#see you lovely people on the morrow
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I'm finally home for the day (it's coming up on 9 PM) and I had so much I was going to tackle, but I think I might just crawl into bed instead…? I'm absolutely knackered.
#giffing will be there tomorrow evening#laundry and food prep can wait#i'm so tired#literally nodding off right now#see you lovely people on the morrow#personal#imma delete this later
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Ok I’m probably not the best person to say this, but I’ve been seeing a lot of (as of right now) accurate insults on how the CGI approach for the Live Action Little Mermaid movie, but please be mindful that you don’t take things too far, and *especially* don’t start going after Halle Bailey (Ariel’s actress) and to a lesser extent, Ariel the character.
Antiblackness is still an issue in a lot of fandom spaces, and it doesn’t just come out as using nasty slurs or stereotypes. It manifests as drawing Black characters lighter and/or with more white features, it comes out as removing Black partners from ships, and it starts out as plausibly deniable insults that get the door open to microaggressions and outright nasty comments.
I’m not saying that all discussion of the movie should be stalled, or even if it turns out to be an artistic failure, that it doesn’t merit discussion. I’m saying that you shouldn’t extend your vitriol to the characters and actors.
If you really feel the need to insult her, it might be worth a little introspection. Ask yourself, “Do I resent that they changed Ariel, or that they changed Ariel in this way?”. You’re not irredeemable if your personal answer isn’t kind. Just be more careful, try and observe how that sort of world view affects your behavior to others, and then course correct.
A lot of little kids would love to see another Black Princess. A lot of little kids would love to have a Black mermaid as a main character. Hell, a lot of adults would love those too. Black fantasy characters have long been excluded, transformed, killed, merely in the background, relegated to stereotypes, villainized and have hardly ever in the spotlight, especially in major productions.
Don’t make it harder for kids (and adults!) to see themselves on screen. Don’t ruin their wonder. So don’t make unkind comments. Keep it to yourself. Frankly, Halle looks beautiful, and I can’t wait to see the sparkles in her fans’ eyes as she swims across the screen.
#live action little mermaid#the little mermaid 2023#Halle Bailey#I’m a white girl but the concept of a Black Ariel is near and dear to my heart#my best friend in elementary loved H20:Just add water and introduced it to me#and she dreamed (at least half then#we haven’t kept in touch) of ordering herself a mermaid tail to swim around in#and I really hope that she has. if she didn’t fuck up a year of college like I did (she was damn smart so I doubt it)#then she’s likely just about to graduate#M I hope you get a great paying job and can order yourself a beautiful quality tail and live out that little girl dream#you deserve it. I don’t think you had near enough#black girl Magic growing up. miss you#i doubt you’re on tumblr but just in case you’re wondering#‘is that me?’ I’ll give you a hint:#I used to say floober doober instead of cursing when we played Mario kart#I mean I did start cursing heavily later. but at first I said that#in any case idk if you’re still into mermaids but we both know you would’ve loved to watch this movie when you were little#this was both spurred on by all the flounder posts I’ve been seeing and ‘A Song Below Water’ by Bethany C. Morrow#one of the main characters Effie works as a Renaissance Faire mermaid and she talks a lot about#how people write fiction about her character but whitewash her or body swap her or would rather do self inserts#or the only comments made about her beauty are just about her tail and never about her Black skin or features#and how she (and her Mom before her death) were usually the only Black characters at the fair#and how she feels so beautiful and incredible being her mermaid self#also again I’m white so I don’t have personal experience but my younger brother is mixed#and he’s always been really lowkey about his feelings but#I took him to see Into the Spiderverse when it first came out#and he’s loved it since#here was this (adorable - don’t tell my brother I said that lol) lanky smart awkward hurting courageous Black boy on screen#and I can see in his heart how he’s been affected by it. he’s not a super fan or anything but I can just tell (big sister thing.) Anyways I#really hope that joy will happen more and more for everyone.
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Starry Nights
Summary ✩ Jace takes his little family on a night ride when they can’t sleep
Warnings ✩ None but I might have cried writing this
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“Zaldrizes.”
“Zaldrizes.”
“Lykiri.”
“Lykiri!”
“Go to bed,” Jacaerys tried.
“No!” Aemma giggled.
You chuckled quietly as you watched Jace frown at your two year old, once again unsuccessful in getting the tot to lay down.
He had been trying for the past thirty minutes, but Aemma was a stubborn child and she refused to go to sleep much to your husband’s frustration.
So far, Jacaerys had tried bribing her with the promise of sweets on the morrow, a bed time story, and now he gave in and was trying to teach her dragon commands so that she’d finally give in.
But nothing seemed to work.
Aemma was wide awake and hyper, clapping happily at little Moonknight who shared her crib.
Much to Jacaerys’ dismay, neither dragon nor baby seemed in the mood to sleep.
“I might have an idea,” You finally spoke up, feeling pity for your poor husband as you watched him.
You had been quietly lurking outside of the nursery, waiting to see if Jacaerys’ methods worked but it seemed like he needed your help. Not that your stubborn tot would really listen to you, either, but you hoped that what you had to say would please her enough to agree.
“Speak away. Please,” Jace said, exasperated as Aemma began to sing the alphabet to Moonknight. You smiled wildly as you crept in, cradling your small belly as you joined your husband and daughter.
“Mũna!”
“Hi darling,” You cooed as Aemma immediately stood up in her crib, reaching for you with eager hands while Moonknight screeched.
Taking your daughter into your arms, you propped her up on your hip and turned to Jacaerys.
“Why don’t we all go for a dragon ride?” You suggested. “The skies are beautiful tonight, and I think it will be good for all of us to burn energy before bed.”
Immediately, Aemma began shouting happily at the idea, bouncing in your arms but Jace looked at you with a concerned expression.
“My love, are you sure that is a wise idea?” He asked, placing a hand on your belly which had barely began to swell.
You were only two moons pregnant so it wasn’t very prominent, but Jace was still worried.
Always overprotective, he was, but you assured him that everything would be fine.
“The babe and I are strong, and besides. You haven’t taken us riding in a while either, husband.”
Between his wife and daughter, Jace knew that this wasn’t a fight that he’d win. Both of you gave him a pleading look that he couldn’t resist, though you were only teasing when you stuck your lip out.
“Pleaaassee? Kepa, please?” Aemma begged Jacaerys, and it took all but two seconds of looking at her little pouty face to agree.
“Fine. We will take flight but you have to promise to be careful,” He said, looking at Aemma and you. You rolled your eyes. “Hold on to your mother very tightly and remember—we must be very, very quiet. We don’t want the guards to try and stop us, alright?”
“Okay!” Aemma shouted. Immediately, she slapped a hand over her mouth and apologized, but Jace merely smiled and kissed the side of her head.
“It’s alright. Come on then,” He said.
You and him pretended to be on the lookout while Aemma trailed behind you, giggling excitedly and trying but failing to be quiet.
Her strained giggles echoed through Dragonstone, the castle silent and still at this time of night.
There weren’t many people around save for the guards on night watch and a few people stumbling around drunk. All of them gave you confused looks as you ‘snuck’ past them, Jace placing a finger over his lips to signal Aemma to be quiet.
“My Prince? Princess?”
Ser Lorent raised an eyebrow at your strange enterage, confused as to why you were sneaking around your own castle. You gave him a look and silently pointed to Aemma, mouthing ‘She can’t sleep,’ before grinning.
See Lorent seemed to get the message and he chuckled as Jacaerys suddenly grabbed Aemma, hoisting her up in his arms and shouting,
“Run! Run or else we’ll be caught!”
Laughing, they took off in a sprint and you followed them as the Kingsguard shook his head behind you. In no time, your giggling family of three made it to the Dragon caves, where Jace passed Aemma off to you to summon Vermax.
“Can I do it?” Not yet understanding the bond between a dragon and its rider, Aemma wished to do the honors but Jace shook his head.
“No, my love. One day you’ll be able to summon Moonknight on your own, but Vermax is my mount. He only responds to me,” Jace explained before continuing.
He shouted a few words in High Valyrian and you waited anxiously for the green dragon to appear. Usually, Vermax was restless at night as well, so it wasn’t a surprise when you saw him only a few seconds later, alert albeit not in a good mood.
“He’s always grumpy,” Aemma whispered in your ear as Jace soothed him.
You giggled.
“That’s because green dragons are known to be temperamental, my sweet,” You explained to her. “So we must be careful while mounting him, okay?”
Aemma rapidly nodded her head, showing that she understood the importance of approaching the dragon slowly and with respect. Honestly, you were quite proud of your little girl as she joined Jace quietly, her father lifting her in his arms so she could pet the beast.
Vermax chorted and sniffled at Aemma. For a moment, you held your breath as his eyes fixed on her, a mother’s worry never ending. Thankfully though, it ended up being a sweet interaction, Vermax nudging her with his snout before bending his neck.
“Come, my love. He’ll let us ride him,” Jace informed you, and you stepped forward.
Your husband was the first to mount and to ensure her safety, Aemma went behind him. She sat excitedly in the space in front of him, leaving only a small gap for you to squeeze into behind her.
With your back pressed against Jacaerys’ chest and your arms firmly around Aemma, all three of you buckled up. You made sure Aemma’s belt was especially tight before you nodded to Jace, signaling that you both were ready.
Once his girls were situated, Jace called out a command to Vermax and you were soon up in the air.
“Wow!”
No matter how many times Jace had taken you flying, the feeling of soaring through the clouds on dragon back was always magical. There was nothing like feeling the raw wind in your face, tasting the sweet air of the heavens as you flew through them.
“Mũna! Kepa! Look!”
In front of you, Aemma was a ball of amazement as she pointed to the stars. Her little eyes were wide and ever curious as she took in the night sky, babbling about all the constellations that she recognized.
You could tell that Jace was proud as he chuckled behind you. After all, he was the one that taught your little girl about them, and it warmed your heart to see her so excited.
Eventually, she pointed a star and said,
“Mũna!”
Thinking she was trying to get your attention, you asked, “Yes my love?” You looked to where she was pointing, thinking she was trying to tell you about a specific constellation but she shook head.
“No! It’s mũna! Mũna, Kepa and Aemma,” She explained excitedly, pointing to three specific stars.
They stood out against the night sky almost like a beacon. On the left was a medium sized star, nestled next to a large one in the middle and the smallest one to the right of that.
It took a moment to realize she was seeing your little family in the stars.
“Yes, my sweet. It’s us,” You laughed as Aemma clapped happily, holding her tight as warmth flooded your veins.
Neither you or Jace could stop smiling as Vermax finished his trek. By the time the dragon had circled over Dragonstone for the third time, you were sure that your cheeks were going to split from happiness.
Your heart felt full, ready to burst and Jace’s did as well. He grinned down at your daughter, victorious when she stilled in your arms.
“I think it worked,” You told Jacaerys, grinning as you cradled her sleeping body to your chest. You were careful not to wake her as you landed back in the dragon pit, bidding Vermax a goodnight whilst the dragon slunk back to his caves.
Then, the three of you then went back the way you came, nodding to Ser Lorent in victory as you entered Aemma’s chambers.
“Goodnight, issa vēzos se qēlossās,” Jace whispered as you laid her down. Immediately, she curled up with Moonknight and you could see light shining in your husband’s eyes, the love and the warmth as bright as the stars.
You kissed her forehead.
“Goodnight, my love,” You whispered as well.
Your daughter and her little dragon only snored in response.
—
Translation
Zaldrizes / Dragon
Lykiri / Calm
Issa vēzos se qēlossās / my sun and stars
tagging my jace nation babes 💓
@alyssa-dayne @benjinotes @eldrith @earth4angels @vee-mage
#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd x reader#jacaerys velaryon#jacaerys x reader#jacaerys velaryon x reader#jacaerys targaryen#🪄˚ ༘ time cast a spell on queue
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i'll hex you, i'll possess you
pairing(s): aegon ii targaryen x wife!reader, aemond "one eye" targaryen x reader (unrequited/one sided)
synopsis: Your husband is gone. He perished in whatever was left of the battle, seared flesh, and dragon’s tar. As unbearable as it was, you fight for his throne against his brother. Believing it is for his for the taking.
notes: mentions of s02ep05, i fr feel so bad for aegon :( also cw: hints of obsessed!aemond (bc he's insane :D)
In quite a haste, you sped past all the onlookers like flies. They were nonexistent in your peripherals, your attention was entirely up ahead to the King’s chambers, the Kingsguards who stood by. Your Grace, they would say before allowing you passage past their protection. You took a glimpse, here in the dressing room for the King. Your King.
“Your Grace!” The seamstress chirped, turning to greet your lovely smile. And your righteous presence everywhere you went. It affected all now that you were the face of King’s Landing. It’s a hefty duty, yes, however, it seemed many subjects were willing, if not encouraged, of your subsequent role as the consoling figure for the realm to look to.
In front of a tall mirror was Aegon, in full Valyrian armor. You’d guessed the armor was passed down through his ancestral line, ancient, and beautiful it was kept. All the plates fit him perfectly with little alterations to adjust. Yet absent of the signature helmet paired with it, his blonde hair lay just above his shoulders, gently.
Ever so kind were your visage toward the King. You could feel the corners of your lips curve warmly at the sight of him. He was handsome and eager to appease the people of his kingdom. Though he may not be the first choice for Throne, you knew he was trying his best to uphold the responsibilities and burden those must bear. You would have to bear it as well if you were Queen.
“Good morrow,” You breathed, flattening the wrinkles of your dress as an excuse to eye at Aegon, openly. There was nothing to hide, simply it was different from his normal attire. In armor, in all of your lifetime, you never had to experience warfare, for better or worse.
“Ah, my lovely wife!” In exclamation, your husband turns to compliment your captivating smile as he gleams contentedly. He takes a few steps down from the small stairway from the miniature podium, while some of his personal Kingsguard can be heard snickering. Which you wholeheartedly ignored as your attention laid straight to your King’s beaming face. “Just who I wanted to see!”
“I must speak with you,” Through your expressed delightfulness, the tone of your voice is quickly replaced with a sour one. And it seemed to have caught the attention of the seamstress and others in the room as they all paused at your subtle notion of privacy. “Alone.” Only when you mention it, it’s as though they were a flock of birds, all fleeing from the chambers at once. A few clatters and suddenly the doors were quietly slammed shut with a whisper of a demand.
However, your husband did not seem fazed at all. He merely shrugged, casually walking to fill a cup or two with wine. Yet a visible glower can be caught right after he steps off the podium and to the table of beverages. Sometimes his reaction to your urgency was comedic. The King was never one to take duties earnestly. It’s one of his eminent flaws that all of the townsfolk and servants knew of. His days by the Silk Roads were but a regular story. But now, he is a changed man, Aegon thinks. They’ve witnessed all of his mistakes and tourneys. He’s young and has never been as interested in duty as his siblings. And now suddenly, he was pulled onto the seat as King. And you would have to sit beside him and watch. As a graceful symbol yet mute on what to say on any matter.
How horrendous was that?
“What troubles you, my sweet?” The sound of liquid plops as all of the noise from the outside world becomes muffled. For the past few days, it has been the most chaotic and tragic period of your life. Not just for you and Aegon, but everyone in King’s Landing. Your son, Jaehaerys, was left for dead at the hands of a murderer and false ruler. Panic was running through the streets of Flea Bottom. People questioned the King’s cruel punishment of the rat catchers though Aegon did not care for their grief.
To you, it was more than sadness. But anger and confusion, all of your pent-up emotions ever since living in King’s Landing have made you become this way. The Capital has changed you. To who you were as a person and figure of nobility. Now you were suddenly the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, yet only moments ago, you were the princess of the firstborn son of the King. You should have expected war to come between siblings over the throne, yet your father persisted that the marriage would’ve led to success. Having lost your child, your son, made the promise to communicate more to Aegon. To somehow seek solace in the empty void of your heart in whatever left the world had.
“You named Ser Criston Cole your Hand…” You mumbled slowly, the last words faded out into thin air. Was he wrong to do so? You did not want to say. For the little you knew about the battle being played at hand, you knew Aegon’s impulsiveness would come to the cost of many. Especially of the Council when they have refused relentlessly his thoughts and suggestions. So perhaps this decision would cause more upbringing for the noblemen to bleat about. “Why?”
A muffled sound and then a snort comes out of his mouth as Aegon proceeds to sip his wine. As if not a care of the world or your concern over the matter. “And why does this concern you?”
He does the courtesy to hand you your cup, as you clasped it eagerly to swallow whatever worry your heart must feel. The Queen Regent, Aegon’s brother, Aemond, and even Criston Cole, all look for you in the guidance you have over their King. You’ve yet to make it clear that you don’t control him like many others would consider to do. You’d think it's heartless to manipulate a man of his feelings, especially your husband.
Eventually, you lay the cup down, trailing your finger around the outer details of the golden goblet. It’s glimmering through the sun, carefully designed with outlines of a dragon and flames that surround the jugular of the base of the cup. It curves and twists under your palm as you proceed to swirl the liquid inside and watch as a mini typhoon is formed.
“Do you believe your decision on making him Hand was just?” You lift your gaze to be met with his bright purple eyes. It always seemed intense and vivid in color whenever his attention was on you. As if you were the only person that mattered in the room. And if not at this moment.
You looked ravishing, decorated in his house colors with pops of gold from the jewelry and headwear. You had no shame in exemplifying wealth because he would give you everything willingly. No matter the cost or debt, every piece of gold, and diamond was meant to be yours. He watches as your golden droplet earrings jingle when you shake your head, contemplating your next words. “Because I do not think that was the wisest decision to be made, husband.”
“And, care to explain why?” Like every little piece of his childhood, Aegon looks at every objective like a game. Though he looked like he was trying to resist your hesitancy for his new Hand, he was staring into space at the glorious jewels that make your figure and face pop out more.
You urged, before meeting the King by the tableside where the pitcher lay. “He is a warrior, not a politician,” You set your goblet aside, to look your husband in the eye more closely. “He does not know the ways of the people, especially those who he surrounds himself with. He was born lowborn, making him more naive than aware of tellings.”
Yes, you make great points, he would say if you did not have that adorable scowl on your face. Aegon would admit, he was getting drunk by the minute. And your presence did not help in his regard to be sober. Regardless, he does take account of your calls, more than most that surround himself with. Everyone at the Council is eager to spout their plans and news, it makes him deaf to the ear when they have nothing to contribute when he suggests something. Nevertheless, you at least are supportive of his thoughts. Despite your constructive nature, he appreciates and craves your attention.
Your King hums, drowsily and that was when you knew his mind was somewhere else. You would admit, you too were becoming tipsy with alcohol. After the morning Council meeting, you rather have your head hung outside with ratcatchers at the mess of the Council. You glance at his attire once more and this time, he catches you. He sees you, the way your doe eyes wander up and down his figure. He rarely has a chance to wear dragon armor like this.
“Distracted, are we?” His breath immediately inches away from yours. And the scent of strong alcohol stings. You’re so accustomed to it, that you’re surprised you would still rebuke the scent of it. Apart from that, the look Aegon gives you makes your heart weak. His smile is sluggish but pulls you in like a serpent in water. It’s alluring and hypnotizing, the way his focus wanders in all of you, and the same for him. You can’t help but wonder if the work of the armor was tricked. And you let your desires plunder when you trace his breastplate armor. Of the harsh outlines it’s supposed to represent dragon scales. It’s majestic and divine, fit for a king.
Almost timidly, your husband giggles at your touch. He separates a stray hair from your cheek, allowing leeway more into your personal space. You can’t feel automatically embarrassed if someone were to barge in. Because anyone could, the seamstress, Kingsguard, or worse, his mother.
“Wear that armor more often and perhaps you’ll receive more than indecent staring,” A mischievous grin forms as again another jingle of your golden jewelry. Gods, you’re enticing and coy. Had he mentioned that? More than once.
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The first time you were at Court, it was a spur of surprise. Not only had you arrived with Prince Aemond unannounced, but Aegon encouraged it. You would suspect the disapproving faces of the men, especially coming from the King’s Hand and grandsire. How he ploys and plots with every citizen of King’s Landing to do his bidding. To save the Realm, of course, more to have the most influence in the city. You were aware of what he thinks of you. An obedient and dainty princess. The Queen and wife to the King should have no right to speak of politics.
And yet here you were.
“You do not have a seat in this Council,” Queen Regent, Alicent urges, gazing at her second son with slight apprehension. In doubt, she feels a quick quiver of fear the moment Aemond strides past the Council table. When it came to you, Alicent could only muster a poor glance. The one-eyed prince proceeds towards the map of Westeros that stands beside the King. He strides in confidence, abruptly ignoring every piercing stare bestowed on him. Other than him, you reached towards the seat at the opposing side of your King, hand delicately trailing down the handles of the chair.
“Aemond is my closest blood and our strongest sword. I welcome him,” Aegon lay unfazed at the subtle shocked expressions on everyone’s faces. “As for my wife, I think it should be customary for her to be by my side even in Council. As my father has allowed you to do for him, remember mother?” A playful grin, all-knowing of his lightheartedness, and carelessness of what others thought of his decisions. Surely his mother would be the most understanding, bestowing the same position many years ago when King Viserys was dealt ill and immobile. Shouldn’t the Queen beside her King as should they in every instance?
Alicent is silent in her displeasure. There was no reason to refute the King’s wishes and sometimes made you appreciative of Aegon’s power and status. Being King was a risky position however it offered you more freedom and the ability to speak your mind more often than not. Your husband was the cause of this leverage for the most part. You expected the Queen Dowager to give you any kind of sign of comfort except there was none. Only but a forgotten thought and you were dismissed.
It fills you with dismay, a small black hole for where her approval was meant to be. For the last few days, you’d only wished for Alicent’s consoling eyes.
“We should send troops marching to Harrehal, the Riverlands have the largest force.” Aemond waves his hand over where the location of Riverrun is plastered on the wall. It’s curved in cursive lettering, surrounding soft green fields, most notably of their Southern lands, which was an inhabited place of divided houses and discourse. The largest force, it had many issues of compromises and its lordship. “With them, Rhaenyra’s forces would be left vulnerable on land.”
The accordance of hums coaxed the second son with assurance. A sense of pride if you will, knowing how much more skilled and knowable he was than his brother. But the Hand was quick to question his methods.
“And what of the small Houses of Riverrun? The Brackens and Blackwoods have been fighting each other for centuries. They would never work together as one,” Otto points out and it brings more skepticism and worry to the other Councilmen. Alliances with the Southerners were awkward. They do not know when or where to stop the fight. And it has become extremely bothersome at the time of war. The Bracken and Blackwoods were examples of that. They proceeded with the war more for themselves and would kill hundreds of their men if it meant to end their rivalry before the war even began.
“We should negotiate with smaller Houses beyond the River lands then,” Your lips shudder slightly when the immediate eyes turn to you. Even your husband stares at you in astonishment and curiosity the same. Alicent looks at you warily. And Aemond, all too mysterious, holds a neutral look. “Would it not help Ser Criston Cole secure more of the surrounding Houses towards their larger forces? Gaining allies along the way to Riverrun would only add more to our numbers,”
“And in truth, give us a better advantage to overruling Riverrun altogether?” A devilish grin was on Aegon’s face at your suggestion. Your advice seemed promising and seemed risky but it was the most practical. King’s Landing had more advantage on land than the sea or sky, therefore it was evident in their leverage over the smaller Houses close to Riverrun.
You tilt your head in amusement, all while lowering yourself to sit down. Yes, even though you had no experience in politics or war, you listened. You had ears whenever you managed to walk past one of their meetings. It should be frowned upon but you did not care. You wanted to have more say in protecting your family and House. Most things had been provided for you at an early age. You were a princess with a wealthy father, negotiations were your family’s specialty. You learned early on how to enunciate and please people with the way of your words. And here, you simply voiced what you believed was the safest way to Riverrun. Despite all the demeanors, none of the other Councilmen had anything else to say or disprove of your plans.
“Good! Then it’s settled then,” The king rises, as well as everyone else who feels startled at his shifted demeanor. “Then Ser Criston Cole should prepare some men for the long journey ahead of us by dawn!” It was then you felt some sort of pride that would solidify your position at the Council. As long as you hold a strong mind, should your advice become helpful towards the men, you’d hoped they would see your presence as a blessing.
In some midst of it all or perhaps the end, Aemond is quiet. He’s curious and admires you for everything you strive for. Many people would assume he despises you for taking the initiative to aid his king. But he does not believe in that no, you’re a delicate thing and would never be selfish on greed. Merely he can appreciate your ambitious strides from afar. The way you act around the people, the Council, and his mother makes him believe you were born into the role of Queen. You care for your subjects and think of what’s best for them. You do your best to stay by your king’s side even though he lacks the mind for it.
Perhaps maybe, in some cases, he should’ve had you.
The words struck right out of his head just when everyone was dismissed. While the nobleman rushes out of the council room, he delays his leave momentarily to catch a glimpse of you. You define the example of his House’s wealth, always proud to dress in colors of black and crimson red as if it was your second skin. However you do not forget about your own House colors, you embrace it all together with his own and it makes him wonder what kind of beauty like yourself can be persuaded by the likes of his brother. You were quick-witted, amusing, and altogether undeserving of Aegon’s love.
You do not immediately flee the room as his mother or Ser Criston Cole had done. Instead, you slowly rise from your seat and make your way to your husband, eagerly. Aegon sits comfortably in his golden chair, smug with loving eyes at your figure. He could not help but eye at you openly even with his Kingsguard standing beside him.
“Aemond, may we have the room?” He hears his older brother say. It does not take a blind man to know the following events as the one-eyed prince simply tilts his head in your direction. Before storming out of the room and the slam of the doors. His footsteps clank against the cold cobblestone pavement as he makes his way to his room. But all he could think about was your lively laughter as he disappeared from the scene.
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The day after Cole’s troops arrived back at King’s Landing, you felt a string of worry crawling down your spine. As you pace across your bedroom, you fiddle with the ends of your loose hair to solace the anxiety you feel in your stomach. The pit was too unbearable as more men would be escorted out towards Rook’s Rest. After Aegon removed Otto Hightower as Hand, Criston Cole became the primary candidate for the position. You voiced your concerns before but Aegon had yet to change his decisions on your advice.
Now rumors have spread that by the time Cole invades Rook’s Rest, Aemond would be by his side to counter whatever attack Rhaenyra plans to defend her councilman. It would risk losing one dragon, the biggest and largest female beast you’d seen. Doubt fills your mind when you try to shake your worries away. You shook your hands feverishly and swatted away the sweat building up against your palms. You must speak to Aemond. You should warn him of the consequences of this act.
You found the prince outside of the castle. Vhagar resides in a shallow space close to the gateways to the city and is attentively monitored for her whereabouts. Very few dragon keepers watch over the powerful beast for her dangerous nature and size. As a cart, full of sheep was being carried by horses, you looked in awe at the amount of necessity the castle must provide for their dragons now. Surely it would impact the people’s living and cost. It worries you how chaotic and unlawful the palace seemed to behave in times of war. Even though you find yourself wanting to question Aemond’s intentions of helping Cole this way.
Your words settle like a soothing wave in his ears. “Prince Aemond,” And when the one-eyed prince spots you, holding the reins of your horse with a steady hand, he’s not afraid to show his approval of your presence. The colors you wear today are regarded as wealth and beauty. The golden linen stretches along the cloth of obsidian, representative of his House, your House. The gown expands upon your collarbone, allowing the silver necklace you have on to become the ire of his attention. It entices him, brings him into your line of view. Clear cut diamonds you had on your earlobes, they jingle at the slightest movement you make, as you make your way towards him with ease.
“Your Grace,” He prompts, politely. He is a plain canvas for you to paint over, to inspect over. You should not be afraid of his presence because he behaves well under yours. The prince regent eyes you down carefully and you’re vaguely reminded of the day before, the two of you entered the Council room.
“How was your ride with Vhagar?” You tenderly incite, head tilting towards his beast. Vhagar sits lazily with her entire body blended into the environment. Her muddy green scales combine with the grassy interior. The dragon pits were deemed too small for her size. And more so claustrophobic for a creature of her caliber, as a champion of many wars and destruction, Vhagar is rather docile for being the largest dragon.
He hums before easily answering. “The morrow dew is not something to be missed during this time. Vhagar could sense it, and the warm breeze is sure to come sooner for summer,” He crossed his arms behind his back as if analyzing your every breath as you walked in irregular patterns, trailing along where his dragon resides. Your attention was not fully on him. No, not that he wouldn’t mind. But it was ignorant on your part to ignore him so easily. “Now save the rest of this nonsense for supper or shall I ask what were your real intentions for coming here? Though I welcome it,”
You catch onto his coarse tone. Aemond dislikes those who do not take him seriously, like his brother. And you are aware of his estranged heart. You give him a look of consideration. It was the look of someone who had the upper hand. You knew he was becoming impatient with your meddling.
“What are your plans with Criston Cole going to Rook’s Rest?” Your figure fully faces him now as you cup your hands together modestly. Surely the prince of the realm should respect the Queen’s uncertainties when he meets with the King’s Hand behind his back. A sliver of dread falls on the blonde prince as you take a step closer. “Consoling with the Hand without the King’s presence is extremely demeaning, my prince. Surely you have a right reason to go behind his back,”
He takes a step forward, as Aemond’s eye moves back and forth from you. “We have a plan,” He is recursive in his thoughts and manners. Yet under your eyes, he feels utterly weak and broken, as if you have put a spell on him. “It is best if the King does not intervene.”
Shaking your head disapprovingly, you fake disappointment. “Then what do you plan to do?” The longer it went on, the more you could feel his blood rising at the way you glanced and teased at his exploits. “As I, the Queen should know.”
“You need not,” The second son grunts, moving away to leave whatever conversation you were trying to muster with him. You intended to snuff out his plans with Criston Cole and expose them to your King's husband. Your King husband. What would he know of battles and formation? He knew better strategy than him yet you still side with Aegon with his pathetic whims on the townsfolk.
Unsatisfied, you shot a disapproving grin. “I know you intend on attacking Rook’s Rest as a surprise, why else would you go with Cole?” You heard his mudded footsteps stop momentarily as you continued. “My question to it is, what are you trying to prove out of this act of disloyalty?” It flicks a trigger in him. A quick flash of anger, jealousy, and disgust, all coiled into one hole that explodes.
“I intend to prove I am the better fit as heir,” His tone is sharp and alert as he stomps back to you with a violent gaze. His one good remaining eye, unharmed and uncut, shoots daggers at your stern face. A small part of you thinks he is handsome. The way you can rile him within seconds gives you a sense of joy and satisfaction that quenches whatever annoyance you had of him before.
“There is no denying that,” Your lips agape still at how much you were able to pry out of Aemond. However, there was one detail you needed to remind him of. “But you fail to recognize that Aegon still has an heir, Maegor.” With that, you close your mouth to form a thin line as you stand more confidently against the prince’s deadly stare. “And as Queen, I hope you do not try to cross your King’s benevolent trust with your anger.”
It was his turn to remain there motionless. The one-eyed prince repeats your words over and over again. He contemplates them long and hard, glaring at the ground, at where you stood, close to his breath and space. But all of his emotional desires could be examples of an ill temper. You twist and turn his head like a puppeteer to a helpless marionette. And his strings had long sprung and trapped him in an immobile place.
He leaves without a word.
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The battle was over. But the war continued. You became increasingly paranoid as no word from Cole’s army of Aegon’s wellbeing. You heard unreliable news. This and that but you wanted the real thing. The truth from a real member who had witnessed the battle at Rook’s Rest. As you twist the ring on your finger, you glance towards the rising crowd in the city. There were so many citizens. They succeeded and followed like colonies of ants.
Your anguish was reassured when the sight of the King’s army appeared. Shouts and screams returned you from your thoughts as hundreds of men walked and rode on horseback. Your lively expression did not last long, only to falter when meant with their solemn faces. What a grim battle it must’ve been.
“All hail King Aegon! Who went against and slain the traitor, Rhaenys, and her dragon, Meleys!” Cole exclaims in a harsh and undeserving undertone. From where you stood, on the high mounts of the castle, you saw the horrors of what they’ve done to the traitors. A severed head of the Red Queen, without her rider. Her flesh was torn and burnt. Charred from the attacks of another dragon, you did not believe Aegon had done so. You had doubts and Criston’s indifferent frown proved your intuition.
Alicent was by the patio where you spied on the citizens of King’s Landing. She observes and feels a familiar dread from the aftermath she has yet to witness for herself. You have taken the position of Queen and in turn, must understand the order of things. Simply because she had a feeling that things did not seem as they were predicted by the townsfolk.
When the wooden carriage of your husband is delivered to your bed chambers, everyone storms aside for the guards to set it on the floor. You arrived shortly after, nails and teeth clenched in fear as your mother-in-law appeared beside you with the same fixation. And somewhere else, your brother-in-law, Aemond carefully watches your scared position. The lid lifts and the soldiers hold onto the emergency bed that protects their King. In a swift motion, they lift and allow the body to hover over your shared bed.
In patience and precision, Maester Orywle walks into the chambers with several other maesters under his wing to begin a procedure and analysis of his injured body. The room is quickly transformed into a medical room, with various tools and gadgets displayed for the maesters disposal. You had little clue what they were doing, worried about your husband’s awakened state.
“How is he?” You stumbled by the foot of the bed, where the other maesters scurry to give off Maester Orwyle a scalpel. Gods, the wounds he had mustered. You felt terrified and rightfully so. This could be the last time you see your husband, alive and breathing. “Is he awake?”
“I’m not sure, Your Grace,” Maester Orwlye replies with adequate patience. Knowing the panic and hysteria you must feel for your king, your husband, he pities in your state. You should not deserve such sorrow. “But I must be given time to work on his fatal wounds. Whether he lives or not will be confirmed afterward.” His unflinching face softens when glances at one of Aegon’s personal Kingsguard to escort you outside. The knight nods and walks forward to excuse himself before coming forward.
“My apologies, Your Grace,”
Yet you did not want to leave. Your palms felt hot and guilt-ridden with the idea of leaving Aegon alone to suffer. You urge, taking a step forward for only Maester Orwyle to hear. “How long can you be sure he will survive?” It’s so hushed with desperation in your voice. But the maester could only respond with a sorrowful shake. It breaks your heart wholly, to know not even the best medical professionals had a clear understanding or answer to their King’s expectancy.
As you feel pathetic tears, ready to fall, the Queen Regent rushes to take hold of your forearm. She drags your pitiful self out of the chambers. The bodies that remained stepped aside for you and Alicent to leave swiftly. A quick flash of silver and black vanishes from your peripherals, but you cannot process anything that is happening anymore.
The syllables of your name ring against your ears as the Queen Regent tries to bring you back to her. “My dear, please focus on me.” Delicate fingers drape a hold of your jaw, firmly. They smooth over the apples of your cheeks, smoothly and soothingly like a gesture a mother would do for their children. “You need to stand strong for Aegon and yourself. Your children, think of Jaehaera and Meagor! Pray to the gods for his health.”
With that, you took a deep breath.
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Aemond was avoidant to the whole ordeal. No one besides Criston Cole was there when he found his brother’s scorched body. Alongside his dragon, Sunfrye, it looked as though he was fighting for his last breath. Aemond would’ve taken that chance to send him to eternal sleep if not for Cole’s arrival. A pity for him.
As he watches the scene before him, your grief-stricken features are what caused the most pain. You resembled a tragic painting, so angelic it’s saddening to see you this way. Aemond could’ve done it. He could have killed his brother and taken the glory of killing Meleys. Despite that, he did not and stormed from the scene. Now left in the shadows of what’s to come, he numbly waits for the maester’s work to be done with. The Council meeting will begin shortly. After Aegon’s procedure and Maester Orywle, official confirmation of whether he would live or not would determine whether he would become the true heir or not.
This was what he wanted, yes?
Except, everything was bleak now. All the colors he witnessed were suddenly wiped; now all he saw was black and white. Your tragic face comes into mind, along with your fragile sniffles and tears. Gods, he wanted to comfort your sweet little heart. Yet knowing he was the cause of it, made Aemond strangely more devoted to you. If Aegon does not survive, you are bound to be a widow. Your youngest child, Meagor was still but a babe, unfit and too young to understand what an heir was. Therefore he would be the rightful option if all else failed. He would rule in the King’s stead.
That was what the one-eyed prince considered when he stepped through the doors to begin the Council. The King’s chair was empty as expected, looking lonely and authoritative without its ruler. In the same sense, on the opposite side, you sat soberly with nothing but a blank look. You wore cool-toned colors this morning. It reflected much of what you must be feeling.
Grief, misery, and blame. Even in this poor state, he still considers you attractive and alluring. It’s a shame you looked dejected and lifeless despite all your energy and might to stay awake. Your hair was even braided in a simpler style. Knowing you always had a knack for extraverted taste, Aemond takes in your appearance profoundly. Because perhaps, everyone in the Council can understand the emphasis on the wife of the King. As they eagerly await Maester Orwyle’s results, they all gaze at your seat for any kind of solace.
He takes the chair to your left and sits. While the Grand Maester begins to explain Aegon’s conditions. The longer he spewed, the more you felt your heavy heart fall deeper into your chest. How would the realm react now? Their king suddenly struck and immobile to be by their side. He had defeated Rhaenys in battle however now suffered in a long-inducing coma just as his father did. Who would rule in his absence? It only made sense in your mind but you did not make it become a reality.
“But he is very much alive, Your Grace,” Maester Orywle gives an earnest smile to the Queen Mother as she exhales with the utmost relief. “Though he will need time to recover, I do not think he will ever be the same.”
An unfavorable grunt from Aemond brings attention from you and Cole. “So he is unable to leave his chambers.”
“I’m afraid not,”
“Then we must choose who is to rule in his stead,” Lord Wylde speaks of the obvious, sparing everyone a momentary glance. He clears his throat and rubs his beard, nervously.
“If anyone should come in Aegon’s stead, it is his wife,” Alicent jabs, shooting quick assertiveness when she presses her crossed palms onto the table. Your name leaves her lips as a clear sign of hope. “She was the closest companion to the King and has been since this war started. It is only right for her to continue her husband’s intentions and plans.”
“And what plans did the King have?” A pompous statement coming from her second son, which surprised you as well. Aemond was known for his restrained nature however it seems as days passed, he was slowly losing his grip on his sanity. “I am the closest heir the King has. Would it not be I who rules in his stead?” In the turn of the tides, the room is divided upon their suggestions. You can tell by the wary looks the lords hold with each other. However, you have been grateful for Alicent’s support regardless of the cold shoulder she has given you previously.
“You are not fit, Prince Aemond,” Your fingers slide and take hold of the marble ball in front of you. The weight of the object pleasantly gives you a boost of poise to look him in his one good remaining eye. “The King’s line is still secured for my son, Meagor will become the next heir. But he is young so for the time being, I am naturally the next in line to come to his stead. As his wife and Queen, I should have a say as well.”
It’s what Aegon would’ve wanted.
#house of the dragon#hotd#hotd x reader#house of the dragon x reader#hotd imagine#aegon ii targaryen#king aegon#aegon the second#aegon targaryen#aegon ii#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon ii x reader#aegon ii targaryen x reader#aegon targaryen fanfic#hotd aegon#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond one eye#prince aemond#prince aemond targaryen#aemond x reader#aegon angst#aemond x you#aegon x reader#aegon fic#aegon x you#aegon fluff#aemond kinslayer#hotd aemond#hotd fanfic
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The Abyss Of Affection
Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader
Summary: Aemond discovers the book his sweet wife has been obsessed with and after reading one of the scenes, a plan begins to formulate (fluff)
This was inspired by a conversation I had with the wonderful Hannah @gwaynesprincess
House of the Dragon Masterlist
Taglist
Warnings: Allusions to smut
Word Count: 2308
Divider Credit: @saradika-graphics
Not entirely show canon as Jaehaerys is alive, Maelor exists and people are happy
Any likes, comments and reblogs are always always appreciated :)
His calculated footsteps echoed in the hallways of the keep’s royal chambers, following the elder of the King’s brothers - Prince Aemond Targaryen - back to his chambers after an incredibly taxing day filled with fulfilling duties that were not his own and patrolling the city atop his beloved Vhagar, the Queen of all Dragons. Many would argue a dragon fit for a true king, Aemond would agree. Finally rounding the corner, he greeted the familiar face of Ser Steffon giving a cordial nod as he made his way through the doors of his chambers, removing his cloak as he went.
The sight that greeted the prince was not surprising yet still brought a small, fond smile to his face. Laying on her side of the feather bed was his sweet wife curled up under the various blankets spread across the bed to combat the chill in the air as the citadel switched black ravens to white and summer turned to winter. Aemond made quick work of stripping out of his leathers and into a loose night shirt and breeches ready to join his wife in slumber.
Just as he was about to blow out the candles beside where they lay, he noticed a book beneath the blankets next to his sweet wife’s sleeping form. He picked it up ready to place it on the small table on her side of the bed before taking a look at the title and realising it was the book that had so often stolen her attention away from him during the nights they spent together before the fire. The prince’s insatiable curiosity, it seems, also extended to what on earth his sweet wife could be reading in the non-academic books she so loves.
Flipping over to one of the pages he remembers her completely raving about with her lady in waiting, he began to read and as he continued, a plan began to formulate.
She was met by a chorus of “good morrow, Princess” to which she responded with decidedly less vigour and an almost petulant expression as she discovered that her husband was in fact not in their shared chambers. This prompted the other ladies in the room to barely suppress their giggles knowing how not seeing her husband in the mornings can dampen her mood - not that the Prince fairs any better himself.
“Do any of you happen to know where my dear lord husband is at such an hour?” she discontentedly drawled.
The handmaidens exchanged uneasy glances with one another which, of course, did not escape her watchful gaze and she probed further with a single raise of an eyebrow. Silence ensued for a couple of very awkward, tension-filled seconds until the Princess’ lady in waiting - Elaena - stepped closer and stated that “we are not at liberty to say, Princess,” adding a slight curtsy at the end.
Again silence ensued only interrupted by her own chortle “what in the name of the seven do you mean ‘not at liberty’, forgive me but I am utterly confused.”
“I’m afraid Prince Aemond has forbidden us to speak of it Princess and he reminded us that if you demanded… well Princess he said for us to remember that his orders outrank yours,” Elaena hesitantly explained, shoulders visibly tense at her admission.
An even longer silence commenced, this one not so easily interrupted. Instead the Princess slightly nodded her head and proceeded to load some fresh fruits onto her plate before biting into a strawberry that was surprisingly ripe given the season. She sat with a contemplative look on her face, her ladies worried she was deeply hurt when really she was wondering what the best way to punish him would be, perhaps…
She was pulled from her musings by a knock on the chamber doors which one of the handmaidens - Lyla - was quick to answer. She carried a written message delivered by a page boy and with mild curiosity the Princess unravelled it and began to read.
She then very calmly got up, retreating to the sitting chambers with her beloved book and instructed her handmaidens to leave her, and on their way to “inform Prince Aemond that if he wishes to have an audience he may do so in our private chambers, I am not a dog to be called to heel and told to wait in the dragon pit until he finally chooses to descend from the sky”.
Suddenly Queen Helaena turned to look directly into the Princess’ eyes causing her to startle. Helaena grasped her arms in a gentle hold and decided that “you will be very happy with it,” and while not always understanding but being kind to Helaena’s ways, the Princess confidently nodded in affirmation.
“I’m certain I will be sister,” followed by a soft squeeze of the Queen’s hands she quickly let go to ensure she didn’t crowd the gentle soul beside her.
Turning her attention to Maelor, the youngest of the King and Queen’s children, she scooped him into her arms and brought him to her lap where she proceeded to grab the second less than perfect dragon (Daeron’s first attempt) and began to play with him. Entirely encompassed by the babe's soft giggles she failed to notice the shadow of her husband nor feel the piercing but fond gaze he stared at the two of them with - giving him a few ideas of his own.
Finally sensing his presence, his sweet wife turned towards him and pinned him with a markedly less than sweet gaze. After returning Maelor to his mother, the princess stood, brushed off her dress, said her goodbyes to the children with the promise of visiting again soon, squeezed Helaena’s hand and strode straight past her dear husband without so much as a look in his direction.
Aemond Targaryen, the incredibly formidable man that he is, immediately turned and followed (and after speaking with her lady in waiting) trailed a step behind knowing that if he got any closer he may well be subject to a more physical attack.
“Sweet wife - ,” his mouth slammed shut, the sound of his teeth clacking together audible as she turned around to face him and he thanked the seven that they’d at least made it to the hall outside their chambers to give a small amount of privacy.
“How can I be of service to my Prince? Shall I draw you a bath, change your linens, perhaps wash them too? After all, your commands should certainly be obeyed by all who rank lower than you lord husband!” and Aemond’s moment of stunned silence was all she needed to turn and push the door to their chambers open, her hair almost whipping Aemond in the face. After clearing his throat and righting his already perfectly placed doublet, the prince followed after his wife. This time the nod to Ser Steffon was slightly more stiff and definitely less cordial.
Upon entering their chambers, it became apparent that his sweet wife was just getting started on his torture as she began shedding her day clothes to ready herself for dinner that night as it had become customary for the royal family to dine together per the Dowager Queen Alicent’s request. As he walked in she turned to look at him, again raising a single eyebrow, a silent demand for him to explain himself and explain he did - after he managed to bring his eye back up to meet hers.
Aemond nervously began to describe how he had to go patrol the city earlier than expected that morrow and after his wife’s further probing he let out a sigh as he admitted that he was hiding something from her but he insisted she could not know. Instead he decided to avert her attention by apologising for his blunt and insensitive instructions, insisting his mind was incredibly preoccupied and he meant none of it.
After a beat, his sweet wife looked back up at him and simply agreed that it was foolish of him before continuing to prepare herself for dinner. With the guilt still weighing down on him, Aemond tried once more to draw a further reaction from her and informed her that “we will not be dining with the family tonight, my heart, it shall just be the two of us so please do not feel obligated to wear something that will placate my mother”. The huff of air Aemond let out could have rivalled Vhagar’s as his Princess finally met his eye and gave a smile of her own.
The Princess very quickly decided that she would never again allow her husband to guide her through the gardens, at dusk, alone with no idea of where on earth he was going. She marvelled at how her Prince had spent the entirety of his life growing up within the walls of the keep while she had only moved here three years past when their betrothal was finalised and yet she knew the gardens a lot better than he did. They walked in silence with the occasional mumble of “I’m sure it was this way”, “perhaps it’s actually that way” and what she is sure sounded like a “seven hells this is so embarrassing”.
Eventually, the Princess abruptly stopped walking causing Aemond to turn back to look at her with wide eyes as though he was expecting her to end the night and head back into the castle (which definitely seems tempting) but instead she drew herself closer to him tracing circles on the back of his hand with her thumb and sweetly asked him to tell her where he wanted to go and she would lead the way. Confusion clouded her eyes when she saw her husband’s gaze darken with disappointment at not being able to keep the location secret before giving a rather reluctant nod and mumbling the area of the gardens.
This again caused her to still, as not long before setting off on their adventure she’d gotten to her favourite scene in the romance novel she was currently re-reading which described the relationship between two lovers from flea bottom snook into the castle’s garden and had a picnic beneath a section where two trees intertwined to look like a heart. She let out a small laugh at the coincidence before leading him in the direction of the garden’s that she learned the trees actually existed in when she went searching after her first time reading the book.
As they stepped through the clearing, fingers interlocked, Aemond’s sweet wife stopped dead in her tracks. The scene before her bringing an onslaught of tears to her eyes and Aemond’s own eye drank in her reaction feeling his chest expand with pride. The scene was exactly as described in the books - granted the royalty version - with a table in the middle of the clearing, the heart trees standing right before it. A small fire was lit as the air was cool and biting and she thanked the gods for giving her a husband intelligent enough to organise for a canopy to be set up over the table. Even the food was some of the meats and fresh fruit described in her book.
After taking it all in, the princess - now thankful for there being no escort - fisted her husband’s nicest leathers and brought him down for a bruising kiss, whispering thank you’s and I love you’s in between.
Aemond’s own heart was beating out of his chest as they finally pulled away from one another and he helped her into her seat before taking his own next to her, never letting go of her hand - not even when they began to eat, opting to do it with his left hand instead, and certainly not as his sweet wife moved from her own seat into his lap, playing with his hair and telling him just how wonderfully he had done.
If you asked anyone who crossed paths with the Prince and Princess that night, they’d tell you that never before had they ever encountered two individuals looking so shamelessly in love. They’d express their shock as they witnessed their Prince, the fierce rider of Vhagar, laugh freely with his lady wife with his arm firmly wrapped around her waist and the Princess’ hand rubbing up and down his back.
As the Prince once again encountered Ser Steffon, he greeted the guard with a slightly more reserved smile than his wife received and instructed him to have a good night while he ushered his giggling wife inside. Once they were out of sight Ser Steffon let out a small chuckle of his own before walking a few paces down the hall, away from the door.
As the very smitten couple climbed into bed the Prince once again asked his sweet wife if everything met her standards to which she simply pulled herself up and decided on showing him how pleased she was instead - but not before ensuring the punishment she decided on earlier was carried out.
#in my fluff era (it probably won’t last long)#angst will always call me back I fear#if anyone sees any typos no you didn't 😭#darktrashsoulbear writes#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen#house of the dragon#house of the dragon x reader#ewan mitchell
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Tormented Spirit | 2
Part 1 2 3
"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."
Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, smut (piv, loss of virginity, fingering, semi-public sex, Daemon talking you through it), DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, mentions/depictions of death/suicidal ideation/murder, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.
A/N: i am surprised I got as many comments as I did on chapter 1 🥺🫶 it's not that I think my writing is bad... Well... Idk it felt aimless when I started so I am grateful for the positive reinforcement. 👉👈 I am once again asking for more pls comment n reblog I would love u forever if u did | cross posted on ao3
Tagging: @arabellasleopardcoat
Daemon heads to your chambers, eager to shake you awake and ruin your morning once more. When he arrives to the room, he stops in his tracks, disappointed to see you were risen. That is, until he realizes the state you were in.
You roused long before the sun had and could not find sleep no matter how badly you searched. You decided to draw yourself a warm bath in hopes of finding sleep in the tub; you only find more restlessness and simply accept your fate.
You hear Daemon's entrance and turn to him from the vanity you were wallowing. You were half dressed. Your corset was undone and you had given up on braiding the sides of your head. You smile weakly at him, "good morrow."
Nothing about your tired, sullen eyes agreed with that, and it irritates him to know that you're one of those people. Pretenders.
"Well, finish up then," Daemon furrows his brows, "get dressed. We have yet to accomplish our task."
You mimic his expression, brushing your dark hair back, "task?"
He rolls his eyes, "I do not believe yesterday counts as an introduction."
Upon realizing he meant the introduction to Caraxes, your body tenses. You look sick. You stand to try and convince him out of it, but Daemon reaches you before you can get on your feet. He places a hand on your shoulder, keeping you in place. Your heart thunders when he brushes your hair to one shoulder. He secures your dress from behind, and your breath grows heavy as you watch him from the mirror.
"It is not so bad, riding a dragon," the prince says to plant a false sense of trust in you, "who knows? You might enjoy it."
There is an unnatural warmth that spills across your form when your husband then completes your braids. He weaves in a manner far gentler than Gwayne ever has. It makes your lips part.
He brings you to your feet. Daemon takes in your expression, lips curling slightly, "there you are, wife."
Your brows knit.
He knew his artificial gentleness has you off-guard. There is no better moment to have you do his bidding than now.
One might be surprised to know that Caraxes actually enjoyed having you on his back, as did Daemon, not because they suddenly liked you— gods no, but because the sound of your screams were oh-so satisfying.
You could do little else but release cries of terror as you clung to your husband from behind. Daemon made it a point to do flips and all sorts of unnecessarily moves whilst flying, hoping your hold would falter. The time you spent in the air felt like eternity. It seemed your husband was set on touring the entire 7 realms.
You never thought you would be so ever happy to see the pit. The pit could not say the same about you however. You spill your guts out to the floor exactly like the first time you were here.
Daemon makes a face. He turns to the keepers and orders them to clean your mess up, lest it get on Caraxes' claw.
Woe is you who is forced to repeat the exact thing the next morning. You could not even plead your case, for your throat was sore. The sound of your screams this time were not as entertaining to Daemon, as your voice is hoarse. At some point, the terror is too great, you cannot scream. Because of this, he cuts the flight short in boredom, excited instead at the promise of watching you suffer through another retch. But, oh, by the gods, were you an inconveniencing woman.
Instead of remaining consistent, you just had to make a show and faint into him, did you?
He could not care less for you, which is why he chucks you off into the arms of a dragon keeper, but the damned old man could no longer carry such a weight, and so he was begrudgingly forced to throw you over his shoulder and bring you to a maester himself.
In truth, he'd all forgotten about his wife fainting until the next morning, when he came to the maester's quarters to ask for something to soothe his hammering head from his heavy drinking the night before. He was, in fact, offended, when the maester insinuated that he had come to check up on his bride.
Before he could give the greying maester a piece of his mind, he hears a terrible voice barking from the ward. Its grating timbre made it clear to Daemon that Lord Hand Cunttower was off on a yapping session again.
He walks deeper into the room. Weeping sounds become audible.
"—no, you do not understand," Otto snaps, hunched over at the side of your bed.
Ah, twas you who was being terrorized.
You dare not turn to your father, for you knew your throat would only tighten more that it already has. You force yourself to take deep breaths, but it's easier said than done. You remain still on the bed you laid on.
"You must sire as many children as your body can take, or you will die," the man says.
But you were dying anyway.
"The process will not be pleasant."
Nothing is pleasant.
"It will hurt-"
Everything hurts.
"-but it is a better fate than-"
"Enough!" you snap, glaring at him with angry, red eyes. You repeat, though your voice is weaker, "enough, enough, eno-"
Otto gravely speaks your name. Your body recognized the danger, but having realized upon waking up to the face of a maester, it mattered little where or who it came from, you were destined to hurt- to die.
"Do not fall complacent be-"
"You are no longer my lord," you quip. Sweat forms on your nape. This is the first time you've ever interrupted your father.
He is gobsmacked. He is bewildered. His back straightens, "what?"
You feel yourself descend into heavy fraught. Your saliva tries to choke you.
"What," he presses, "did you say, girl?"
"You are my father," your voice falters, "but not my lord."
Otto's face warps.
Your breath grows shorter and shorter, "my liege lord is my-" pant "-husband, and what he-" pant "-desires, I will-" pant "-do."
Daemon's ears and brows perk at your misplaced loyalty. Part of him wants to laugh out loud and make himself known, but then he sees, even from where he stood, how it got Otto twisted. He chuckles to himself instead.
Your father enunciates as though he means to stab you with them, "you stupid fucking whore."
You crumble like chalk. You fall into another round of body arresting tremors. Your chest is tight and you screw your eyes painfully shut. It becomes apparent to Daemon, as it would anyone who'd witness, where your condition sourced. Otto grabs your shoulders, "you know nothing of-" but then recoils.
Daemon shoves him away, glaring as he says, "unhand her."
Otto manages to balance himself, but he looks as though the veins on his temples were about to pop. He clenches his jaw, "I am speaking to my daughter."
"You mean at her," his silver hair slips over his shoulder as he turns to you, "she does not look like she can hold conversation."
"This is personal matter," Otto steps forward.
"Mmm," Daemon turns back to him, "I do say, I am glad to have interrupted," he shifts on his leg, linking his fingers together, "a dutiful husband should know all personal matters of his wife. Don't you agree?"
Though you were still wrestling with yourself, you heard every word. You knew if you did not interject, they will fight each other for your carcass. You feel lightheaded, but you force yourself to open your eyes and speak.
Of course, the only sound you manage to make is a strangled and pained one.
Otto averts his attention to you, and tries to come to your side.
Daemon steps in front of him and tilts his head back, "oh... I would adore it if you give me a reason to kill you."
You choke out, "Daemon."
Your father stiffens as he looks past the said man to inspect you, missing the way the said man smirks. Otto turns back to Daemon, feeling bile spread in his mouth as the prince says, "see. She does not want you."
Otto's lips curl and his hands ball into fists.
Your husband waves a hand, "go away. You're clearly upsetting her."
Otto does the most to remain calm, "she is my da-"
"She is my wife," Daemon snaps, imposing upon him.
You gulp with difficulty as you catch the way your father's jaw clenches. You force yourself to sit up and open your mouth to speak, but everyone's attention is averted to the Kingsguard that walks into the room.
Daemon's forehead curls at the Cargyll knight, "my prince. Lord Hand."
"Which one are you?" asks the prince.
"Arryk, my prince."
"State your business, Arryk."
"I-"
"I requested a ward for the princess," Lord Hand answers instead.
Daemon makes a face at him and chuckles dryly under his breath.
Arryk looks between the two again then slowly continues, "I and my brother have been awarded the honor of serving ward to the Princess of Dragonstone. I take first watch today."
Daemon chuckles again, "a bit late, aren't you?"
The white cloak stiffens then bows, "I was just given word this hour."
"Hmm. Well, Arryk," he motions, "why don't you go escort the Lord Hand out of the room before someone dies."
He stiffens again, but turns to the said man nonetheless. He does not question it and merely does what was instructed.
Or at least tries to.
"I do not trust you with my daughter's well-being," Otto steps forward, pointing a finger to the ground, "you are the very reason she is in that bed."
Daemon gasps dramatically. At this point, you finally had enough wits about you to speak, "please-" but your voice is easily drowned out however.
"Do you not remember thanking my brother for the, what was it," the prince pretends to think, "joyous union? Or would you like to watch me stake my claim upon he—"
Otto's face twists in horror and repulsion, but that is not why Daemon's words are cut short. It is because of the cold, clammy, trembling hand that takes his own that he looks down. He watches as you sigh out, "leave us, father."
The said man turns to you in grave offence. In your fear, you do not notice the betrayal that is mixed with it. His anger flares and he scoffs. He gives you one last look, and you knew exactly it was just that. This would be last time he would ever look upon you. When he storms away, you feel it in your chest: this is the last time you will ever call him father. You were forsaken, truly forsaken.
Otto is seen out by Arryk.
Your hand slips from Daemon's, as you no longer had the strength. You muster all your remaining energy to reach the drink propped on your bedside table. It was a futile attempt though, as instead of grasping it, you knock it over, which only leads you into another fit of tears.
Daemon curses and shakes his foot that's gotten soaked. He did mean to snap at you for it, but you were already clearly suffering. Your breathing is short and it seemed like you were mumbling something.
He hunches over in an attempt to hear you, "what?"
It takes a myriad of repetitions for him to realize you were apologizing.
His face contorts, "gods," what pathetic creature had he been given to?
Daemon's upper lip curls and he can no longer bear the sound of your whining any further. He calls for the maester, asking for another cup of water because you had knocked over your own. Just as the maester goes off to get you another drink, he remembers he came here for his own affliction because his head begins to hammer again. He rubs his temples and sits on the vacant bed besides yours.
"Here, my prince," the maester says upon arrival, "milk of the poppy enough for the both of you."
Daemon squints as the man places a tray on your bedside table. Daemon is handed a cup first, but does not drink it until after he watches you be helped to drink your own fill. After, the maester promptly leaves with a curt nod. The drink does not take effect on you until after Daemon finishes his own
Your voice shakes, "t-thank you."
Daemon puts his cup down.
"You did not have to come," you say softly.
"Do not flatter yourself," he scoffs, "I did not come for you. I came for my headache."
"Yet it remains," you turn to him, face tight and gleaming from all the tears you've shed, "you did not have to come."
He stares at you for a moment. You looked so frail, so devoid of hope. Truly, death would be mercy to you at this point.
Just then, ser Arryk returns. He finally sees you and gives you a deep bow, "princess."
Being addressed as such makes you feel sad... and lonely.
"I am ser Arryk Cargyll. I will be your ward, along with my twin brother, Erryk, who you will meet after my shift." The kingsguard straightens up, "I will do all that I can to ensure your health does not falter and that you are always seen to."
You think of your own twin as you take in the man's features. The idea that your father purposefully chose twin brothers as your ward made you feel sad and sick, but it was hardly Arryk's fault Otto liked mocking you, so you smile at him, "I have a twin."
The man nods, offering you a smile far more genuine than yours, "aye. Ser Gwayne Hightower. He is deft with the short sword."
You turn to your hands, recalling just a few days ago when you had watched him train. Your lips curl upwards, "though, not as good as I."
Daemon pulls his head back, face contorting. He is taken aback when Arryk's sniggers. The latter nods, "perhaps you will show me your tricks, my lady."
There is a twinkle in your eye as you turn back to him, "perhaps."
Daemon raises a brow at the interaction and decides to stand, "come," he reaches a hand to you, "some fresh air would do you good."
Fresh air? Your jaw slacks and you turn to Daemon with a fallen expression. Be as it was, you were no fool. You did not believe your husband had your best interest in mind, and yet, it was not like you had much of a choice. Against yourself, you to take his hand.
He pulls you up and Arryk comes to your side to assist you. He helps you to your feet, hand on your arm and shoulder.
Daemon is annoyed by his fussing. "Yes. Very good, Cargyll. I can manage to bring her to the dragon pit myself."
You close your eyes and sigh. Just as you dreaded.
"Dragon pit?" Arryk repeats.
"Yes. She needs fresh air." The prince narrows his eyes, "do you contest me?"
Arryk releases you and shakes his head, "I would not."
"Good," he motions with nod, "out of the way then."
You see, after being scorched by the fire of your maker— your father, the sight of Caraxes emerging from the depths did not strike as much fear into you as it did before. In fact, the promise of malice from the beast felt... cathartic, and for once, you welcomed Daemon's insistence on being brought to its maw.
You stumbled against Caraxes' scaly cheek. Having done nothing but lay in the maester's chambers, your hair was not tied or braided in any way. As the wind blew, it tickled against the dragon's face. Caraxes did not seem to enjoy the sensation, and so he growled and snapped his teeth.
Daemon was quick to chastise his mount, and for that, he did not realize your lack of self-preservation. Oh, but Caraxes did; he even growled again, only to be met once more by your unflinching demeanor.
Daemon would only realize your change after taking flight and landing on a beach. Upon dismounting, Caraxes takes it upon himself to screech as you hover. The prince doesn't know who is more bewildered, him or his dragon, when you screech back.
Your neck veins pop and spit comes out of your mouth at the intensity of it all. A harsh wind blows your hair and your skirt. You heave after releasing such a harsh noise.
In truth, perhaps Caraxes is more perturbed as, unlike Daemon's who presses forward, the beast pulls back and shakes his head. He bleats as he watches his rider grab your arm.
The prince means to berate you for your insanity, but then, gods, you rather conveniently succumb to another arrest to your heart and lungs. He does not know why he catches you when your legs give in but he knows exactly why he suggests: "get in the water."
You look up at him, your glassy eyes meeting his violet ones.
He lets you crumble to the ground and bends down to undo your dress, "a swim would do you wonders."
"N-no- you will regret-" you sputter.
But Daemon ignores you, not that it took much effort, for you were incoherent soon enough.
He pulls you out of your dress until you're in nothing but your slip. You sob, and he hushes you, assuring he will be by your side. He removes his tunic. Soon, he is dragging you down deeper and deeper, and you are choking and spitting saltwater.
Daemon decides to simply release you and wait until your body floats lifeless. With how you were gasping, it would not take long. He turns his head when his face is splashed by your flailing arms. When he looks back, the water is calm and your body is nowhere to be seen.
... well, that was rather quick.
He waits for a moment, watching bubbles float up. After a while, he purses his lips and decides to go back ashore. He should have done this sooner.
He freezes when you emerge in front of him, pushing your brown hair off your face. He is perturbed by the serenity across your features; it was as though you were reborn.
You sigh, "I told you you would regret it."
Daemon blankly stares at you.
"There is a great river in Oldtown," you wade around, "the water there is not nearly as pleasant or warm as this, but still... swimming was one of the only ways I could calm myself."
His jaw clenches. He does not even try to hide his disappointment.
You lick your lips at it and turn to Caraxes, who was happily soaking in the sun from the sandy shore, "take heart. Your dragon might entertain himself by eating me yet," you turn to him, "or perhaps my Lord Hand will kill me himself."
His face twists, "what?"
You shake your head and roll your eyes.
He pulls his head back, offended and confused by your sudden nerve.
You allow your body to float up in the water, "you need not pretend. I know you long to kill me."
Daemon is insulted by your brashness. He grabs your floating hip and pushes you down until you're once again face to face. Not a semblance of fear is on your features. It only angers him further.
He snaps, "I could have your tongue for that."
He cannot deny the way his stomach rolls when you place your hands by the base of his neck. The complete change in your temperament puts him on edge. Have you been playing him all along?
"Would it not be simpler to have my head?" you speak plainly, as though you were genuinely curious of his response.
His nostrils flare.
Before he can act, you are swimming off. You emerge from the water, dripping wet. Your clothing is sheer and hugs every part of your body, leaving nothing to the imagination. He could not help but look, but then he was sorely insulted all over when you pet Caraxes head and he lets you.
It was a twisted hallucination. He is suddenly reminded of the milk of the poppy he'd drank; you've probably poisoned him and planned all of this with your cunt father like the conniving whore you really were.
You do not hear him emerge, but only know he did because he is upon you. He forces you around through a severe squeeze on your arms, "what is your game, Hightower cunt?!"
Your body seizes, but you do not succumb to the thundering of your heart, as you had just been relaxed.
He shakes you, making you gasp, "SPEAK!"
"There is no game!" you whimper.
He chuckles dryly, shaking you harshly once more "perhaps it should be said that I need no assistance from my dragon to kill you."
A shiver runs down your spine, "please-"
"Then tell me th-"
"-just do it."
The sound of Caraxes huffing brings Daemon back to reality. And yet it takes you speaking, "just kill me," for him to realize you meant exactly what he thought.
He stills where you descend into further torment. He knows then that it is true. There was no plot, or at least not one where this creature of agony could ever oversee. You were calmed by the water, but not cured. Very truly, he thinks again death would be mercy, convenient for him as well. Yet, in his nature, Daemon does opposite of what he is told and pries his hands off. He mutters under his breath, "ao mūdas run," you terrible thing.
You sob, as if you understood him.
You shed tears unlike the others he's witnessed; there is no panic or fear, only pain.
"Surely you agree it is better than living this way."
The clarity of your voice takes him aback. He turns away, uncomfortable of your sudden agency.
"I have been this way since I can remember," you confess, "and they've all have counted my days for just as long."
"Why must I bloody my hands for you?" he squints, "if you despise living so much, do it yourself."
Your laugh is haunting. You shake your head and wipe your face, "I am not as brave as you. I could not even kill the fishes Gwayne caught for me, though I ate them."
Daemon is unmoved, twice so at the mention of your brother.
"And Gwayne..." you sigh, "he would blame himself." You turn to your feet, warmed by the sand beneath it, "I would not do that to him." You shake your head again, "but again, take heart," you smile, "it will happen soon enough."
His forehead curls.
"I can feel it in my gut," you rub your belly, "it is putrid and festering... whatever it is."
He tilts his head, "then do me a favor and wallow in silence—" he walks off, sparing one last glance, "and try scheming with your cunt father somewhere you will not be caught."
You manically laugh and rip at your hair, "he is my illness, if it is not plain to you."
He stops and turns back to you.
"I am the way that I am because I-" you poke your chest, "am he, had he been born a woman." You rub your sternum, "he loathes me because he is I. I am his hair, his nose, his temper, his... weakness, only amplified because I did not inherit his cock.
"When I pray..." you sniffle, "sometimes I think the gods keep me alive for I am his reckoning— that I must torment him for all the years he has tormented others... tormented me."
Daemon watches the salt from your eyes join the salt on your slip. He stares at your pert nipples then watches you chew your lower lip. He licks his own, "did you mean what you told him?"
You watch as he inches closer, "what?"
"That he is no longer your liege lord," he reaches for your arm, "that I am."
"I-"
Daemon pushes the shoulder of your slip dress down.
Your hand darts to his chest, "i-it is the truth."
He hums and tilts his head. You gasp when he kisses your neck. He licks the saltwater off your skin, enjoying the sound you make when his teeth graze you, "very well then."
Goosebumps form when he pulls your skirt up your thighs.
"It would be beneath a prince to withhold aid for such a tormented spirit."
You do not speak for soon his mouth is claiming yours. It is not as horrid as you imagined it would be. You did not think someone who's shown nothing but aggression could behold you so tenderly. You shiver when he continues to rid you of your sopping clothes. When you break away for air, you manage to mutter, "someone c-could see."
Daemon's expression is changed as stares at you and pushes you to the ground. You gasp as you find yourself atop the garbs he already managed to remove. He undoes his breeches, "who? My dragon?"
You do not know if he means Caraxes.
"You are my wife," he drops to his knees, grabbing yours, "the sin lies with the looker," he pushes your legs apart, "not us."
You bite your lips, feeling the the need to repel him, but decide against it. You simply close your eyes and dig your fingers into the sand.
His loins burn at the sound of your sigh. He sinks into you and relishes your submission. He wraps your legs around him and rocks his hips into yours. You mewl and dig into his back. He bites your lobe before whispering, "you belong to me."
You scratch your nails up his back as his rocking hips send bolts of pleasure in your body.
"Say it."
"I-I-" you heave, "belong to you."
He squeezes your thighs, "you are to do what I so desire."
You gasp softly when he grabs your jaw, making you turn to him.
"-especially if it is against your father, yes?"
You gulp, unable to speak. You simply nod.
Daemon's eyes become hooded. He releases your jaw, claiming your thigh again, "good."
You both remain this way, kissing and rubbing, but then you begin to grow impatient. You bring your mouth to his to catch his attention but do not kiss him. He is taken aback by your unintentional tease and digs his fingers into your flesh. This is why you whimper as you speak, "you- can... enter."
He is broken from his trance, "what?"
"I," you scratch his skin gently, as if to encourage him, "know you are ready. You do not have to hold back. I am accustomed to pain."
He knits his brows, then tilts his head, "how could a virgin know such things?"
He watches bashfulness claim you. You shake your head, "I read it."
"Did your book not tell you it need not be painful?"
"I-" you let out a loud noise when you feel his fingers touch your womanhood, "Daemon-"
He purrs at the sound of his name, "I will show you how good it can feel so that you can tell your father all about it."
The horrifying thought does not even register as he makes you feel things you did not know possible. You begin to shiver and whine, but it is entirely opposite to what your body is accustomed to. Your breath begins to shorten and you instinctively begin to panic, but Daemon's voice keeps you grounded.
"Breathe," he licks your pulse, "it feels good, does it not? Breathe and think of how good I'm making you feel."
You are entirely subservient to him, to his baritone, to his fingers, to his hips. There is nothing but sand and Daemon. You whine when you feel a hard intrusion. The sensation is foreign, and it causes your belly to tense.
He kisses the line that forms between your brows, "relax, my wife. Now is not the time for pain," he hooks his hands behind your knees, "it's a time for pleasure."
It's all a blurry haze after this. Daemon moves into you in a way that makes you wonder how this could ever hurt. Every thrust sends ripples of bliss down your spine. Every hit draws out the lewdest of sounds from your throat. You understand then why they call it love making; you love every moment of it. Your bliss is heightened when he touches something inside you, and again, and again-
For once in your life, as your breath grows heavy, you do not feel like you're about to die.
Daemon alternates tempos, but ultimately resigns to fast and hard. He does not cease until your rigid body goes limp beneath him. The pressure in your stomach breaks into a million burning pieces, and just as it becomes all too much, he pulls out, propping himself up on one arm. You gasp at the heat thats spills on your thigh as he strokes himself. Soon, his arm gives out and he collapses beside you.
You behold the mess of red and white between your legs, but find no shame, only arousal, which you did not expect. You turn to your husband, watching his chest heave, his temples sweat, and his tongue lick his lips.
He's... he's beautiful.
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Winter's King 26
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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)
Characters: Geralt of Rivia
Note: Monday's are for pain.
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"More wine," Queen Jazlene demands.
You stand at her shoulder, awaiting her every command. The familiarity of your duty feels safe though you cannot deny the peril all around. You move forward cautiously, sending a glance to king.
King Geralt has not said or done much. He's hardly even touched his plate. For the first time that night, to your surprise as much as your relief, he looks at you. You pause, hand hovering before the ewer.
"Another cup won't fare you well on the morrow," he girds.
Jazlene huffs, "what else am I to do in this dull place but drink?"
His lashes lower and he sits back. He props his elbow on the straight arm of the chair and gazes out at the boards full of bawdy voices and steps. He tilts his head as his pale sight skewers the chamber.
"It is a banquet," he utters flatly. You remain close to Jazlene but retract your hand.
"It is, husband, what do you propose?" She's breathy, almost hopeful. She peers out across the plucking of strings, "a dance?"
"I know some steps," he extends his fingers, "suppose... there won't be much dancing on the road and Lord Vesemir did go to all this effort."
"Truly? A dance?" She squals and grabs his forearm, "husband, is this not some cruel jape?"
His jaw squares and he looks at her without humour, "only a suggestion. We are... married. The people should like to see king and queen together."
You step back, as surprised as the daughter of Debray. The king himself hardly seems eager but he is ever aloof. You wonder if it is genuine. His refusal to look at you has you uncertain. Does he regret his missteps or are you once assuming too kindly of him? He has taught you those last few days to be skeptical. You are less than grateful for the lesson.
"I would very much love to dance," Jazlene seizes his large hand and he winces, "thank you, thank you, thank you." She chants in excitement as she rises and the king steels himself as he does the same. You're not so sure her glee is specific to her partner, but rather the act.
You can’t help but pity the queen. It’s clear she’s desperate for excitement. It would explain her flirtations and her tantrums and all her behaviour. Still, the isn’t the little girl flitting around her father’s castle anymore; she is the queen and her misdeeds will have consequences should she carry on.
Your eyes drift out as a lull ripples over the chamber followed quickly by a tide of murmurs. The king and queen emerge from behind the royal table as curiosity thrums all around. The troupe continues to strum as Jazlene can hardly contain her elation despite the king’s stoic propriety. They begin the steps; hers jouncy, his flat and formal. She hardly notices her partner’s nonchalance.
The other partners give breadth to the royal couple as others pause to watch. Whispers and cheers, some whistles encourage the king and queen. It is the first that any have seen the royal couple as one.
You watch but hardly take in the scene. Your mind wanders to the chamber in the tower, then to the queen’s rooms; you hear only Geralt’s gritting frustration and the queen’s shrill defiance. They play their parts but you are not convinced.
You peer around and your eyes catch on a shock of rusty orange. Gilles stands by the doors, amid as cluster of other guards. Where his fellow soldiers drink ale and grumble, he stares at the royal pair, bound by the sight of the queen on the king’s arm.
You follow his gaze and meet King Geralt’s golden irises. His brow twitches and he quickly draws his attention back to his queen. You are confounded by him. You cannot figure if he truly has reconsidered his intent or he is merely hiding. He’s shown you before that he can feign whatever role suits his means; gallant king, pensive man, troubled soul. In the end, his only concern is his own will.
Your chest rents deeper amidst your doom-laden thoughts. When did you grow so cynical? It’s these Hinterlands; their chill invades even the soul. Your lips tug down and you put your eyes to the stone wall. You need only see the night through. The road will keep all too busy for recklessness.
As you stand there, you sense a shift, and turn to look over your shoulder. Lord Vesemir waves in your direction, bidding you to him with a pointed finger. You squint and peer back at the queen and king. You cannot disobey the host even if you are bound to a higher title.
You sidle along behind the tables and stop behind the white-haired lord. He pushes his chair out, leaning into the straight wooden back. He looks up at you, cheeks ruddy with drink.
“Little dove,” he grits, “how amusing, isn’t it, to see the king afoot on the boards.”
“My lord,” you agree evenly.
“I must say he never took so happily to the dance lessons as he did the sword,” Vesemir chuckles, “though he is graceful in both. My own feet do not listen to each other.”
You bow your head, signaling your attention. You tilt your ear to him and stare at the table.
“If any knew to watch for it, they would see he does prefer another partner,” the lord sighs, “alas, it would not be wise, as I’ve told him. A king cannot so quickly descend into folly. How many times did I say the same to his own father?”
You lower your lashes.
“I believe he has heeded my foreboding,” Vesemir reaches for his goblet and grunts as he finds it empty, tilting it to show his disappointment. You move forward to grab the jug of ale and pour him a new cup. He thanks you as he watches you. “And you. You had a restful night? You were provided the promised chamber? A bed?”
“Yes, my lord, thank you,” you say, “it is rather much for a maid.”
“We both know you are not any maid,” he pauses to gulp, “tell me, dove, do you find my halls too cold?”
You set the jug down and step back on your heels. You fold your hands and consider his question as a riddle. You know not how to untangle the words of nobles so you will not try.
“Cold, yes, but not intolerable, my lord,” you answer.
“Hm, yes, but you may line your wool a bit thicker,” he reaches to pinch the cuff of your sleeve, “you would not shiver so much.” He rescinds his touch and looks into his cup, swirling the ale, “and your former castle, what was that like? Suppose the Duke of Debray is a rather busy lord, the way he scurries around like rat.”
You hesitate. You cannot tell if he refers to Lord Dustan’s betrayal.
“There’s always work for servants in a castle,” you say, “summer or winter. We were kept busy though not many ventured to Debray. It was always the lord that traveled.”
“Mm, yes, you would not guess it but this vulture’s nest is rarely so lively as this. You’ve only seen it invaded by the king and his horde. When the winter is falling, it is so quiet. The snows drown out the noise below and the ice sparkles as diamonds...” he describes dreamily, “it is calm, peaceful. Not as life is at court. I prefer it. I was never one for that farce.”
You look at him, listening intently. You think of the cave, of the moths, the desolation nestled within those icy walls. This place is beautiful despite its frosted bite. You might’ve seen clearer sooner were it not for the shroud cast on it by crowded halls.
“It is safer here,” he continues, “and even as peace is declared, times will grow no less turbulent. Wars do not end so cleanly.”
You furrow your brow and watch the lord, trying to unfold his words into their true meaning. He chuckles and empties his goblet once more. He sets it down and stands.
“Perhaps this old man does ramble in his cups,” he shakes his head, “I thank you, dove, for your ear. Loyal as you are, gentle too. You could not know what spell you cast.”
You retreat as Lord Vesemir angles his broad figure around his chair. He beckons as he turns and for a moment, you think he gestures at you. Instead, the maid, Ezme, appears from the shadows and meets him at the end of the table. He speaks to her as you back up against the wall. He walks with her from the hall as you stare after them.
His words echo in your head.
What did he mean to say all he did? Another warning of what you already dread? A suggestion that you simply could never heed? Does he suggest escape even as he denotes your futility? Or does he simple speak for nothing more than his own voice?
You look back to the king and queen. A new pitch picks up as the music swells with the stomping feet on the boards and the japes and jeers. Amid the revelry, the king remains as staunch as always, and once more, your eyes meet.
Lord Vesemir is not mistaken. There is only turmoil ahead.
⚔️
The night ends in a march along the corridors. You keep a distance from the king and queen as they walk ahead. Jazlene leans on her husband as she drunkenly babbles. Despite his discouragement, she kept to her wine. Ahead, Gilles walks with his hand on his sword.
The guard opens the queen’s doors and the king escorts his wife through. You tarry in the archway as the ginger-headed man takes his post but cannot restrain from peeking within. Jazlene falls onto her mattress and sighs, giggling into a chattering shiver.
“Oh, it is so cold,” she hugs herself, rubbing her arms.
“You should not wear satin,” the king remands.
“Rats to that!” She sneers and pushes herself up on her elbows, “I was plenty warm on the boards...” she looks at him coyly and grins, “with you, husband.”
“And the wine in your belly does convince you of warmth,” he tuts. “I’ve known many men who drank themselves to death thinking it could cure the cold.”
“Ugh, you are so dour,” she chides shrilly and sits up, reaching for him, “husband, we have a long road ahead. Will you not make use of our last night in the castle?”
He huffs, “you are drunk and I must see Lord Vesemir about our travel-”
“It is late. You might see to it in the morn,” she whines.
He exhales again. He looks down at his boots and tilts his head to his side, but does not raises his eyes. He flicks his fingers in your direction, “close the door. I will see my wife abed.”
Jazlene falls back and purrs. You can tell by the loll in her head that the wine will see her unconscious shortly. The king puts his hands to his hips and watches her as you back out and Gilles pulls shut the doors, not without undue force.
“Go then, maid,” he snarls as he steps back against the wall.
You obey. You are not certain whether to return to the chamber you shared with Ezme or to search out the servants’ quarters. You make no determination before you’re stopped the same slender shadow as the night previous.
It is Ezme, as if she was summoned by the very thought of her. She is silent as she nods and turns to lead you onward. You follow without bidding. Your stomach churns as you already know she is not taking you to sleep. Something is amiss.
You stop before a set of doors marked by iron vultures’ heads. She knocks and enters, letting you in after her. Within, Lord Vesemir sits before a fire, the glow flickering over him as he watches the flame. His shirt is untucked, his jacket disposed, and his hair hangs around his bullish face.
“Dove, your wings cannot weather these winter winds,” he declares sonorously.
You’re silent. Ezme closes the doors as you remain close to them. You peer around warily. She goes to the lord of the castle and he reaches to squeeze her hand. He brings it to his lips and kisses it. You blink as you stare at them. They are...
“Please, sit down,” Vesemir insists, “I suppose we will be waiting some time for our king.”
You don’t understand. Lord Vesemir and Ezme? A noble and a servant. Yet he warns King Geralt against the same with you. It is their manner, you suppose, to do what they would tell others not to.
You don’t move. You crane to look at the doors then back to the maid and her master. It seems both Geralt and Vesemir agreed upon his attendance there that night but what place do you have there? You are not so brazen as to ask.
You relent and come further into the chamber. You sit upon the wooden stool close to the wall as Ezme lights another lamp and sets it on the table. You wring your hands in your lap as you wait in silence. The lord lowers his head, patient as he closes his eyes. Or perhaps, fatigued as you are.
Time sifts through the air like sand through a sieve. Slow and grinding. You stare at your skirts as the other maid drifts like a wraith and the lord sits as a statue. The longer you wait, the deeper the pit grows in your gut. You are owed no explanation but you long for one.
Finally, there is a tap at the doors. Just the one. Hard but not violent. Ezme moves to open the door. You stand out of habit and a large shadow enters. It is the king. His golden eyes catch the lantern light as he sees the Lord sat before his hearth.
“Vesemir, I have much to do before the sun.”
“Aye, don’t I know,” the lord says calmly, “so you best listen and not waste time or breath.”
The king angles his head, both curious and skeptical. You shift on your feet and the movement draws his attention. He winces as he sees you and his shoulders tense. He peers back at the lord in the light of the fire. He clears his throat.
“Vesemir, what is your meaning here?” The king demands.
#geralt of rivia#dark geralt of rivia#dark!geralt of rivia#geralt x reader#the witcher#winter's king#au#medieval au#series#fic#dark fic#dark!fic
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Together As One (Daemon x Reader)
So this is more a twisted love type of hype, I hope you guys like the way I portrayed this request cause I wanted to give it more of a dark edge since Daemon is definitely a gray character. Hope you enjoy!
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Mothers love their children, everyone could agree upon the unconditional love mothers held for their kind with no doubt in their hearts, songs, poems, plays, and any type of art one can think of have attempted to portray such devotion. None, however, could predict that some mothers have a certain type of fear for their child, like some whisper in the back of their heads warning them about the little glimpse in their eyes that was not like the stars but more of a scorching fire threading to burn everything.
That was the exact feeling Rhaenys had for her beloved daughter, the twin sister of Laenor, it would often baffle her how her husband could not see what was clearly there, (y/n) was always in competition with everyone about everything, the finest clothes belonged to her, she had to ride a dragon first, learn Valyrian faster.
Whilst Rhaenys prayed for her daughter's thirst to settle, the others praised her for her bravery, her determination, and her intellect, something that made (y/n) yearn for more.
“I would like to raise a toast to my dear brother, a married man to our future queen, may your wedlock be blessed with numerous children and a road paved with nothing but joy and success, Prince Daemon, hopefully you are next”
(Y/n) stood with a smile of triumph dancing on her lips before she raised her cup to gently take a sip, as she sat down Daemon's eyes followed her, he was well aware of her game, though he seemed unfazed and almost amused by her comment the truth laid somewhere deeper than the surface, not a single soul in this room would have been able to guess that the delighted twin of now future king consort was playing a game of cat and mouse with none other than prince daemon behind closed doors.
(Y/n) had been relentless in her ways to seduce Daemon, sneaking out at all hours of the night, sending people after him so she could know his whereabouts just so she could magically appear, the combination of sweet wine and her alluring voice was enough for Daemon to stumble and fall right on top of her, taking her for a ride to the addictive roads of lust.
She was stunning, flawless, a true Targaryen that screamed opulence and elegance with a face sculpted by the gods, the common folk would gush over the “oceans Angel” a nickname given by the realm for her angelic features, how would they know how dark her mind could get in order to make everyone yield before her?
-
“Mother”
“Dearest, how are you on this fine morrow?”
“I am well, the little one finally decided to let me get some rest”
“When I was pregnant with you I remember thinking you would kick your way out of my belly, the Apple does not fall far from the tree”
(Y/n)s daughter, Leora, leaned as much as she could to kiss her mother's cheek before she sat down next to her to break her fast, queen Alicent had already taken her seat along with her daughter Heleana and (y/n)s other son Elion, Alicent and (y/n) enjoyed each others presence, a mutual bond based on respect had been build over the years that was sealed by marrying Leora with Aegon and Elion with Heleana.
“The maester said you should drink more orange juice, it will help with the fatigue”
“As well as eat more meat, pregnancy is no easy task, you must be as strong as ever”
Alicent chimed, the birth of her second grandchild was one of the most important events, Alicent adored her first grandchild, beautiful Hael, a strong boy who was just now starting to learn how to walk, still, he had everyone wrapped around his finger.
“I appreciate your concerns but I am fine, healthy as a horse”
“It wouldn’t hurt, let us not risk it dearest”
“I thought once I get older I wouldn’t have to listen to my mother”
“Well I am sorry but that will never happen, drink”
(Y/n) had stepped up and appeared as the perfect mother, loving, kind, and caring, she did love her children, however, what she loved most was the things they could do for her, her firstborn daughter was now the wife of the king first born son, and her son was a strong, skill full knight that served the realm and came back in triumph, how could she not adore her perfect creations?
“How is the king?”
“I am afraid his health is decreasing, the maesters advise him to remain abed for the day”
“Rhaenyra will be questioned, he won’t sit this one out I am afraid”
“Ugh the precious Rhaenyra, I wish I could stay in my chambers until those god-forsaken days pass”
(Y/n)s smile was wiped from her face and in an instant it was replaced with an angry scowl, in a split second her hand had grasped her daughter, Leoras' eyes went wide with fear when they met the angry hues of her mothers.
“You mustn’t speak in such a way, I’ve taught you better”
Leora only nodded frantically, (y/n) had her own opinions over Rhaenyra, she however, knew better than to voice them, not even in such a secluded area of the palace, (y/n)s hold turned from forceful to a caress before she directed her eyes back to her friend and queen Alicent.
“Besides, the king will do as he wishes and if the gods bless him with the strength to stand he should be there, isn’t it right Alicent?”
“I couldn’t have phrased it better, my dear”
-
(Y/n) and Alicent were each other's shadows, one compelled the other and in the end one way or the other the result was one of their favor, (y/n) was disciplined and had mastered the act of a gracious and lovely princess, Alicent was strict and slipped under everyone’s nose as she cloaked herself with the act of a pious queen, the two of them had years up on the horse of being able to maneuver their way around the kingdom so the men would not suspect a damn thing.
Viserys had seemed to get worst which made him unable to attend even when Daemon and (y/n) went to his room to assist him, the king could not even sit up let alone walk, Daemon was disheartened, thankfully for him his dutiful and beautiful wife let him rest on her shoulder and like a soothing salve her encouraging words went over his wound of his beloved older brother nearing his end.
“My Love”
“(Y/n)? What- what has happened?”
“I apologize for waking you up my dear, it is your brother”
“Viserys? What about- no”
“My dear husband, you must be strong, I am so sorry”
(Y/n) grasped Daemon's hands tightly before she brought them up to her lips to kiss his knuckles, of course, she was one of the first to know, Alicent had rushed to her chamber and delivered the news herself, she had waited patiently as the king took his last breath, Alicent told no one, not even the maester, (y/n) had to know before anyone.
“Viserys”
Daemon had been taken over by his thoughts, they’ve always had their differences but at the end of the day, they shared the same mother and father, a bond that could never be broken, no matter how many times Daemon has run off he always ended up by Viserys side.
“My love, I understand that this is too much for you, however, we must prepare our daughter”
“What does Elora have to do with this?”
“She is to be queen, she needs her father”
“Queen? Have you gone mad?”
(Y/n) bit her bottom lip in combination with her head tilting to the side, as if nothing but a mere candle lit her face Daemon could still identify the features that he so adored but now he could not wrap his head around what was his wife suggesting.
“My lord husband, King Viserys has left us, it is only natural for his son to succeed him”
“It is expected for his firstborn, Rhaenyra, to do so, not Aegon”
“Where is the princess? But in a place where she could have visited if she wished, when has she even attempted to come and visit her beloved father who was in agony all these years? She only came when her privilege was at risk and then blamed Alicent who has served by the king's side for his illness”
“This is not a matter to discuss”
“But it is, the gods know I loved Viserys and he had been good to me, but let us not forget he killed his first wife in his desperate attempt for a male heir, he remarried and Alicent gave him an heir and a spare and still it was not good enough, he passed by you and his sons to bury his guilt by calling Rhaenyra the heir, it wasn’t because he trusted her or because he saw something in her, he passed the title on to her because he did not trust you and then because he wanted to wash the blood of queen Aemmas from his hands”
Silence fell upon them, (y/n) pulled away from her husband and headed towards the door, as his hand rested upon the handle she turned her head back to lord husband who was visibly shaken, (y/n) might appear disheartened but she could detect that her monologue had started to creep on to Daemons heart.
“I love you with all my heart, that is why I shall leave you to grieve, if you wish to run to her I will…. Understand, it is not like I ever doubted the unconditional love you have for the realm delight, now might be your chance to pursue it”
Her tone was drowning in sorrow leaving Daemon with an unwavering sense of guilt in a dark room as his wife had disappeared to place her hand over a war of fire and blood, (y/n) was correct, Daemon did love Rhaenyra, still, he did not place his flame for her over what he had built with his wife over the years.
(Y/n) walked away with a smile of triumph, she had done her part flawlessly and now she was certain that Daemon would be by her side before the crown was placed on Aegons head, however, she did not have time to waste, Alicent and (y/n) were the ones to wake the new king and queen, preparing them for what they had destined to be.
“You may enter”
“Prince Daemon is asking to see his daughter and wife, alone”
(Y/n) stopped brushing her daughter's head, carefully placing the golden brush down before she looked down at her daughter who nodded in approval.
“Let him in, do not allow anyone to disturb us”
“Right away”
The girl curtsied as quickly as possible before she disappeared only to be replaced by none other than Daemon. (Y/n) took a sharp inhale through her nose once he entered the room, preparing herself for a mental battle, surprisingly when her eyes scanned for his she was met with a certain lightness, an ease to him that caught her by a pleasant surprise.
Instinctively a small smile played on her lips, her Daemon was dressed in his black attire, leather suited him, and his hair was pulled away from his face the way she always told him to do it.
(Y/n) was not made of stone, she might play like she is though her heart skipped a beat every time she was near her lord husband, Daemon was one of the very few people that (y/n) would throw herself in the fire, even though their love felt like the flames licked her back, that sweet pain of admiration and devotion that the poets would sing and the common folk would go mad.
“My dearest loves”
Daemon declared, that their daughter rose from her chair and ran to her father, she was always the one known to succumb to emotions and this time (y/n) could not scold her over it, Leora was her father's daughter, (y/n) might not have spoken over the matter only to allow the young girl the solidarity of her feelings, inside Leora was always waiting for her father to walk through this door.
“You look beautiful, a perfect gown for the queen”
“Father I-“
“Before I handed you over to Aegon I made you a promise, do you remember it?”
“I will do anything to see you happy”
“I will put myself through war if you tell me that this is what you want, all you have to do is say it”
Daemon was no fool, he was certain that the second that crown graced his daughter's head a war would nip their heels, Rhaenyra would not go down without a fight and that meant that Daemon would have to face her in battle, a battle he was willing to put for his lovely Leora.
“I want to be queen, I want Aegon to be our king”
“Very well, I wish you a fruitful reign, may the Gods smile down upon you”
‘May the Gods have mercy on us’ he thought, with a smile he brushed away those dark thoughts only to place a kiss on his daughter's forehead, a small part of him screamed that this was the right thing, his brother never thought he was good enough, now his brother was on the ground and his daughter was crowned queen and would carry on the legacy of the Targaryen name.
“Go on now, I want to have a word with your mother”
“I will be waiting for you”
Leora informed them before she gave them the privacy Daemon desired. (Y/n) stood as still as a statue, her heart pounding on her chest as her throat grew dry and scratchy, she was the master of composure up until now, faced with the only person who could make her waver.
“My beautiful, sweet lady wife, you spoke harshly last night”
“I spoke nothing but the truth”
She threw back in a cold tone. Daemon only smirked as he started to approach her, she did not dare to move, (y/n) was comforted by his light-hearted manner though there was an underlying mischief, Daemon was playing something, and (y/n) was left trying to catch up before it is too late.
Daemon stood before her, his arm finding her forearms and giving them a gentle squeeze, his eyes gazing back at hers with a glimmer that (y/n) had grown to yearn for, she despised the fact that she had to manipulate him like this, she was left with no other choice but to do this, a side of hers cursed the day Rhaenyras and Daemons fates met, this would have been so much easier had (y/n) been the only women Daemon loved.
“You are so bright, I am almost disappointed that you didn’t foresee this”
“The war?”
“No, me, you think I have not caught wind of all the scheming against Rhaenyra? The upbringing of my daughter to become the wife of my brother's firstborn son, putting our son on the sea the minute he was born to have better knowledge of anything driftmark related to gain the favor of your father, every step you so amazingly calculated with Alicent so you can get our family here”
“You have gone mad”
“I saw behind the facade and that makes you nervous, I was there with you every step of the way you mustn’t be frightened, I let you do all this for only one reason”
“Alright, let us entertain this absurd claim of yours, what is the reason?”
“Because I love you”
(Y/n) mouth slightly parted in shock, Daemon had professed his love for her on multiple occasions but the weight on this one was different, he had pulled what she thought was the perfect cover, leaving her bare in front of him, uncovering her thirst that she had kept away from everyone.
“I love you so much that I will let my daughter become the target on Rhaenyras mind, I will go against the woman that you think threatens your position in my heart, I will put myself in the sword before I let her even get one strand of your hair because you and our daughter want this”
“And you don’t? You always held a grudge over the fact that Viserys never declared you as his heir”
“My brother is dead now and because of you our child wishes to be a queen, I picked you as my second wife because I saw your strength, your determination, you need to come on top, that is the Targaryen fire through and through”
“You truly mean all this?”
“You are my lady wife, you gave me a home, now it is time to show the realm that we are the rightful heirs of the throne, together as one”
(Y/n) reached daemons lips for a passionate kiss, his hands slid down to her waist and pulled her as close as humanly possible, sharing this moment meant everything to (y/n), she had him devotedly by her side, he saw her true nature and walked straight into her fire, surrendering in her and even shielding her and her family.
“Let us find out daughter, I want us to be the ones to place the crown on her head”
“I wouldn’t dare let anyone else have that honor”
Requests are open!
#hotd fanfic#hotd imagine#hotd#hotd fic#hotd x reader#daemon targeryen x reader#daemon#daemon targaryen x y/n#daemon targaryen headcanon#daemon targaryen x oc#daemon targaryen fic#daemon targaryen fanfic#daemon targaryen fanfiction#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen imagine#daemon targaryen x you#daemon targaryen#daemon targeryan#daemon x reader#hotd daemon#daemon x you#daemon imagine#house of the dragon fic#house of the dragon#hotd fluff#SoundCloud
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My Dornish Love(3)
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Aemond Targaryen x Martell!reader
Summary- you and aemond discover you have some common interests
Warnings- mentions of poisoning, some sexual thoughts?
ferronniere- a headband that circles that forehead and will usually have a gem of sorts in the middle(or plain depending on where)
wc- 2.3k
1 2
-
Aemond waited patiently in the Library. A plate of food and a cup was next to him and a book opened. Another plate was across from him as well as a cup.
The doors pushed open and you came rushing in, starting one of the other maesters. You wore a vibrant violet dress that made Aemonds own violet eye widen. You looked absolutely gorgeous. And the ferronniere really tied it all together.
“Good morrow my prince, I’m sorry I’m late.” You say and pull a chair out and sit down.
“It's alright, and no need for formalities. You called me by my name all yesterday.” Aemond gave you a tiny smirk.
“Yes, but we were around people who don’t particularly care, here in the Keep it is best to keep up appearances.” You lifted your hands onto the table. “Can we eat? I'm hungry.”
“No need to ask, my lady.” You didn’t have to get told twice as you grabbed the biscuit and took a bite. Aemond caught a glimpse of your hand and forearm and he shut the book. “What happened to you?” He pointed at your arms and you looked up at him.
“Oh, I'm alright, it's just me and Thea discovered how much cats don’t enjoy baths.” You laughed nervously.
“Your handmaiden could have done that for you.” He says bluntly.
“It’s alright, I like getting my hands dirty.”
“Hmm. I should get the maester to check them.” He pushes his chair back and you grab his wrist.
“Nonsense, eat first.” He yanked his wrist out of your grip and you drew your hand back.
“It can wait.” He walks past the table.
“No, it can’t, the first meal of the day is very important. Especially for a prince and swordsman such as yourself.” Aemond stopped in his tracks and his jaw tensed.
“They could get infected.”
“I’ve been poisoned before, this is nothing.” Aemond turned around with a shocked look on his face.
“Poisoned?” He sounded intrigued now.
“I can tell you about it if you sit back down and eat with me.” You fluttered your eyelashes at him and he sighed. Aemond made his way back around the table and sat down. He grabbed the grapes and popped two in his mouth. His actions satisfied you and you cut the sausages in pieces. “So when me and Deziel were younger, we snuck into the storage where they keep the poisons because we just wanted to see them, but Deziel being Deziel. He grabs manticore venom and the twat drops it on me. I scream and end up getting cut which lets the venom go into my body.”
“How did your parents react?” You laughed and Aemond dipped his spoon into his oatmeal.
“There was a panic, my body had already weakened by the time they retrieved the antidote. Deziel didn’t see the outside of his room for almost two months, my mother was so angry.” You hunched over in a laugh and Aemond let his face relax and smile. You had such a pretty laugh but then you stopped. Aemond’s eyebrow furrowed in confusion until he remembered.
“I'm sorry.” He says.
“It was a long time ago.”
“And still fresh on your mind.” You huffed and leaned back.
“No need for all this sadness, this is about you so how is your morning so far?” Aemond took a sip of the contents of his cup.
“I trained with Ser Criston and visited Vhagar.”
“I’ve heard stories of how big she is.” Aemond watched a glint in your eye of interest.
“Would you like to see her?” You drew back and your eyes widened.
“I don’t think that's wise.” He finished his last grapes and grabbed his spoon again.
“And why's that, princess? Are you scared?” He looked at you mischievously and you frowned.
“Of course I'm scared, I've never seen a dragon, and what if she knows?” You pouted.
“Knows what?” You sighed.
“That I'm Dornish.” There was a pregnant pause between the two of you. Then you heard it. A tiny little giggle and Aemond’s shoulder moved up and down. You frowned and scoffed. “It's not funny.” Your face burnt in embarrassment.
“What do you think Vhagar would do if she sensed you were Dornish? Eat you?” He asks and you shrug.
“Maybe! Dragons are smart, she fought in two wars against Dorne! My people had killed her own sister in arms.” Aemond kept an amusing look. “You’re mean.” You flicked a blueberry at him, hitting him in the cheek.
“How unladylike of you.” You rolled your eyes. “But at least you know your history.”
“Did you think I was stupid?” You cock your head.
“Not at all, but not many ladies pride themselves on learning these things.”
“Well, there's not much to do on Dorne rather than watch people fight to the death, drink, fuck, and eat. So I have picked up a book and I did pay attention in my classes.” You swirled the contents in your cup and swung a leg over the other.
“Mmm. You should join me for a ride on Vhagar.” Your eyes widened in fear.
“M-Maybe another time.”
“Suit yourself, but I will still send you the proper attire.”
“The riding I know of requires no attire.” You cross your arms and pretend to be annoyed. Aemond let out an airy chuckle.
“In due time princess.”
“Cute. Eat your food Prince Aemond.”
-
Breakfast was long finished. In the time after, Aemond asked you about Dorne. He wanted to know about it from a native's perspective. He also found joy in hearing you talk.
“As you know it's always hot but here?” You laughed. “I actually had to cover up pretty decently last night but the sheets were quite scratchy, I thought there was a manticore crawling on me.”
“You weren’t scared?”
“I know how to extract their venom so they’re really nothing.”
“Is it true you coat your weapons in venom?”
“Mhmm.”
“How do you do that?”
“To collect the venom we use vials and to hold the creature we would hold them with a large set of tweezers and a small set for the actual venom. For a manticore, the small tweezer would hold the stinger of the tail and you would just squeeze. Then we kill whatever it is and eat it.”
Aemond grimaced at that.
“What? They’re good, you should try one.” He chuckles at that.
“I am sure I will be alright without it.” You put your elbow on the table and pointed a finger at him.
“You’re going to try one.” He gave you a mischievous smile.
“I'm not easily persuaded.”
“We will see about that. Is there anything else you would like to know about, my prince?” You ask and the tips of your shows push against his boots.
“No, I'm sure I have enough information to start a book of my own.” He says with amusement and you scoff.
“Hey! You could have asked me to stop at any time.”
“A simple tease, I enjoy hearing your voice.”
“Fancy me already?”
“Is that a crime?” You shook your head and smiled. The edges of Aemond’s mouth curved up and he looked down.
“How do you feel about the night sky?” You leaned forward.
“I think it’s beautiful, when I ride Vhagar at night I try to get as close as possible to the stars.” There was a glint in his eye the second he mentioned Vhagar.
“I have a book about it in my room, come with me?” You asked and stood up. You held a hand out to him and he pushed his chair back. He walked around the table and he grabbed your hand.
-
The walk was short and no words were said between you too, but it was not awkward at all. Comforting even.
You opened your chamber door and you let Aemonds hand go. He checked the hallways and when nobody passed he stepped through the door.
You were already bending over to dig into a drawer. Aemond froze and his eye was trained on your ass. He was thankful he wasn’t like Aegon.
“Here it is.” You hold up the brown book and show it to him.
The Mysteries of the Sky by Maestor Elkin
“He has traveled all over the world, he has even gone to The Wall and he reported on these bright lights in the sky.” You say when you open the book to one of your saved pages.
“Fascinating.” Aemond stepped next to you, with hands behind his back, and skimmed over the page you were at.
“He doesn’t know exactly what causes them but he does believe it's the work of the gods. Can you believe if the gods do create what's in the sky, that they share their beautiful creations with us?” You wouldn’t see the smile on Aemond’s face as he solely looked at you.
“I do and they might be too generous at times.”
“Hmm, I think they give us what we need.” You looked up at him by tilting your head back slightly with a smile. Aemonds heart started racing and his cheeks dusted pink.
“We should continue this back in the library.” Aemond starts walking towards your door when a white fluff walks in front of him. She passed along his boots and slid down onto her side. He crouched down and gave the cat some scratches making her purr.
“Or your room.” The cat hissed at you, still very mad about the events of earlier. Aemond looked over his shoulder and his eyes were met with the diamond that was pierced into your belly button. What he would do to just run his tongue along it.
Fuck that stupid (beautiful) dress
He stood up to his full height so he could tower over you.
“If someone catches us-.”
“We are a very anticipated betrothal amongst many. I’m sure they will be more happy that we are getting along than mad that we were alone together.” Aemond couldn’t help but agree.
“Follow me.”
-
Aemond pushed the door open to his room and he stepped out of the way for you. You walked in and looked at all his furniture and all the paintings.
“It's like everything I imagined. Dark but beautiful.”
“Hmm.” Aemond grabbed a book off his table and sat down in a chair and kicked his feet up on the small table. “Join me?” You gladly sat in the long chair next to his.
“There is more Targaryen heraldry in your room than the rest of the keep.” The painting of a dragon setting ablaze to what seemed like Harrenhall caught your attention.
“That is what happens when the king grows ill and two devout members of the seven take over.” He cracked open his book.
“How is the king? I have not seen him.”
“Dying, slowly.” Aemond really should have said ‘too slowly’.
“I can’t imagine wh-.”
“Not everyone has a relationship with their father as you do.” He cuts you off quickly. “A good one at least.”
You decided not to push forward.
“What are you reading?”
“Political philosophy.”
“Interesting.” You opened your book and kicked your flats off to lay down on the couch. A silence fell over, it was comfortable to an extent. There was a slight tension but you slowly forgot about it as you got deep into the book and your eyes slowly started to droop.
-
The book clattering on your chest made Aemond direct his attention to you. Book pages were folded on your chest. One hand on your chest and the other dangling. Your head was turned to the side and eyes shut. Aemond chuckled and stood up to a chest that held blankets. He grabbed the softest one and grabbed the book from your chest. It closed on the material of the dress and when he pulled it, the bottom of your breasts exposed themselves.
“Fuck.” He turned away and his cock made a sudden throbbing sensation. Gods, he was acting like a boy again, the mere sight of a woman's body making him hard. He closed his eye and tried to think of anything else.
He tossed the book on the table turned around and quickly splayed the blanket over your body. Aemond sat back in his chair and the material around his crotch down. Reading should make it go down.
-
You slept until the sun was almost gone. Aemond had finished a couple of chapters and did whatever else he needed to do.
You sat up straight and rubbed your eyes. Aemond shifting caught your attention and you looked back.
“Sorry.” You mumbled and swung your legs so your feet touched the floor.
“Don’t apologize, you’re still tired from your trip. I should be the one apologizing for taking you out so quickly.”
You yawned and stretched, a breeze hitting your nipples suddenly made you very aware that they had slipped out and Aemond had not taken his eyes off them.
“If you wanted to see them, all you had to do was ask.” You teased tiredly and Aemond looked down at his now closed book. “I should get back, me and my brothers are going to see a play in the cities.”
“Then I will see you later, princess.” You stood up and did a curtsy. Aemond frowned at your action but relaxed when you giggled. He even let himself laugh. He did this cute thing where when he laughed his head would shake slightly.
“I hope we continue these meetings, I think something good can come of this.” You say walking toward the door and Aemond stands up to open the door for you.
“I agree, I hope you enjoy the play.” He opens the door and you reach up to kiss his cheek. His face turned pink with affection.
“See you tomorrow Aemond.”
You did not
-
Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated. I love hearing people’s thoughts🥰
#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x martell!reader#my dornish love#ewan mitchell
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PLAY ✧ CHARACTER PLAYLISTS
FULL PROLOGUE RELEASED - DEC 24, 2023
LAST UPDATE: NOV 15, 2024
Vanguard is a high fantasy interactive fiction, driven heavily by the player character's decisions. Features a customizable playable faering character, romantic/platonic routes, and having fun as a dragon!
CONTENT WARNINGS: VIOLENCE, SUGGESTIVE AND SEXUAL CONTENT, LOTS OF SWEARING, PROBABLY GASLIGHTING (looking at you, Vera), POSSIBLE UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIP DYNAMICS. Intended for an audience that is 17+ ; read with discretion!
YOUR STORY
As a faering, you should want to keep to yourself. Your home is a safe haven where your dragon kin people reside; a place of true neutrality. There are no allies to the Midlands, nor are there enemies. Your people simply are, and this will not change.
But you were never one much for rules, were you? With whispers of a certain prince in the Northlands allegedly receiving death threats from your docile leader, Cirrus, you could only slip away into the depths of the North to go see for yourself. It's so hilariously outrageous that your peace-loving ruler has such rumours teeming about them.
You did not expect to find a bounty hunter bleeding out from her abdomen. And most of all, you did not expect her to know you by name, even through her raggedy breaths. And most of all, you did not expect her to have leads on the one you seek: the Northern Prince.
FEATURES
Customize a playable character (pronouns, gender, appearance, sexuality, etc.)
Be helpful to a stern prince...or not.
Develop relationships with a diverse cast of: three non-binary characters (Cirrus, Vio, Kiera), two male characters (Emilio and Charles), and two female characters (Vera and Nia). Note that Vio and Kiera are non-romanceable.
Approximately 20k words thus far; chapter one in progress.
CHARACTER PROFILES
✧VERA ✧ EMILIO LOVELL ✧ NIA LOVELL ✧CIRRUS✧ CHARLES MORROW ✧ KIERA + VIO ✧
#interactive fiction#if wip#twine game#twine interactive fiction#interactive game#itch.io#vanguard#vanguard if
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Insatiable Appetites
Summary: Two requests into one: the reader is a Targaryen, and she and Aegon were lovers once. And when the reader comes to King landing for her mother's crowning (no war, please), Aegon makes comments about how they were once lovers or something, and Benji calls him a c**t. (I keep re-watching that episode just for that) Because while Benji may be jealous, he's down bad for our girl. Jealous smut ensues.
Tags: NSFW, MDNI, 18+
Word Count: 2555
(this is an x reader fanfic but just with a name)
A sliver dragon was flying in the skies, with two black-haired figures flying on top of it. As many royal family members walked out, they saw Sliverwing landing towards the dragonpit. The two figures climbed down from the she-dragon; two kingsguards came forward, one overjoyed to see them and the other not. They happened to be Ser Cole and Ser Harrold.
“Welcome back to Kingslanding Princess Visenya, and welcome Lord Blackwood,” Ser Harrold greeted with a warm smile, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the princess and her lord husband.
Princess Visenya, Rhaenyra’s daughter, turned to the kingsguard, smiling at the guard who seemed like another grandfather. Visenya, named after the conqueror, was a sight to behold. She did not have the typical Valyrian hair; instead, she inherited the Baratheon and Arryn genes, having long, dark, straight hair. Which combined beautifully with her inherited great-grandsire Aemon’s eye color, which was pretty lilac. She was graceful and deadly, a combination that captivated the hearts of every lord and lady in court. She was a force to be reckoned with, which made many men fall madly in love, trying to win over her hand of marriage, all failed but one.
“Good Morrow Ser Harrold, I’m happy to see your face; how have you been?” pondered Visenya as she extended her arm to her husband Benjicot Blackwood as the two walked towards the carriage and horses.
“Overjoyed to have you back, no offense, my lord, but the Red Keep has missed their princess,” teased Ser Harrold to Benjicot, who couldn't help but grin at the knight's playful banter.
“Then you better make the most of it while she is here because I’m afraid, Ser, she is well loved back in Raventree Hall. My people and I will not give her up so quickly.” bragged Benjicot as he helped his wife onto his horse, then climbed up and sat in front of her.
Visneya sighed as they began to ride towards the red keep; after years, she thought her family would remember that she preferred to ride horseback rather than sit in a lousy carriage.
As the party reached the red keep, the royal family stood there, wearing various colors: red, black, green, and blue. As everyone graces the couple with a smile, only Alicent sneered, seeing a lady riding her horse and not in the carriage. Visneya and Benji demounted their horse, letting the stable boy take it.
“My dear granddaughter, how this castle has grown so lonely without you here…I hope Raventree Hall has treated you well,” spoke Viserys, huffing with each breath.
Visenya smiled at her grandsire, curtsying as Benji followed with his own bow.
“Yes, Raventree Hall has made itself a wonderful home,” explained Senya, seeing her mother smile in relief.
“That is good. Come, let us return to the castle while we prepare for the feast and coronation of my dear Rhaenyra tomorrow,” commanded Viserys. Ser Harrold led the king back, and the rest of the family followed.
While everyone returned to their duties or chambers, Visenya decided to give a tour of the royal family side of the castle to her husband. Something many lords and ladies could only hope to see. Walking through the hall, Visenya showed her husband all the spots she and her brothers used to run around when they were younger. As they reached Meagor’s Holdfast, Aegon exited Heleana’s rooms. Seeing his niece, he smirked, walking to greet her and her husband.
“Well, niece, it's finally nice to see you back since your wedding. I hope your husband and his home are satisfying you; we dragons have insatiable appetites.” taunted Aegon, scanning his eyes slowly down her body, smirking at Benjicot as he left.
Visenya rolled her eyes as she led her husband away, who gave Aegon a dirty look and walked into her old chambers.
“I still can’t believe you slept with him,” questioned Benjicot, sitting down on the red silk chaise, staring at his wife, who groaned. Visneya sat next to him, kissing his neck before replying.
“I was young, stupid, and very drunk. Besides, it was only once, and it is not my fault that I was such a wonderful lover that he became obsessed. I can remember that night as being mediocre at best.” Visneya explained as she turned Ben’s face to her.
“Besides, as he said, dragons have an insatiable appetite, and you, my dear husband, have done wonders to satisfy me.” She kissed him and smiled as she felt his arms tighten around her waist.
As the lord was about to pull her under him, a knock broke them out of their musings. Growling, the princess rose to answer the door, seeing a knight at the door. The knight told the princess that her brothers had invited her and her husband to the training grounds in the afternoon, wanting to do some practice runs together. The princess nodded with a smile, thanking the knight as she closed the door.
Benjicot hmm as he placed one more kiss on her head, “As much I want to continue my love, if we start, I will not be able to stop until tomorrow’s feast, and then that will be breaking the promise to your brothers.”
Visneya pouted, “Very well, but you will finish what you started, my raven; I will not be ignored.”
Benjicot widely grinned, kissing the corner of her cheek. “As my princess commands of me.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the training yards, grunts and playfully bantered filled the air, with men dueling each other and teaching the younger princes the way of the sword. Visenya herself was teaching her younger brother, Joffrey, how to hold a sword correctly, smiling as her brother practiced the stances. As she looked up, she grinned at Benjicot, who took a break to watch his wife with her younger brother; he could just imagine the same thing back home, but only it would be their children.
“Blackwood, I challenge you to a duel…” the voice's owner, Aegon, stuttered towards the raven lord.
Visenya scoffed at her uncle; he was drunk and overly confident. Benjicot glanced at his wife, wondering if he should entertain the idea. Visenya tipped to the side, thinking, at one point, this could be an excellent opportunity for Ben to knock him off his ego train. On the other hand, this was Aegon. Should he get injured, Alicent would probably start making a fuss to the king. Unfortunately, Aegon took the slight pause as Benjicot being afraid. Grinning, he began taunting the Blackwood lord.
“Oh, are you afraid of being burned by the dragon, Blackwood? Hmmm?” laughed Aegon as he slightly swayed.
Benjicot just smirked; this would be a piece of cake.
“Very well, I accept your challenge, Prince Aegon,” spoke Benjicot as he took a practice sword from Prince Jacaerys, who wished him the best and put Aegon in his place.
Aegon walked around prancing, which many would describe as looking like a peacock. Benjicot rolled his eyes as he began to turn, swinging his swords and striking Aegon on his arm. This caused the prince to yelp as he turned to his opponent. Growling, Aegon decided to attack, missing Benjicot miserably as Benji easily dodged away from him. This made the crowd chuckle, infuriating the prince as he grew more upset and reckless in his striking towards the lord.
“Uncle Aegon isn’t good with the sword, huh, Senya,” commented Joffrey, seeing his uncle constantly missing and being struck down by his good-brother.
Visenya hummed in agreement. Aegon is not the best swordsman; clearly, being drunk did him no favors. As she made eye contact with Aemond, she almost felt pity. Aemond looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him. He was so embarrassed by his brother’s performance that he did not want people to think his sword skills were on par with Aegon’s.
As Aegon grew more irritated and tired from the duel, he got an idea that he believed would get the advantage of Benjicot. He crouched down, picking up a chunk of dirt and flinging it towards Benji’s eyes. Benjicot quickly backed away and closed his eyes, trying not to allow any dirt to enter his eyes and narrowingly blocking the sword that came to him. Aegon darkly smirked as he leaned in.
“I have to give you props, lord Benjicot; not every man would be okay with having Targaryen second. Tell me, is my niece’s cunt still tight? Does she wrap her pretty little legs around you as you take her? Does she claim to moan your name as loudly as she did with me…” whispered Aegon, enjoying Benjicot’s face frown, his eyes darkening with anger.
Benjicot pushed back, causing the prince to flatter, trying not to show his shock at the raven lord. Benjicot stalked toward Aegon, looking like a predator ready to strike his prey.
“You have no honor to use such words to get a ruse of your opponent… you can barely call yourself a prince of the realm, you craven little cunt!” shouted Benji as he used the handle of his practice sword to punch Aegon straight in his face.
Knocking Aegon on his ass as the Prince held his now bleeding nose. Jacaerys and Visenya quickly joined Benjicot’s side as chaos exploded, and Criston Cole took out his steel.
“Halt!” commanded Ser Harrold as the crowd raised their sight to the balcony.
King Viserys was shaking his head in disappointment at his son as Prince Daemon cackled heavily to the side, finding the situation hilarious.
“Aegon was the one who challenged Lord Blackwood and used dirty tactics to win a match he was losing. Ser Cole, I advise you to teach my sons better strategies to defeat an opponent, not resulting in insults. Take Aegon to see a maester. Let this be done. Hopefully, he does not bruise for tomorrow. Daemon, cease your laughs.” commanded Viserys, growing more annoyed when his brother continued laughing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As Benjicot burst into the chamber, he angrily began to strip, wanting to take a bath to cool off, not wanting to do something drastic. Visneya followed her husband to the bed chambers, dismissing the servants.
“Ben, what is going on? What did Aegon say to upset you?” questioned Senya, growing shocked when he turned to her growling.
“Don’t say his name…” growled Benjicot as he approached her.
Visneya was shocked, having never seen her husband this fired up before. She walked towards him when he took her and forcefully pushed her to the bed. Crashing onto the bed, she gasped as she felt his body on her. He was a storm, a storm that ironically was warming her up.
“You are mine, my wife, your body, mine,” announced Benji as he began to kiss her, hungrily capturing her lips, then her jaw, all the way down to her neck. He paused to bite and lick her neck and collarbones. Making Senya moan, feeling the assault on her neck; she would be covered in love bites tomorrow. The whole court will see them since she didn’t pack any high-neck dresses.
As Benji continued to devour his wife’s skin, he roughly began to undress her and himself, leaving them naked as he reached down to see her cunt weeping for him. Seeing her wetness, he grinned widely, pulling her closer to him, and he started grinding himself to her.
“Who does your body belong to, hmm,” questioned Benjicot, enjoying the sweet gasps and moans from the princess’s mouth.
“Yours..” whispered Senya, feeling overwhelmed by the fast pace. This sensation was new but exciting.
Squealing, she felt herself being flipped with her ass in the air as her husband pressed her face to her the bed. She jolted, feeling him slap her bare bottom.
“I said…who does your body belong to?” growled Benjicot, giving another slap.
“Yours! My body belongs to you!” Senya loudly moaned, closing her eyes, withering in painful pleasure.
“Yes, your body is mine, not Aegon’s, not anybody else's. You were made to take my cock and only mine.” Stated Benji, rubbing himself at her entrance.
Visneya could only nod, feeling excited about how rough he was being. She wanted him inside her already, but she felt another slap instead.
“What do you want, or I won’t give you anything,” commanded Benji, his grin ever growing as Visenya sobbed, pressing her body towards him.
“You! Ben, I want you… I want you to fuck me, Please!” pleaded Visenya, groaning in delight, feeling him roughly enter her cunt.
“That’s my good girl; you are going to take me in so well,” grunted Benji, going in and out quickly and fiercely.
As skin slapping filled the room, Senya felt that she would break in half as Ben pulled out and packed in viciously. Her whole body rocked as she felt her husband riding her. Gripping the bedsheets till her knuckles turned white.
“Yes! So good, yes, Ben, you are so good.” moaned Visenya into her pillow, gasping as Benji pulled her body upright.
Grasping her breast, he growled into her ear, “I want the whole castle to hear you moan my name; let everyone hear that you are mine. I want Aegon to wish he could make you feel this good.”
Bouncing her up and down, he lowered his fingers down to her sensitive bud, taking the time to give attention to it, causing Visenya to moan louder than she ever did before.
“My gods, Benji! Yes! Please fuck me harder, please, I need it!” begged Senya, feeling her release rushing to her. She knew she was so close. Closing her eyes, she reached behind to grasp her husband's hair, roughly pulling it.
“That’s it, sweetheart…. Where do you want me to finish, in your pretty mouth or in..”
“Inside me! I need you to fill me…please, Ben, my body craves your release inside me. Mark me, please!” pleaded Visenya, whimpering as she felt his hot release wash over her. It was so warm.
Gasping, Benjicot finally released her, laying her down on the bed as he lay next to her, still attached. After intense bedding, the two struggled to catch their breath, Visneya placing a hand on her chest. After a moment, Benji slipped out of her and gathered her in his arms.
“Was I too rough, Senya?” he whispered, lightly kissing her shoulder.
Visneya inhaled deeply as she turned her body to him. Shaking her head, she pressed a kiss on his chest.
“No, Ben, I’m fine…it just took me by surprise.” she stared at her husband’s eyes, seeing her sweet husband stare lovingly at her.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be that rough; it's just that Aegon’s words affected me, for him to make such comments about you…”
Visneya shushed her husband with a sweet kiss. Smiling as she felt him hold her tenderly, this was the side of Benjicot that only she got to see—her sweet Ben.
“Aegon could never compare to you; he could never make my body crave him like you do with me.” she professed as she stroked his cheek.
“I am yours, and you are mine…” vowed Visneya, nuzzling her face to him.
Benjicot smiled, kissing his wife as he spoke his vows to her again, “I am yours, and you are mine.”
#benjicot blackwood/oc#benjicot blackwood#fanfic#hotd fanfic#benjicot x reader#house of the dragon#hotd
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religion | aemond targaryen
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/fcabe22a295a3e51d9f882a1331bdbd5/5fd5a6be0cc218ce-42/s540x810/f2628b0384890e66d12c800a0434f65f47a5c5b1.jpg)
pairing: aemond targaryen x fem!velaryon
synopsis: finding a husband has never been harder, especially when your uncle comes to ask for your hand.
word count: 468
notes: no warnings I wrote this in like 30 minutes so it might be bad
requests: open
The Velaryon girl could swear her mother loved to make her life harder, evident through the fact the girl is now sitting in an ugly hall, filled with fat old men pledging their heart to her and pages long reasons why she should choose them.
She could laugh, when a boy who looks one and ten, explain why she should marry him. The poor boy must have seen the amused face, shown through his now rosy cheeks staring up at her.
“Next” her sworn knight yelled, after her subtle glance at him, for the 56th time this evening, the girl silently keeping count.
The girl scanned her eyes across the hall, huffing staring at the long line of people still waiting to ask for her hand. She rolled her eyes, scanning back up to the line and to the man walking to the foot of the steps.
“Prince Aemond.” She said confused, slightly tilting her head wondering why the Prince would be here when he surely had other duties.
“Princess. I would like to ask for your hand.” He said with hands behind his back.
Her eyes widened. Why had the Prince waited in the line when he could’ve gone directly to her mother? Why does he even want to marry her? Her brain scattered, she asked another question.
“Why are you truly here Aemond? Why did you not go straight to the Queen yourself, which might I add is your mother and propose a marriage with her? Why have you come today?” She said angrily. Was he trying to humiliate her? Gritting her teeth together she straightened her back waiting for an answer.
“Well Princess, I thought the people asking for your hand had to wait here, so that is what I did. He said, believed to be said confidently to everyone else, but she could pick up on the undertone of arrogance in his voice.
She sighed, “We will resume this in the morrow.” She exclaimed walking out of the hall, hands clasped together, with a pair of boots slamming of the floors behind her.
Suddenly stopping and turning around, she was slightly shocked with how close Aemond was behind her, but she isn’t really surprised as his strides are much longer than hers.
“So does this mean you accept my proposal Princess?” Aemond said raising his eyebrows slightly.
“Like I said Prince Aemond, this will be resumed in the morrow. But, do not get your hopes up. The last thing I would do is marry you because I do not believe that you truly want to marry me, as everything you do is for your own personal gain.” She said one last time before turning on the heel of her foot and walking away, but not without seeing the small smirk on the Prince’s face.
other links!
nav. masterlist. hotd masterlist.
#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond one eye#house of the dragon#hotd aemond#aemond x reader#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x you
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•····🍑········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𝓓𝓪𝔂 𝓕𝓲𝓯𝓽𝓮𝓮𝓷⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•········🍑····•
𝚂𝚊𝚜𝚑𝚒𝙰𝚟𝚒'𝚜 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛
#15•𝙻𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗•#15
𝙰𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒 𝙸𝚝𝚝𝚘 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 ʷᵒʳᵈ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ ².⁸ᵏ
The Arataki Gang was made up of many interesting characters. An intelligent ex-shrine maiden, a hulking descendant of the Red Oni, a young Akaushi bull calf, even the renowned Traveler was an honorary member. The Gang was a group of rowdy misfits, tossed aside from their previous lives, doing their best to make every day count. They welcome people with open arms, including you! A sweet young girl from the outskirts of Inazuma.
You fit in well with the group, adorning your own unique features; You were a hybrid, not too common of a sight within the Nation of Inazuma, a Taurean hybrid to be exact - or a Cow Girl! As Itto says. You sported large, floppy ears and adorned the cutest little horns on your head. You were sweet, soft and loving, ever so compassionate towards all of the members of the group.
Whether you meant to or not, you took on a maternal role for the Gang. You ensured everyone's tummies were full and satisfied. Took up mending clothes and garments whenever they were torn. Regularly, halfheartedly scolding the silly boys when they stayed up far too late considering their plans for the morrow.
Your presence created a new balance, something Itto cherished dearly, he adored having you around. His heart swells when he watches you snuggle into Ushi after a long day, napping with the young calf before supper. He smiles when you return after an outing, bringing sweet treats and chocolates for everyone to enjoy. His chest hurts when he sees you unwell, waving everyone off while you attempt to upkeep your routine.
He notices your permanent downturned frown, the sleepy little blinks you make while trying to concentrate on the meeting. Itto couldn't help but ignore Shinobu's voice, something was wrong and even he could tell. You hug your arms around your body, squeezing tightly, in an attempt to provide some sort of comfort to yourself. Itto watches you rock back and forth with little wobbly movements, he swears he feels his heart crack into two.
If it were him, he thinks, he'd like a hug, that'd make him better so.. Surely it'd help you.. Right? There's something tugging at his chest, an urge, to hold you close.
He wraps his large arm around your frame, squeezing you tight into his side. It seemed to soothe you a little, Itto thinks. You smelt really pretty. He feels your soft body relax into him with a little sigh. He was going to get to the bottom of his, even if it took all day! He would make you feel better. The meeting drags on (no offense to Shinobu) and all Itto could think about was the sweet girl in his arms. He was surprised you eased into him so easily - Not that you had an aversion to his touch! He didn't think - just that most people weren't so easily pliant. Man, you really must not be feeling well.
If anyone noticed Itto's arm around you they didn't mention it. When the meeting lets up, everyone makes their way out, babbling on about who's shouting yakisoba and sake, leaving you and Itto alone in the room. You sit in a comfy silence, Itto was nearly sure you'd fallen asleep until he hears a soft whine. He feels your little horns press into his ribs, it nearly tickles him. He squeezes you again and you startle with a gasp. You suddenly pull away from his form with a small '..'m sorry'. Why were you sorry if he was the one to pull you in?
"You okay? You seem sick" Itto pouts, creasing his eyebrows in concern. You looked flushed, your lips still stuck in that unrelenting frown. Itto waits, let's you take your time in answering.
"Just.. Something with my… biology?" You sounded uncertain, you look anywhere but him. Biology? Science stuff? Man he really should have gone to school.. He scratches the back of his head, he wasn't the smartest tool in the shed but he was willing to learn! - He nearly fist pumps the air in determination.
"Biology..?" He probes, relaxing his body, bringing himself down to your level. You give a nervous laugh, shit, he hoped he wasn't making you uncomfortable.
"This thing.. Happens to my body around this time of the year…" Your voice is impossibly smaller, if it weren't for his keen ears he's sure he wouldn't have heard you.
"Ah, like a rut?" It made sense, Spring was approaching, the air was warming and there was the distinct tickle of pollen in the air. Itto was all too familiar with ruts, the hot achey flashes, the unbearable pains, curling into a pitiful ball until it passed. The only thing that helped him through it was a hot bowl on tonkotsu ramen and a heavy set of weights to push. Maybe you needed something to eat? Itto misses the Owl eyed look you give him.
"Ah.. yes… Something like that.. It's more of a h-heat.. Ah! I- I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable, Mister Arataki.. It was inappropriate of me to say that.." Your voice wavers. Inappropriate? What was inappropriate about a heat? Sounded like a rut and they made his bones chill, made his tummy ache and burn, made his legs restless. He wouldn't wish that upon anyone!
"Nahh it's alright, I get it! I get the feeling - and stop calling me that, just call me Itto" His smile is wide and cheeky, doing his best to ease the mood and bring in a little light.
"You.. You feel it too?" You shift in your spot.
"Yeah! If there's anything I can do to help I'll do it, promise!" He even holds out his pinky in a truce. He hopes that your shared experience will help, make you feel comfortable and safe. No judgement here! It's an Official rule of the Arataki Gang.
"I… I may have a request.." You finally lock eyes, you look unsure and Itto feels something in his belly. Second hand anxiety? He could tell you were nervous and for some reason, his body screamed at him to just.. Hold you close.
Itto nods his head, showing you he's listening.
"It's… really embarrassing.." You squeeze yourself tight again. It's Itto's turn to frown, surely nothing could top his most embarrassing moments you've bared witness to.
"Hey, I won't judge.. Trust me! I gotta look out for my Gang, how can I do that without helping you out?" He thinks he makes sense. He hopes he does, he didn't really have a way with words.
"I…" Your lips purse again, in an attempt to gain some courage.
"I'm a hybrid.. With Taurean features.." He knew that, you were a little cow. Not like Ushi, but you had pretty horns, you were soft like a cow too and sometimes you let out little 'moos' when you got excited. Itto nods in understanding, beckoning you to continue.
"We have.. I inherited a certain... thing.. please keep an open mind?" You nearly beg, little tears well up in your eyes. It must be serious then, Itto straightens up, running his finger over his heart in an 'X' shape. He crosses his heart and hopes to suffer the traumatic consequences of the beans. He was really proud of you for telling him this much.
"I can handle anything!" Itto puffs out his chest with a satisfied grin.
"I… I.. I need to be Milked"
…
Huh?
Something inside of Itto's brain starts ticking, a new feeling, something he'd never, ever felt before in his life. He can't help but notice just how pretty you looked, how sweet you smelt, how clamy his hands were. He swallows thickly.
"Milked..? Like.. a cow?" Did she have utters? Did all girls have utters? No that's stupid. Unless?
"U-uh I- I'm sorry it's weird.. I… it just.. hurts" Your sweet voice cracks and so does Itto's soul.
"Ah- bah- no! Not weird at all! I think it's normal.. cows and milk it- it all goes together yeah.. it makes sense- was that offensive? n-not that you're a cow-" Itto babbles, he does his best to reassure you, flailing his arms around madly. You manage a half smile, he was trying and you appreciated it.
"Usually.." You start. "I sort this out alone but.. I haven't had the time." You look away again, letting out a strained breath. You were still hurting and it was Itto's fault, he should have done something sooner.
"How can I help?" He's serious, he'd never felt so sure of something in his whole life. His eagerness catches you off guard, you're giving him the same, owlish look from before. He sees you bite your lip, pretty.. stop it.. focus.
"You just.." You make a gesture, squeezing your fingers together and pulling your hand down. Seems simple enough.. You stand and beckon Itto to follow you. He's lead to a little corner, covered in plush pillows and blankets, a comfy little quiet spot for Shinobu to read and Ushi to nap. He sits first as you request, propping himself up on the mountain of cushions. You follow after, tentatively sitting in his lap, your back to his broad chest. Your frame is soft on his, smaller than him of course, but soft. He nearly wraps his arms around you to give you a squeeze, but he withholds.
"I'm.. going to take my top off… is that okay?" You turn back to talk to him, your face inches from him, breath on his chin. Itto nods with a 'mhm!' - he didn't trust his voice right now. Your soft skin is revealed, illuminated by a warm hanging lantern in the room. You whine softly, poking at your achey breasts, wincing when you touch your sensitive nipple. Ittos heart pulses in his ears, your warm back leans into his naked chest. His hands hover over your hips, unsure on where he was allowed to put them.
You palm at his fingers, carefully bringing them up to your sore chest. He cups your swollen breasts, his warm palms welcomed on your cold, achey skin. Itto resists the reflex to squish and squeeze the soft flesh in his hands, never had he felt so out of breath. He couldn't describe the feeling, the warm, heat in his lower stomach, the sensation near cramping. His brain felt hyperaware, as if he were in danger, despite him clearly not. His thoughts are cut short when he hears your sweet voice.
"S-So.. you just.. pinch like thi- ah~" Your soft tone is cut with a keen as Itto squeezes at your puffy nipples. A sharp spurt of hot milk sputters from your breast, dribbling down Itto's knuckles. His eyes widened in fascination. Neuron Activated.
He continues to pinch at your nipples, tenderly squeezing the swollen, puffy buds with his fingers, relieving the ouchy pressure in your chest. You keen your head back, nearly knocking him in the chin with your little horns. Itto sighs out, breath laced in a new-found emotion. Something soft, something.. hot. His fingers become sticky, coated in your sweet milk. He's almost tempted to shove his fingers in his mouth, lick up the sweet, sweet cream that leaked from your breast. He finds his nose in your neck, drinking in your pretty scent, something about you was making his body agitated, his brain fogged, his tongue drooling.
He feels as though the sweet milks spilling from your breast was wasting. It dribbles down your tummy and soaks into whatever fabric was pooling at your hip. Your wet fingers come up to caress his face, drenched in your cream. The smell drives him mad, just a taste.. it would be a waste otherwise. Itto kisses at your fingers wetly, savouring your sweet cream. Gods he wanted more. Needed more. He doesn't know what comes over him.
"Can I.. please- can I use my mouth?? It'll be faster.. waste less.." He babbles into your neck, nuzzling his nose hard into your pulse. To his surprise you nod. Nod and nod and nod.
Itto is quick to manhandle your form, effortlessly scooping you up and placing you softly into the plush cushions. He wraps his large arms around you, taking a quick moment to snuggle into your front. You pet his hair, kiss his head, squeeze him back. Itto's chest surges and his tummy aches - in a good way. His breath is hot on your breasts, lips kiss carefully on your puffy nipples. His brain sparks, pupils dilate, he needs a real taste.
He licks a soft stripe up your plushy tits, lapping his tongue over your achey, swollen nipple. He urges your hands to wrap around his horns, lest he poked your eye out with them. Your sweet milk leaks on to his tongue and he nearly groans out loud. He breathes deep, his nose pleasantly assaulted with your pretty scent, soft and floral like sakura, sweet like dango milk. Carefully, he wraps his lips around your nipple, engulfing the achey bud in his mouth, soothing it with his tongue.
Itto sighs and nuzzles into the skin of your breast, lips latched on your puffy nipple, carefully nursing on your creamy milk. You cradle his head, petting at his fluffy hair, tucking it behind his ear as he suckles on your tits. He hears you sigh and relax into the plush pillows behind you. His other hand slowly massages at your other breast, in an attempt to soothe any ache while he's occupied. Your bud dribbles milk down your tummy, pooling prettily in your lap. Your sweet buttery milk coats his tongue, warm and creamy as he swallows it down. Your plush thighs wrap around Itto's middle, hugging him close to your body as he nurses on your tits.
Itto feels an ache in his groin, a pulsing pressure at the head of his untouched cock. Your pretty thighs squeeze at him, your achey, swollen nipples spurt the yummiest, creamiest milk on his tongue.
Itto couldn't remember just how he ended up like this, but he wouldn't have you any other way. Itto's thick cock nestles sweetly into your gushy cunt, wet and creamy from your arousal and the sweet milk dribbling from your tits. Your hands grip at his red horns, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the sensitive surface. Itto's lips never leave your tits, body bent over you, milking the sweet, creamy nectre from your nipples. All for him, just for him.
His hips hump carefully into your pussy, warm and sticky and wet. The soft squeeze of your core feels like Heaven on Tyvet. If this was Itto's last day alive he'd die a happy man. Your sweet little moans tumble from your pretty lips, just as soft as you were. Itto peers his eyes up, lips kissing and suckling at your achey nipples as he looks at you. You smile prettily, carding your fingers through his messy bangs, absolutely blissed out on him. Your breaths are slow, soft in his ears, your voice light and relaxed as you speak.
"..'s good Itto.. thank you~… doing a good job.. such a good job.." You praise him with your heart. Itto all but whimpers into your breast, rutting his hips deliciously into your cunny while he milks you. Anything to help out his sweet girl.
You press your forehead to his hair, knocking your pretty little horns against his own. Itto feels a hot twist in his groin, he swallows hard, nearly choking on the thick, sweet buttery cream on his tongue. He feels something, an aching in his cock, a delicious pressure building up in his lap.
"Itto.. m' gonna… getting close.. doing a good job, such a sweetie… my sweet.. my Itto~" You babble, voice breathy as can be, muffled in his hair. He barely hears you, too caught up in the tight hug of your cunt, the sweet milk thay dribbles down your tummy and on to his cock. He looks down, hyperfocused on the pretty, creamy ring around his cock as he humps his hips against yours. He groans out loud, dribbling spit and milk down his chin, something was happening, he could feel it.
Itto latches hard on your achey nipple as he creams in your pussy, slowly fucking hot ropes of cum up into your tummy. He nurses on your tits as he grinds his pelvis on yours, bumping his groin into your sticky clit. You follow soon after with a keen, squeezing his hips with your plush thighs, pulsing over his thick, aching cock. Neither of you made an effort to stop, still grinding against eachother softly. Itto continues to suckle and lap at your achey tits, massaging your nipple with his thick tongue, swallowing up your sweet milk in little gulps.
Itto could stay like this for hours, and maybe he will. Fucking into your soft, gushy pussy while he worships your tits, nursing out every last drop of your sweet, buttery milk until all of the ouchy feelings go away.
These recent fics have been rotting in my drafts for far to long 😔
they're so tedious to write but I think I really like how this one came out - itto is a sweety dumb dumb <3
Also I have never written in Itto's pov? Lmk if it works or not baha he's kinda an unreliable narrator but only because he's confused </3
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Thank You For Reading! Comments Are Always Aplreciated! I'll Kiss You muah ♡
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EXPLORING THE PARALLELS BETWEEN DAENERYS TARGARYEN AND ELIZABETH I OF ENGLAND
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Both Daenerys & Elizabeth are the last descendants of their dynasties (House Targaryen & House Tudor)
Both Daenerys & Elizabeth are daughters of tyrant Kings (Aerys Targaryen & Henry VIII)
Both Daenerys & Elizabeth are the third in the line of succession to the throne which make them unlikely heirs but the unpredictable deaths of their respective siblings made them rise to power and becoming Queens regnant that ruled in their own rights.
Both Daenerys & Elizabeth are preyed upon by their guardians. ( Jorah mormont is dany's sworn protector/knight and Thomas seymour is elizabeth's stepfather)
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He should not be doing this. I am his queen, not his woman. (...) It was a long kiss, though how long Dany could not have said. When it ended, Ser Jorah let go of her, and she took a quick step backward. “You… you should not have…”
—Dany, A storm of swords
Seymour’s own behaviour was not calculated to make this seem unlikely, for he treated Elizabeth in a boisterous way that was too tinged with sexuality to be dismissed as playfulness pure and simple. He liked to engage the teenage girl in suggestive banter, coming into her bedchamber before she was fully dressed so that he could “bid her good morrow and ask her how she did, and strike her upon the back or on the buttocks familiarly”. If he found her still in bed, “he would put open the curtains and … make as though he would come at her”, forcing Elizabeth to burrow helplessly under the bedclothes. “One morning he strave to have kissed her in her bed”, which even Mrs Ashley thought was going too far, and she “bade him go away for shame”. Mrs Ashley’s presence ensured that these sessions could not get too out of hand, nor was Elizabeth herself an altogether willing victim. She was able to outwit the Lord Admiral by rising earlier than usual, so that when Seymour entered he found her up and dressed, and demurely absorbed in study.
—Queen Elizabeth I by Anne Somerset
Both Daenerys & Elizabeth are polyglots. their abilities to speak many languages allowed them to converse easily with people from various backgrounds that visited their courts.
Reznak and Skahaz waited atop the marble steps. “Great queen,” declared Reznak mo Reznak, “you are so radiant today I fear to look on you.” The seneschal wore a tokar of maroon silk with a golden fringe. A small, damp man, he smelled as if he had bathed in perfume and spoke a bastard form of High Valyrian, much corrupted and flavored with a thick Ghiscari growl.
“You are kind to say so,” Dany answered, in the same tongue.
—Dany, A dance with dragons
(..) While her mastery of so many languages later assisted her conduct of diplomacy by enabling her to converse with foreign ambassadors,
She (Elizabeth) did not see language simply as a means of communication but as an artistic medium, and it was this that inspired the singular cadences and ornate phraseology of her mature speech.
—Queen Elizabeth I by Anne Somerset
Both Daenerys & Elizabeth's take great joy in riding horses
Dany rode fearlessly, and the joy and the danger of it were a song in her heart.
Dany thought of her only as the silver. She had never loved anything so much.
—Dany,A game of thrones
She was an excellent rider, and had such a good seat on a horse that in February 1560 the Spanish ambassador reported admiringly, “The Queen rides out every day into the country on a Neapolitan courser or jennet … She makes a brave show, and bears herself gallantly”.
—Queen Elizabeth I by Anne Somerset
Both Daenerys & Elizabeth sought by many marriage suitors because of their power and high status
Both Daenerys & Elizabeth have secret lovers, Daenerys take Daario as a lover just like Elizabeth I (assumed by historians) take Robert Dudley as her secret lover. because Daario and Robert are too lowborn, their close relationships with Daenerys & Elizabeth faced with disapproval and scrutiny from people in the queens's courts.
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The old knight neither liked nor trusted Daario, she knew. Even so, he had answered gallantly. "There is no woman more lovely than Your Grace. Only a blind man could believe otherwise, and Daario Naharis was not blind."
—Dany, A dance with dragons
When Kat, with her usual impetuosity, again urged that, whatever the facts of the case, the damage to her reputation could even lead to civil war, Elizabeth - emotional now - refused an appeal that she see less of Robert. She needed him, she said, because 'in this world she had so much sorrow and tribulation and so little joy'. To some of the foreign ambassadors, this was indeed becoming a scandal that could even topple Elizabeth from the throne.
—Elizabeth and Leicester: The Truth about the Virgin Queen and the Man She Loved.
daenerys art credit to :
#daenerys targaryen#asoiaf#valyrianscrolls#targnation#asoiafdaenerys#canondany#daenerystargeryenedit#targaryensource#elizabeth tudor#elizabeth i#queen elizabeth
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The Red Queen (Chapter 11/?)
Your Pov
I sit at the dining table pushing a price of chicken around my plate. The room is deathly quiet, the only sound filling the room being the scrap of forks and resigned sighs.
I turn to Papa when I notice he keeps glancing my way. Finally he clears his throat and turns in his seat to look at me..
“How has your studies been?” He asks wiping gravy from his lips.
I stop and think about my studies. I've been going to more lessons with Maester Mellos, lately he's been teaching me the houses and where they live. We just finished the Northern houses and are now working on the Vale houses.
“Good, I know all the Northern houses and their sigils and words. I'm now working on the Vale.” I say matter-of-factly hoping the stiff atmosphere will go away soon.
Papa gives me a solemn smile. “Did you know your Mother is-was from the Vale? An Arryn in fact.”
I nod excitedly. “I learned about that today. Mama would talk about her childhood in the Vale but she never said she was an Arryn before she was Queen.”
Papa does that sad smile he does when Mama is brought up. It still hurts, Ali says it always will, you just learn to live with the pain.
“Your Mother wished to take you and Rhaenyra to see the Vale once the babe was born. Perhaps-perhaps we can still fulfill that wish one day.” Papa suggests almost seeming hopeful.
“I would love that.” I say with an enthusiastic nod. The thought of seeing where Mama grew up, of where she did all those silly things she told stories about was an exciting thought.
But just as Papa goes to make plans Nyra speaks for the first time this evening. “About today-”
Papa turns to her with a frown before he pats her hand in comfort. The act seems so natural, not forced or alien like when he tries to comfort me.
“It is alright, you were only trying to help.” He says with a kind smile.
Nyra smiles back before shaking her head. “I just…I just wanted to help.” She says looking down at her plate.
“Ever since your Mother passed, you have been…distant. Though I cannot say it is entirely your fault, I myself have been hiding away from you, the court, your sister.” Papa says as he rubs my head when he says ‘your sister’.
I can't help but frown, it felt like Papa forgot about me until the end, that I was an afterthought. I suddenly find I'm no longer hungry and set my fork on the table as I look at Papa again.
“You girls must have heard the rumors already, I'm afraid they're true.” Papa says with a resigned sigh. “I am remarrying, every King needs a Queen. And you will need a King one day.” He says looking at me with a sad smile.
I freeze at his words, not that I will need a King but that he is marrying again. So soon? Mama has only been dead less than a year, Septa Martha says you are to mourn for a year before seeking another match if you must. I think as I chew on my bottom lip ignoring the taste of copper that reaches my touch.
“It is your duty, Mother would understand.” Nyra says with a sad smile.
It is this that makes me say what I do next, and I quickly regret it with how Nyra glares at me. “Any ladies in mind?”
Papa looks back at me with a look of pain. “Yes, a few, in fact one I will be walking in the gardens with on the morrow. The Lady Laena.”
I feel my heart stop, tears come to my eyes. Why Laena? Laena doesn't want to be Queen, she wants to fly and dance, she wants to see the great wonders of the world, eat exotic food and meet exotic people. She doesn't want to be forced to smile and look pretty. She wants to run, scowl at the people she doesn't like, and smile so big you can see her go when she sees someone she adores. She likes to laugh so much her belly hurts and tears come to her eyes, not make a soft laugh to look kind and pretty. Laena is wonderful how she is, being Queen will destroy her. I think as I wipe my tears hoping Papa didn't see them.
But it is not me who responds, it is Nyra. “A wonderful match, unite us with the Velaryons completely. Me with Laenor and you with Laena.”
“Yes, my thoughts exactly.” Papa says before clearing his throat and looking towards me again.
I can't find any kind words so instead I say what Septa Martha taught me to say to a lord and Lady who are just betrothed.
“A wondrous match, I pray the gods will make it fruitful.” I can hardly recognize my own voice. It almost seems as if the words leaving my own lips are from another, but from the smile and pat on the cheek Papa gives me it was me who spoke such words.
For the rest of dinner it feels like I'm not there, like I'm watching from the outside as Nyra and Papa joke and talk the meal away. The only way I know I'm there is because of how tightly my hands grip each other, I feel my nails dig into the backs of my hands.
The moment I'm in my chambers I burst into sobs startling Orchid as she picks me up and holds me close. I grip her dress that always smells of fresh bread and ash from the fire.
“Whatever has hurt that little heart of yours Princess, I hope the world will take it away.” Orchid says sitting in her chair by the fire as she rubs my back.
The next day I stand on a balcony watching Laena and Papa walk together. I bite my lip when Laena looks up towards me with a frown. Before she went on her walk with Papa she begged me for forgiveness stating she never wanted this and will try her best to make him not like her.
Her asking for forgiveness confused me, why would it be her fault our Papa's want her to marry mine? And I told her as such which brought a slight smile to her lips, though it quickly disappeared when her Mama came and told her the King is waiting for her.
“Does it bother you?” Laena’s Mama asks out of nowhere. I look around to see if anyone is near for her to be speaking to but there is no one. “Does it bother you?” She says again as she stands and walks over to me.
“Does what bother me?” I ask confused as to why she is speaking to me. She usually avoids me unless I'm with Laena and even then its short greetings and pleasantries.
“That your best friend is possibly going to marry your Father.” She says as if that were obvious.
I'm shocked by the question, for I thought it would be clear how I feel about this.
“Of course it does, doesn't it bother you?”
She only hums before facing me, her cold eyes make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. How does Laena live like this? I think before pushing my shoulders back down standing straighter.
“Here is the hard truth that no one wishes to tell you, little Princess. The King will remarry, and more than likely he will have a son and that boy will be expected to be named heir. You will be nothing but a second daughter again.”
I stop for a moment thinking over her words. If Papa marries and has a son, my life will go back to normal? Maybe that will let Kepus come back! And with that thought a smile rises to my lips
“That's alright, I never wanted to be the heir. And if it will let the realm be happy as well as Papa then I'm ok with that.”
This seems to puzzle her if the furrow of her brow is any indicator. “Then why does it bother you that the King is finding a new wife?”
“I don't like that Papa is finding a new wife, but it's his duty. What I don't like is that Laena is an option, Laena doesn't want this, she wants to be free, she wants to fly everyday and eat weird things, not be Queen and have everyone looking at her.” I say as if that is obvious.
She seems shocked but then smiles down at me before stroking my cheek. “You truly are a wonderful friend to my girl, and I thank you for that.”
I open my mouth to respond when we hear Laena call out to me. When I turn she is running full speed towards me and with a glance down in the royal gardens I can see Papa has left.
“I need you to swear something for me!” Laena demands as she stands in front of me holding my hands.
“Of course! Anything!” I swear nodding my head.
“If I have to marry him, kill me, I refuse to die from boredom!”
All I can do is blink before I burst out laughing.
“I mean it! I will not be forced to live my days in boredom just so some old men are happy!” She screams before stomping her foot as if that solidifies the deal.
I only smile shaking my head as she grabs my hand to go and play in the gardens stating “I had to walk and be ladylike! Let's be us now!” And I can't help but want that too.
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Special thanks to @sugutoad for making the header for this fic! I swear I'd be lost without you girly!
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Winter's King 13
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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)
Characters: Geralt of Rivia
Note: Ahhh! I almost own a house.
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
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I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
The queen struts down the hall, the white satin limning her figure. She is shameless as she passes soldiers but she needn’t worry for their judgments. You peek up at the few errant eyes that follow her, though many pass without even a glance in her direction. Servants course through the corridors, busy with preparations for the morrow’s departure.
You think of asking Queen Jazlene whether now is not the best time. If she should be more concerned with her venture north. Of all she’s acquired of the queen’s former possessions, there is not a fur among her chests. Nothing more than a trim of squirrel or rabbit along a collar. The summer kingdom does not warrant the need. And certainly, you think, the king must be equally busied by the pending journey.
As ever, your duty keeps you silent. You do not know better than a queen. You bide her whims, not your own. You follow the soft whisk of the robes hem and your mind wanders in your stead. You think of the dark gardens and the king’s words.
‘Should I remain any longer, I might give it all up.’ He must be eager to return home. You can’t help but harbour your own impatience. For all you’ve heard of the Hinterlands, you cannot picture them well. You want to see them yourself. It is the only time in your life you really ever longed to see something entirely unfamiliar.
The queen stops and the soldiers on either side of the door shift, alert at her approach. The do not look welcoming. You wring your hands behind your back. What can you do but let the queen proceed?
“Let me through,” she demands, “I must see the king.”
“Your highness,” the rusty-haired soldier drawls, “he is not receiving--”
“He is my husband,” she sneers, “I am the queen.” She points to herself, “I give you orders, sir. Not the reverse.”
The other man huffs and tilts his head to the other as if to say, ‘don’t bother’. The first soldier raises his elbow to hit the door beside him.
“Your highness, you have a visitor,” he calls through.
“A visitor?” Jazlene scoffs and steps forward, grabbing the handles of the doors to try to force her way through. “I am more--” She shakes the doors as they offer resistance from the other side. You can see clearly through the crack between them that they are latched within.
The metal grinds inside as the lock is slid out of place. The queen blusters through as a dark-haired man stands by the left door, watching behind her as she blows in like a storm. You pause in the doorway, uncertain if you should go further.
The king sits at the table of his receiving chamber, maps unfurled and kept unrolled by heavy ornaments. He has one arm on the chair and his other hand against the tabletop. He watches his wife with his golden eyes, his lips straight and unamused. The man who opened the door, watches with a crooked grin.
“Husband, I have come to see you. As we have much travel ahead, I figured it was the best time for us to--”
“The best time?” King Geralt ponders flatly, “we ready for the ride north. We must anticipate the remaining rebels and assuage lingering acrimony. We must also account for the snows that will meet us in the Hinterland. This campaign has kept me long and the winter will be there to greet us.”
“Let the servants trouble for it,” she insists.
The man by the door flutters his fingers at you, “in?” He mouths.
You blink, uncertain. You step inside hesitantly and step to the edge of the other door. He pushes the left one shut and turns to watch the interaction with glee.
“You should trouble for it,” the king reproaches, “you should act as queen and so you should think of your people.”
“Husband, do not presume to educate me. I have had tutors all my life. I understand these things. I was borne to be a lady, to mind a castle--”
“A castle not a realm,” he shakes his head, “this is no banquet.”
“Ugh,” she huffs, “what has gotten into you? Last night--”
“It is today,” he insists over her, “I am occupied.” He shifts his chair pointed and frames an area on the maps with his large hands. “Jaskier,” he calls, “come, we must determine our way through Hare’s Pass.”
“Your highness,” the man jaunts forward bouncily and as he nears the table, he pulls out a chair, “Queen Jazlene, please, have my seat.”
The king looks at his companion with a deathly glimmer. The lord in his cornflower jacket is unbothered by the distaste aimed in his direction. He smirks back defiantly.
“Thank you, sir,” Jazlene simpers and sits with her back straight and her chest pushed out, “I think I’ve forgotten which one you are.”
“Lord Jaskier,” he intones, “I held the capital while the king claimed his beautiful wife.”
She giggles and runs her hand along the front of her robe, “oh, how valiant, sir.”
“Jaskier,” the king growls again, “put your mind back to the road--”
“We have it figured, your highness,” the lord rebuffs, “surely you should enjoy this time you have in one place with your wife.” Jaskier takes another stool and sits at the table, “I should very much like to know this summer queen better. You secret her away--”
The king sighs. His fingers tap in irritation on the table. He sits back and throws his hand up.
“I see you are no help, as usual,” the king snips.
“And you are tedious,” the lord smirks again. “My queen,” the man sits forward, his attention on Jazlene, “I traveled the summer lands once before. You see, I fancy myself a musician and as a young boy, I would play for the courts. I never ventured to Debray but I was at Harlowe. It is closeby.”
“I know Harlowe,” Jazlene brightens, forgetting her mission for talk of herself. “Yes, I went there often for their harvest fairs. Were you there when Lord Edmund was still alive?”
“Ah, yes, I believe he wasn’t there long after I left for the next county,” Jaskier artfully feeds her self-importance.
“He was a good man. Of the few my father respected,” she mourns with her hand to her chest. She shakes her head and pauses with a sullen sigh, “maid,” she snaps her head up, “bring wine for us.”
“No wine,” King Geralt counters swiftly.
“We have a guest, husband, surely we should entertain him according to etiquette. In these summer lands, we offer sustenance to our guests,” she argues.
“Bring warm milk then. You needn’t be glazed over with wine on the morrow--”
“I am the queen and I am grown, I will have wine,” Jazlene waves her hand at you tersely, “maid!”
The king glances at you. You stand in indecision. You can defy neither but in that moment, you must choose one or the other. His golden eyes drift over to the queen and back to you.
“Go, fetch wine,” he relents.
You bow your head and spin to set off on the task. Your thankful to escape the tension that floods the room. You can sense that the queen’s intrusion is unwelcome and yet that lord ignores the king’s mood. Almost as if he means to agitate him.
You weave through the disarray of the corridors down to the kitchen. Barrels of pickled foods and crates of dried goods are stacked, waiting to be loaded onto carts for the distance ahead. The king must still think of feeding his army, and now, a royal retinue.
You claim a bottle of wine amid the hectic furor and some goblets. You’re out of breath as you return to the upper floors and slow yourself to regain composure as you approach the king’s chamber. You’re let within without obstruction. Just the maid.
You cross to the table and set the goblets upright, then the heavy bottle. Jazlene ahems and taps the brim impatient before you can uncork the bottle. The neck moves away from your reach as Lord Jaskier snatches it instead. He opens it easily and pours the queen a cup as the king leans heavily on an elbow. As you glance over, you meet his golden eyes and quickly shy away. You see he is not happy. You thought by Jazlene’s measure, thing’s might have been improving.
You take your place by the wall. The king sighs. He does that a lot, as if he means to say something but will not. Lord Jaskier slides a goblet towards him.
“Drink and let loose, your highness, you can’t be surly upon the road,” Jaskier chides.
The king does not move. He glares at his company then looks at the ceiling. Queen Jazlene slurps loudly.
“How charming you are, my lord, a wonder his highness likes you so much,” she chirps.
“A surprise to me as well but I think my loyalty more tolerable than my other traits. Yet, you’ve yet to the king bellowing the most bawdy ballad. He is particular lively after a battle,” Jaskier winks at his liege tauntingly and receives nothing in return. “Mm, how about a game? The king is fond of those. How about it, then?”
The lord lifts his cup and holds it before his lips, watching the king in his cantankerous glower. Another sigh as he sits forwards and tilts a hand indifferently.
“If it keeps you from chattering,” the king mutters as he clears the heavy ornaments and rolls the map up. He focuses on that as Jaskier pulls a pouch free of his belt.
“This is one he taught me. The old king before him was fond of it too. The mind’s of rulers, hm?” Jaskier explains as he loosens the tie of the bag and pours out similar pieces to the ones in Geralt’s purse. “Have you played it?”
Jazlene keeps her hand on her cup. The king continues to clear the table, pushing aside the cup meant for him as he shifts the bottle off another map. He stands and gathers the rolled parchment. He approaches you.
“Bring these to my bedchamber,” he bids under his breath.
As you take them, your sleeves brush his and his fingers drag along the fabric of your dress. He stares down at you, his breath fuming like a hearth. You hug the maps and he backs away, returning to the table. You take your order and find your way through the east door into his bed chamber.
You set down the maps on the chest near the foot of the grand bed. His sword leans against the frame, tall in its sheath. You stop to admire the thick handle and its well-hewn grooves. It must be heavy.
You tear your admiration from the weapon and return to the receiving chamber. Jaskier reviews the rules as Geralt rolls his fingers against the armrest, bored by the explanation. You resume your vigil and stare at the wall.
Pieces are dolled out, dice are counted, and the round begins. The king is let to have the first turn. He plays the same as he did against you. It must be some strategy. The queen is prompted to have her go but she is silent. She hums and stares down at the table. Jaskier whispers behind his hand, drawing your gaze.
“Let her play her own turn,” the king insists, “isn’t any fun playing against two of you.”
“Your highness, I was only doing my duty as a royal advisor,” Jaskier returns playfully. “By all means, my beautiful queen, I am certain you are as a clever as you are elegant.”
Jazlene preens in the praise. She drinks some more wine then rolls a dice, seemingly without thought. Several of her pieces are plucked up by both king and lord. She pouts.
“Wait, what happened?” She mopes.
“Rules,” Geralt grumbles. “Jaskier, go on then, take my bronze.”
“I know your tricks,” the lord replies, “I will not fall for it. I’ll have your silver.”
Jaskier rolls the diamond dice and groans. The king takes his silver instead.
“You’ve switched out the dice, certainly,” Jaskier accuses.
“You whine about chance,” the king rebukes and rolls, taking even more silver from his advisor. “And again.”
He gestures to Jazlene and her brow ripples. You can see she doesn’t understand. She will want to use the square dice then, she might have the iron back that she lost. She uses the slightly rounded die instead. Jaskier is already counting her gold.
“I don’t understand,” she crosses her arms, “this game makes no sense.”
“It is your first attempt,” Jaskier assures her, “you will get better.”
“It’s boring,” she sits back and drinks more wine.
Jaskier has a swig of his own as he rolls. He claims his silver back from the king and some from Jazlene. She shakes her head and waves you over with her hand. You can see her goblet is empty as you near. You lift the bottle to pour as the king has his turn. He loses a few iron but doesn’t seem to mind.
The queen’s turn comes and you linger, examining her pieces. Your lips move slightly. Square, square, square. Your eyes flit up and find the king’s watching you. Oh no.
“Wine, maid,” Jaskier clunks down his cup with a hollow noise.
You move around Jazlene’s chair as she snarls under her breath. She rolls the triangle die. Her gold is all gone. She slaps her hands down and you rescind the bottle before you can pour as Jaskier’s cup wobbles. He laughs at the queen’s dismay and she sweeps away her pieces and dice before she can lose.
“It isn’t fair! I don’t understand.”
“If you don’t understand, ask. Do not be impetulant,��� King Geralt reprimands. “You make a mess like a child.”
“Do not speak to me as one,” she spits back. “I am not!”
“Your behaviour would suggest otherwise,” the king says.
“Now, now, perhaps it would be fairer with a forth, eh? Trios always do prove imbalanced,” Jaskier intones.
As you go to pour the wine, you are suddenly pulled off your feet. You land in his lap and nearly drop the bottle. You hug it close as you notice the king lurch, sitting straight, only to stop himself on the edge of his chair.
“Eh, do not handle the maid as such,” he demands. “She serves the queen.”
“She may join us, yes? The queen could have an ally. We will play as pairs.”
“Let the maid go,” the king grits.
“Oh, do settle,” Jaskier unhooks his arm from around you. You stand and let your nerves settle, steadying your hands to pour the wine. “You are no fun, your highness.”
Jazlene giggles, “oh he certainly is not. So dour,” she sounds like Lady Rezlyn in that moment. Often the duchess would throw barbs at her husband shamelessly. “Even his games are dull.”
“You needn’t play,” King Geralt shoves his chair back and stands, “it was not my suggestion.”
“She is right. You are much too serious,” Jaskier remarks.
You leave the wine and back away. The air is thick. You feel as if you should go but cannot without dismissal. The king roils hotly as he exhales loudly.
“Far too serious,” Jazlene trills, “he hasn’t time for any sort of fun, has he? He must attend his kingly duties and yet, he neglects his husbandly ones.”
The king lets out a growl. He sneers at his wife as Jaskier’s laughter subsides. The lord looks alarmed as he peeks between the royal couples.
“Mm, suppose it is time I see to my own luggage,” he rises.
“No, stay, drink your wine,” King Geralt insists brusquely, “you and the queen can have mine,” he grips the goblet by the brim and shoves it towards Jazlene as the contents slosh. “You will find me attending my dour kingly duties, should you think to recall your own.”
The king spins and stalks off, hands in fists, and bulls through the doors. They slam behind him and make you jump. You blink at the wood as your heart pounds. For as much as the queen wants her marriage to improve, she is hardly helping herself.
“Ah,” Jaskier sits with a tut, “he can be a touch sensitive, can’t he?”
Jazlene laughs, though you hear the nervous rattle in it, “can’t he?”
#geralt of rivia#dark geralt#dark!geralt#geralt of rivia x reader#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#series#au#medieval au#the witcher#winter's king
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