. Perhaps her family thought her too young to understand when the pact of loyalty was made, and yet they were happy to let that alliance rest upon her shoulders. As long as her womb was empty, she would remain a Westerling orphan to the eyes of the court.

“She will never give Aegon a son,” she had heard one of the Tyrells say, “the King should cast her aside, make her a septa and marry the Prince to one of our girls.”

She spent the rest of the day in the gardens, walking for hours until she came to the rose garden. There was a bench, concealed amongst bushes of red, pink and gold flowers, looking out over Blackwater Bay.

Had the small council truly been so startled by the very presence of Princess Rhaenyra in the capital? Even with the rumours surrounding her three eldest sons, her extensive family was a show of strength and stability, something she and Aegon had so far failed to provide.

The sun seemed to go black for a moment and there came a colossal roar that shook the foundations of the city. She looked up to the sky to see Vhagar soaring out over the water. She couldn’t make out much of her rider, save for a small glimmer of silver hair.

An idea came into her head.

She tucked her knees into her chest and began to gnaw at her lower lip until she tasted blood. She sat there, frozen in thought until the sun began to set and a chilling evening breeze swept in from the sea. Her gown was relatively thin, a day dress for Spring, but she did not shiver and she did not flinch.

As twilight approached, she heard footsteps crunching against the gravel path.

“You’re expected for dinner,” Aemond’s voice came from behind her.

She rose from the bench and came to stand before him, close enough to smell the leather on his jerkin and the faint scent of smoke in his hair.

He frowned and brought his thumb to her bruised and bloodied lip. She watched his eye as he inspected it, gently swiping and tugging. “What’s this?” He asked in a soft and scathing tone.

“It was my own fault,” she muttered, “I didn’t realise I was doing it.”

He pulled back with a dissatisfied “hmm,” but his gaze soon softened. “The Queen was getting rather worried.”

Lucia weaved her arm through his and began to lead him back towards the castle. “We should not keep her waiting then.”

Aemond followed Lucia into the dining room and settled in the seat across from her, beside Daeron. Helaena and Martyn Hightower were not present, apparently Rhaella had managed to come down with a cough and they would not leave her side.

The King had decided to dine with them this night, a rarity. Mostly they sat in silence, the Queen occasionally attempting to make conversation. She asked Aemond how Vhagar had been that morning. He said “very well mother,” and drew his fingers along his knife. She turned to Daeron and asked how his studies were progressing. He said “very well mother,” and went back to eating.

“Sunfyre is well too, dear mother,” Aegon added sarcastically.

Aemond caught Lucia’s eye as she tried to stifle a small smile.

“Rhaenyra is with child again,” the King said, “I do so desire a granddaughter.”

His mother pursed her lips. “You have a granddaughter, dear husband.”

“And perhaps I desire more.”

Aemond watched Lucia as she toyed with her duck breast, tearing apart the meat but never putting it near her mouth. He had watched her rather closely over the last five years, as her life had become a well rehearsed act, feigning smiles and indifference when she needed to, but he always saw right through her.

When Aegon glanced at her, she kept her gaze down and tightened the grip on her fork.

“I might ask Helaena to stay a while longer in the capital,” the Queen said, “so we might spend some more time with our grandchild.”

“Do you presume the presence of my sister’s babe will offer us some encouragement?” Aegon sneered.

The table paused. No one dared to breathe, except Aegon, who took a long draw from his cup and finished it with a gasp of satisfaction. He glanced around at the bewildered faces of his family. “Is something the matter?”

Aemond kept his eye fixed on Lucia as she drew her lip between her teeth. Her cheeks glistened in the low candlelight as tears began streaming from her eyes. She stood quickly and calmly, and was out of the room before Alicent could even utter a single word.

The room fell to silence.

Until Aegon decided otherwise. “Do you think I upset her?”

Aemond made a point of hitting his fist against the table as he followed her.

She was in the corridor, standing with her back against the wall and her hands clasped behind her. At the sound of a single footstep her eyes darted to him.

He came to stand before her. Her cheeks and eyelashes were still damp, but she had stopped crying.

The Queen’s furious shouts began to bleed into the corridor.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

Lucia nodded.

He offered his hand. “I’ll walk you to your chambers.”

She looked up at him with those wide and glistening eyes as she placed her hand in his. His heart ached to feel her skin, their fingers curling over each other, his thumb settling against her knuckles. She felt cold, but he would have been content to stay within her hold, as long as she would allow him to.

She stayed close as he led her through the stillness of the Red Keep, her skirt brushing against his leg with every stride.

Ser Arryk Cargyll waited outside her chambers, and she slipped from his grasp as easily as she had accepted it. She stopped as the guard opened the door though, and turned back to Aemond. “Would you stay with me?”

Aemond held his breath, hoping neither she or Ser Arryk would somehow notice his heart drumming furiously in his chest.

“Not for long,” she added, “but I wish to speak with you.”

“Of course,” he said, and followed her inside.

The Princess’ chambers were not entirely unfamiliar to him. With Aegon’s elusive nature and Helaena and Daeron’s absences, it only felt natural that he and Lucia often found themselves in each other’s company. She enjoyed the library as much as he did and as she had developed interests in riding on horseback and marksmanship, he was all too happy to entertain her. Her chambers were not a place he visited often, not unless he wished to return a book, or take her on a walk through the gardens before dinner.

The room was immaculate, and it smelled like her, bittersweet and warm.

She stood before the fireplace. The glow of the flames flickered across her face and caught the faint strands of gold in her dark hair.

“Aegon will not give me children,” she said.

He kept his expression soft. “What makes you think that?”

With every word she spoke, the gentle facade began to fade, the light and shadows of the fire only added to the look of fury on her face. “He knows a lack of an heir undermines his position. He will happily fuck whores and sire bastards but he will not fulfil his duty to me, his wife. He is a coward.”

Gods, she was beautiful when she was furious.

Her lip was still red and swollen. Before he knew it his thumb was against it again, hypnotised by the way her lip moved under his touch. His eye drifted up to hers. “On that much we can agree,” he muttered.

She took a slow step into him, bringing her hand around his wrist, gently pulling him away.

His heart stopped. Perhaps he had overstepped a line.

But she leaned in further, until their noses touched and all he could see was her. He felt her other hand settle against his jaw on his blind side. She leaned in further still, and pressed her lips into his.

He froze for a moment, but as her lips moved over his, he found himself unable to tame his impulse, the impulse that he’d been fighting for little less than five years. He allowed himself to melt into her softness, her warmth, the bittersweetness and the sharp taste of her tongue.

His hand snaked down to her waist, and only when he squeezed her flesh through her gown did he realise what he was doing.

He knew what he should do. He should leave her, lock himself in his chambers and forget her. Forget her smile, her wit, the way his heart felt brighter when he watched her dance, the way he craved her sparse touches and her eyes finding him across the chaos of a crowded room.

Everything about her was perfect, his brother’s wife.

In his hesitation he retreated slightly. He could hardly think, hardly breathe…

And her voice cut through the fog of doubt in his mind. “You could help me.”

“How so?”

Keeping her hand on his jaw, she brought the other to trace the highest silver buckle on his jerkin. Her thumb stroked against his cheek, featherlight over his scar.

And suddenly he understood.

He clamped his hand over hers. “It would be treason, Lucia.”

Her eyes were longing, pleading. “No one would need know,” she whispered, “there would be no question of parentage.”

His heart felt heavy. It would be a complete and utter betrayal of his family, not just Aegon, but his mother, his grandsire, and a risk to everything. They’d be no better than Rhaenyra, trying to pass a bastard off as an heir, and yet, there would not be much room for doubt, so long as the child had silver hair.

But suppose he gave in, bent to the will of those pretty eyes and perfect lips, only to stand aside for Aegon to claim what he would never deserve.

He could feel himself on a knife’s edge, to stop, or to linger and let his desire consume him. He wasn’t sure what scared him more.

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me,” he breathed, but with every moment he felt himself leaning deeper into her touch.

“Aemond,” she said his name like a spell and brought their foreheads to rest against each other. “There is hardly an aspect of my life which is under my control. If I should have some choice in this matter, then I would choose you.”

“Over him?”

Her breath echoed over his skin as she whispered, “above all else.”

His grip of her waist tightened, noticing the way her breath hitched as he traced his thumb over the fabric of her gown.

“Aemond,” she whispered, bringing her lips to the corner of his mouth, “I want this, please.”

He caught her lips between his, kissing her with all the want he had spent years trying to suppress.

His sudden urgency seemed to take her off guard but she met his efforts with just as much fervour, now with both hands cupping his face and fingers teasing over the soft skin of his neck, pulling him in further and further.

Lucia began to groan, falling into him arms and grinding her body against his.

He pulled away and took her hands in his. “Patience, Princess,” he hummed, and led her to stand at the foot of her bed.

Her eyes trailed over his jerkin while she ran her teeth over her lip.

“Turn around,” he ordered and she followed.

Cautiously but effortlessly, he undid the braid keeping her hair from her face. He ran his fingers through it, until he gathered it over her shoulder, exposing her neck to him.

He breathed in the bittersweet warmth as his hands traced over her body, over her torso, along the curves of her waist, the soft pouch of her stomach.

“Tell me,” he whispered, grazing his lips over her cheek, “how does my brother fuck you?”

“He doesn’t,” she uttered, watching his hands as they roamed, “he takes his pleasure in other ways, but never in such a way that would lead to a child.”

It was a dangerous confession to hear. If he wanted her before he was almost ravenous now, starved and fulfilled by every breathless gasp, every little twitch of movement in her body, desperate to feel her, claim her.

He hummed hungrily, and began to drag a hand further down, skimming over the fabric that covered her centre. “And would you like to be fucked, Princess?”

She nodded.

“I said–” he pressed his hand firmly between her legs– “would you like to be fucked?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, writhing and leaning against him at the friction, “please, I want you to fuck me.”

He smiled into her. How could he ever deny her when she asked so nicely?

His fingers traced over the laces of her bodice before he began to pull them apart, agonisingly slowly, but he relished the anticipation and the little hitches in her breath. Once it was off, he moved to the clasps and drawstrings of her skirt, letting it pool around her ankles.

He offered a hand so she could step out and went to lay her clothing over a chaise. When he turned back to her she had removed her shoes and stockings, left only in a corset and a linen shift.

He allowed his eye to rake shamelessly over her. He had never seen her in such a simple state, without the ornate gowns or the jewellery, her hair loose and tousled about her shoulders, the bare skin of her arms as she held her hands behind her back, her teeth running over her lip– a nervous habit, he realised, one that had somehow managed to evade his notice after all this time. He was the same with his hands.

He came closer and drew his fingers through the laces of the corset, while her eyes looked up to him. He made no protest as she reached up to slide off his eyepatch.

She looked between his violet eye and the sapphire, and smiled dreamily. “My beautiful Aemond.”

His heart was shattered and welded back together. Hers.

He watched her as she began to undo his belt and the buckles on his jerkin. Once it was off he pulled his undershirt over his head, leaving his chest bare. She traced her fingertips from his collar, over the hair of his sternum, the lines of his abs, until she let her fingers snag at the waist of his breeches–

He grabbed her by the wrists and pushed her to lie down against the mattress. “All in good time,” he promised with a glimmer of a smile. He released his hold of her wrists. “Keep your hands where they are.”

He dragged his hands down over her scarcely covered body, to gather the hem of her shift and bring it past her waist. He almost growled at the dampness of her small clothes, and pulled them from her legs, uncaring of where they fell. He gripped her thighs, prising her legs apart to reveal her glistening cunt to him.

He brought his thumb through her folds in slow, upward strokes, swiping over her bud just enough to make her squirm before he withdrew again.

“We can’t be too loud,” he whispered, “can you keep quiet for me?”

She hummed impatiently. “Yes, Aemond but oh–”

Her voice faded into a sweet moan as he licked through her. He liked the teasing, dragging his tongue to her entrance and savouring her taste before he moved up, flicking over her clit until her hips were moving against him. He pressed a wide palm over her stomach to keep her in place while he brought all of his attention to where she needed him most.

When he slipped a finger into her she groaned, pressing and biting at her lips to keep herself quiet, but her breath betrayed her pleasure, haggard and heavy.

He could already feel how tight she was, stroking slowly against her tender flesh while his tongue circled over her pearl. And through it she kept her hands in place, just as he had asked.

The hardness in his breeches was starting to strain now. He couldn’t wait to feel her around his cock, soft, wet and warm.

Her hips started to buck again and her cunt twitched around his finger.

“Are you going to come for me, Princess?” He muttered against her.

Her voice was breathless and hazy. “Yes… I want to, please… please…”

“Not too loud,” he muttered, pushing a second finger into her, “you don’t want your husband to find out, do you?”

She clasped her hand over her mouth, shaking her head as he pushed her further and further towards her high, until her body tensed at her release. He stifled his own moan against her flesh as she clenched around him.

She was utterly breathless, sprawled before him, drenched and dripping onto the mattress. He thought he could have kept her like this for hours, drawing orgasm after orgasm from her, savouring the sound and the taste of her pleasure.

But he had already stayed long enough, and he had no intentions of giving the guard something to be suspicious of, especially not when his family had seen him chase after her from the dining room.

Another time, he promised himself. For now he knew what she needed.

He finally rid himself of his boots and his breeches, freeing his hard and weeping cock. With her wetness still on his fingers he began to stroke over himself.

She watched him with wide eyes and parted lips, coming to sit up with her palms behind her.

Suddenly he stopped. “We don’t have to,” he said quietly, “are you sure this is what you want–”

Lucia came to her knees before him, silencing him with a soft and gentle kiss to his lips. Her hand brushed down his front to replace his hand around his cock, sending white hot shocks of pleasure rippling through his body.

“I want you, Aemond.”

His restraint snapped. He tugged her shift up over her head and then his hands were everywhere, gripping at her breasts, her hips, her rear, while she continued to tug at his cock.

Somewhere in the mess of hunger and lust his mouth moved along her jaw, teeth, tongue and lips grazing over her skin. “Lie down.”

Lucia stared back at him, resting her hands against his chest.

“I said, lie down.”

The darkness of his voice had her shuffling back until her head fell against the pillows.

He came to kneel on the mattress and hovered over her, his silver hair falling around her face and brushing against her breasts. Finally he lifted one of her legs and hooked it around her waist, lining his tip against her entrance. “I’ll be gentle,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple.

With that he began to press into her. He immediately felt how resistant she was to him, even with her slick, but inch by inch, he buried himself into her.

“You’re so tight,” he growled, “so tight for me, my sweet girl.”

Her back arched against the mattress as her eyes fluttered close and her face began to twist.

“Tell me how it feels,” he said, his voice rough as he fought the urge to fuck her quickly, thoroughly. She’d suffered enough these last years married to his cretin of a brother, he wanted to be the end of it, he wanted her to feel safe and adored, as she should have always been.

She brought her arms around his neck and her other leg around his waist. “Deep,” she whined, “so deep… so good…”

“Open your eyes," he pleaded, "let me look at you."

She pulled her face from his neck and opened her eyes, those perfect eyes, as deep, dark and endless as the night sky, glazed slightly with tears of bliss.

He could feel her easing into his size now, and he was getting restless, still gentle, but pushing in and out at a heightening pace.

He’d been wondering what she might be like longer than he cared to admit, dreaming of having her skin against his, his name on her lips, clawing at the memory of her when he entertained his carnal desires with his cock in his hand. And now, holding her, fucking her, having her beneath him and begging for her pleasure was beyond what he could have ever imagined. He felt euphoria with every thrust in her, so tight, so perfect, so willing.

While one of her hands gripped the side of the pillow she lay against, he guided the other down between them. “Stroke that pretty clit for me,” he said, “I want to see you cum again.”

Her voice was a slur of moans and curses. “Please, Aemond, please.”

“I’ll give you what you need,” he hummed, “my perfect girl, I’ll always give you what you need.”

She came with a pleading cry, milking him of his own release. He kept thrusting until he had spilled himself completely inside her, biting down on her shoulder to muffle the sound of his pleasure.

He pulled away to watch his seed drip from her twitching cunt before he dove in with his tongue again, pushing it back into her.

He felt her fingers in his hair and glanced back to her dazed expression. They stayed there for a moment, gazing once again into the eyes they each craved.

Until he crawled up the bed to lay beside her, pulling her into him, bodies intertwined under the bedsheets.

She traced a finger over his scar. She had never known him without it, never known the weak, naive child he was before Driftmark. “I used to be terrified of you,” she said.

He hummed a small laugh. “You hardly spoke to me for almost a year.”

“I always thought you were formidable, always absorbed in your studies or your training. That and the eyepatch.”

“It is better than what lies underneath.”

Her fingers came down to his cheek, turning him to face her. “No, I think I prefer you like this.”

He held her a little tighter. He knew he’d have to pull away, eventually, but for now he was content to have her in his arms, the girl who hadn’t cowered when he had finally shown her his scar. The girl with wide brown eyes, who looked upon him as he was, broken, marred, damaged, and had managed to find beauty.

#aemond targaryen #aemond x original female character #aemond smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond “pussy eater” targaryen #hotd fanfic #hotd fan fiction #hotd fanfiction #my fics

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n0cturn4 · 3 months ago

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Series In every universe - 9 . Tim Drake

Character: Tim Drake x Reader Summary: "Do you think we’ll find each other in other lives?" Word Count: 763 Land of Ancient Times.

Under the starry sky of a night that seemed endless, Tim found himself once again at the edge of the enchanted forest, where the moonlight softly illuminated a clearing covered with silver flowers. The knight, clad in his gleaming armor, carried in his heart the mystery of his quest, though his eyes sought her instinctively. He knew she was there, hidden among the shadows and mist, as she had always been.

And then, from the silence of the trees, she appeared. The mystical creature who belonged to the forest and time itself, her eyes gleaming like ancient sapphires, her steps light upon the ground. Her presence exuded a profound serenity, as if she were the very embodiment of the earth's magic.

"Here I am again, knight," she whispered, her voice as melodious as the song of a hidden stream.

Tim smiled upon seeing her, yet a melancholy, unintended, showed in his face. He approached with the care of one who fears breaking a precious spell, extending his hand, as if reaching to feel her ephemeral touch, once more.

"Tell me," he began, hesitant, his eyes fixed on hers, "do you think... we will find each other in other lives?"

She looked at him with a sweet sadness, as if that were the oldest secret guarded by the forest. Yet there was no doubt in her answer, only a promise that echoed beyond time.

"If it is up to my will," she replied softly, "I shall find you in every one of them."

And in that moment, with the soft breeze carrying her words through the air, Tim knew that their fate would never be undone.

Tim observed every detail of her as one who tries to engrave a secret deep within his memory. At each meeting, it was as if he tried to steal from time one more moment by her side, though he knew they inhabited different worlds. She belonged to the roots and the stars, as ethereal as the breath of an ancient legend; he was bound to the weight of mortal lands, the steel of his armor, and the duty of protecting a kingdom she would never see.

"Why do you look at me so, knight?" she asked in a melody that seemed to soothe his heart. There was a soft 7in every word she spoke, a tenderness that bound Tim in an invisible chain.

"Because I fear that each time I bid farewell to you, it may be the last," he confessed, feeling his chest tighten under the weight of his own mortality. "And though I wish to remember every trace of your face, I always fear that you... will fade, like a dream upon waking."

She then approached, a mystical gleam flickering in her eyes as she touched his face with gentle fingers, bringing an unexpected warmth. Tim closed his eyes at the feel of that touch; eternity seemed to fit into that simple gesture, and the world outside ceased to matter.

"Tell me, Tim," she whispered, so close that her breath blended with her murmur, "if your heart believes so faithfully, then what fear could there be? Are you not, indeed, the only one capable of finding me, even in the deepest darkness?"

The knight opened his eyes, meeting the depth in hers. There, he felt seen and understood in a way he had never known. As if she had known him before his very existence, as if their souls had crossed paths in past lives, somewhere beyond the veils that separated time and eternity.

"It is as though you have dwelled in each of my dreams, each sigh, long before I could even understand what longing was," he replied, his voice laden with emotion. "Nothing could keep me from following your trace, from finding you in every life that comes after this one."

She smiled, with a touch of sadness, as one who knows what he would never understand. On her face, the reflection of an ancient, immortal certainty.

"So it shall be, then," she said, resting her forehead against his in a silent gesture that spoke louder than words. "I will be waiting for you, Tim. In every era, in every sunrise, your spirit will find me, and I shall be the shadow beneath the tree, the wind among the flowers, the river's song at dusk."

With one last touch, she stepped back, slowly disappearing into the forest's dimness. And the knight remained there, knowing that at the end of all ages, in some other world or life, he would find her again — for so he desired, and that wish would travel through the centuries until they met once more.

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hearts-hunger · 2 years ago

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Chapter One: A Flash of Steel and Silver {Series Masterlist | Series Playlist ♫}

Series Summary: You've been called the Jewel of the Bay, a lady born and bred in one of the Royal Navy's most profitable ports of call. On a fateful summer night, taken aboard the pirate ship Starcatcher, your world is turned upside down. To survive, you must put your faith in the honor among thieves and learn to trust the devotion of a pirate to his most precious treasure.

Pairings: Jake x Reader, Sam x Danny, Josh x Reader | Chapter Word Count: 4.7k | Warnings: AU-typical violence, harassment, historically accurate misogyny

A/N: My sweethearts! This is my very first time doing an au like this, and I'm very excited to share it with you. I have no concrete plans for this series, and no update schedule - I'm just seeing where the wind takes me on this one. I know it's different from my other fics, but I really hope you like it! ♡

Pirates.

The word alone struck fear into the hearts of the people of Sapphire Bay, sending them inside to lock their doors and close the window shutters with a firm crack. Those devils marked by the branding iron were hated and feared, considered with a mix of awe and horror and morbid curiosity. To meet one meant certain death; for the superstitious, even to speak of one meant the calling down of hell’s rapacious wrath upon the new world’s fragile kingdom of islands. Everywhere, in hushed voices and cautious glances at the western horizon, people dreaded the coming of those demons. Pirates.

You had learned to fear them just as much as anyone, the threat of them always lingering in the back of your mind, but there was an insatiable curiosity that held you captive any time you so much as heard them mentioned. Your late father, the former governor of Sapphire Bay, had spoken of them often; you’d grown up on snatches of conversations heard from the other side of his study door, tales of murder and thievery and drunken escapades, stories of freedom and bravery and adventure.

Those stories had continued to fascinate you even as you became a woman, and you were more interested in them now than you had been as a child. Lucky, then, that you’d been betrothed to Commander Kit Drake of the battleship Black Smoke; his own closed-door conferences about the pirates that roamed the seas provided an endless diversion to your hungry imagination.

Hearing those stories was perhaps the only lucky thing about your betrothal, and you reminded yourself to try and think of other silver linings as your lady’s maid dressed you for dinner at the Commodore’s estate.

“He’ll tell me how beautiful I look,” you said to yourself, touching light fingers to your lightly rouged lips. “Surely he will.”

“Indeed he will, miss,” your lady’s maid said as she styled your hair. “You’ll be the jewel of the bay this evening, all sparkling in the candlelight.”

You met her eyes in the mirror. “Thank you, Tabby. You’re very kind.”

She smiled. “Have you decided what necklace and earrings you’ll be wearing tonight, miss?”

You brushed a hand over your deep blue bodice. “I suppose the sapphires would be best, wouldn’t they?”

“As you say, miss. Commander Drake will surely be pleased to see you wearing his gift.”

Tabby finished your hair, a relatively understated crown of curls, and spangled you with trinkets from your jewelry box that could have fed and housed a family for several months. You touched a hand to the blue gem that rested in a swath of silver, the centerpiece of the heavy necklace that felt more like a collar for a dog than a gift of love from your fiancé.

“There you are, miss,” Tabby said when you were ready. “I’ll tell the footman to bring the carriage ‘round.”

The Commodore’s estate was right on the bay, a sprawling mansion that put even your father’s estate to shame in sheer grandiosity. Several carriages stopped outside the main doors, ladies in fine dresses and men in naval uniform stepping out to join the group that filed into the golden, candlelit hall inside. Your attention was drawn to the sea as you waited, watching the way the moonlight dashed itself to bits across the glittering surface of the water.

“My dear. You finally made it.”

You looked over from the bay to the door of your carriage. “Kit.”

A frown tugged at your fiancé’s expression. “You mustn’t call me that here, dearest, you know that. Commander Drake or ‘sir’ will suffice.”

You flushed, wishing you’d remembered that rule. “Of course, sir.”

You accepted his hand when he offered it to you, and you looked up at him with girlish eagerness to see if he’d comment on your appearance.

“I wore the jewels you gave me at our engagement,” you said quietly.

He gave you a distracted glance. “Oh. Yes, I suppose you did.”

“Do you... do you like them?” you asked, crestfallen.

He breathed a short sigh. “They’re lovely, my dear. Let’s not tarry, shall we? I’m afraid you’ve already made us late.”

He offered his arm, and you hung off of it as a good young lady should. Your head turned back to the sea, just for a moment, and you thought you caught a glimpse of a shooting star reflected on the waves.

“We’ve got to double our presence on the coasts of the southern isles. We’ll rout them simply by being there in force. They wouldn’t dare to try and attack any of the ports there if we made our presence more obvious.”

You took a sip of wine and tried to look bored, knowing that the quickest way to get navy men to stop talking of pirates was for a lady to show an interest in their conversation. If they didn’t consider you too delicate or stupid for that kind of talk, they’d fear for some kind of longing to spark within you, the same kind they allowed to rage unchecked as they sailed on their mighty seafaring vessels.

“No corsair in these waters is a match for any of our fleet,” Kit argued. He gesticulated and narrowly missed your wine glass as you set it down. “I say with conviction, gentlemen, that there is no need to add even a single ship to those we already have out of port.”

“Maybe they’re not a match for your ship, Commander,” said a lady on the opposite end of the table. You glanced over with mild panic, wishing you could tell her merely to listen, but the gentlemen she was interrupting didn’t seem to mind.

“I’ve heard you gentlemen say the Black Smoke is the fastest ship in the Royal Navy,” she said, and there was a flirtatious intonation to her voice that drew the men in like moths to the flame. “However, I’ve also heard it said that there is a pirate galleon in our waters that can match it for speed.”

“Name the ship,” a lieutenant challenged.

The lady smiled. “Starcatcher.”

The name caused a flutter of excitement to stir in your breast. Starcatcher. It certainly sounded like a fast ship, and no vessel in the Royal Navy had such a wonderful name.

“Nonsense,” Kit said, waving her remark aside even as he trained his attention on the coy curve of her mouth. “The Starcatcher is a myth told to frighten new deck hands. No such ship exists.”

“No?” the lady asked with an elegant lift of her brow. “And what of its sister ship, the Indigo Streak? Some men say it can disappear into thin air.”

“Some men are fools,” Kit said, and his smirk betrayed his arrogance. “No doubt you’ve heard these same men claim to have seen the witches that serve as the figureheads of each ship.”

“They’re not witches,” another man protested. “I’ve heard they’re meant to be Nike and Themis, goddesses of victory and justice.”

Kit scoffed. “Victory and justice, indeed. Even if these ships did exist, what victory and justice could be won outside the King’s authority?”

“Pirates don’t consider the King’s authority legitimate, though, do they?”

All gazes swung to you, and you felt a wash of embarrassment follow the heady flush of having impetuously offered your own opinion. Kit’s face went pink with anger.

“What a pirate thinks of the King’s authority means little,” he said sharply. He took your hand under the table and gave it an uncomfortable squeeze, leaning close. “And what a woman thinks of it means even less, my dear, so I suggest you keep such foolish thoughts to yourself.”

He released your hand with disdain, and you shied away from him as far as you could. You understood perfectly well why the lady with the deep red lips was allowed to speak and you were not; her comments were meant to incite men to braggadocio and pride, and yours only called into question their self-assurance. You would not speak merely to stroke a man’s ego, pirate or King’s man or anyone in between; most at the table considered it better, in that event, for you to keep your mouth shut entirely.

You took another long drink of wine and tried to keep your hands from shaking. Of a sudden, everything was overwhelming; the sound of tittering laughter and silver forks against china dishes, the smell of dozens of different perfumes, the heat of the candles that cast flickering beams onto jewels and gold buttons and silver sword handles. You felt pressed in on all sides with an extravagant meal you couldn’t hope to finish in front of you, men to the right and left of you, servants behind you to tend to your every need should you so much as wave an indolent hand.

You took a deep breath, as deep as you could with your stays laced as tightly as they were, and dug into the reserve of feminine gentility and self-control that had been trained into you since birth.

“Commander,” you said quietly, touching your hand to his sleeve. He ignored you, and desperation clawed at you.

“Sir,” you said in a pleading whisper.

With a frustrated huff, he turned away from his companions and met your eyes. “What is it?”

“I beg your pardon,” you said. “I — I suddenly feel quite ill. My head, it’s...”

He snapped his fingers, and a footman came to his side to await his instruction in perfect silence.

“Attend the lady,” he said, gesturing to you with impatience and contempt. “She’s taken ill, apparently.”

The footman bowed his head. “M’lord.” He pulled your chair out and gave you his hand; you took it, offering a feeble excuse to those few who noticed your departure and cared to comment.

“Shall I show you to one of the guest chambers, m’lady?” the footman asked when you were safely outside the dining hall.

You shook your head. “No, thank you. I wonder... could you help me find the gardens? I would be so grateful for a breath of fresh air.”

“Very good, m’lady,” was the man’s response. He escorted you to the gardens. “Shall I ring for a lady’s maid to accompany you?”

“That won’t be necessary,” you said. “Thank you for your help, sir.”

He bowed. “M’lady.”

A bit of the peace you so dearly needed was found out in the garden, and you wandered in the cool darkness of the shrubs and trees blossoming with flowers of every hue. You took a deep breath of the warm night air as you walked over the cobblestones, closing your eyes for a moment to drink in the quiet of birdsong and the ever-present hush of waves upon the shore. You longed to go down to the water, if only for a moment; what relief it would bring to feel the cool waves lapping at your ankles, to feel the salty breeze skim over your cheek with all the tenderness of a lover’s hand. You opened your eyes and felt its dark, silver-scaled presence call you like a mother to a child, begging you to leave the world you knew behind.

“Foolishness,” you whispered, pressing your hand against the merciless shackle of sapphire and silver that hung about your neck. You could never leave. You would be here, always, looking out upon the water, wearing its color on your breast, never quite close enough to touch.

You heard your name called from a direction opposite the ocean. Footsteps sounded behind you, and you did not allow yourself to breathe the sigh that waited ever-ready at your lips.

“I only needed some air, Commander,” you said without turning to him. “I’ll be well enough to join the ladies in the parlor after dinner.”

Without warning, Kit grabbed your wrist in a punishing grip and spun you towards him.

“Turn to me when I call you,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “Do not presume to speak to me with an air of indifference.”

Your blood ran cold at the anger in his face. “I didn’t — I wasn’t trying to — ”

“I knew you weren’t ill,” he said, squeezing your wrist tighter. “You left because you wanted to shame me, didn’t you? Or perhaps because you were petulant about my correction?”

“No,” you said weakly, trying to tug your hand from his grip. “Please, Kit, you’re hurting me.”

He took your jaw in his other hand and squeezed it. “I told you not to call me that. Do you mean to respect me at all tonight? Or shall I have to teach you a lesson in obedience?”

You paled. You tried to find your voice to try and calm him, to apologize, but another man’s voice broke in before you could.

“Take your hands off the lady.”

Kit released your jaw, more out of surprise than any desire to obey. You tried to pull out of his grip, but he held fast to your wrist.

“Who spoke?” Kit asked into the darkness of the garden. “Show your face.”

“Take your hands off the lady, as I said,” the man repeated. “I’ve got a pistol aimed straight for your heart, Commander, and I assure I won’t miss.”

Kit’s face flushed an angry red. To your surprise and relief, he let you go, and you put a few steps of distance between you.

“How dare you speak to me in such a way?” Kit thundered. “I demand that you to come into the light and show yourself.”

No sooner had he spoken than a man sauntered out of the shadows of a copse of palm trees, a flintlock pistol held in an almost lazy manner in Kit’s direction. The hilt of a cutlass on his hip caught the light of the moon.

“You demand it, aye?” the man asked. His long hair was dark, his frame lean and hard-muscled; he was practically indecent, his cotton shirt unbuttoned to reveal a collection of necklaces that rested against his tanned chest. You blushed and averted your eyes when he looked at you.

“Makes you wonder,” he continued conversationally, turning his attention back to your fiancé. “Perhaps your King ought to call you Demander rather than Commander.”

Kit put his hand to the hilt of his saber. “What are you, boy?” he said derisively. “Beggar? Thief? Be on your way before I arrest you for harassing an officer.”

The man’s mouth turned up in a crooked smile as he returned his pistol to its holster at his waist.

“Go ahead, Commander. Though I doubt if you’ll find there’s any jailhouse to throw me in by the time you do.”

Kit looked the man over in confusion and absolute fury. He opened his mouth to speak, but an explosion from the outskirts of town effectively cut across him.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Kit raged. He looked to see the billow of smoke from the direction of the jailhouse, then whipped his head back to look at the man.

“You’re a fool to attempt a prison break,” he said. “There’s plenty of brigs in the fleet to throw you and your worthless comrades in once we collect all of you.”

Kit drew his sword, and the man had drawn his and disarmed Kit in a flash of steel and silver quicker than you could see it. Kit’s sword clattered across the cobblestones and skidded to a halt at the man’s feet.

“I’d be careful who you draw your sword against tonight, Commander,” the man said. He kicked the saber back towards Kit. “You won’t find my men as forgiving as I am.”

“Your men?” Kit blustered, shame and fury mottling his face. “Who the devil do you think you are?”

A cocky smile lit the man’s face, and you found it somewhat maddening and almost alluring. Confidence radiated from him like warmth from the sun, and you watched in fascination as he took a step closer to Kit.

“You don’t know me?” he asked. He lifted his sleeve; just above the white bracelet he wore was the scarred mark of a pirate.

“You gave me this, Commander Drake,” the man said. “Though I suppose you were only a lieutenant back then, weren’t you?”

“Scum,” Kit spat. “I should have known. I’ve branded enough of your kind that you all run together into one wretched mass.”

“I see,” the man said. He sheathed his cutlass again even as Kit bent to retrieve his, seemingly unconcerned with the possibility of a duel. He tilted his head towards the Commodore’s house.

“In that case,” he said airily, “I’d love to be the one to tell you that the wretched mass is running together in your Commodore’s estate as we speak. Taking your jewels, your gold, your spit-polished swords that have yet to taste blood. It’s only a matter of time before they interrupt your little dinner party, I fear.”

As if on cue, pandemonium erupted from inside the house. Doors burst open, sending a flood of screaming party guests outside with pirates right on their heels, each of them armed to the teeth and crowing with delight.

“Filthy pirate!” Kit howled. “I’ll have you and every one of your men hanged for this!”

“Oh, Commander,” the man said with a winning smile. “You’ll make me blush with that kind of talk.”

Bang. A bullet whipped past the three of you, slamming into the trunk of a palm tree and sending out a shower of splintered wood. You flinched and raised your arms to shield yourself.

“Aye, watch yourself,” the pirate called to whoever had fired. He sounded only mildly annoyed rather than fearful for his life, and you wondered if it was bravery or stupidity that made him so calm.

Suddenly, Kit grabbed your arm and snatched you close to him. For the second time that night, he held you in an iron grip, and there was little you could do to fight him off.

“You’ll tell your men to let me go,” Kit said, panic crawling into his voice. “You’ll order them not to shoot me, because if they do, they’ll hurt the lady.”

You startled at the knowledge that your fiancé was using you as a human shield, offering you as a bargaining chip to a pirate. You tried to wriggle out of his grip, but he held you fast.

The pirate scowled. “Coward,” he spat. “What sort of man are you, Commander?”

“One not condemned to death,” Kit said, a maniacal glee in his voice. “Not tonight.”

He started to drag you with him as he made his way out of the garden, heading with slow steps towards the docks rather than the house where screams and gunfire still rang through the air. You kicked and clawed, begging him to let you go, terrified that a bullet meant for him would kill you too.

“Let me go, Kit!” you pleaded, tears streaming down your cheeks. “You worthless coward, let me go!”

“Silence yourself!” he hissed in your ear. “Once we’re well away from this, we’ll both be safe.”

He clapped a hand over your mouth, and it only made your panic and anger worse. You had to get free of him — he was squeezing you so tightly, you couldn’t breathe —

In a last, desperate attempt at freedom, you bit down, hard, on the soft junction between his thumb and first finger. He bellowed in pain and released you.

“Bitch!” he howled, backhanding you across the face. The force of it made you dizzy, and his signet ring cut your cheek; you stumbled backwards, falling in a tangle of blue skirts to the unforgiving stone walkway.

“Right, that’s it.”

You heard the pirate’s voice as if from somewhere far away. You looked up with a bleary gaze; he stood next to you, his pistol held aloft and pointed right at Kit.

“No!” you shrieked.

You grabbed at his leg to try and stop him, somehow, blind devotion for Kit urging your forward. The pirate didn’t even seem to notice you, and your whole body flinched at the sound of gunfire. You squeezed your eyes shut even as sobs wracked your body.

“Come on, lass.”

You felt the pirate's callused hands reach to help you up, and you reacted in terror-stricken instinct.

“Don’t hurt me!” you begged, trying to get out of his reach, woozy with fear and pain. “Please, don’t hurt me. Let me go. I won’t tell anyone you killed him, I promise.”

“I didn’t kill him,” he said harshly. “Quit fighting, lass. I won’t hurt you, but you have to come with me.”

You looked up at him, and his face was blurry through your tears. “But you’re a pirate.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “And your only chance of making it out of here alive.”

He offered you his hand, and you didn’t see any other choice but to take it. His grip was strong and steady, firm enough to help you but gentle enough to keep from hurting.

“Attagirl,” he said when you were standing. “Steady, now. Can you walk?”

“Yes,” you breathed. For some reason, you didn’t let go of his hand. “Where are we going?”

He nodded towards the bay. “My ship. You’ll stay there until all this settles down, and then I’ll take you back home.”

Shattering glass brought your attention to the house momentarily; a raging fire billowed out of the broken window, sending great clouds of smoke up towards the sky.

“Unless you live here,” the pirate said. “In which case, you’ll have to find other arrangements.”

You could do nothing but stare at him for a moment, bewildered and dazed. “But... why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you helping me?”

He looked over your shoulder towards Kit, who lay groaning and weak in the grass with a bullet wound to the shoulder. His expression held nothing but disgust and contempt for your fiancé.

“I don’t like to see a lady mistreated,” he said. He gave your hand a gentle tug. “Come on. This way.”

You followed after him, helpless not to, feeling outside of yourself as you tried to think past the pain in your jaw and the overwhelming fear that still held you captive. He led you through the garden and down to the Commodore’s private docks where a skiff was waiting.

“Wait.” You stopped and tugged on his hand, and he turned to face you.

“What is it?” he asked, a touch of urgency to his voice.

You looked to the skiff and then back to him. “How — ” You swallowed nervously. “How do I know you won’t hurt me?”

He looked a little lost for a response. “I don’t know, lass. I believe you’ll just have to trust me.”

“Trust a pirate?” you asked, choking a little on the words.

He gave you a grim half-smile. “Could be worse.”

“How on earth could it be worse?”

He didn’t answer you, distracted by the sight of several more skiffs approaching the docks. You followed his gaze and saw they were coming from two huge galleons further out in the bay.

“Heavens,” you breathed. You didn’t know how you could have missed them, but they suddenly loomed like two great monsters on the surface of the water.

He pulled you towards the boat. “Come on, lass,” he urged. “The second wave’s coming in soon, and they don’t mind me as well as I’d wish them to. I’d rather you not be out here when they come.”

You met his gaze. “Second wave? There’s more of you?”

He huffed a short, mirthless laugh and ushered you into the skiff with little grace. Your became hopelessly tangled in your skirts and sat uncomfortably on the opposite side from him.

“You may wish to take off some of those cumbersome overskirts, lassie,” he said, taking the oars and rowing you out to the giant ships. “You’ll get them caught in something and get hurt.”

You blushed vividly. “Take off my skirts?” you repeated, incredulous and mortified at the idea, though you noticed you didn’t sense any salacious undercurrent to his suggestion. “I certainly will not. Just because you run around in a state of undress does not mean I will.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

You sat in silence as you came ever nearer to the twin galleons, feeling a caving pressure in your chest as they loomed closer. You looked around for something, anything, to distract you; against your better judgment, your gaze landed on the movement of your pirate rescuer’s strong arms with each pull of the oars.

You looked away, chastising yourself for such foolishness in the face of everything else that had happened.

When you reached the closer ship, you looked up at the cargo net that hung over the side with more than a little trepidation. How were you ever going to climb it in your dress?

Your pirate — when had you started to think of him as your pirate? — gave a theatrical gesture to the net. “Ladies first.”

You huffed, feeling anger at your situation start to override any other emotion. All you’d wanted tonight was to have a nice, unexciting dinner, and yet here you were, standing before a pirate and about to board his ship in the middle of the night.

“Very well,” you said tartly, dredging up some reserve of courage and feistiness from whatever was left in the hollow of your chest. With some difficulty, you reached under the waist of your blue overskirt and untied the two underskirts and hoop skirt underneath. He had the decency to avert his gaze, at least, but your face was still hot with embarrassment as you shimmied out of them and slipped off your uncomfortable shoes.

When all that was left to cover your undergarments was your overskirt and bodice, you stepped in your stocking-feet onto the first loop of rope on the cargo net.

“Mind your gaze, pirate,” you said, managing with a fair bit of exertion to climb the net. He scaled it with you, quick and nimble, and gave you a grin when he reached your perch.

“Pirate sounds such a dirty word when you say it,” he said, and there was a teasing lilt to his voice that gave you the strangest fluttering sensation in your chest. “You’d better just call me Jake.”

Oh, but you didn’t like knowing his name. Not one bit.

“Fine,” you said, tearing your gaze from his. “Mind your gaze, Jake.”

He grinned. “Only if you mind yours, lass.” He stepped up another rung and climbed the rest of the way with ease. You gave a dejected sigh and continued your laborious ascent to the railing of the ship.

When you reached the top of the net, Jake was waiting for you. He offered you a hand up, and it was only with his help that you managed to get aboard without falling on your face.

You looked up when you were steady. “Oh, dear.”

Several pirates stood frozen along the deck, watching you with a mix of shock, hostility, and undeniable interest. Each one of them was armed, sword hilts glinting at their hips and pistols tucked into belts that looped over their barrel-sized chests.

“Easy, lass,” Jake said, taking hold of your arm again. You barely registered that you’d made a sudden, jerky movement to flee the ship and go back down the net, but he’d stopped you before you could go anywhere.

“None of my men will hurt you,” he promised, and when you met his eyes with a terrified glance, you saw that he meant it.

“I have to trust you on this, too?” you asked feebly.

His mouth curved in a smile. “Aye. You’re getting the idea, lass.”

He let you go, a testament to his trust in you not to try and run, and nodded to the stairs before you.

“Allow me to escort you to my quarters,” he said.

You flushed. “Y-your quarters?”

“Indeed. Where I shall leave you to your own devices and come back out to be with my men.”

You gave a shaky sigh of relief. “Oh. Very well.”

You’d taken no more than two steps towards the stairs when another man appeared at the top of them, his features strikingly similar to Jake’s but done up in dark makeup that matched the black clothes he wore.

“Why, my dear Jakey,” he said with a glittering smile. “What have we here?”

Let me know if you'd like to be added to a taglist for this series!

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#ooooHHH i can't wait to hear what y'all think of this one <3 #jake kiszka x reader #pirate!jake #jake kiszka fanfiction #pirate jake kiszka #greta van fleet au #greta van fleet fanfiction #gvf pirate au #sam kiszka x danny wagner #josh kiszka x reader #maddie writes stuff!#fate of the faithful fic

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peppymintdreams · 2 months ago

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A Vampire’s Veil of Shadows Ball

Xanthus Claiborne x Love

The snow whispered underfoot as Xanthus and Love approached the towering estate, its frost-encrusted silhouette looming in the twilight. Love adjusted their mask, fingers trembling slightly as they looked up at the Ebon Veil Ballroom. Everything about the scene was intimidating—the icy beauty, the haunting silence, and the knowledge of what awaited them inside.

“This feels like a bad idea,” Love murmured, glancing nervously at Xanthus.

He cast them a sidelong look, his expression calm but firm. “If it were unsafe, I wouldn’t have brought you.”

Love gave him a dubious glance, their hand tightening around his arm. “You say that, but this is a literal den of vampires.”

“You’re with me,” he replied, his voice steady, as if that settled the matter.

As they reached the frost-etched oak doors, Xanthus paused, his sharp eyes scanning Love. “The bracelet,” he said, gesturing to the delicate silver band around their wrist. “Remember It carries my scent. It will mark you as mine. That should be enough to keep the others away.”

Love looked down at the bracelet, their nerves far from calmed. “And if it’s not enough?”

Xanthus’s mouth curved into a faint, dangerous smile, his fangs just visible. “Then they’ll have me to deal with.”

The ballroom was breathtaking and terrifying in equal measure. The vaulted ceiling stretched like a frozen twilight sky above them, its icy stars casting an ethereal glow over the room. The crowd of vampires, clad in elaborate Victorian masquerade attire, moved with an unsettling grace, their conversations and laughter like faint echoes in the vast space.

Love felt the weight of countless gazes as they stepped inside, the subtle shift in the air confirming their worst fear—their human presence had not gone unnoticed.

Clinging to Xanthus’s arm, they leaned closer and whispered, “I feel like a walking buffet.”

“You’re not,” Xanthus said softly, though his hand moved to rest lightly over theirs. “Stay close to me.”

Love nodded, though the glances and whispers continued to gnaw at their nerves as they followed Xanthus through the crowd. The bracelet might deter their hunger, but it couldn’t dull the curiosity in their eyes.

They stopped near the frostbitten dais, where Isis stood, her sapphire gown glittering like frozen starlight. She turned to greet them, her sharp eyes lingering on Love.

“Xanthus,” she said with a faint smile. “I didn’t expect you to bring... company.”

“They’re with me,” Xanthus said firmly, his tone leaving no room for debate.

Isis tilted her head, her smile deepening. “Interesting.” Her gaze shifted back to Xanthus. “Shall we talk? Somewhere more private.”

Xanthus’s jaw tightened. “We can talk here.”

“That won’t do,” Isis said smoothly, her tone like silk over steel. “This is a delicate matter, and I’d rather not have it overheard.”

Xanthus glanced at Love, his hesitation clear. “I don’t like leaving them alone.”

“They’d be perfectly safe,at the estate you were staying at” Isis assured him, her voice lilting with amusement. “That is Dontis’s home, and I’d rather than not have to endure hearing a night of him having one of his guest over again”

Love felt their stomach churn as Xanthus turned to them, his sharp eyes softening slightly. “Stay here,” he said, slipping off his long coat and draping it over their shoulders. “It’s cold in here, and this will help.”

“Xanthus,” they started, but he silenced them with a faint smile.

“I won’t be far,” he said softly, his hand brushing briefly against theirs. “You’ll be fine.”

Then, with one last look, he turned and followed Isis into the shadows.

Left alone, Love moved cautiously to a quieter corner of the ballroom, wrapping Xanthus’s coat tighter around themselves. The scent of him—clean, sharp, and subtly earthy—was a small comfort, but it did little to quell the growing unease in their chest.

Everywhere they turned, eyes followed. Conversations halted as they passed, replaced by faint whispers and knowing glances. Even the music seemed distant, drowned out by the sound of their own heartbeat.

They were about to retreat further into the corner when a figure stepped into their peripheral vision, moving with the silent grace of a shadow.

“Such a rare sight,” the man said, his voice smooth and melodic, with an almost playful lilt. He had pale, ash-blond hair that seemed to glisten faintly in the eerie blue light, and though his mask covered much of his face, his sharp, predatory smile and piercing eyes were unmistakable. “A human at the Ebon Veil Ball.”

Love stiffened, clutching the edges of Xanthus’s coat. The chill in the room deepened as if the stranger’s very presence carried with it a colder, sharper edge.

“I’m with someone,” they managed, their voice steady but quiet.

The man tilted his head, studying them like a curious predator. His silver mask, adorned with intricate thorn-like patterns, caught the faint blue glow of the chandelier above. “Ah, yes. The infamous Xanthus.” His smile widened, and there was an unsettling amusement in his tone. “But he’s not here right now, is he?”

Love’s heart started pounding as they took a small, instinctive step back. “He’ll be back soon,” they said, their fingers curling tighter into the fabric of the coat.

“Will he?” The man stepped closer, his polished shoes clicking faintly against the marble floor. His movements were languid, unhurried, and yet there was an undeniable menace in the way he closed the space between them. “How intriguing. You’re his, then?”

Love didn’t answer, their throat tightening as the stranger’s eyes darkened, narrowing slightly as if dissecting every inch of them.

“Your scent is... intoxicating,” he murmured, his gaze drifting downward for a moment, as though he could see the blood coursing through their veins. “I wonder,” he continued, his voice low and silken, “do you taste as good as you smell?”

The words sent a cold shiver racing down Love’s spine. They drew in a shaky breath, forcing themselves to meet his gaze. “I’m not interested,” they said, their voice firmer now, though it trembled at the edges.

The man’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it grew wider, more sinister. “Not interested?” he echoed, as though the concept was foreign to him. He took another step closer, his presence oppressive, and the faint scent of something metallic—blood, perhaps—lingered around him.

“You’re tense,” he noted softly, his pale hand rising as if to touch their face. Love flinched back, but his fingers merely hovered in the air. “Don’t be. I can promise it won’t hurt... much.”

“I said no,” Love said, their voice rising slightly, betraying the growing panic that clawed at their chest.

“Don’t be so shy,” the man murmured, his tone both cajoling and mocking. His hand brushed lightly against their arm, the contact cold as ice and sending a jolt of fear through them. “You might even enjoy it. Not many get the chance to—”

“Take your hands off them.”

The voice cut through the air like a blade, and the man froze. Slowly, he turned, his confident demeanor faltering as he met Xanthus’s cold, furious gaze.

“Xanthus,” the man said excitedly, stepping a tad back. “No harm intended, of course, I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t care what you meant,” Xanthus said, his voice low and deadly. “Move. Now.”

“Leave,” Xanthus said, his tone brooking no argument.

The man hesitated for a fraction of a second too long, and Xanthus took a single step forward, his hand twitching at his side as if he were considering whether to act. The man didn’t wait to find out.

The man smirked, then vanished into the crowd without another word.

Xanthus turned to Love, his sharp expression softening as he placed a hand on their shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Love nodded shakily, their hands still clutching his coat. “I—he—” They took a deep breath, trying to steady their voice. “He wouldn’t stop.”

Xanthus’s jaw tightened, and a flash of something darker crossed his expression. “You shouldn’t have been left alone,” he said, his voice quieter now, though it carried a weight of self-recrimination.

“You didn’t know that would happen,” Love said, though their voice wavered.

“Still.” Xanthus reached out, his hand brushing against their cheek briefly before pulling back. “He’s lucky I didn’t kill him.”

Love let out a shaky laugh. “You say that like it’s a joke.”

“It’s not.” Xanthus’s tone was so serious that it made their breath catch.

Love nodded shakily, their fingers clutching his coat. “I didn’t think you’d get back in time.”

“I was never far,” Xanthus said softly, his eyes scanning their face for any sign of harm. “No one touches what’s mine.”

He wrapped an arm around their shoulders, guiding them toward the exit. As they stepped out into the cold night, Love leaned into him, the tension in their chest finally easing.

“Next time,” they said quietly, “leave me at home, I’d much rather hear Dontis fucking someone, than whatever the hell that was.”

Xanthus gave a faint chuckle, his voice warmer than before. “Next time,” he said, pulling them closer, “there won’t be a next time.”

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 1 year ago

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Good day M :) Sending you a request Aemond x afab! Reader for the wax play? Thank you! (This is for the kinktober requests)

So I thought of writing it from the point of Aemond being on the receiving end of the wax play. I hope you like it.

“New delights”

Pairing: Aemond x Fem. Reader (House Baratheon/Established relationship/Second person POV) | Location: Storm’s End

Themes: Smut

Word count: 800+ words

Summary: A night is spent trying something new in Aemond’s chambers.

Rating: 🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 🔞 | You are responsible for the media you consume

"Tell me again, lord husband, how you came to claim the largest dragon alive?”

Aemond watched with a dizzying sense of pleasure while hot, fat drops of buttery-yellow wax dripped onto his chest. He twisted against the silk sheets and uttered a low moan when quick bursts of searing heat fed the flames already raging within.

“It was a night just like this one,” he said, gesturing to the open windows, his voice now thick and hoarse. “Quiet. Cloudless. The moon hung high in the night sky. Vhagar slumbered on the beach, her saddle still on her back. I —fuck—I waited till the others went to their beds, and made my way to where she lay. She would have killed me then and there had I not commanded her to calm herself.”

Aemond stopped and moaned again. More wax dripped down his chest, his torso. The sensations that burst to life within him were unlike anything he had experienced before. They were dark and exhilarating, filling him to the brim. Aemond allowed himself to gorge on them all without shame.

“The climb was hard,” he continued. “The first flight was harder. I was nearly thrown off. But that feeling of being aloft and soaring above the waves… words alone cannot describe how wondrous it all was.”

You smile. Tilt the candle. Hands calloused by sword use tighten their grip on your hips. Aemond found himself craving more than the heat that surged through him every time molten wax dripped onto his flesh. With a brisk tone of authority, he said, “Now enough with the straddling. Enough playing with that candle, wife. Your husband has a thirst for another kind of pleasure.”

“I thought you desired to savor new delights this night.”

“I did. And I have. Now put the candle away. Please.”

“But…”

“Obey me, wife. Put away that candle.”

A swell of inescapable excitement pulsed through your veins upon hearing the steel in his voice. You obeyed; set the candle on the little cupboard beside the bed. Then you turned to face your husband.

His violet eye burned like purple flame. His sapphire one sparkled in the candlelight. You reached down and cupped his cheek. Your hand found its way to his hair. Locks of silver-gold slipped around your fingers like water. Aemond clasps your hand and brings it to his lips. He pressed a kiss over each finger, then sighed. It was soft, impatient, filled with yearning.

“Move for me.” His command came out like a plea instead of the order it was supposed to be. “Please. Please.”

You moved, your hips undulating every time you sheathed him in the wet heat of your sex. Beneath you, Aemond shamelessly arched back, arched up, driving himself into you with each breathless gasp. His hands left your hips. They glided all over your thighs, your belly, and then they reached up, went higher, searching, seeking. His touch was still warm, his hands kissed by the morning sun. It sent feverish shivers through your body. Your breasts soon filled his palms. His thumbs brushed over hardened peaks, firm and yet surprisingly tender.

“Gods, you are amazing.” Aemond watched, his attention ensnared, when your hands moved over his.

You smile. Reply. “Tis all for you, husband. All of me is for you.”

His lips curled into the faintest of smiles. His hands moved back down to your hips, gripping them, pulling you down harder on his cock. You touch yourself and fondle your own breasts. Aemond growled, low, guttural, and primal. There was a tightening in his belly, of fiery waves rising and surging just beneath his skin, drowning him. He drove himself deeper, harder, and then he reared up, rising to his knees. His soft mouth found, and then ravished, yours with a kiss that made you moan in sheer, sensuous pleasure. He took you up, and made you feel like you were soaring beneath the stars. You could not think, or even breathe. All you could do was let him take you higher and higher until he let go and you plummeted earthward with a cry, your entire body quivering after having encountered euphoria of the acutest kind. Aemond was still ceaseless, driving into you again and again, until he shuddered and emptied himself with a deep, satisfying grunt. Finally, he went still.

Slowly, he pulled away, brushing your hair out of the way. His chest heaved, the hardened wax now cracking with the rise and fall of his chest.

You open your eyes and give him a measured look. True, Aemond had asked for this—the wax, the sheathing, the waiting, everything. But was he truly satisfied? “Was this night all you hoped it would be, husband?”

A smile, rare and bright and glorious, swept across his face. “Better than anything I could have dreamed of, wife.”

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond smut #aemond imagine #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #x reader #reader insert #reader insert request #hotd #hotd imagine

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damn-stark · 2 years ago

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Chapter 16 LONG LIVE THE QUEEN

Chapter 16 of Sandstorm

A/N- Two more chapters before the big finale!!

Warning- Swearing, death, violence, blood, fluff, long chapter, and there’s changes that depart from the show!

Pairing- Jon Snow x Targaryen!fem-reader

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

“…that was the story of Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters, my favorite story when I was a little girl. Albeit…my father, your grandfather, would tell it a whole lot better.” Your voice quietly fills the room Jon walks into.

Today was the day you parted from Dorne to march towards Kings Landing for one last time, for the big fight, the last battle. Neither of you knew if either of you were going to make it, you kept hoping you would, but anything can happen. And because your fate is unclear you haven’t wanted to leave the twins' side all day today. Jon didn’t either, he was happy now with his family, with his children only a few weeks old, with you.

This is where you belonged, here with them, and now you’re leaving. This is all you ever wanted and you’re leaving again.

But it has to be done for…Rhaenar, for their own safety; they’ll always be a threat to her now that the Lords allied with you have turned a blind eye about Jons true parentage. It’s not hard to guess why; he’s a man, the last Tagaryen male with a dragon, he’s valuable to them. He’s their true King.

They can think whatever though, fuck them, you’ll still be the one on that throne at the end of the day.

“Y/N,” Jon makes himself known, albeit you don’t look back at him, you keep admiring Rhaenyra and Robb falling asleep in your arms. “It’s time to go love.”

You begin rocking your body gently to make them fall asleep faster, ignoring Jon’s approaching footsteps.

“They’re falling asleep,” you whisper. “I just fed them.”

Jon’s hand presses on your back and slowly slides it around your shoulders as he crouches down by you to admire the twins as well. One last time before you left.

“I think they know we’re leaving,” you mention and look at him with a smile. “They’ve barely slept all day today.”

Jon hums and reaches out to caress Robb’s chunky cheek. “We’ll see them again,” he assures you so it can make your departure easier. “I promise.” He then slides his hand up to cup your cheek and tilts your head to the side so you can meet his gaze. “They’re waiting, come on. Before it gets harder.”

You draw in a deep breath and look down at them again, they weren’t in deep sleep, but their eyes are closed now, and Jon is right. So you get up and approach the wooden cradle that has your new family sigil carefully carved on the wood; the three headed dragon wrapped around the sun with a spear stabbed through it. They share it for now since they’re still not used to being apart from each other. You tried to sleep them in different ones but they cried all night until you figured out the solution.

“Here,” Jon whispers and picks up the dragon eggs off their warming chamber and places the sapphire blue colored egg to the right where you put Rhaenyra down, and he then places the silver colored egg on the left side where you place Robb.

Before you pull away from them you caress their cheeks one more time before you lean in and press a soft kiss on their heads. “I love you my babies,” you whisper in a quivering voice before you force yourself away from them.

Jon then proceeds to lean in and press a gentle kiss on their heads before he digs in his pocket and pulls out a small pouch. You watch him carefully and notice him pull out thin silver necklaces with a pendant that has a direwolf engraved on it.

“It’s made of Valyrian steel,” he whispers and clasps it around their necks. “A gift…for just in case.”

You drop your head and wipe away the tears that he made break from your eyes.

“We’ll be back,” he whispers to the sleeping twins. “Before you know it.”

You clutch onto your chest and turn away so you wouldn’t sob there. Jon then approaches you and grabs your shoulder to turn you to face him. “Are you ready?” He asks.

You glance down at your silver armor protecting your chest, and catch the red rubies that are in the shape of your new house sigil shine against the candle's light, and then look at him and nod. “I am. You?”

Jon glances behind you and hesitates before he nods. “I am. It’s just…hard, you know? I don’t want to leave our children without their parents, I want to be there for them.”

You wrap your hand around his and use your other hand to cup his cheek. “And you will. I promise you you will.”

Jon smiles softly at you before he presses his forehead against yours. “We’ll both come back to them. I swear. War won’t be what breaks us apart.”

You muster a soft smile and close your eyes. “Promise me you won’t leave me alone in this world.”

“I won’t,” Jon whispers before he pulls you in for a deep, lingering kiss. You melt into it, you pull him closer as much as he can be against you, and feel tears roll down your cheeks. When you pull away he wipes the tears off your cheeks and flashes you smile. “I love you,” he says. “From this day until the end of my days.”

“I love you too,” you say back without hesitation. “From this day until the end of my days.”

Jon’s smile widens and he lets his hands linger on your cheeks for a moment until a knock raps on your door.

You hesitate to address the visitor, but you can’t stay here and delay this final battle.

“Come in,” you break your silence as you pull away from Jon.

Sarella then walks in with a sheathed spear and other sheathed weapons. “I’m sorry for interrupting, I just wanted to let you know that your blades are coated and prepared.”

You offer her a stiff nod and walk to her under the doorframe. “Good, thank you Sarella.” You whisper while you grab your weapons from her and tie the sheaths on you. “Take good care of them all right?”

Sarella grabs your hands and offers you an assuring nod. “Of course I will, as if they were my own. You have nothing to worry about.”

You sigh. “If anything happens the three Queensguard I left behind will take them back North with Lady Sansa,” you let her know. “Accompany them the way there.”

Sarella nods and then wraps her arms around your neck, catching you by surprise. Albeit you don’t wait to hug her back.

“Kill all those bastards.” She says by your ear.

You smirk and nod before you pull away and assure her. “I will.”

Sarella shoots you one last smirk before you leave the room with Jon by your side.

“I need to make something known,” you break your silence. “When we face Gendry, I need you to swear to me you won’t stop me from killing him.” You look over at him and see his eyebrows begin to furrow with discontent. “Arya nor Ser Davos can either. I know how much you all care for him, but if I let him live, the life of our kids, my own life and yours will always be in danger because they’d want him sat on that throne. And they’d do anything to make it happen.”

Jon sighs before he meets your gaze without judgment, he’s expressing sincerity and determination. “I swear,” he assures you.

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

The dream is still recurring, that same dream of those two cradles in the destroyed throne room of King's Landing. The sigils carved on the wood are still clear in your head, your new sigil on one, and the old Targaryen sigil; Daenerys sigil, on the other cradle. You still can’t see what’s inside the cradle even if the cries of babies echo in the hall.

Albeit now there’s no fire that starts around you, there’s no blunt ending to it, there’s no need for more. It ends just as you see inside and you know you’re happy and satisfied.

Yet how can you feel satisfied when you can’t find the meaning and it haunts you everytime you sleep?

Does it mean you’ll win this war?

That you’ll live and get to see Rhaenyra and Robb again? Hopefully that’s the meaning, you’d be happy if that’s what it means.

Regardless, that dream has nothing to do with right now. Right now you have to worry about winning this battle and sitting on that throne. Right now, you cut your palms and watch the blood drip from them to then wipe that blood down your face to remind you of your reasons why you fight, why you’re risking your life and that of the others. For Rhaenar. For justice. Vengeance. For fire and blood.

Your uncle Doran said not to let vengeance cloud your judgment, Jon said not to let anger cloud your judgment. But what they don’t know is that anger and vengeance has finally cleared your mind. Because of it you finally see the goal you were blinded to before, that that throne belongs to you.

“Your Grace,” Ser Brienne’s voice filters in through your tent.

You pull away from the mirror and wipe away the tear that had broken out before you bandage your cuts, and address the loyal knight. “Yes, come in.”

The flaps get pushed aside and Ser Brienne's tall figure casts over you. “Prince Gendry Baratheon is approaching, he wants to talk to you.”

You lift your gaze to meet hers and smirk. “He’s eager,” you comment and push yourself off the chair to follow her out.

Ser Lana hands you your spear as she and Ser Rayne, Ser Alys, Ser Brienne, and Sansa follow you out.

“Still nothing from the Westerlands?” You ask Sansa as you sheath your spear.

Sansa shakes her head. “No. But you know how they are, they’re waiting for the moment either side is winning. As long as they don’t attack us they’re nothing to worry about.”

You nod softly in agreement and turn your head completely to the aide to look at her as you ask your next question. “What of Prince Mors and the fleet?”

Sansa slowly meets your gaze, knowing your teasing insinuation behind your question. “He’s started his battle against the Iron Islands fleet, and that of the Second Sons. He’s…alive. He’s fighting well…so I’ve been told.”

You smirk and look ahead again. “Once this is done I’ll fling you two together and lock you in a closet.” You snicker. “Or I’ll demand something to happen. I will be Queen after all.” You steal a glance at Sansa, and see her smirk at the ground before she looks at you with a serious glare.

“Focus,” she deadpans. Albeit you see her hidden smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” you drop the subject. “Now, take care of yourself Sansa, I’ll see you once it’s all done.” You throw her a wave and don’t take a moment to give her one last hug in case this is your last moment, you can’t face her and say goodbye, you’ll falter and want to leave this battle with her.

“Wait!” She forces you to stop regardless.

You slowly turn around and only see a glimpse of her before she closes the small gap between the two of you with an embrace.

“Be careful out there,” she whispers. “Okay?”

You hug her back gently and nod, “okay,” you whisper. “And please if anything happens to Jon and I, take care of them okay?”

Sansa nods. “I will, but I know you’ll both make it out. I know it.” She assures you.

You pull back quickly so you wouldn't follow her out of battle. “I’ll see you.” You throw out before you turn and walk away.

Once you get past the army line, when you reach the top of the hill just a few clicks away from Kings Landing's gate you see Gendry approaching with an army of Dothraki men behind him.

“Has there been sighting of Drogon?” You ask Ser Alys.

“No, but our scouts say they saw him flying away last night.” Said knight informs you whilst you come to a stop

You then hum and raise your chin to glance at the Red Keep, hoping you’d see Daenerys overlooking the army that surrounds her city, but there’s no one on any balcony.

What if she left? She’d have to care more about her unborn baby now, she wouldn't risk her life here.

“Queen Y/N Targaryen,” Gendry greets with the right title surprisingly enough. “It’s unfortunate that we meet under these circumstances.” He searches the group of woman for Jon you assume, but he’s not amongst them or behind you.

"Where's Jon?” Gendry asks and meets your gaze. “I wish to speak to him.”

You scoff. “You’ll see where he is soon enough,” you counter with a smirk since you don’t want to give away that he's going to attack from behind the castle with Rhaegal to get rid of the army that resides within the walls. You want Gendry to be surprised.

“What do you want?” You ask nonchalantly.

“Peace,” Gendry blurts and takes a step forward, making your knights take a step forward to protect you. “You don’t have to do this, we don’t have to fight. It’s useless. Daenerys is willing to negotiate peace”

You narrow your gaze and suck in your cheeks before you spit at the ground before him. “Fuck her peace. This war means everything to me,” you snap back. “I was willing to give her peace and do you know what she did?” You scoff and shake your head as tears fill your eyes.

“She killed my son. My boy! He was only ten years old, he didn’t do anything, he wasn’t at fault because I fell in love with Jon and made his kids, he was innocent and she killed him!” You cry out. “That may not mean much to you, nor will you ever feel that kind of pain or love for your own kid, but it meant everything to me. He had a whole life ahead of him, he had dreams, he had goals!” You exhale shakily and let your tears stream down to mix with the blood on your face. “He wanted to fly on his own dragon, he wanted to meet his brother and sister, and now it’s all gone like he is. So no, Gendry I won’t accept her peace, we won’t stand down,” you grimace and take a step forward. “We’ll fight, we’ll give our hearts, and I’ll kill you and end the Baratheon line once and for all.” You raise your chin with pride and see him swallow thickly.

You then step back and discreetly reach for one of your daggers rather than raising your spear to give your army the signal that battle has started.

“Tell me where Daenerys is Gendry,” you add and slowly begin to pull out your dagger.

Said man lifts his own chin and remains quiet, making you snicker to stall for Jon to make his move and for you to be able to pull out your dagger. “You know it’s said that your father,” you point at him. “Wore a helmet just like that,” you point up to his silver helmet over his head that has golden stag antlers at the sides. “When he fought my own father. Will you prove to be as legendary of a fighter as your father was? Or will the dragon get its revenge?”

Gendry shrugs. “We’ll see won’t we?” He says a bit smugly, making you smirk in amusement.

Albeit now you do have your dagger in your hand, you can throw it at him now, but you wait. He turns to head back down, but you wait for a second, and a second longer until finally there’s a big boom and battle cries fill the air before debris raides in the air, and there in the distance is the sound of Rhaegal’s booming roar.

Jon broke through the wall! He made the first move, now it’s you. So while Gendry freezes and hears the battle play out in the distance you hurl your dagger at him, intentionally letting the poisoned coated blade just cut his cheek as it flies past him.

He quickly turns in disbelief and touches his cheek to feel the blood that begins to spill out.

You shoot him a mischievous smirk and reach for your spear now. “I drew first blood. Your turn,” you grumble and then snatch your spear from your sheath before you throw your arm in the air to give the signal.

Battle horns then break the silence behind you before thousands of hooves hit the ground like thunder breaking in the sky. Gendry begins to back up, and as he does Eraxis reveals herself to the enemy armies as she comes shooting down from the sky.

Gendry's eyes widen whilst behind him the Dothraki let out battle cries of their own before their horses come sprinting forward, responding back to your own battle call.

However as it all begins to unravel, Gendry doesn’t move, nor does anyone move him or protect him, he lets the warriors behind him begin to run towards your army filled with men and women from the Reach, the North, Dorne, The Vale and The Riverlands. You on the other hand shoot him a malicious smirk as you lower your spear and point the blade at him.

“It’s okay,” you tell your women Knights. “I got him.”

The women hesitantly disperse as the armies meet halfway and start fighting, all while Gendry still doesn’t try to move.

“I won’t fight you,” he says.

You slowly lower your spear and flip it around in your hand as you narrow your gaze on him. “Greyworm didn’t want to fight me either. I still killed him, so choose, die like a warrior or die a coward.”

Before he can answer, nevertheless you charge at him. He catches your action and swings his huge hammer, but you quickly snap your body back and slide down, letting your blade slice the side of his leg as you move past him.

Gendry groans and turns slowly to face you now behind him. He parts his lips to speak, but the sound of a horse charging at you steals your attention, so you proceed to jump out of the way to avoid being cut by a Dothraki.

Before he can turn around and come back for more you pull a dagger out and hurl it at the back of his throat, causing him to immediately go limp and fall off his horse.

He really thought he was going to kill you, how sweet. You caught him though when you were sliding past Gendry.

“It doesn't have to be this way,” Gendry interjects loudly so he can be heard over the sound of battle.

You shake your head. “No,” you agree. “It doesn’t, that’s why I’m fighting down here and not on Eraxis and obliterating everything. Now fight—”

“Our children can grow up together,” he cuts you off, making you hesitate. “If we have a son he can marry your daughter and rule together. There can be peace! Don’t you want that? Don’t you want them to have what we couldn’t? A united family?”

You swallow thickly and think about his offer, you really give it thought. He’s right after all, you want nothing but peace for the twins, you want to be there for them, you want to have more kids, have a big family with Jon. You want to live happily. But, when you close your eyes you see them, every single one of your ancestors has their eyes on you, they’re waiting for you to take back what was lost. They’re waiting for you to win and change what they failed to do. You close your eyes and see Rhaenar’s little face burnt, lifeless and gone because of her.

There can’t be peace.

You let out a deep scream and run at him, just before you can reach him you jump up and try to bring your spear down at him, albeit he lifts his heavy hammer and blocks your attempts. You scoff at him and quickly follow that action by grabbing another dagger and then shifting back to let his arms fall. You don’t let him take a break and quickly spin around him again, managing to slice his ankle and knock him off his feet.

It was easy work really, he’s probably not a trained fighter like you are. And you don’t have an ounce of care for him like some of others do, it’s just killing that’s the problem.

But you have to, or else you’ll die, or else your children will be in danger. So before he can move you hold your spear with both hands and lift it up to bring it down.

However, before the blade can hit him, from the corner of your eye you catch someone pointing an arrow at you, so you snap to the side to face him and throw your spear up in the air to catch it in the right position, before you then hurl it at the dothraki warrior when he shoots his arrow. But unlike yours, his arrow only skims past the side of your head managing to nick your flesh, while your spear impales him in his chest and knocks him off his horse.

Now back to Gendry.

Yet when you turn to face where he was on the ground he’s no longer there, just drops of blood staining the dirt.

You sigh and try to look through the crowd but the sight of running bodies, of horses and clanging blades blocks your view. All you can see is his trail of blood leading towards the wall gates.

“Fine,” you grumble and turn to pick up your spear. “I’ll play.” You roll your head around to crack your neck whilst you stride towards the spear impaled through the man.

Nevertheless, just before you can reach your weapon another Dothraki warrior comes charging at you, he’s screaming at the top of lungs and jumps on top of his horse. You stumble back and pull out your last dagger, you clench your jaw and hold his intimidating gaze. You get ready to face him even if he has the high ground.

Luckily though just before his blade can come down, a leather whip wraps around his throat and yanks him off his horse. You gasp and don’t pay attention to the horse getting run over by another horse nearby, you move past the violent scene and then notice that Ser Alys was the one that helped you.

“Thank you!” You throw at her and pick your spear off the other mans body.

Said woman bows her head. “Of course, You Grace! What next?” She asks.

“I find Gendry, he ran past the walls I assume. Help me get past this battlefield.” You tell her honestly and glance up at Eraxis in the sky, wishing you could climb on her to reach your destination, but your own soldiers are mixed here so she’d squish them if she lands. So on horse or foot it is, she can follow.

“Right away!” Ser Alys agrees, and ends up quickly finding horses you can mount to reach your destination faster.

Albeit it’s getting past the Dothraki soldiers that’s the problem. They see you and try to attack you, and you’re not used to fighting on horseback as much as they are, but you try your best to block their attempts. You kill some others, cut the arms off others. You bathe yourself in their blood, adding to the intimidation around you.

Thankfully though, after some struggle, and thanks to Ser Alys help you get past the battlefield of fighting warriors, and sea of dead bodies piling around.

“Here is as far as you go,” you tell Ser Alys as you jump off your horse. “This fight is mine and mine alone.”

“But,” she argues. “I won’t leave you. You are my Queen. If you die what becomes of me?”

You stop walking and turn to face her. “I won’t die. But if you must, get rid of any obstacles ahead, Ser Brienne should already be ahead, Eraxis will help you clear a path to the Red Keep regardless. Remember don’t harm any civilians. I’ll catch up when I’m done.”

Ser Alys hesitates, but listens nonetheless, letting you get back to the trail of blood that you have been following. Sure now it can be anyone’s, but when you were fighting the Dothraki you did catch a glimpse of Gendry running this way. He also won’t get very far considering the poison running its course, he’ll be nearby, so you stalk forward like a hungry predator.

“Prince Gendry,” you taunt him. “Come out, I bet you want to talk to me.” You flip your spear around in your hand to let your blade drag on the dirt whilst you study the street you walk down, spotting a trail of blood going towards a nearby market, so you follow it.

You open the tents flaps and see it unoccupied, thankfully. But he’s nearby, so you slow down your pace to be quieter and hopefully surprise him.

However, just as you turn to walk to another part of the tent suddenly something hard slams into the back of your leg, causing something to snap in your leg that basks your entire leg in an obliterating pain. You cry out and fall on your knees, but that only makes the pain intensify to the point you can’t stand being on your knees, so you flip around to sit and stretch your legs out.

That’s when you see that a part of your bone is sticking out. It’s broken….

“I’m sorry,” you hear a familiar voice interject.

You snap your eyes up and see Gendry approaching you with his hammer in hand. You want to drag yourself back, but it hurts too damn much to move, you have to snap your bone back in place.

“Let me help—”

“Don’t you dare touch me,” you sneer and don’t hesitate to slam your hands on the bone sticking out to snap it back in place. You cry out even if you don’t want to, and then drop your head to let your tears out.

Gendry in the meantime is cautiously approaching you, you can hear his boots hit against the ground.

“You’re not going to ask me what’s happening to you?” You ask in a hoarse voice and slowly take a peek up at him, noticing the blood coming out of his nose and ears. “Why your veins are on fire? Why blood is coming out of your ears?” You add and shoot him a smirk whilst you reach for your spear beside you.

“Look,” he ignores you even if you guessed exactly what he was feeling. “I don’t want to kill you.”

You begin to chuckle and roll your head up, causing him to blink repeatedly in surprise as he sees the blood that cakes your face and bathes your armor, and that turns your silver-white hair crimson red.

“That’s funny,” you counter and completely grasp your spear before you shove yourself to your feet and charge at him.

Albeit Gendry is quick and avoids your lunge, instead he grabs you by your throat and begins to shove you back out of the tent.

The pain on your leg burns the entire time, he makes it feel worse as he drags you out, but you have to ignore it now, you have run on your adrenaline so as to not let the pain affect you. However, he then proceeds to shove you to the ground and climbs onto you, stabbing his knee in your wounded leg and bringing you more agony.

Before you can scream this time he presses the stick end of his hammer against your throat, cutting off the air that comes into your lungs.

“I won’t kill you,” he makes himself clear. You try to scoff in amusement, but all that comes out is a strangled choking sound.

Now he might not want to kill you, but as every second passes you feel your consciousness slip, and if you fall now then you can’t reach Daenerys, you might lose this battle. So with all the strength you can muster you pat the ground, finding a good sized rock, and then proceed to throw your hand up and stab the rock in his eye.

Gendry bellows out, and immediately lets you go to get on his feet and grab at his eye pouring out blood.

You proceed to ignore your pain and grab the hammer he left over you to push yourself up. The pain threatens to weaken you, but you stay on your feet, you fix your grip on the hammer since you dropped your spear in the tent, and raise it.

Gendry notices and you raise your chin. “This is for my father,” you spat out, and use as much force as you can muster to swing the hammer across his chest, knocking him down to the ground at that very moment.

You may have no respect for your father, but he still is your father. He still did love you when you did have him, and you loved him unconditionally before Robert Baratheon robbed him of his life, before your uncle Oberyn told you the truth—poisoned your mind and memories.

“I’m sorry,” you tell Gendry with sincerity as you approach him unable to grasp onto air, as blood begins to stream out of his eyes like tears as the poison also brings him closer to death. “But if I kept you alive my family would never be safe. Life would repeat itself, and I’ve already lost too much…” you pause as wings flapping close by steals your attention. When you look up you see Eraxis wanting to land ahead of you.

“For whatever it’s worth,” you say and crouch by Gendry. “You were a good man. Better than the beast your father was. May you find peace Gendry Baratheon.” You stay there beside him and watch him take his last shaky breath before his eyes roll back and he goes limp.

“Y/N?!” Your name is then called ahead.

You look up and see Eraxis hover over the ground as Arya approaches all covered in blood. Just what you needed—albeit it is too late for her to even talk to him now.

“Arya,” you call back and stand up to your feet.

Said girl's eyes lower to the body beside you and she goes rigged, making you avert your gaze and instead go back inside the tent to pick up your spear. When you come back outside you see her by his lifeless body hovering her hand over his wounded eye, and then lowering to his chest that was encaved. In the distance Eraxis lands on the ground, and since it hurts walking you have to ride her.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter softly to her as you see tears escaping her eyes. “I’m sorry,” you repeat before you break away from the spot and limp towards Eraxis.

Once you’re by your white dragon you steal one last glance, noticing her still by Gendry's side. There was nothing else you could say, Sansa said Arya knew him, that they lay together, they have history, and you were the cause of his death, so there’s nothing to say to comfort her. So instead you slowly climb on Eraxis and now fly towards the Red Keep, towards Daenerys.

Will you kill her with as much ease like with Gendry?

Not now of course, you’ll wait until her baby is born, show her that you were being serious about the threat, a son for a son before you also kill her.

You’ll probably struggle to kill her but she did kill Rhaenar, she has to pay. You’ll make her pay.

Nevertheless, while on your way to the castle you can see the empty streets Arya helped clear so there wouldn’t be any civilian casualties, you can see the battle at the back of the castle Jon started. You can see Rhaegal resting by the castle, letting you think that maybe Jon is fighting with your men below; or inside the castle already. And In the distance, out at sea you can see the fleets battling, you cant see who’s winning from here though.

Another thing you can’t see is Drogon. Where did he go?

Is Daenerys with him?

Regardless you’ll check.

Thus why you have Eraxis land inside the castle, on the steps that lead inside the castle that was once your home, that was the place your mother and siblings died in. The Red Keep.

You’ve been here before since the tragedy, you walked past the gates like now, albeit then it was lively, it was decorated with Baratheon banners, people came and went out for the wedding, you blended in with the crowd. Now as you walk in the hall is empty, it’s cold and dark, it’s deafeningly quiet. Are there even guards?

You walk further inside and notice that the rubble was picked up from when Daenerys destroyed the castle. It also seems like they’re trying to rebuild it, but since you’re here now it’s put on pause.

You then proceed to head to Maegor’s holdfast, knowing well that that’s where Daenerys would take residence. And surprisingly enough, there’s hardly any guards. Those who did seem to be inside were outside trying to stop Jon and his army from getting in, but it was too late, the wall was still not fixed completely, and what was fixed Rhaegal broke. Those few guards that were inside you evaded, there was only one you had to kill but it was done fast and quietly, luckily.

However, as grateful as you are that you don’t run into any more difficult obstacles, it’s not a good sign. Perhaps it’s a sign to leave and finish the battle since the retreat nor the surrender bells are ringing, but if she’s still here you have to find her. You’re so close. Fuck the pain.

Alas, when you reach the hall, it’s empty, there’s no guards anywhere. The hall is cold since the cold breeze creeps in through the open windows. You expect Daario Nahris to be here to protect Daenerys and the unborn child, but it’s too quiet. No one’s here….

Still! You continue to search desperately, you check each room again and again. You check the massive closets, every corner and secret door, but there’s no one, there’s only clothes left behind; her clothes that probably don't fit anymore. She’s the only one missing. Fuck,

“Fuck!” You exclaim and throw off the perfumes and glass containers on a vanity out of anger. “She’s not here,” you mutter to yourself. She’s gone!

At least her husband is dead now, so if she isn’t here then the battle should end soon, leaving you to do one thing now that you are here in Maegor's holdfast. The tower may be different from when you lived here, but the walls are still the same, the ground is unchanged, the halls still hold memories. So with your limp and pain, you drag yourself to the hall you once lived in.

Last time, a couple years ago you couldn’t come here, you were a mere guest undercover, but now you’re here in the same hall, your home. It doesn’t hold the same sweet scent as before, the halls aren’t brightly lit for you and your sister, but as you close your eyes you can still picture the good days, you can imagine your mother; fragile but sweet and loving. You can see Rhaenys chasing after you, you can see your fathers bright and long white-silver hair, you can hear him softly playing his music for your family.

This. This is your home. This is where you belonged, this is where you were meant to die before you could even truly live. Here. You’re home.

When you open the door that leads to where you last saw your mother, you wish to see her still there, helping Rhaenys read. You want her to look up to see you walk inside, you want her to greet you. You want to see her again, but all you see is an empty room, there’s dusty furniture, and all that greets you is the sound of bells beginning to sound in the distance; the sound of retreat. Their retreat.

Yet you can’t get up and celebrate, you can’t smile, you just fall on your knees and begin to sob as you’re embraced by the cold breeze and welcomed by ghosts. Your leg begins to hurt so you have to turn and sit down.

You don’t know how long you do end up staying there, the bells stop ringing at one point, but you stay there remembering and crying as you’re striked with agony.

A few more minutes pass of you all alone in the cold room before you hear Jon’s voice out in the hall. “Y/N?”

You lift your head and bring his attention to this room. “I’m in here.”

Footsteps shift before they hurry over to the room, as the door begins to open you see guards stepping in before Jon hurries inside to where you are on the floor. And before either of you can say anything you both embrace each other, finding relief in each other's presence even as dirty as you are.

“You’re okay,” you whisper and hold the back of his head. “You’re okay,” you whimper.

Jon lowers his head and digs his face in the crook of your neck. “I was so worried,” he muffles. “I couldn’t find you.” He pulls back and wipes the blood off your eyes. “I’ve been looking for you,” he says.

You reach over to cup his jaw and study his face for any wounds, but there’s only blood staining his skin. “Are you okay?” You ask him softly.

Jon grabs your wrists and nods. “Yes. Are you? What are you doing on the floor?”

You part your lips to explain the simple reason; you came here for Daenerys, you’re in this room because you wanted to remember, but tears just spill out and clear a path on your face caked with blood.

“I,” you stammer shakily. “I was meant to die here Jon. I was here and then that stupid cat distracted me. I never saw my mother again, Rhaenys, baby Aegon. I chased after the cat and never saw them again.”

“It was for a reason,” he assures you. “You’re here now for this. This very moment. They retreated, they’re leaving, it’s time for you to get on that throne, be what you were meant to be.”

You lift your gaze and meet his eyes. “You really believe that?” You ask. “Daenerys is gone, but she’s still alive. The war isn’t over yet.”

Jon shakes his head. “No, the war isn’t, but the fighting is done. Without the capital, or allies, Daenerys is done, she lost. Now it’s up to you. This fighting can’t be for nothing. You avoiding death that day happened for a reason, don’t you see it? I know it hurts. I know, my love. But we get to be safe with our children now, you can keep them safe and avoid them having the same fate you did.”

You scoff softly and offer him a sweet smile. “I’ve never heard you talk like that. You believe in fate?”

Jon blinks and shrugs. “I rose from the dead, I had nothing before, but after that I got everything I could have wanted. You, the twins. If that’s not fate then I don’t know what is.”

You smile wider and press your forehead agaisnt his. “You’ll rule with me then? Help me? Make this a good place for our kids? For…people who need help from the horrors of this world? So they don’t have to suffer the same way our family did? Because if you don’t want this we can leave this all behind. We leave now, we pick up the kids and leave.”

Jon nods softly. “I’ll follow you until the ends of this world. I will help you.”

Your heart flutters and your grin widens. “Good,” you whisper and then glance at your leg. “But help me up, I broke my leg.”

Jon pulls back and stares at you with a shocked expression, but you assure him. “It’s okay. That’s all that happened.”

He hesitates, but he then gets guards to help you with your leg before he helps you to your feet. And now since that adrenaline that once pumped in your blood has faded the pain is a lot more immense, now you need Jon by your side to help you walk.

This time though, rather than seeing empty halls once you reach the grande hall, there’s people, your people all bloody bruised but filtering inside slowly. The civilians once warned to hide or evacuate before and during the battle wander inside as well, slowly and cautiously. The once dark halls are slowly getting lit by candles and torches alongside the hall, and Daenerys banners get replaced by your new house banners.

“How many of our people were lost?” You ask Jon.

“We can discuss that later,” Jon says and glances at the open doors that lead to the throne room. “As for now, it’s time.”

You come to a stop to meet his gaze and smile softly. “Will you help me down there?” You ask him.

The corner of Jon’s lips tug to a smile before he offers you an assuring nod.

Now all that follows is the ascension. It seems like a long walk down to the throne, but you’re determined. It hurts to keep moving, but the throne is down the grande hall still filled with gaps on the walls from the last attack, the throne that was meant for your father, the throne built by your ancestors, your throne.

“All hail Queen Visenya, of House Targaryen, second of her name, Queen of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the realm!”

The murmuring goes quiet, and feet shift and shuffle as bodies turn to see you. There’s so many times as you walk down the carpet that you want to duck your head and avoid the stares of both your soldiers and the civilians that fill the hall, but they can’t see you embarrassed, they need to see you strong, so you raise your chin high and keep your lips upturned.

Besides as you get closer, Eraxis and Rhaegal appear outside the castle walls and land in behind the gaps that look inside the throne room. Some people get frightened by the presence of the green and white dragon, but they don’t leave, they watch you as Jon lets you go so you can climb the stairs.

However, you then come to a stop before you can climb up, and stare at the throne made of blades of fallen enemies with tears in your eyes. “This is for you Rhaenar,” you murmur. “This is for all of you.” You let out a shaky sigh and smile down at your rings on your fingers. You then peer back and notice Sansa beside your cousin Prince Mors, she meets your gaze and shoots you an encouraging smile.

You mirror her gesture before you face the glimmering metal throne again and continue to walk to it. It takes you a moment to reach the throne, but once you do Eraxis leans her head in through the gap and groans softly, as if comforting you. You look over at her and meet her dark eyes to shoot her a smile before you touch the cool metal and admire the grand design in awe.

This is for them, your family. All of them.

You finally turn to face the crowd and finally sit down on the Iron Throne.

“All Hail her grace!”Jon exclaims.

“Long live the Queen!”

You draw in a deep breath, and raise your chin smugly before you exhale and raise your hand to silence the crowd. Once the commotion silences you put your hand down and interject. “Let’s begin.”

——

*A COUPLE MONTHS LATER*

“Where’s your mummy?” You ask in a playful baby voice and peek through the gaps between your fingers, noticing Robb is serious now as he sees your hands over your eyes. “I’m here!” You exclaim softly and pull your hands off your face with a grin, causing the baby boy to blink in surprise before he starts giggling.

Your smile widens at the sound of his giggle, and then a knock raps on the door.

“Come in,” you announce and pick Robb off the bed to carry him instead. “Do you want to go find your daddy and your sister?” You ask Robb as if he can answer you at 4 months old.

“Your Grace,” you hear Ser Brienne say, making you turn to face her standing by the foot of the bed. “I have news.”

Your smile fades as you see how serious her expression is painted on her features, and probe quietly. “What is it?”

Ser Brienne blinks and sighs. “It’s Daenerys. We finally found out where she is.”

The amusement you just felt gets replaced with shock and disbelief over the news. Finally after months of not hearing about her, of not getting attacked by fire from the sky, or of being attacked by what remains of her army, they've found her. Now it’s time to finish your revenge, it’s time for Rhaenar to get justice.

“Good,” you mutter and walk to Ser Brienne. “Where? Is she at Meereen?”

Ser Brienne shakes her head and shares that Daenerys is hiding in Dorne, hidden past any town that would give her away, where Drogon can hide without being spotted, and where she can rest and wait for her child to be born. You should’ve known.

If she would’ve made it to Meereen someone would have told you, maybe she even would have even wanted to negotiate peace again, but there was not a word from her or about her and her army for months. She wasn’t at Dragonstone, nor at the Iron Islands, it’s like she disappeared. Until now.

And maybe hiding was for the best, you would have too if you were in her position. Yet the truth is nothing would have stopped you from searching for her, not becoming Queen officially, you would have searched for her until the ends of the world for your revenge. Now that she’s been revealed she’ll know what your revenge is, she’ll know the same pain you feel, the ache that still breaks your heart every single day.

“Mummy will be right back, okay?” You tell Robb as you play him in his cradle. “Your sister should join you soon.” You press a kiss on the top of his head and then brush his little black hairs down before you step back and turn to stride out of the room, even as he begins to cry because you’re out of his sight.

However, you don’t make it far out of the castle before you spot Jon, and Rhaenyra in his arms as they seem to be heading to the kids' chambers. “Hello my loves,” you greet them and lean in to press a kiss on Rhaenyra’s forehead before you give Jon a kiss on his lips.

“Eraxis and I are leaving. I’ll be back before Dinner.” You let Jon know as you pull back and caress his chin.

Jon’s gaze narrows in confusion. “Where are you going?” He asks since youre being vague, and you haven’t asked him to go with you.

You draw in a deep breath, knowing how he’ll react. “I’m…” you breathe out. “I'm going to Daenerys. They’ve found her in Dorne. I’m ending this war.” You caress your babygirl's cheek once more before you break away.

Nevertheless before you can continue to walk away, Jon’s hand wraps around your arm, forcing you to stop and look back at him curiously.

“You promised,” he says in a serious voice and with a deep narrowed gaze that makes you uneasy. “You promised you wouldn't hurt that baby. Blame Daenerys all you want, burn what remains of her army, but don’t hurt that baby.”

You could say thousands of reasons why you should, he’d understand now after all; he’s holding onto one of his twins that loves them with all his heart. He’d understand why Daenerys' kid has to get what it deserves, but you know him, you know his morality, Jon won’t understand, and you love him too much to see him go. So you lie.

“I would never do that,” you interject bluntly as you gently push his hand away from your wrist to continue outside towards Eraxis.

This time there’s no more stops, you reach your beautiful white scaled dragon and mount her to then ascend to the skies. You fly over green lands, through a small storm that soaks you entirely. You fly through white fluffy clouds that make you raise your hand to run your fingers through it, and smile. You feel the breeze turn dry the closer you get to Dorne; and the once green fields slowly begin to transcend to golden fields of sand.

Where Daenerys was spotted isn’t deep in Dorne, it’s passing Kingsgrave, just close to the center between that and Sandstone. The castle isn’t as big as you imagined either, it’s a small castle, only two stories high and with a pool in the center of the castle, making the castle stand out from the sky. Trees provide shade all around the castle, and there’s only a few Dothraki tents outside around the castle.

The strangest thing is that they don’t make any commotion. Drogon is resting by the side of the castle and doesn’t pay Eraxis any mind, he doesn’t attack either, letting Eraxis land with ease that begins to concern you. When your feet hit the ground you aren’t rushed by an army even if you have visible daggers hanging from your hips. It’s only once you reach the red doors that lead inside the beautiful vibrant castle that you get stopped by a couple of Dothraki men.

“<Turn back and return home, Dragonslayer,>” one of the men says in Dothrak.

You scoff and get ready to argue, but then a voice cuts in from inside. “<Let her in, the Queen demands it.>” Footsteps approach, and Daario Nahris appears out of the shadows with his eyes red and glistening with tears, with no armor on his body; instead his long sleeved shirt is baggy and stained with sweat, his sleeves are rolled and his hands are stained with spots of dry blood.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” he directs at you as he comes to a stop under the red door frame. “She’s…in there…waiting for you.” He points back inside, making you glance at where he points, spotting white sheer curtains flowing inside thanks to the soft wind.

“I want to talk to her alone,” you demand and meet his watery gaze.

Daario nods stiffly. “She is alone. You made sure of that.”

You blink unfazed by his comment. “You’re still here,” you counter and look at him up and down with judgment before you walk past him.

“Upstairs to the right, red door.”

You hum as you turn to walk up the stairs already. And as it’s you’re walking up is when you take the time to study the hall, to admire the tall ceilings that have pretty blue designs on it. You notice the greenery that drapes down the railings, and the gold design that wraps around the archway that leads to the courtyard. It’s all so simple and pretty, relaxing. If you didn’t come here for a purpose, you would enjoy it here.

But you have a purpose that’s fueled by rage and grief. The closer you get to the room the more that concern vanishes to nothing. Your cautious walk as you reach the second floor turns to a determined stride. You only pause for one second when a baby’s cry breaks the silence that haunted this castle.

“There you are,” you mutter to yourself, and draw in a deep breath before you break away from your spot and exhale as you continue to the room with the red door.

Once you reach the door you don’t knock you slowly open it, and the first thing that greets you is a maester and midwives.

“Get out,“ you demand coldly as you step inside the room.

“Y/N,” you hear Daenerys mutter, but you ignore her call and shift your eyes around the room until you spot a single cradle in the corner of the room.

There it is.

The maesters and midwives filter out, leaving Daenerys and you alone to dwell in a tense silence, letting you eyes lock on the cradle. Letting your mind think of nothing else but your craving for revenge, not even Daenerys laying on her bed, just blood. Rhaenar.

As you stalk towards the wooden cradle you pull out a silver dagger and feel your heart begin to race violently.

Bah-dum, bah-dum, bah-dum, bah-dum.

Daenerys says something as she spots your intention, as she sees the rage in your gleaming glare, but her voice gets tuned out as memories of Rhaenar play in your head; both when he was alive and when you saw his dead body. They let you raise the blade in your hand as you’re inches away from seeing what the cradle holds.

However, you pause as you spot the sigil carved on the end of the cradle. It’s the same one you saw in your dream, and actually now that you’ve see that you notice that it’s on the same cradle from your dream too.

But it can’t mean anything. It doesn’t. Not when you’re so close. So you push that to the back of your mind and take a few more steps until you finally reach the side of the cradle and see the small baby inside wide awake, squirming away.

It seems to spot you and stops to stare at you with its big green eyes. It meets your gaze and you hesitate, but it’s only for a moment because you remember Rhaenar too, you remember when he was that small, you remember what he dreamed of doing when he got older. You remember how excited he was to be bonded with Helios. You remember your son and you raise the blade with tears clouding your eyes.

You raise the dagger and swing it down as you begin to sob. But then, before the blade can even touch the baby, you stop as there in the reflection of the silver blade you see his face, Rhaenar. He’s looking at you with his sweet brown eyes with tears, and he’s shaking his head at you.

Whether it’s some apparition of him, or just your own mind and guilt playing tricks, the reality of what you wanted to do to that baby slams into you roughly. It makes your hand holding the blade shake, and for that anger that poisoned you to completely disappear.

You won’t regret the war you started, no, but it’s this action you almost committed that you do feel ashamed of. What fault does this baby have? He didn’t kill Rhaenar, he’s barely living.

Were you really going to become the same monster that took away your siblings? The same monster you spent your whole life fearing?

No, you cant. You can’t be that person. So you drop the blade and silence your sob so as to not startle the baby any further.

Besides, there’s something familiar about the baby, like if you’ve seen him before…in a dream.

Of course in your dreams all you saw was two cradles, one with your new house sigil carved on it, and the other with the old Targaryen sigil. And this cradle was the exact same one from the dream, this is what the dream means. This baby.

“Daeron,” Daenerys voice finally finds its way inside your ears. “His name is Daeron Targaryen.”

You wipe the tears away and smile softly at the baby as you reach in to pick him up. “Daeron is a perfect name for a little prince. Hello,” you mewl. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I scared you…I’m sorry,” you say again and this time turn your head to glance at Daenerys laying on the bed.

That’s when you notice how exhausted she looks, how much paler her skin is; she looks almost sickly.

“I was being stupid,” you continue to say and approach her with her baby boy. “Forgive me please. I was angry, I was missing him,” you cry as tears fall from your eyes.

Daenerys shakes her head. “There’s nothing to forgive,” she says softly while she watches you take a seat beside her. “I should be the one apologizing to you…” she pauses and lets out a shaky and labored breath that makes your heart slowly begin to sink—“it was because of me that your son was taken from you. It was because of me that our family broke apart. I…I lost my way,” she shares in a shaky voice. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

You part your lips and stare at her in disbelief. You’ve heard her be sincere before, she’s been vulnerable with you before, but this time it feels different, she sounds desperate.

“Y/N,” She insists and grabs your hand with pressure. “Say you’ll forgive me. I can’t—I need to hear it.”

Ah. Now you know. You’ve figured it out; why she looks so sad and sickly, why she hasn't counter-attacked for what you did to Gendry and what you took, why her army of Second Sons or Unsullied isn’t with her anymore…yet you can’t accept that truth.

“We’ll have all the time in the world to make up for what we did to each other,” you try to deny the cruel truth of what’s happening. “I’ll grant you forgiveness, you can live here in your house with the red door. Our babies can grow up with each other. Daenerys,” you whisper shakily.

Said woman begins to cry, but she still musters a soft smile. “That’s all I want for him. I want him to have a good life….with you and your twins.” She grins. “I want you to raise them together, like family.”

You shake your head. “Dany, you’ll be here. You’ll get out of this bed and watch him grow up,” you argue, and hand her her son to then cradle her cheek and continue to insist what won’t happen anymore. “You’ll be a great mother.”

Daenerys glances down at her baby and her smile wobbles. “Thank you for giving me this blessing. Whatever the intent was behind what you did, still thank you. Because of you I got to have him, my Daeron. I love him, y/n, please take care of him, raise him as your own. Love him as I would.” She lifts her watery gaze to look at you and plead. “Please say you will. I don’t have much time, I won’t have the pleasure of seeing him grow up. So please assure me before I go that…that you’ll take him. Please.”

You lean your forehead against hers and nod. “I swear,” you assure her.

Tagged: @watercolorskyy @jessimay89 @cecespizza01 @theroyalbrownbarbie @crybabyatthediscooffandoms @neenieweenie @midnightpantherxo @ashleyforeverareject @dark-night-sky-99 @starwarssluts @stargaryenx @defiantblade12 @cloudroomblog

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thisbluespirit · 1 year ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Sapphire and Steel Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Copper/Silver (Sapphire and Steel) Characters: Copper (S&S), Silver (S&S) Additional Tags: Ficlet, original elements, Prompt Fic, Kissing Summary:

Silver/Copper, kiss as a yes.

#fanfic #ficlet #sapphire and steel #copper #silver #copper x silver #original elements #prompt fic #kissing #kiss prompt meme #i have no idea why it took me so long to post these last 2. but here they are (last to follow)

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0the-duchess0 · 8 months ago

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Pokémon tag

Your favourite Pokémon

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Your ultimate Pokémon team

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And there you have it. Just as many Pokémon questions as there are original Pokémon. Enjoy!

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under-the-aspen-tree · 1 year ago

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A Moth To You (Chapter 5 - Needles and Swords) Aegon II Targaryen x (Bastard Velaryon) Reader

Series Summary: After a year travelling abroad, you have been called home to Kingslanding by your mother, Rhaenyra. Turns out your family has grown in your time apart.

Word Count: 4.8k

You were well prepared to stew in your own scornful anger for at least a day when you awoke the next morning, muscles aching from hours of dragon riding and a bruised ego that matched the deep purple marks lining your wrist and shoulder.

Memories from the previous night hit you in regretful lashes that had you groaning and throwing your palms over your eyes, unsure if you were more furious with your uncle or yourself. For a year you had been away, learning and maturing and growing into what should have been a well-mannered young lady. How had one night of wine and a regretful presence turned you back into the pre-pubescent girl you had been years ago? Full of rage and pride. More so, what had possessed you into thinking you could overpower Aegon, in mind or in body?

You had almost resigned yourself to your chambers out of shame and were about to ring your chamber bell to have breakfast brought to you, when you heard the ringing of steel echoing up through your window from the courtyard. Your eyes shot open at the sound, rolling so quickly you almost fell from your bed in a flailing of bedsheets and limbs.

Excitement coursed through you, filling the very marrow of your bones, and wiping the sour memories from your mind as you threw yourself to your vanity, combing and twisting your hair into something half decent and lacing the first dress your hands came to. It had been so long, so awfully long, since you heard the song of a sword, the groans and cheers from onlookers, the restful boasts of a winning hand. Not since your time in Winterfell had you awoken to the commotion and it had you whirling from your chambers without so much as a crumb of breakfast, a grin upon your face.

You had always loved to watch the men of court train, from young lords to soldiers, the clash of steel or wood had the wind ripped from your lungs. In youth, you had always loathed your position in that you could not join them, but with time you had come to make do with watching on. It was a fascination that a person could move so swiftly yet yield such power, that a step one way and a swing from the other could be the difference between life and death.

The courtyard was as you remembered, though near bone dry in the growing heat of late spring, and shadowed from the morning sun by the great stone walls and gates that surrounded the sparring square. When you came across the balcony, gasping for breath, you couldn't help but grin at the sight.

Jace was far down below, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead and the nape of his neck, frowning as he flexed his wrist, turning his sword in wide circles that glinted when it caught the sun. He was clearly taking a break, but you couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of him waving his sword around at an imaginary enemy. Luke, still training in strength and stance, had a stain of flushed red across his cheeks as he swung down upon a training dummy again and again, ripping straw and cotton from its body with every smack of his dull blade.

There were a few other boys, gathered in clusters, about the square. Some were sparring with humour in their eyes, laughing at each other's blunders before landing with their backs in the dirt. Others hardened and serious, movements so slow they could be fighting in water as they perfected their stances and swings.

And then there was Aemond. In truth, he was harder to miss than most. His long hair shone like spun silver, straight and prideful, laying like a veil about his shoulders. His eyepatch was nowhere to be seen, perhaps an inconvenience when one moved so quickly, and when he moved in a certain way, you could see a brilliant flash of blue from sapphire that rested where an eye should be. He had taken to the centre of the square, his remaining eye narrowed with determination and something close to amusement, and his lips were drawn into a tight smirk. He was winning. Even against Sir Criston Cole, swinging his Morningstar with the force and expertise of a battle-hardened man, Aemond was noticeably winning. It shocked you to realise that neither held faux weaponry, both of their tools holding the power to kill or main, and yet they seemed unbothered, making a dance out of avoiding steel or spike.

You watched in awe as Aemond spun and circled, dodging blows with the agility of a cat, his hair fanning around him with every twist. Cole was more brutish with his moves. Though quick and fearless, he conducted himself with more aggression, his Morningstar an extension of his arm. Where Aemond was fast and slippery, Cole was coarse and terrifying. Something told you either one of them could kill in a heartbeat and, for some reason, it only made you feel even more alive, hanging yourself over the balcony with an elated grin.

"Quite impressive, isn't it?" You almost jumped at the soft voice, hands slipping against the purchase they found in the stone, as you turned to the direction of the sound.

Helaena stood beside you with the grace of the mother looking upon her. Her hair was blonder than her brothers', reminding you of the stories of straw spun into gold, and her almond eyes were almost of a pinkish purple, like the sunset in Pentos. If you thought she was beautiful last night, she was more akin to a goddess this morn, wearing a silky gown of dusty lavender that complimented her milky skin.

Lost for words, a shade of awkwardness coming over you as you conversed with the girl for the first time in months, you dropped yourself into a light curtsy. "Aunt, it has been so long."

Helaena's laugh was like the tinkling of a bell, soft and delicate, and you couldn't help but grin as the sound. It reminded you of the castle cats, of their ringing collars that sounded their merry presence and just how happy the girl had been at the sight of them in her youth. She had always possessed a natural affinity for animals. "Your travels must have surely changed you for you to be so ladylike." She giggled with a sweetness only she possessed.

You smiled at her words, brushing your hair out of your eyes. "I seem to be taking my manners a little too seriously. It has been so long since I've attended court, I have nearly forgotten how to conduct myself," You admitted, still trying to keep a wide smile at bay as she looped an arm around yours and began to slowly walk, her skirt brushing your own in the breeze. It had been so long since you had walked together, you had almost forgotten what it felt like to be arm in arm.

"I shall do my best to bring you up to speed with things, dear niece," She teased.

"I would be most grateful."

Though you had never been close with your uncles, you and Helaena had been practically attached at the hip in your youth. Both bearing the title of your mother's only daughter, you found yourselves spoiled rotten by those in the keep, often sneaking to the kitchens for handfuls of sweets or cakes without permission as the cook looked on with a wry smile. Summer afternoons were spent in the shade of apple trees, braiding one another's hair, or reading under the morning sun. Helaena would delight in the opportunity to tell you stories of butterflies with wings of a hundred colours, only found in remote areas across the narrow sea, and you would hum softly as you stretched in the grass, sketching her from your parchment. When she caught sight of your drawing, her cheeks would go as pink as her dresses, but you knew she loved the renderings.

When you left for your travels, you both wept in one another's arms. She was closer to a sister than your aunt, and you were so worried that the time apart would leave you strangers. You could not have been happier to be wrong as she told you of the gossip at court, her eyes sparkling with an undercurrent of mischief when she brought up the pretty Hightower boy looking for a bride, or the lord from Riverrun with the voice of an angel. You hoped secretly, only minutes into speaking with her properly once again, that if she were courted, the lord would not take her far from home. You had truly missed what it felt to be a girl, having spent the past year being pushed towards eldest sons to be courted. There was something uniquely different about a friendship with a girl, innocent and sweet as summer berries.

"-Oh, and of course everybody is delighted to have you home. Mother seems gentler than she did before, don't you think? And your brothers are certainly happy to have you back. Jacaerys has been talking of you for weeks now, ever since Rhaenyra spoke of bringing you back. I do believe he has missed having his sister around."

You smiled in earnest at the compliment, turning towards where you could still see the boys training in the yard. "So, you have been speaking to my brother in my absence?" You wiggled your brows suggestively and Helaena went a soft pink, mouth dropping into a little circle before laughing.

"He is my nephew, of course I would speak with him. Your brothers are all very kind."

"Yes, yes," You laughed, only half mocking. It was a shame, truly, that Alicent had denied your mother's proposals of wedding your brother and aunt. They were the two kindest people you had ever come to know, and you were certain they would make a fine match together; Jace had always been gentle with the girl, perhaps even more so than he was with you. "However, I do believe your own brothers are not quite as fond of me."

You held a twinkle of amusement in your eye, yet Helaena's smile tightened a little at your words. "Yes, they are quite stubborn, but both can be kind."

You were forced to hold back a snort at that comment. Kind was certainly one word for your uncles, others being untrustworthy, cruel, bitter. When you looked up from the ground, watching your steps, you found Helaena's eyes on you. "You've spoken with them."

It was not a question so much as a statement, even perhaps an accusation. You only realised now how low your dress fell on your shoulders, how short the sleeves were. You wondered if she had noticed the bruises.

"I- Well, yes. Only Aegon," You sighed, turning forward once more to resume your walk. "It was my own idiocy, last night left me so angry. I thought that If I were to confront him, he would realise I am not a child to bully and belittle anymore."

Helaena pursed her lips at your words, frowning her gentle brows as she squinted against the sunlight. "Aegon can be kind sometimes, but he has a mean streak that emerges more often than not."

She sighed, looking downcast at her words as you began to descend a set of stairs. "You have been gone a while, we have all changed, but none more so than my brother." She gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm sure he will come around."

You could do nothing more than hum at her words as you came upon a candlelit room that overlooked the gardens, golden light illuminating the sunstone from where it poured in lavishly. A Septa was already sitting with other girls of a similar age to yourself, and you suddenly wished you were back on the balcony, overlooking the boys. Helaena smiled as though sensing your distaste.

"Come, sweet niece. I am sure you have let your studies go since leaving."

She was not entirely wrong. You had promised your mother you would continue your lessons in your absence, but if you had accidentally misplaced your embroidery in a crack behind your chamber drawers, who could she have been to place judgement?

A year apart from sewing had left you less experienced than you had believed yourself capable of. You were never as skilled as Helaena in youth, but now your attempts were pitiful. The Septa often looked over at your work with pinched lips, occasionally sighing as you slipped a stitch or wobbled on your lines where your aunts were perfect. Still, despite ending the day with sore thumbs and fingers full of scabs, you couldn't say you hated the time spent with Helaena, never failing to lift your spirits.

"I hear you spent your afternoons with the other girls," Rhaenyra commented, a hint of a smile gracing her lips at supper.

Thankfully, it seemed, your families did not take it upon themselves to dine together often, last night being a special occasion of sorts. You sat with just your brothers, mother, and Daemon around a comfortably sized dining table, nibbling on a slice of pie as servants brought out small dishes of meat, fruit, and bread. It was a comfortable affair. Taking a sip of your wine, you nodded with a smile.

"Yes, Helaena caught me in the morning. It was fun."

Daemon scoffed at your words, looking over at you with an impish smile and you were forced to look down at your meal, fighting a laugh. Your family had not, as it seemed, forgotten about your certain distaste for needles.

"Your septa had other words for your work," Your mother said pointedly as Luke let out a cough that sounded an awful lot like a suppressed laugh. She shot him a look full of warning and he returned to his meal, snickering lightly.

"I think we should all be glad she's making an effort with her duties," Daemon gave you look of utter amusement from over his meal. "She could still be running wild with a sword in hand."

Jace guffawed at that, and you couldn’t help but giggle along as your face reddened, slapping your brother lightly on the shoulder. "You're only laughing because I was better than you."

Your brother laughed through a mouthful of food, fighting to keep it down as he spluttered. Rhaenyra shot the both of you a rather disappointed look as Jace poured his glass down his throat, beginning to cough, and you burst into laughter at the sight of him.

When Jace had finally settled back down, slightly red in the face, he turned to you as though nothing had happened, only eliciting further giggles as you attempted to quiet yourself, ever aware of your mother's eye. "I'd like to see you try now."

"Ohh and what would you do? Swing it rather threateningly my way?"

Jace scrunched his nose, yet it was now Luke's turn to cackle at his brother. "You are a bit of a showoff in the yard, always throwing your sword around in case one of the ladies see you." He wiggled his brows and Jace shoved him away, though you could see the amusement there.

"I do not-!"

"Boys," Your mother's voice was quiet but stern, and both immediately turned back to their plates in silence, still side eyeing one another. When Rhaenyra turned to conversation with Daemon, and he was sure she wouldn't overhear, Luke turned to his brother with eyes full of taunt.

"Trying to show off to Helaen-" Luke's sing-song whisper was cut off with a strangled gasp as Jace's foot came into contact with his ankle, face scrunching into a glare.

It was strange, you thought you would hate returning to Kingslanding, leaving your home and happiness behind in Pentos. You had never thought of your sweet aunt or the ring of steel in the morning, the laughter over the dining table nor the pointless bickering of your brothers. Your uncles may have been a stain on your days, but they could not take away moments like these.

Kingslanding was decidedly better than you thought it to be.

The night air was cool and refreshing as you made your way from dinner, arm looped through Jacaerys' as he escorted you to your bedchambers. Dinner was a smooth event, and you greatly enjoyed your first proper reunion with your family, especially as the first was spoiled by the memory of Aegon.

"How are you finding it, being home again?" Jace spoke after a while of looping through corridor after corridor, sticking to the balconies so that you could look out over the grounds, dyed a deep blue in the darkness of night.

"If you had asked me last night, I would say I would rather be anywhere but here," You replied, giving his arm a gentle squeeze and looking up at him with a smile. "But a good night's rest and time with my family has proved me wrong."

Jace gave you an earnest smile, his eyes shining in the moonlight. You didn't know how you had gone so long apart from your brother, for now you couldn't imagine life without him. Even from childhood, you were both almost inseparable, only parting when he went to train, and you joined Helaena for study and play. He had defended your honour more than once, stood by your side through the death of Harwin Strong and Leanor Velaryon, keeping his composure so that you had a shoulder to cry upon. Born barely a year apart, you were almost twins, and despite you being the elder, he had always taken upon himself the role of 'big brother'.

Jace paused for a moment, placing a soft hand upon your shoulder. "You have no idea how grateful I am to have you home, sweet sister."

Your chin wobbled as your smile widened, shrugging off his hand and enveloping him into a hug. Your brother, your sweet brother who could do no harm, who only wished for the absolute best for all those around. You swore to yourself then, with your head pressed against his chest and your arms around him, that if you were to ever leave Kingslanding again, it would be by his side.

The sound of somebody clearing their throat, a deep and gravelly noise, had you shifting to detach yourself from Jace, fearful you had interrupted someone else's roaming of the castle at such an hour. Though before you could look towards the origin of the sound, your brother stiffened beside you, removing one arm while keeping the other firm against your waist, almost protectively.

"Nephew," You could have cursed the voice, for you intuitively knew who it belonged to. Looking from the dark fabric of Jace's tunic, you gazed upon the short white hair and pale lilac eyes of Aegon Targaryen, standing with his hands clasped behind his back and a wicked half smile upon his face. "Niece."

You nodded your head, lips pursing as you attempted to separate yourself from your brother again, yet his grip remained firm. When you sneaked a glance up at him, his eyes were of unrelenting fire.

"You have some nerve showing up here after the way you spoke of my sister last night." Jace's voice was firm and cold, authoritative in every sense, and yet Aegon looked on, unfazed, if not amused.

"What? Simply walking the halls of my father's castle?" He looked about pointedly, raising his hand to gesture to the balcony beside you all. Yet another mockery, you were certain of it. Aegon had no need to be here, no need to interrupt. If he had not come to purposefully seek you out, he certainly hadn't shied away from making his presence known.

"In our mothers halls?" Jace was unrelenting, a sneer taking form across his face. When you tried to whisper up to him, gentle pleads to let it go, he ignored you entirely, keeping his eyes upon your uncle.

Aegon grunted, fighting a scowl, before rolling his shoulders slightly, shaking the look of resentment into something cooler, a mask of friendliness. 'He is more deceptive than the scorpion,' you thought, biting the inside of your cheek as tension rose in waves across the hallway. 'That assures the frog he will not sting him, should he only let him upon his back."

"I only wished to apologise," Aegon said, holding out his palms in defense, and you had to bite back the frown that tugged at your features. The silver man stood still for a second, his lips twitching upwards into the smallest of smiles, though you noticed the malice behind those lovely eyes. "I was hoping to walk the Princess to her chambers, so that we may talk...

privately."

Your blood ran cold at the suggestion, though you fought to keep the hesitation from gracing your features. Jacaerys' lip curled at the thought, yet he looked to you for the answer, ever the courteous gentleman. You nodded stiffly, smiling up at him, though you felt slightly sick. You hadn't quite let go of your fury from the night before, but even more so you were embarrassed. Embarrassed that Aegon had gotten the better of you so quickly, embarrassed that you had been forced to flee his chambers in tears.

Your mother would have scolded you for this though, told you that a dragon never bows, nor relents, so you forced the shame to the back of your mind, saying a quiet 'thank you' to your brother as you stepped away. Aegon held out a gloved hand, and you looped your arm through his, feeling uncomfortably colder stood next to the man than you had done beside Jace.

You could feel the presence of your brother behind you until you turned a corner, watching you until you were far out of eyesight, and it wasn't until Aegon was sure that Jace was far enough behind that he spoke.

"Don't tell me you've been brought back to Kingslanding to marry him?"

Your lip curled, and you had to force yourself to hold your head high and not smack the man about the arm at the suggestion, already fighting off the red that began to sweep up your neck. "If it were any of your business, Aegon, I'm sure you would know."

He laughed lowly at your words, humorously, as you rounded another corner, coming across a long hallway of doors. Light glimmered faintly from beneath the boards, the soft sounds of the room's inhabitants readying themselves for bed. "So, you are? How disappointing that must be for you, though I'm sure someone of your station can never raise their expectations high."

Openly scowling, you turned your head up to him as you continued your walk, afraid that if you stopped you would be sucked into an argument that neither of you would end. "No, actually. In fact, a better match seems to be brewing between Jacaerys and your sister."

Yet again, Aegon remained unfazed by your words, simply looking onwards with those eyes of steel and violet. "They are both imbeciles so I am sure they would suit each other rather well."

Your nails embedded themselves involuntarily into your palms at his words, forcing yourself to take deep breaths so as not to entirely lower yourself to his standards. 'He wants to get you mad', you reminded yourself. 'Don't give him what he wants.'

So, you kept yourself cool, looking back out towards the rooms in front of you, sharp and cold as night. "I thought you wished to apologise for your behaviour, Aegon, not further lower your reputation in my eyes."

"You truly thought I meant to apologise?" The humour in his voice was antagonising. "No, I just hoped to piss off that idiot brother of yours."

You whipped around at that, pulling your arm from his as you finally made it to your door. Your hand was already upon the handle, ready to slam the heavy wood shut in his face should he further provoke you.

"Why must you be so pointlessly cruel? I have not been back longer than a day and you seem intent on plaguing every decent interaction with your hateful presence." Your words were a hiss of steel as you regarded those playful eyes. Aegon merely smiled, flashing perfectly white teeth.

"I thought we had this conversation last night," He leaned against the doorframe, tilting his head as he looked down upon you. You only straightened your spine, staring back with a hardened gaze. His lips were still turning upwards in a hint of a smile. "I don't like you."

"Finally," You laughed, exasperated, already inching the door open. "Something we can both agree upon."

In less than three seconds, you had whipped the door open, slipped inside, and slammed the door shut against the man, still looking upon you with glee. It was as though your words awoke something within him, something cruel and delightful, and you did not wish to find out what. With added force, you slid the bolt shut on your door with a jolting thud, effectively blocking him from attempting to enter, and you could hear his muffled laugh at your gesture as you leaned against the wood with a sigh.

It was long after his footsteps faded into the distance that you were finally able bring yourself to sleep.

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