#ser criston cole fanfic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

exitpursuedbyavulcan · 19 days ago

Text

For the first time in years, Ser Criston Cole is not guarding his Queen. Alicent has sent him on a covert mission to retrieve her wayward daughter, who has fled from the prospect of marrying her twin brother. It was supposed to be simple, but he quickly finds that the girl he thought to be so like her elder half-sister is in fact quite different.

Author's Note: We are absolutely, uneqivicolly, without a doubt not mentioning that this was planned to be a part of my 2023 12 Days of Smuff. The muses are fickle bitches and I'm a natural procrastinator, what can I say? It's also late for the second writing event it's a part of so maybe just start expecting it at this point.

Pairing: Ser Criston Cole x Aegon's Twin!Reader (3rd person)

Warnings: accidental stimulation

This work is a part of my 12 Days of Smuff event! Read the rest here.

This work is also part of the @hotd-bigbang House of the Dragon Ships Month for Trope Week!

My Masterlist

Ser Criston Cole held his charge close against his chest as his horse slowed, knowing her legs were likely numb after riding for half the day. Queen Alicent would not be pleased if he let her eldest daughter topple into the mud. She would not be happy that he was taking her to this decrepit little town, either, but they were still more than a full day’s travel away from King’s Landing, and the princess needed rest.

Indeed, she groaned with relief as they approached the inn, with its ramshackle walls and crooked sign. “Thank the gods,” she mumbled. “I thought you were going to make me sleep on the horse. Or in the woods.”

He had considered it. They were more likely to be discovered in a town. But it would be far easier to protect her if she was within solid—or at least, mostly solid—walls. They would be out in the open in the woods, too exposed. He would not only be looking out for men who would harm her but the beasts of the forest as well. And if she were to somehow escape him, it would be far easier for her to hide in the forest. Far easier for her to get herself killed.

Yes, the town was better. Even if it was as seedy as Flea Bottom and as filthy as a stable. It certainly smelled like a stable.

Criston guided his horse to the side of the inn, dismounting and hitching it before he turned back to the princess. “Pull your hood tighter,” he instructed, “do not let it fall.”

She pursed her lips in annoyance, but she obeyed, pulling her hood tighter than was truly necessary, the same petulant show of dramatics Criston had come to expect of her and her twin brother. And her half-sister, he thought with a twinge.

The gods must be punishing him for that transgression for him to again be tasked with chaperoning a girl so like the one he had broken his oath for. It was well-deserved. But he was determined to bear it with as much dignity as he could muster. He stood at the horse’s side and raised his hands to the Princess’ waist.

“I can do it myself,” she snapped.

He knew she could not. Could see the tightening of her jaw as she tried to swing her leg over, only to find it would not move at all. On any other day, he would let her struggle until she wore herself out and asked for his help.

Today, however, he did not have the time. He needed to get her inside and safe as quickly as possible so they could set out all the earlier the following morning. So, he took hold of her, ignoring her yelps of protest and her fists pounding against his shoulders, and lifted her off the horse.

The moment she was on the ground, she wobbled dangerously, and the arms that had been attempting to push him away held tightly to him. He let her steady herself for a moment. “Are you able to walk?”

She glared at him but then looked down to frown at her legs. “I think so.”

“Hold to my arm and stay close.” Criston moved slowly as they rounded the corner of the building, allowing her to find her footing before they entered the inn.

The princess paused at the door, eyes narrowing as she took in the broken sign dangling from the wall. “I thought inns were supposed to be cozy.”

“Some are,” he answered, tugging at her arm to pull her forward, “not this one.”

“Can we not find one that is?”

With a sigh, he faced her, leaning down to meet her eye. “Do you wish to get back on the horse, princess?” She blanched and shook her head. “Then this is it.”

She clung to him as they entered the inn and paid the keeper a gold dragon for his best room, never allowing even a hair’s breadth between his arm and hers.

The inn’s ‘best room’ put half of Flea Bottom to shame.

The floor was crooked. The glass of the single window was spiderwebbed with a thousand tiny cracks. And the bed—the one, small bed—rested on wood blocks rather than proper legs. It was not a place where a princess should sleep. It was hardly a place where anyone should sleep. But it was already dark out, and he would not risk the princess just because he did not want to sleep in such a hovel.

“Do you need to visit the washbasin? Or the privy?” Criston asked the princess, not looking at her eyes. In his periphery, he saw her blush and shake her head. “Good. Get in bed.”

He released the princess’ arm and locked the door behind them, then shoved his dagger into the gap by the hinges as an extra precautionary measure.

When he turned back, he was surprised to see the princess had obeyed his order without protest. It was unlike her. Like her half-sister, she had always fought back against his every command. But not now. It was strange in a way he could neither understand nor explain, yet it made him want to smile.

“Where will you sleep?” she asked. He finally looked at her and found her visibly nervous—her eyes wide, darting about, and hands clutching tightly to the blanket. When he said nothing, she bit her lip and turned away.

She was afraid. Not of returning home and facing her mother or the brother she was to marry, but of the place they were in and what may happen to them. Though it was good to be afraid—it would make her more alert and aware—he could not help his desire to reassure her.

“I will sleep on the floor,” he said as he removed his cloak to bundle for his pillow. “Between you and the door.”

“Will it not be too uncomfortable?”

Criston shrugged. “I slept in more discomfort when I was a soldier.”

“But that was when you were young.”

He froze. “When I was ‘young?’ Are you suggesting that I am old?”

She blushed again, ducking her head to hide her slight smile. “I did not say that.”

Rhaenyra once smiled at him in the same way. Damn. The thought only served to make him angry, even if he knew it was not the princess’ fault that she resembled her half-sister in certain lights. He bunched up his cloak and threw it to the ground. “I am not old.”

“You were a man grown when I was born, were you not?”

She was turning it into a game, masking her own fear by taunting him. Criston knew it, and yet he took the bait. If it helped her to feel safe and sleep, he would play the fool. “I was.”

Her smile brightened. “And I am now a woman grown, about to be married. That makes you, my dear Ser Criston, old.” She was giddy and giggling as she lay on the bed and buried herself beneath the stack of threadbare quilts. “Now get in the bed. You are of no use as my protector if you are too stiff to raise your sword.”

His heart sank. Not for the commentary on his age—he would admit that her logic there was sound—but for the fact that to lay in bed with her was a dangerous thing. A temptation that echoed his lowest moment.

The gods were not punishing him. They were testing him.

Another Targaryen princess. Another innocent game. Another opportunity to break his oath and sully his honor.

“What would your future husband think?” Both a refusal and a reminder of why he had followed her halfway to Duskendale to bring her back to King’s Landing. And if she were trying to coax him, as Rhaenyra did, perhaps it would make her angry enough to abandon the effort.

As expected, her smile immediately fell, and the playfulness vanished from her eyes. “Aegon spends every night on the Street of Silk. What right has he to judge me for simply ensuring the comfort of my escort?”

Again, Criston could not fault her logic. Still, he had to argue, “He is to be your husband and king.”

“Of that, I am all too aware,” she whispered. But she did not snipe back at him. She did not smile, nor frown. All the fight seemed to leave her in a single moment, along with her energy. Sighing, she closed her eyes and turned to face the wall. “Get in the bed or do not. I no longer care.”

He did not quite know how to respond to that, to her seemingly… giving up. In all her life, he had never seen her do that. Rhaenyra certainly had never done so.

Then again, Rhaenyra was never forced to marry her fool of a twin brother.

When the betrothal had been announced, Criston had pitied her. At every event where she was forced to sit next to Aegon while he drank himself silly and groped at serving girls and ladies alike, he had pitied her. When he and Queen Alicent had happened upon her in the Grand Sept, where she begged the gods to deliver her from the marriage, he pitied her. Yet, when she fled, and the king commanded him to track her down and bring her home, he did not hesitate to obey.

For the first time since he found her trying to trade one of her earrings for a new pair of shoes in the common room of the Old Stone Bridge, he felt guilty for what he was doing.

No matter how much he pitied her and wished he could aid her in some other way, he served the king, and the king had commanded him to bring the princess home. He could not disobey, but he could give her this one small concession.

So, Criston laid on the bed beside her, atop the blankets despite the cold, and as far away as he could manage without falling off the edge. He would not be able to sleep like this, but at least the princess could.

After a while, he was sure she had fallen asleep. Until she grumbled, “You are cold, Ser Criston.”

“Nothing for you to concern yourself with, princess.”

She huffed. “I truly am not allowed to be concerned for you?”

“No, you are not.”

Once again, she fell silent.

Then, just when Criston thought she might have fallen asleep again, “Am I allowed to complain that your shivering is keeping me awake?”

Damn the girl.

Criston rearranged himself under the blankets and turned away from the princess. If she were Rhaenyra, she would likely ask that he hold her to keep her warm.

But she was not Rhaenyra, and soon, her breathing softened and steadied.

With that settled, Criston closed his eyes, even if he would not fall asleep.

Criston fell asleep.

He must have, for he found himself startling awake with a soft moan and the mortifying realization that his cock was hard.

Gods, he would never forgive himself for this. He was sharing a bed with the young princess, and he was hard. No better than a young boy after catching his first glimpse of a woman’s bare leg if he reacted like this, even with the space between them. Except…

There was no space between them.

Not anymore. The princess now lay flush against him, her back pressed to his chest, her head resting on one of his arms while her waist was safely cradled in the other, and her… rear pressed against his traitorous, treasonous, troublesome cock.

The gods truly, deeply hated him, for she was dreaming. Actively.

Every movement brought a light, teasing, agonizingly wonderful pressure. It took every bit of his will not to follow her rhythm, to not press back against her. Instinct warred with oath, and Criston was caught in the crossfire with no escape.

He could not disentangle himself from her without waking her. If she woke, she would feel him against her. Perhaps with her younger sister, he could be confident that she would not realize what it meant, but with a twin such as Aegon, he had no doubt she would know.

But if he did not, if he allowed her to continue her movements, he would soon find himself in an even more embarrassing situation that he would not be able to conceal when she woke in the morning.

That was the decision made.

Slowly removing his hand from around her waist, Criston pulled his hips as far away as he could. Only when he felt there was no chance of her feeling his predicament did he press against her shoulder and whisper, “Princess, wake up.”

He should have gotten out of the bed.

The Princess startled, spinning around to face him, draping an arm around his neck and pulling him close. She moved so fast that he could do nothing to stop her legs from entangling with his, her thigh pressing between his legs and forcing a gasping groan from him.

Her eyes grew wide as she felt his hardness against her, but when she again faced him, they changed. The violet of her eyes faded, overtaken by growing blackness, her eyelids heavy with sleep and something that heated Criston’s blood when it should chill it. Yet even as those eyes fell to his mouth, they held no trace of the mischief he had seen the last time he was so close to a Targaryen princess.

She wanted him but made no move to take him.

It only made him want to kiss her more.

But he could not do that. The gods had given him this chance at redemption and he refused to fail again.

Criston shoved the princess away and rolled out of the bed, crossing the room in two strides to rest his forehead against the rough wood of the door, willing his heart, his blood, and his cock to calm.

Voices, laughter, and music from a very poorly tuned fiddle still bled through the gaps in the doorframe. But no light came through the window, not even from the slight sliver of the moon that had begun to rise when they arrived. Night, but perhaps still early within it? The hour of the eel?

Whatever it was, it meant it would be some time yet before he could resume taking the princess back to King’s Landing.

“Did I…” Her voice trembled slightly. Was she simply cold? Or was she hurt by him pushing her away? “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” he had to take a moment to catch his breath. Perhaps he was getting old. “No. I have done you wrong, princess. I am deeply sorry.”

When they returned to the Red Keep, he would confess his sins to both the gods and his queen. She had mercy on him all those years ago, she could forgive him again, absolve him of his repeated shame.

But this was not Rhaenyra, her erstwhile friend turned stepdaughter and rival. This was her daughter, her second-born child. When she and Aegon were born, Criston had held them before their father did. He had played with them, taught them. Tried to guide them as best he could so they would not feel the absence of their father.

And now, he had come so close to defiling her.

No, his queen would not forgive him for this. He would not forgive himself.

“There is nothing to apologize for, Ser Criston.”

He turned to look at her in bewilderment. ‘Nothing to apologize for?’ According to law, he should be gelded or killed. Two times over. “Yes, there is, my princess. I have dishonored you, myself, and my oath.”

She stood, the blanket draped over her shoulders like a cloak. “No, there is not.”

“Princess – ”

“No, it was my fault!” Her uncharacteristic anger – petulance was more characteristic of her than true anger – was enough to stun him into silence. He only hoped none in the common room heard the slight outburst. But there was no pause in the din nor the truly awful fiddling. “I am the one who tried… I wanted to kiss you, but I should not have done that. I just thought…”

Even knowing that she wanted him, hearing her say it sent a strange feeling of warmth through Criston’s body. “What did you think, princess?”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked steadfastly at her feet. “I thought you might want to kiss me, too.”

Gods forgive him. He had wanted to kiss her and still wanted to. But he could not tell her that for his own sake and hers. “What we want is not always possible,” he said. It felt cruel to tell her, even though she must know. It felt like crushing the hopes of the little girl he had known for so long as if it were nothing more than the hollow shell of an egg. “I have sworn an oath that forbids me from… such things. And you are to be married.”

Her face hardened, and for a moment, Criston could see the fierceness of a Targaryen queen in her eyes as she spat, “That didn’t stop you with Rhaenyra.”

His heart turned to lead, its weight enough to pull him through the floor and the earth itself. “Whatever you heard –”

“Rhaenyra told me herself.” She sank back onto the bed, her body drawing in on herself as if she were being scolded rather than exposing the truth of his sins. “Back when she still talked to us. I believe she thought I was too young to understand or remember what she said. She did that a lot, actually.”

Her eyes grew distant, lost in the memory of a sister who was her sister no more, but her enemy. Indeed, her small, sweet smile quickly gave way to a pained grimace. “I do not remember everything she told me, but I remember that. It was a while before I truly understood it, but I remembered. I think… because it was about you.”

“I wish you did not,” he said. “Remember. It is a shame I have long sought to forget myself.”

Silence fell over them like heavy rain, interrupted only by the occasional shouting from the common room. Criston thanked the gods many times over when he was finally able to rid himself of his lust. It was, perhaps, not entirely vanished, but enough so his body finally calmed.

Pity and guilt washed in to replace it. Pity for the poor girl he cared so deeply for who wanted only the one thing he could not – would not – give. Guilt for nevertheless wanting to give it, guilt for the hapless life he was delivering her to, and guilt for the fact that it was his wrongdoings that had led her here.

“Did you love her?”

The answer came easily, instinctually. “No.”

He had never admitted to loving Rhaenyra, but he had never denied it. After all, if he had loved her, was the sin not lessened? Love was the greatest virtue of the gods, so even if it could not erase the stain on his honor and soul, could it not at least redeem him from damnation?

But he did not love Rhaenyra.

“It was not love,” he declared to himself, the princess, and the gods. “I once believed it was, but in truth, it was no more than a foolish infatuation.”

That was what he was – a fool. On that night and now.

The princess’ voice was so soft Criston nearly could hardly hear it over the murmurings of the busy inn. “I do not love Aegon.”

He knew. Still, “I am sorry, princess.”

“I do not want to marry someone I do not love.” She picked absentmindedly at the skin around her nails. “And I do not want to be queen.”

But she must. It was her duty, and that was not something anyone could escape – not even a Targaryen. Criston certainly had not been able to. Yet he could not bring himself to say so. Instead, he asked, “What do you want?”

“What I want – what I was going to do before you found me,” she gave a humorless laugh. “I was going to find a ship to take me across the Narrow Sea to Lys. My great aunt Saera said she would take me in while I figured out what to do after that.”

Criston’s eyes widened at the name. “Princess Saera? The Old King’s daughter?”

She nodded, jutting her chin out in defiance of the reproach that was surely coming, even as tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. “I have been corresponding with her for the better part of a year.”

“In secret?” She nodded again, and his body began to feel as if it were made of molten lead.

A year. She had been planning this escape for nearly a year. It was not, as he had assumed, just an impulsive, rebellious notion but a proper plan. A plan she had risked all her hopes and dreams and happiness upon. A plan he had foiled in mere days, and with such dismissive contempt for her in his heart.

The weight of his guilt became so heavy he could not bear it, and he fell to his knees before her. Of all the sins he committed since Rhaenyra had shackled him with his white cloak, this was the worst—a step too far, even for him.

This lovely princess, a future queen, was good. Sweet and pure and full of hope in a hopeless world. When he looked at her, he no longer saw the impish young girl who so happily followed Aegon in his mischief, but the beautiful, kind woman she had grown into.

He could not condemn that woman to the misery that surely awaited her should she marry Aegon. Whether it damned his soul or cost him his life, he could not.

So, he enveloped her hands in his and gazed up at her eyes. A softer shade of violet than Rhaenyra’s, and all the more beautiful. All the sounds and smells of the awful inn faded away as he looked into those eyes. “If you would allow me, princess,” he swallowed the slight lump in his throat, torn between grief and elation at the prospect of her saying yes, “I would be honored to accompany you on your journey.”

The princess smiled, and as he basked in its radiant glow, Criston realized that what the gods offered by bringing him to her was not temptation or redemption but the chance at a new beginning. A new life. With her.

I no longer do taglists. If you'd like to be notified when I post a new fic, please follow @exitpursuedbyavulcan-writes and turn on notifications!

#criston cole x reader #criston cole x oc #criston cole fanfic #ser criston cole #criston cole #ser criston cole x reader #ser criston cole x oc #ser criston cole fanfic #criston cole fanfiction #ser criston cole fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #exitpursuedbyavulcan #vbbships

112 notes · View notes

shuichiakainx · 8 months ago

Text

🤟😂🖤

2K notes · View notes

ireneispunk · 11 months ago

Text

How They Hold You x HoTD Men

i saw these photosets and could NOT refuse! so here are the HoTD men and how (i imagine) they would hold you included: aemond, daemon, jacaerys, aegon, criston cole, harwin strong

+bonus

2K notes · View notes

venusbyline · 5 months ago

Text

Gift ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 16, oct.

— pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x servant!reader x Aemond Targaryen x Gwayne Hightower x Criston Cole

— type: smut, dark, Kinktober (House of the Dragon Edition)

— kink: punishment + exhibitionism

— summary: Your bravery to face King Aegon II would be admirable, at least if he did not humiliate you in front of his brother Aemond, his uncle Gwayne and Ser Criston.

— word count: 1.9k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 16th day, female!reader, dark!Aegon, dark!Aemond, dark!Gwayne, dark!Criston, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, punishment, exhibitionism, rape/non-con, nipple playing, degradation, non-consensual touching, blood, face slapping, face punching, implied gangbang, dacryphilia, public humiliation, public nudity, crying, breast worship, body worship, sexism, oral (male receiving) mentioned, curse words, dom!Greens, sub!reader, canon divergence (Pre-The Dance of the Dragons), porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @baybaybear1 @blessedbymoon @p45510n4f4shi0n @lina-lovebug @moonnicole @badger-reads @turdettethefirst

— crossposting: AO3

You had not been working at the castle for a long time. Alicent had hired you just days after the coronation of her firstborn, Viserys' second child, Aegon II. She needed more servants to deal with her son's stupid demands.

You would rather have gone to the Red Keep to serve the Queen Consort, Helaena, or specifically care for hers and the new King's children. You would rather have been chambermaid to other members of the royal family, any task that you did not have to deal so directly with Aegon.

However, it was impossible. Alicent had specified that you take care of the King's private chambers. Not the matrimonial chambers, where he rarely went to sleep with the Queen, but the room where he took the Ladies, the prostitutes or even some maids. The room that was always stinking of wine, sweat and male fluids. Sometimes even his urine. You hated your work and you hated Aegon.

Alicent ordered you to clean Aegon's chambers even though he was still asleep that morning. She had not explained the reasons why you needed to clean with the King's presence still there, but you did not dare question her. You loosened the ties on your uniform as a precaution, as you already noticed how Aegon always smirked when he saw your curves accentuated by the tight fabric. Even though it was Alicent who gave you the clothes on your first day in the Red Keep, you knew very well that it was probably Aegon who demanded his mother that his servants wear only smaller and tighter sizes. After all, where would the fun be for him if they always dressed appropriately?

Upon entering the room, the smell of wine immediately hit your nostrils. You had nothing against drinking alcohol, but the strong stench present inside the room made you hope that all the wine from Westeros would one day run out.

"You look angry." The King's deep husky voice caught your attention, and you swallowed hard as you approached with the two buckets and some rags.

You ignored his words and lowered your head, positioning the buckets on the floor to begin carrying out your task. "Excuse me, Your Grace. Your Lady Mother has ordered me to clean your chambers immediately."

Still lying in bed, Aegon's sleepy eyes fell on your kneeling figure, your delicate hands cleaning the wine stains spread across the floor. Aegon did not remember very much about the night before, only that he had drunk a lot and ordered the guards to bring him some random maid for him to have fun with before bed. He wanted to ask for you, order the guards to bring you even if you were dragged by your hair.

However, he was so drunk that he could not even say the order correctly, then he had to fuck the servant his men brought. She was pretty. She was hot and had a tight cunt. But she was not you.

"You look so fucking beautiful when you are angry..." Aegon continued to tease, making you take a deep breath and look up at him. His milky white skin remained covered by the silk sheets, his blond hair was messy and probably tangled, his lips were still reddened by wine and there were dark circles under his eyes. He was quite a sight, even if you hated admitting it to yourself.

"I am not angry, My King." You went back to mopping the floor with the wet cloth, trying to ignore your thoughts and the fact that his cock was so marked under the sheet.

"Yes, you are." He chuckled, especially when you got up to clean some other part of the room. The glimpse he saw of your pretty breasts pressed into the neckline of your uniform was enough for Aegon to grab your hand, stopping you from moving to the other corner. Preventing you from continuing your task or continuing to ignore him. "Do not play that fucking shit with me. Do not you dare ignore me."

As harsh and angry as his reprimand was, you could not help but look at him with contempt. Those fingers that were inside another servant's cunt during the last night now held your wrist as if he wanted to mark you. The smell of alcohol and sex around became even stronger. "I am not ignoring you, Your Grace. I am just doing my task."

A humorless laugh escaped the King's lips. "Your task? And what would it be, uhm? To look with disgust at my chambers? Or perhaps to loosen the ties on your uniform because you know I am always looking at your body like a hungry man? Is your task to hate your King?"

Your gaze moved away from his hand squeezing your wrists and shifted to his violet eyes, his pupils so dilated when you stared at each other that you could not tell if he wanted to push you onto the bed and fuck you rough or if he he wanted to order the guards to send you to the guillotine. Perhaps both.

"My task this morning is to clean your chambers, something you, My King, are not letting me do properly."

Aegon's jaw clenched at your boldness. He was not used to receiving sharp words from his own servants. It stressed him out and turned him on with equal measure. The way you were staring at him like you wanted to kill him, the way you did not flinch from his grip, the way you ignored his other questions, and most of all... The way you did not deny that you hated him and did not even beg for forgiveness.

Aegon felt his heart accelerate with anger and his cock begin to throb with arousal. He released your arm from his hands, and brought his calloused fingers to your cheeks, caressing the soft flushed skin for a few seconds. "You are a brave little thing, you know that, my dear?" He purred, lips pulled into a dark smile, before silencing what you were about to say with a slap.

The sound of his palm hitting your face left you in disbelief and fear, your eyes wide and filled with tears as Aegon shouted for Ser Criston Cole, who was doing his daily patrol in front of the outside of the King's private chambers.

"Yes, Your Grace? What does the King desire?" Criston asked, positioning himself and looking curiously at the sight in front of him, you with a redness mark on your cheek, Aegon's fierce and at the same time sarcastic gaze. It was clear what had happened.

Aegon let out a slight chuckle before saying. "I have some things to sort out with my brother and my uncle Ser Gwayne in the Small Council room. Please take this girl there when she finishes cleaning here." Aegon murmured, getting up from the bed, letting go of the sheets and starting to walk to the washbasin, his bare ass and his boner catching your attention when he looked at Ser Criston one last time. "Take her naked, preferably. Aemond and my uncle need some distraction and fun. Just like me"

When Criston pushed you into the Small Council, a weak whine escaped your swollen cut lips from the punch he had given you a few minutes before when he had to drag you through the corridors. You flinched as you held the tray with three glasses of wine, entering the room with red cheeks, the gazes of the three men sitting at the table landing on your naked and vulnerable body.

"Your Grace..." You murmured with a sad and shy reverence, walking over to them and placing the tray on the table, handing the largest glass to King Aegon, who smirked excitedly at your presence.

"Oh, finally! My most beautiful servant!" Aegon clapped his hands before taking the drink and taking a sip, admiring the view of your ass when handed the other glasses to Aemond and Gwayne. The prince looked at you with the same cold gaze as always, although he was enjoying watching your shivering body, completely vulnerable. The knight, Aegon and Aemond's uncle, widened his eyes, taking the drink and whispering an embarrassed thanks, your breasts so close to his face. "You can sit with us, Ser Criston. I am sure my other guards will not mind."

Criston nodded silently, sitting on the chair, but remaining with a severe face as he looked at the hairs of your cunt.

The awkward silence followed for a while, despite Aegon's amused smile when he saw you standing naked next to him, your hands clasped in front of your body, waiting for any more orders.

"What did the girl do to deserve a punch on those pretty lips, Ser Criston?" The King teased, the tip of his thumb rubbing circles on your waist, an involuntary sigh escaping and making you squeeze your thighs together reflexively. Your reaction did not go unnoticed by any of the men.

"She tried to refuse to walk naked through the castle halls while I brought her here." Criston looked at you with a little anger and you lowered your head so as not to see their reactions, but Aemond let a low 'uhm' escape coldly, along with Aegon's laugh as if the royal guard had told him the best of jokes.

"Oh, I see... She is a pretty stubborn little whore. Sometimes too brave for her own good." Aegon's mockery was like a knife spinning inside your chest, further adding to the humiliation when even Gwayne Hightower smirked too.

As much as you wanted to take the dagger from Criston's armor and stab the King to death, until his blood ran all over the marble table and permanently stained the green robe he wore, you forced yourself to look at him with false regret. "Forgive me, Your Grace."

It was an absolute lie and everyone knew that, but Aegon did not address your insincerity words. He caressed your bare waist again, moving his large hand up until it rested on your nipples, playing with them for a few minutes, enjoying your pathetic whimpers and the way your body twitched, without even trying to move away. It would be worse for you if you fought his sadism.

"Do not you think she is beautiful?" Aegon's smile was macabre, his thumb and forefinger wringing the small buds becoming hard like rocks, quite reddish and painful.

Aemond and Criston let out a similar scoff, but nodded in agreement. "She is pathetic." The prince added, looking your body up and down. "But she looks better than most of the stupid maids you fuck."

Aegon chuckled and nodded too, turning to Gwayne. "And what do you think, uncle?"

Gwayne looked at you, his red hair matching his flushed cheeks as he gave his nephew a mischievous smile. "She is quite a sight, My King."

Aegon laughed again, moving his fingers away from your breasts and scratching his chin to think of something that could humiliate you a little more. He knew this would be crossing the line and would make his mother reprimand him furiously, ashamed of the firstborn that came out of her womb. However, it did not matter anymore. He was the King now, and a King should decide how to punish his own people.

"I think you would like to receive some pleasure after the tiring journey to King's Landing. Right?" Gwayne seemed a little shocked by the suggestion from Aegon's words, but it did not take long for him to agree.

"Yes, my nephew. It would be very useful." Gwayne ignored the tears that streamed down your face when Aegon forced you to kneel in front of his uncle, lifting your face so you could see the lust on Gwayne's face.

Aegon petted the top of your head like a puppy, before smirking and whispering. "Well... then take her as your welcome gift, uncle."

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

429 notes · View notes

spider-stark · 7 months ago

Text

SWORN PROTECTOR

Criston Cole x Targaryen!Reader

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

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

Word Count - 2k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Soft footfalls echo in the narrow corridor of Maegor’s passages. You keep a palm cupped around the candle in your other hand, protecting the flame so it won’t gutter out. Secret doors are scattered throughout the corridor, each leading into bedchambers or solars or other forgotten passages. Having already left your brother, Aegon, at the secret door leading to his room, you keep count of your steps.

One, two; seven, eight; thirteen, fourteen; twenty, twenty-one.

At just over twenty-five paces, the exact distance between his room and yours, you stop, turn to the left and blow your candle out, setting it on the ground for next time you go sneaking through to passages.

Cold stone bites at your palms as you press them against the aged door. You cringe with every scrape and groan as you push it open. When there’s a gap just wide-enough, you turn sideways and shimmy inside.

You’re greeted by warm light, candles flickering from all around your room, chasing the shadows of dusk into faraway corners. If you weren’t so preoccupied with heaving the door back into place, adjusting the tapestry that hides its seams from view, you may have noticed that there are more candles lit now than when you slipped out earlier, having abandoned the Keep in favor of a night spent in the city lying below Aegon’s High Hill.

When all is as it was, the secret door shut and covered, you turn around. Heaving a sigh, you shrug your cloak from your shoulders, letting it fall into a heap on the floor. Gooseflesh immediately forms along your arms, kissed by the chill breeze blowing in from the open balcony.

You walk to the vanity on the far side of your room, rolling your neck and shoulders, muscles sore from hours spent dancing among the smallfolk in a Flea Bottom tavern. Exhaustions made your bones weary, fantasies of crawling into warm sheets plague your mind. They tempt you, urging you to forego your nightly routine in favor of sweet, sweet sleep.

Your footsteps falter, casting a wistful glance down your shoulder to your bed when—

Seven Hells!

Your pulse jumps, a scream threatens to rip from your throat at the sight of a figure sat on the foot of your bed. You react quickly, clamping a hand over your mouth to muffle any sound, not wanting to raise alarm amongst the guards. Recognition washes over you in a matter of seconds, taking them in one detail at a time: their weathered boots and polished armor, tanned skin and ever-present frown.

Lowering your hand, you have half a mind to curse Criston for frightening you like this, for not announcing himself as soon as you snuck in—

Rational thought trumps what remains of fear.

He had to have seen you—sneaking in from the passages, hiding the door upon entrance.

Fuck.

The air turns thick. Every breath is like sucking treacle into your lungs, slow and suffocating. Criston’s stare is heavy, his expression like weathered stone. Armor grinds against itself as his arms cross over his chest. “Where have you been?”

There’s some relief that he doesn’t first question you about the passages. Does he already know about them, you wonder? After all, before Criston became your protector, he was sworn to your half-sister, Rhaenyra—who, in your youth, was said to be quite rebellious.

A trait Criston finds to be alive and well within you.

You look away from him, continuing to your vanity. “I was out,” you answer, purposefully curt. “Obviously.”

Nudging the vanity stool with your foot, you take a seat upon its plush velvet cushion. Criston pushes off your bed, and you fight a smirk at the sound of his footfalls, heavy and fervent as he strides to your side.

“Out where?”

You pull your neatly plaited hair over your shoulder, watching yourself in the mirror as you untie the ribbon binding it. “In the city,” you tell him, tossing the scrap of silk onto the vanity top. “Where else would I go?”

“Were you alone?”

You reach for your brush, begin combing. “What does it matter?” Before he can answer, you catch his gaze in the reflection, eyes playfully narrowing as you ask, “If I said that I wasn’t, would you be jealous, Ser Criston?”

He certainly looks jealous.

The knight’s breathing is shallow, tanned cheeks flush with frustration. At your question, a muscle feathers in his jaw, clenched so tight that you can nearly hear his teeth grind together. There’s a dark gleam in his eyes, a shadow of rage—not at you, you don’t think. But at whoever may have been graced with your presence tonight, showered with your favor and affection.

“As your sworn protector,” Criston says, voice strained, “I have a right to ask if you were escorted by another member of the Kingsguard.”

There’s such emotion in it—the way he said: Your sworn protector. A trembling betrays his fraying restraint, revealing the raw nerve beneath and exposing Criston’s desperation, a desire to not only be sworn to you, but to be wholly possessed by you.

Your sworn protector—no longer a title, but an identity.

Your sworn protector—no longer an oath, but a sacred devotion.

You set your brush down, holding his stare with a faint smirk. “I’m afraid that doesn’t answer my question, Ser.”

Something snaps. His mouth twists into a scowl.

“Are you truly so thoughtless, princess?” Criston asks, his tone maintaining a delicate balance between respect and disappointment. “Do you understand it’s your very life you play with? And that it’s not only you who would suffer the consequences of this… this utter lack of duty! This wanton negligence!”

You could have him dismissed from the Kingsguard for this.

For speaking so freely. For interrogating a princess. For trespassing in your rooms.

Criston continues, “If something were to happen to you, my life is forfeit. The king would–”

He’s interrupted by wood screeching against stone, the vanity stool thrust back as you rise to your feet. You turn to stand toe-to-toe with the knight, chin tilted to lock eyes with him. “The king,” you hiss with a sickly smile, contradicting the venom in your voice, “would do nothing—just as he’s done all my life.”

The energy shifts. Criston’s scowl morphs to a pitying frown.

“He is your father,” his protest is a tentative breath, laced with underlying uncertainty, “if something happened to you, he would seek justice.”

You laugh, low and bitter. Shake your head and shove past the knight. “If he mistook me for Rhaenyra, perhaps,” you say, kicking off your shoes as you head to the wardrobe next to your bed. “If not, then I imagine he wouldn’t even notice I’m gone. My life—the lives of my siblings—has never meant anything to him.”

Criston redirects, facing you now. He argues, “It means something to your mother.”—And to me, he holds back.

A scoff, throwing the wardrobe open.

Your mother loves you, of course—but it’s the kind of love that hurts. It’s cold distance and piercing scrutiny, violent words and stinging cheeks. If you were to die, she would certainly mourn. But it won’t change that she failed you. It won’t make her a good mother.

When you don’t respond, mindlessly digging through a drawer of nightgowns, Criston knows better than to broach that particular topic any further.

With a hesitant breath, he says, “It’s my duty to protect you. To keep you safe.” He takes several steps, decreasing the distance between you by coming to stand at the foot of your bed. You stay facing the wardrobe. “It’s true that I cannot tell you what to do—if you wish to fraternize with common-men—” such distaste laces this word—“then that is your will.”

There’s a pause. Your hands falter, swathed in a mess of silky fabric as you wait for him to continue.

“I only ask that you heed caution, princess. For you to allow me to accompany you and do my job—to safeguard your life, your virtue-”

Genuine amusement floods your chest. It spills from your lips in a string of vivacious giggles. “Is that what this is about, Ser Criston? My virtue?” You settle on a nightgown, turn around and toss it onto your bed. You glance to the foot of it, at Criston and his ever-present frown. “You truly are a jealous man,” you muse, smiling, “aren’t you? Thinking I go into the city to fuck common-men.”

His fists tighten at his sides, the blatant mockery in your voice having invited a wave of embarrassment.

“It was not my intention to imply that—”

The words catch in Criston’s throat as you turn the opposite way, slip your shirt over your head and shimmy out of your trousers, leaving the smallclothes beneath. All he can see is your back—the smooth column of your spine, brushed by tendrils of long, silver hair—but that’s enough.

Enough to make his heart jolt, hammer against his ribcage. Enough to make his knees weak, threaten to buckle beneath his weight. Enough to light a fire inside him, flames licking at every inch of his skin.

Grasping at the final shreds of his restraint, Criston averts his gaze to the floor.

He swallows on a too-dry throat. “King’s Landing is full of vile men, princess,” he tells you, a sense of guilt pricking at his conscience. “And vile men are known to commit vile acts.”

You reach out an arm, grab the nightgown and pull it over your head. Silk glides over your skin, covering the exposed flesh that tempts the knight so.

Whirling to face him, you ask, “And what about you?”

Criston doesn’t answer, still studying the rug beneath his feet with a staggering intensity. You catch his brow furrow, though, a small wrinkle forming there. You elaborate on your question.

“You’re a man in King’s Landing,” you tell him, leisurely placing one foot in front of the other, gliding to where he stands at the end of your bed. “Are you as vile as the rest of them, Ser Criston?”

Again, only silence.

You take another step. Less than a foot of space separates you, close enough now to scent the earthy musk of his armor. “Some might think it vile,” you continue, taunting him, “for you to be here right now—hiding in my bedchambers well after dark.”

Criston stammers, his words broken-up by serrated breaths, “I merely wished to know that you were safe, princess.” Dark eyes flutter up from the floor, drawn to yours. “My intentions were pure.”

“Were?”

His blood thrums. His lungs ache.

You continue, “Do you mean your intentions have changed, Ser Criston?”

Criston tells the truth. “No.” With you, his intentions are always pure. It’s his desires that complicate things. “My intentions are the same,” he tells you, clearing his throat, “I only wish to know you’re safe. That you’re well-protected.”

Your mistrust in his answer is evident. Lips pursed, your eyes scan his face, searching for something. At this moment, he feels every bit like prey. A cornered animal trapped beneath the searing gaze of a dragon, left entirely at your mercy.

A part of him is terrified. Another, utterly entranced.

Finally, you click your tongue. Reaching out a hand, you place it against his chest. His gaze falls, staring at where your palm is pressed to his armor. He wonders how it might feel against his skin. “You’re an honorable knight, Ser Criston,” you tell him, smiling. “A good man, too.”

Criston doesn’t remember the need for oxygen until your touch falls away.

Turning your back to him again, you stride back around your bed, pull the blankets back, and sit on the edge of your mattress. His mind is still reeling when you next speak.

“I was with Aegon.”

Criston blinks. “What?”

“You asked if I was alone,” you say, reminiscing on his earlier question, “I wasn’t. I was with Aegon—who was accompanied by Ser Erryk.” Sliding your legs beneath the blankets, you lean back against a stack of plush pillows. “So I was well-protected from those vile men you speak of.” Chewing on your lip, fighting a wider grin, you add, “I just thought you might like to know—despite how unjealous you are.”

Criston’s own lips twitch, curving upwards.

“Good,” he says, a bit awkward. Then: “And about that secret door…”

You groan, tossing your head back against the pillows. Criston softly chuckle, another lecture already poised on the tip of his tongue.

It’s going to be a long night.

a/n - idk man. I randomly decided at 8pm that I needed to write 2k words about this man after never writing for him a day in my life, and this is the product of that. any and all feedback is welcome and much appreciated!

716 notes · View notes

rottenfyre · 7 months ago

Text

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐘: 𝘈𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘥.

You stood on a balcony overlooking the scene, a small, satisfied smile on your lips as you watched Ser Criston Cole train shirtless. His muscles rippled with every swing of his sword, his body a perfect specimen of strength and grace. You admired his form openly, your gaze unapologetic as it lingered on his well-defined abs and strong arms.

A small tug at your gown broke your focus. You glanced down to see little Aegon, looking up at you with wide, curious eyes. "Y/N," he said in his tiny voice, "what you lookin' at?"

Without taking your eyes off Ser Criston, you responded, "Just admiring a very beautiful man, Aegon. What a beautiful body he has, don't you think?"

Aegon’s little face scrunched up in confusion. He turned his gaze to where yours was fixed and saw Ser Criston. The knight was tall, strong, and everything a warrior should be. Aegon’s tiny hands patted his own round tummy, soft and pudgy as any toddler’s would be. He frowned, clearly not understanding why you found Ser Criston so fascinating.

You barely noticed as Aegon wandered off, your attention still fully on the training knight. But Aegon’s little mind was already working hard, trying to figure out why you liked looking at Ser Criston so much.

The next day, Ser Criston was back in the yard, training as usual. Aegon waddled up to him, his little face set with determination. Tugging on Ser Criston’s trousers, he looked up and said, "Ser Cwistun, take off shirt!"

Criston looked down at the tiny prince, startled by the unusual request. "Why, my prince?"

Aegon repeated himself, his voice insistent. "Take off shirt! Please!"

With a bemused smile, Criston removed his shirt, revealing his muscular torso. Aegon’s eyes widened in awe, his tiny mouth forming a small “o” as he stared at the knight’s body. He reached out with one tiny finger and poked Criston’s abs, feeling the hard muscle beneath his skin.

Then, with a serious expression, Aegon patted his own round belly. He looked up at Criston, his big eyes filled with concern. "How Aegon be like you?" he asked, his voice small and worried.

Criston crouched down to Aegon’s level, a gentle smile on his face. "Why would you want that, little prince?"

Aegon’s lower lip trembled as he confessed, "So Aegon be beautiful for Y/N."

Criston’s heart softened at the little prince’s innocent wish. He placed a comforting hand on Aegon’s shoulder. "You don’t need to worry about that, my prince. You’re perfect just the way you are."

"But…" Aegon’s voice wavered, tears starting to well up in his eyes. "Y/N said you beautiful. And Aegon not."

Criston quickly scooped Aegon into his arms, holding him close. "You are beautiful, my prince. In your own special way. And Y/N loves you because you’re you, not because of how you look."

Aegon sniffled, his tiny fists rubbing at his eyes. "Really?"

"Really," Criston assured him, gently patting his back. "And besides, you have a baby tummy. That’s exactly how it’s supposed to be."

Aegon looked up at Criston with wide eyes, his tears forgotten as he processed this information. "Baby tummy?"

Criston nodded, chuckling softly. "Yes, a baby tummy. And it’s perfect for a little prince like you."

Aegon’s tears finally stopped, and a small smile spread across his face. "Okay," he said, nodding to himself as if confirming that everything was alright.

Criston set Aegon down on the ground and ruffled his hair. "Now, how about we go find Y/N? I’m sure she’ll want to see you."

Aegon nodded eagerly, already forgetting his worries. He took Criston’s hand, toddling beside him as they made their way back to the Keep. Though he was still small and soft, Aegon felt a little better knowing that he was just right the way he was.

But even as they walked, Aegon couldn’t help but glance back at Criston’s muscles, a mix of awe and determination in his innocent eyes. He was going to grow up strong, just like Ser Criston, and maybe one day, Y/N would look at him the way she looked at the knight. At least, that’s what he hoped.

Part 1 ♡ Part 2 ♡ Part 4 ♡ Part 5 ♡ Part 6

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

734 notes · View notes

garagesesh · 9 months ago

Text

HOTD headcanons

I can hear the bells // p. 2 & p. 1

gif source

⤷ pairing(s): aemond targaryen x reader, s*r criston cole x reader, jacaerys velaryon x reader

⤷ warning(s): unplanned pregnancy, angst, criston cole

⤷ a/n: idk criston cole is fun to write and it helps that he’s pretty, this isn’t my favorite work and I’m sure I’ll rewrite someday but I wanted to get it out now before my vacay

masterlist

―✧˖° ♛ °˖✧―

★ aemond targaryen

You are not a highborn lady or any type of Targaryen or Velaryon Princess, you met Aemond in the bowels of Flea Bottom at a tavern by chance, not knowing who he was. The two of you connected, talking until dawn about adventure and the history of Valyria

Aemond was charmed by your ignorance of his standing in society, reveling in the secret but simple life affair

It wasn’t two months later that you figured it out. A gold cloak addresses him by his title out in the streets in a tavern. You’re not thrilled by this revelation and in fact swear to never see him again but he’s persistent, determined to keep you

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to resume your relationship and suddenly-

You’re pregnant a year into your affair with the one-eyed prince, he was overjoyed with the news but you were scared he was going to abandon you like his elder brother had done time and time again

You call him mad and laugh, thinking it's some sort of cruel jest when he confesses his intent to marry you and make you royalty. He will not raise a bastard, he says as you kick him out of your small one room

It takes a month before you finally accept his proposal, it took sleepless nights and worried days before finally talking yourself into his idea as a good one

There are no flowers except the ones he brought you at dawn on your wedding day, it is a warm sunny morning when you both enter the sept of Baelor, a skeptical high septon, and his sworn guard

It is rushed but Aemond is determined and ready as he swears his vows and barely waits for you to finish your own before kissing you hard

You have never met a dragon before when Aemond takes you before Vhagar and tells you that you’ll be riding south for a fortnight, there is no fear that runs in your veins but excitement

You spend a sennight in Dorne, hidden away from the world, unbeknownst to the wrath awaiting you and Aemond in the Red Keep

Alicent is cold and unwilling to understand the situation. It is not easy or happy meeting for you.

★ criston cole

After the dance of dragons, criston cole is given a choice. To be stripped of his white cloak die within the cells of the Red Keep or to be stripped of his white cloak, return to Dorne and live a quiet life out of the realms politics. Cole chooses the latter, of course. It’s far more kindly than what he assumed would be his fate.

Dorne is not what he remembers it being, it’s dry and vast with little in it’s lands. Cole doesn’t consider this desert his home.

His father was not proud of him, but he needs to still secure the house lineage and secures a marriage pact

As the youngest daughter of house Dayne, you’re not thrilled at the prospect of marrying the fool (one of many nicknames they’ve aptly named Criston in Dorne). You have only heard of the most vile and selfish stories about your now betrothed.

When you first meet Criston Cole, you’re shocked. He’s attractive, his hair has grown out to his shoulders and there’s a scar running down his neck but the weeks leading up to your meeting you had envisioned all sorts of monstrosities, considering you and the realm had decided he was a cruel inept monster

He is quiet and replies with a soft voice, you’re puzzled how the ex-Lord Commander and Hand of the King for the traitor king is gentle. However it is hard to see past what he has done to tear the realm apart

When your wedding day comes around, he replaces your cloak with a rough cloth with colourless dots adorning the back. House Cole is not wealthy and the dowry wasn’t large.

He kisses you well not really. His rough hands squeezes your own gently and barely brushing his lips to your cheek

There is no feast, just a family meal that is supplied well with meat and wine in the gardens well into the evening

The bedding is just like his kiss, hardly anything to recount to your sisters or companions. It isn’t romantic and your sure he doesn’t even finish. You hope that this isn’t what it’ll always be

★ jace velaryon

Growing up alongside your future husband isn’t the norm, but you are glad for it. As many ladies are stuck with brutes and old men for husbands

Jace has matured into a handsome man that you can’t bare to look at without blushing. With every look he gives you, you can’t help but turn your head with cheeks red

But despite your embarrassment, you are both more than excited to finally be married

You opt for a traditional Valyrian wedding, the same as Rhaenyra and Daemon had done. There was no fancy ceremony with cloaks of golden threads, just Jace and you

Sleep did not come the night before, as the excitement and giddiness ran through you like shots of lightning. You couldn’t even feel the exhaustion in your muscles as you readied yourself in the robes and headpiece

Jace could not find sleep himself, as he was too excited as well at the prospect of finally calling you his

Jace’s eyes watered while waiting for you, he choked on his Valyrian as you laughed at his sweet mistake

The kiss wasn’t needy or greedy, but it wasn’t the cordial kiss of the Lords & Ladies of the Seven would display. It was tender and loving and gentle.

The feast was celebrated through the night and full of laughter. When it came to the bedding ceremony, you and Jace instead fell asleep quite quickly in your now shared bed

However the next evening…

356 notes · View notes

lionneee · 5 months ago

Text

Little Princess

English is not my first language, please be kind

Masterlist

Taglist

•Warnings: taking of sexual themes, drinking, smoking, smut, age difference.•

Previous part <- Current part

Modern!Father’s!Best!Friend!Aemond x Fem!Reader

Aemond didn’t know why he did that.

He also didn’t expect to feel such a bastard for turning you down for your own good.

He sighed and rubbed his temple as he took another sip of his bourbon.

He was tired.

He groaned loudly as he heard the doorbell ring, and he got out of his office to see who was here to annoy him.

He took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Please don’t be here again.

“Alys.” His voice was a grunt of surprise, his expression pure annoyance. “If you’re here to fuck, it won’t happen.”

He grunted as he turned his back at her and walked deeper in the house, leaving the door open for her.

“I’m not here for that. We’ve already done it after breaking up.” She smirked at her own teasing as she followed him inside. “I’m here to talk.”

“Not in the mood for that too.” He said as he grabbed another glass, and filled it with some other alcohol.

He didn’t even care what he drank, he didn’t even look.

It could have been bleach and he would have been fine with that.

“You messed up.” She stated as she moved closer, grabbing the same bottle he poured and read the label. “And since you’re drinking when it’s ten in the morning, I suppose you don’t even know how to fix it.” She put down the bottle and walked to his couch, sitting down and lighting herself a cigarette.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He hummed as he took another sip of his drink, the alcohol burning his throat, but he accepted the pain like it was his medicine. “And I’ve already fixed it.” He added, looking back at her.

She raised her pack of cigarettes and he sighed, taking one.

“You think that rejecting the daughter of your best friend after fucking her in secret will fix it?” She raised her eyebrow, looking at his deliveshed appearance as she took a puff of her cigarette.

Messy air, like someone that had passed his hands in them too much, and some sweater suit, that she knew he reserved only for moments when he felt like disappearing from the world.

“I think I have less problems now.” He said as he smoked.

“Do you?”

“Why are you here, Alys?” He sighed, feeling more annoyed than anything. She pressed her lips together and turned her head to the side.

“Me and Criston are together.” She said.

Aemond looked at her.

Her and Criston.

He couldn’t help but start laughing.

It was ridiculous just the idea, they were too different.

She cared too much about appearance, and looking perfect, too active in the nights for Criston.

Criston just wanted to settle and relax.

Criston just wanted to raise his daughter with Dayana, and have a happy life.

Aemond rubbed his temples with his fingers as he felt a headache coming just at the thought of how he fucked up his life.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Alys hissed at him, turning her eyes back at him.

“Yeah, well, you knew how I was when you fell in love with me.” He answered back, looking up at her.

She clenched her jaw and stood up, fixing her skirt, as Aemond simply watched her.

“You know losing an eye doesn’t give you the right to be a bastard your whole life, right?”

Aemond glared daggers at her, but she simply stared back, then she walked out of his house.

Aemond walked in the kitchen and threw the cigarette in the sink, then clenched his hands into fists, so much that the glass broke in his hand, cutting his skin.

He hissed in pain and opened his hand, letting the shards of the glass fall in the sink.

“Fuck.”

You kept jumping your leg up and down nervously as you sat at the table with your father.

“I never wanted to disappoint you.” You sobbed. “I swear, dad, I love you! I-I am so grateful for everything you gave me, the life you provided me-“ You stopped yourself as you sobbed. “I never wanted to hurt you.” You bit your lip as you looked at your father, as he clasped his hands together over the table.

“I know, kid, I know.” He sighed. “It was…” He looked away for a moment, shaking his head. “Terrifying, seeing you in your bed with… with Aemond.” He growled his name.

Even hearing his name pained you.

“I-I thought…” You took a deep breath. “I thought we loved each other.” You looked away too. “It was stupid.” You said then, realizing how lame it sounded.

“It’s not stupid to love someone, kid.” Your father said firmly, slowly, making sure you would understand his words.

“Its stupid to love Aemond.” She said, looking up at him.

The side of your fathers mouth twitched, an amused smile spreading on his face.

“Yeah, don’t tell me about it. He’s my best friend, remember?” He humoured. You smiled too, nodding.

“Yeah, I remember.” You leaned forward on the table, looking back at him. “Do you forgive me?” You asked with a trembling voice, looking at him, your eyes full of hope and regret.

“I do, kid.” He leaned forward too, covering your hands with his. “I… I have something to tell you too…” He admitted.

You furrowed your brows, curious of what he had to say.

“You killed my cactus?” You smiled, making him chuckle.

“No, no, even if sometimes I think it moves on itself only to sting me.” He sighed with a smile.

“No, it’s about me… and Alys.” He said, looking closely at your reaction.

“Alys?” A shiver ran down your body, jealousy spreading in your chest as you remembered when Aemond brought her home.

“Yes, me and her…” He blushed a bit as he tried to contain a bigger smile. “We are… a couple. I like her a lot.”

“What?” You were stunned. “I-I thought… she and Aemond had… something.” You stuttered.

“No, I mean, yes, but it was a long time ago.” He squeezed her hands. “It happened so suddenly, I wasn’t even looking for someone… After your mother, I thought I would never know love again.” He smiled to himself. “But she… she is beautiful, strong, independent and beautiful…”

“Yeah, you said that.” You smiled and your father chuckled. “It’s okay dad. I’m happy if you’re happy.” You nodded and he smiled at you.

“Come here, kid.” He stood up and walked to you, you quickly stood as well too, melting in his embrace, snuggling your face in his chest.

“I love you.” He kissed the top of your head.

“I love you too.”

Aemond stood by the window after Alys left, his mind spiraling back to the chaos he had caused. He had thought pushing you away would save everyone pain, but he felt emptier than ever. Criston had warned him, time and again, that you were off-limits, that messing with his best friend’s daughter would only lead to disaster. Yet Aemond hadn’t listened.

His phone buzzed on the counter. Hesitant, he picked it up and saw Criston’s name flash across the screen. The message was brief but filled with fury:

«We need to talk. Now.»

Aemond knew this conversation had been brewing since the moment he’d crossed that line with you. There was no more avoiding it. He slipped on a jacket and left the house, the knot in his chest tightening with every step towards the bar where he, Criston and Dyana would spend most of their evenings and nights when they were young.

When he arrived at the doorstep, he paused, he saw Criston sat at the counter with a drink in front of him, eyes down. He sighed and walked in, sitting beside him, giving the bartender a nod to have the same drink his friend had. When he turned to Criston, his face was set in a cold, unreadable expression, but his eyes betrayed him. Anger simmered beneath the surface, barely restrained.

Criston took a sip of his drink and turned to face him. “What the hell were you thinking?” His voice was low but trembling with restrained fury. “You were supposed to be her goddamn protector, Aemond. You were supposed to keep her safe, not… not use her.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Aemond immediately corrected him, though the words felt hollow in his mouth. He knew they wouldn’t ease Criston’s anger.

Criston scoffed, shaking his head, trying to contain his rage. “What was it, then? You seduced her, slept with her, and then what? Tossed her aside like she meant nothing? She’s my daughter, Aemond!” His voice cracked, and the pain in it hit Aemond harder than any physical blow.

Aemond ran a hand through his hair, unsure of what to say. “I tried to end it more times than you think.” He shook his head. “But… she is… she’s just…” He sighed. “It wasn’t easy.”

Because I wanted to fuck her every time I saw her.

Because I’m sick, and the same woman I saw grow up, I end up fuck too.

Criston’s eyes flashed, his hands clenched into fists.

Criston leaned back, staring at Aemond with a look that was a mix of anger, disappointment, and something deeper, something more broken. “I trusted you with her, Aemond. I trusted you like a brother. But after this…” He sighed, shaking his head again. “I don’t know if we can ever go back to how things were. Not after what you did.”

Aemond’s chest tightened at those words, the weight of them crushing him. He knew this was the cost of his actions, but hearing it from Criston himself made the loss all too real. He hadn’t just lost you, he’d lost the only family he had left outside of his own blood.

“I’m sorry,” Aemond said quietly, though he knew the words would do little to ease the hurt.

Criston stood, his movements slow and deliberate, as if the weight of their conversation had finally taken its toll. He looked down at Aemond, his face hardened with resolve. “You’re not the one who needs to hear that apology, Aemond. She is. You’re going to talk to her, and you’re going to explain yourself. “ He sighed. “Do you even love her?”

Aemond froze at Criston’s question, his heart pounding in his chest. He hadn’t expected that, hadn’t expected to be asked outright if he loved you. But there it was, hanging in the air between them like a sword poised to fall.

Did he love you? He didn’t know if he even understood what love meant anymore. He’d been drawn to you in ways that terrified him, ways that made him feel like he was drowning every time he was near you. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, couldn’t stop wanting you, hadn’t been able to stay away despite knowing how wrong it was. But love?

“I…” Aemond began, his voice faltering as he searched for the right words. He wanted to lie, to say that it had meant nothing, that he could walk away without looking back. But that would be a lie, one Criston would see through immediately. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if it was love… or if it was just… something else.”

Criston’s face twisted with disgust at his hesitation, his fists clenching tighter. “Something else? Something else?” he repeated, his voice rising. “You mean lust. That’s all it was to you, wasn’t it?”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, shame burning through him. He didn’t have an answer that would satisfy Criston. He wasn’t even sure he had one for himself. All he knew was that the pull he felt toward you had consumed him in ways he hadn’t expected, and now, everything had crumbled because of it.

Criston shook his head in disbelief, the pain and betrayal etched deep in his features. “She’s not just some conquest, Aemond. She’s my daughter. She trusted you, and you… you broke her heart.”

Aemond’s throat tightened, the guilt threatening to choke him. He could see the depth of Criston’s hurt, could feel the weight of his own actions pressing down on him like a vice. He had betrayed the one person who had always stood by him, and for what? A momentary lapse in judgment? A desire he couldn’t control?

“I didn’t want this to happen,” Aemond said, his voice raw with regret. “I didn’t mean for it to get this far. But once it did… I couldn’t stop.”

Criston’s gaze hardened, his hands trembling with barely restrained fury. “You could have stopped,” he spat. “You should have stopped. You had a choice, Aemond. And you chose her. You chose to betray me.”

Aemond’s chest ached at those words, the truth of them cutting deeper than he’d anticipated. He had chosen you, again and again, despite knowing it would destroy everything. And now, the price of that choice was staring him in the face.

“I know I can’t fix this,” Aemond said quietly. “I know I can’t undo what I’ve done. But I will talk to her. I’ll tell her the truth. She deserves that much.”

Criston’s expression remained cold, unyielding. “You’re damn right she deserves the truth. But don’t expect her to forgive you. Don’t expect me to forgive you.”

Aemond nodded slowly, accepting the reality of the situation. He didn’t expect forgiveness. He didn’t deserve it.

Criston took a deep breath, his shoulders slumping slightly as the weight of their conversation seemed to settle over him. “You’ve lost me, Aemond,” he said softly, his voice laced with sadness. “But more than that, you’ve lost her. And I hope, for your sake, you understand what that really means. You stay away from her.”

Aemond watched in silence as Criston stood up and walked out of the bar, leaving him alone with the echo of those final words. The emptiness that followed was suffocating.

And for the first time in his life, Aemond wasn’t sure if he could live with the consequences of what he’d done.

Taglist: @ka1afbr @cynic-spirit @ladythornofrivia @zenka69 @queenofthekeep @adorewhatever @diannnnsss @kotadislikesthissite @iloveallmyboys @valyrianflower @dixie-elocin @gelacat0413 @quinquinquincy @mamawiggers1980 @darylandbethfanforever9 @rhaethoughts @believeinthefireflies95 @urfavnoirette @summerposie @sk1mah1 @queenofshinigamis @anukulee @chlmtfilms @m-riaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @malfoycassimalfoy @agoldenwoe

174 notes · View notes

damn-stark · 7 months ago

Text

Chapter 15 I was born something

Chapter 15 of Moonlight

A/N- Soulmatism is both being called to power at the same time, one shrouded by darkness and the other illuminated by bright flames.

Warning- Swearing, talks of pregnancy and sexual harassment, ser gwayne (not bad I just want to say he's in this chapter tehe) angst!!, fluff!!, SPOILERS, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- 2x05-and the very beginning of 2x06

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

He listened to your breaths as they came and went. They’re calm, and the most sweetest song.

Worry once plagued him, it clashed into him the moment he saw you falling under that fainting spell, he was lucky to have been so close otherwise, you would have hit the ground. Yet he didn't take that as a sign of luck at that moment. His worry brought out the worst of his anger he is willing to admit, but why shouldn’t he be upset?

He saw you fall, you could have been dying, and there’s nothing that he could’ve done to prevent death from taking you away from him, so all he knew how to be was desperate. There was no other emotion that would’ve felt right, not even as the maester was checking you.

Did it help in that situation? No, you would have told him that, his mother would have told him that, but he didn’t care, he was terrified until the exact moment the maester revealed you were with child with twins. He felt a bliss wash over him at that moment, like the sun breaking through dark clouds made by a raging storm.

Yet his worry was all but gone, it lingers even still, like sprinkling rain after the worst of the storm. He admires you as you sleep, he admires the way the sun kisses your soft skin making you illuminate even more divine than you already are. He takes note of the way your eyelashes kiss your skin, and the way your lips gently rest on each other. He could watch you for hours on end, his peace in the chaos of the world, his way of life; without you, life would be dull, lifeless, bleak, black and white, boring, and almost pointless.

How could other people find a way to love someone else? Sure he seeked company in someone, it’s his greatest sin and he will never commit it again. Not even if you die. If it was his responsibility to have more children to secure his succession then he would do his duty, but he wouldn’t love her, he would think of you, your smile, your laugh, your beauty, your touch, and your enchanting song because he knows no one would ever love him like you love him.

It’s pretty foolish of you to love him after what he’s done to break your heart, but for some reason, you keep clinging onto him like when you were young. You had a chance to escape, to laugh and point with the others, but you never did, and you never have. It’s perhaps the only weakness in you, but he’s grateful, blessed, and glad that you continue to love him unconditionally.

It’s why he has to protect you. You and your son—your children.

“Aemond.”

He hears the call and looks at the intruder who barged in without warning; seeing his mother walking in with worry filtered in her big brown eyes.

“How is she?” She asks.

Aemond returns his attention to you in hopes you’ll wake soon and continues to stroke your knuckles with his thumb as he refuses to let your hand go.

“The maester said she will be fine,” Aemond shares. “It was her grief and the fact that she did not eat.”

Alicent walks down the two steps that lead to the bed and watches her son and his refusal to miss a single breath that escapes you.

“How did you tell her?” She asks with a hint of judgment clinging onto her. “I hope you did not just blurt it. She may be on our side, but the others are still her family that she loves, you need to be careful when you share such dark words.”

Aemond huffs and turns his head to pass her a brief glare that she misses as she watches you.

“Did you know?” He asks and chooses not to comment on the fact that he knows how to talk to you, he’s no imbecile. “She’s with child.”

Alicent’s brown eyes find him and he quickly looks back at you. “Yes, Helaena told me last night. She just found out, which is why I warn you that you need to be—”

“I know,” he cuts his mother off impatiently. “I know how to talk to her. I’m no fool. I’m not…mhm,” he chooses to leave Aegon out of the conversation.

“Twins, Helaena says,” Alicent chooses to ignore what was at the tip of his tongue and reaches the foot of the bed to watch Aemond and his short-lived bliss. “Congratulations. You must be happy.”

Aemond tilts his head, making his hair cascade over his shoulder and hide the faint smile that tugs on his lips, and stays while he reaches his hand over to caress your belly with a feathered touch.

Before he can express his joy, or give any positive reaction at all, he takes a deep breath as if the next words that are coming out of him are going to hurt to say, causing his happiness to dimishness as worry makes itself plain to see.

“One…twin is smaller than the other the maester says,” he says in a voice that’s so rare for Alicent to hear nowadays. “What does that mean?”

He looks over at his mother for help, for reassurance that it will be fine. As if her words were the salvation.

“Just that,” she tries to comfort Aemond’s worry that begins to ache her own heart even if she tries hard to fight it. “Sometimes it tends to happen with twins, one takes more than the other, but,” she breathes out deeply and looks at you with more worry than she offered her son. “It’s still early, it will resolve.”

Aemond’s eye stays on his mother to take in more comfort but when he finds none his eyes return to you and tries to believe the little help his mother offered with a faint smile—No, he smirks now and this time Alicent doesn’t miss it.

“This war will take a lot from us, but my children will be the future of my house. I will make sure of it,” he says, making Alicent’s lips twitch to a frown while her eyebrows knit together with conflict brought by his choice of words.

A gleam proceeds to catch her eyes and when she locates where it comes from, she sees Aegon’s Valyrian steel dagger strapped to his belt as if it was a trophy he won and needed to show off to everyone who had eyes.

“Be easy on her,” Alicent musters as she breathes out her conflict. “And don’t involve her in your warpath, Aemond.”

He scoffs but doesn’t counter, he instead interjects softly. “She won’t be happy about it.”

Alicent chuckles breathlessly. “No, she will not, it seems she inherited her ferocity from both parts of her family.”

He hums and slides his hand away from your belly to cup your hand with both of his large hands to be able to bring your hand up and kiss your knuckles.

“She won’t wake,” Aemond mutters ever so softly with a hint of desperation that escapes as if asking for help without outright expressing it at this moment where it’s just her and him.

“Give her time,” she offers him some console. “The maester said she will be fine, so she shall. She’s lost a lot in a short time…it’s not easy. “

Aemond answers with silence whilst he brings your hand down to rest it on the bed without letting it actually escape from the security of his hold.

“My Prince,” a third visitor interjects in the silence and steals the attention of both Aemond and Alicent. “King Aegon’s carriage is approaching the city.”

At the mention, Aemond sits up straight, and that softness that his features were cast under slowly hardens just as he gives the guard a response. “Let me know when he’s reached the Red Keep.”

Alicent watches the guard take in Aemond’s demand without hesitance before he takes off, leaving her troubled by her conflict as she watches her son act too unbothered by what befell his brother.

He should be furious, but his rage is missing. He should be overcome with worry that his King and older brother was wounded in battle, but his worry is just placed on you and you alone.

——

*YOU*

She was there, the day you touched the clouds for the first time. She was there when you knew nothing was better than being a part of the never-ending sky. She was there because the first dragon you ever rode was Meleys.

“My mother was seven years old when she first took to the skies,” you remember pointing out with disappointment because you just turned seven and you could not mount your dragon yet. You were too young, your mother said.

You never realized then that she was just protecting you, after all the sickness that plagued you since you were a babe had barely been expelled from your body, she just wanted to make sure that nothing took you from her just as she was assured you would live a long life after all.

Nevertheless, that disappointment was short-lived, your grandmother had made sure of that.

“Actually I talked to your mother and guess what?” She began to tease you while you caressed Meleys’ snout much to your dragon's jealousy.

“What is it?” You’re too impatient to play.

A smile brightens her face before she gives you the answer. “You can fly with me. I know it’s not the same as flying your own dragon, but that time will come soon. As for now, we can mount Meleys together and we can take to the skies together as a name day present from me.”

You remember the joy that overcame you at that moment. Sure you still wanted to mount your own dragon, but her offer did satisfy that desire. It is like having a snack when you’re hungry, it does not fulfill you but it does keep you satisfied for a while. That’s how it was. You were satisfied at that moment, you were happy to be in the sky. It was the best moment of your life, you knew you would die happy if death had chosen to take you that day.

It was an exaggeration, of course, you realized that not long after, but you were only seven then and you were in the clouds for the first time. You could finally stop imagining how they felt because you could feel the moistness soak your fingertips as you tried to reach them while Meleys ascended higher. And when she was lost within the fluffy white clouds, the water soaked your face, but you did not care. You were carefree.

Nothing occupied your mind at that moment, nothing worried you. You felt as weightless as the clouds, and you beamed as bright as the sun in the sky. Your dreams hadn’t come true yet, you needed to take to the skies on the back of your own dragon, but the gift of flying for the first time was all thanks to her. She gave you that experience, she made you happy at that moment and never failed to make you happy as you got older. She never stopped protecting you…but…you did fail her.

You’re in King’s Landing for a reason, aren’t you? To report to your family the war plans, the comings and goings of the most valuable members in the Green faction, the decisions that are made around the council table, and any other plans that the Green council may have. You’re here to warn your family so they can get an advantage, so they can get closer to the throne, so they don’t run such a high risk of getting wounded or dying. But your grandmother died regardless.

You failed her, you failed them. You failed at the one thing you were supposed to do and now you lost someone else you love. And the crazy thing is that you don’t hate or blame Aemond for what happened, you blame yourself.

The weight of guilt lies on you because you couldn’t do the one thing you were supposed to do. Because no matter how hard you try you can’t be something valuable. That’s all you wanted, that’s why you left in the first place, to prove to your mother that you could be reliable, that you can be a fierce warrior, that you aren’t just a princess in a castle, and that you can be so much more. You wanted to be so much more, prove to her that you can be important, valuable, and fierce. That part of you is there, you wanted to show her that, but your grandmother died, and with her lies that fight. You feel like nothing now…

Daemon would be so mad…and you shouldn't care what he has to think about you, but how can you not after you failed so miserably? After your grandmother died and her dragon along with her?

You’re mad at yourself—no, you’re furious at yourself. If you had been better perhaps she would still be alive.

“Ready?” You tug yourself away from your train of thought and focus on Aerion before you grab a raw piece of meat from the bowl beside you, and place it down in front of his hatchling.

“Shrykos, <Dracarys>,” you command.

Shrykos tilts her little head before blinking and glancing at Aerion as if waiting for the okay. But your son can’t answer, he just watches Shrykos, and the hatchling watches him.

“Shrykos, <Dracarys>,” you repeat the command, making the hatchling now look at the piece of meat in front of her before she opens her mouth and lets out a small blast of fire.

Aerion watches the fire engulf the small piece of meat, the way the flames come out of his dragon's mouth to cook the meat and he can’t help but giggle and wave his fat little arms.

“<Good job, Shrykos,>” you praise the hatchling.

Aerion’s head turns to you and he coos, making a smile spread on your mournful face. “Shrykos,” you repeat to your son, making him study you before he coos after you as if trying to say his dragon's name too.

“Yes!” You clap. “She’s your dragon. Shrykos.”

Aerion coos the same way again and his dragon this time scurries over to him to sit in between his legs.

“Your mother would be delighted to see the way he interacts with his dragon,” Vanessa comments, making you smile wider.

“She would,” you muse and reach over to try and caress your son's head, but you must have reached out to him too quickly because suddenly Shrykos snaps her head towards you and shrieks out at you.

“<Whoa,>” you gasp in surprise yet also awe because she’s grown to be so protective in such a short time. Jacaerys was right, having Aerion bond with a dragon can protect him in ways some guards can’t.

“<It's okay. Calm down, girl.>” You try to ease her worry. “<Calm.>”

The dragon’s eyes don’t leave you for a solid minute, she watches you carefully until Aerion starts to cry.

“She meant no harm,” you assure him as you’re able to grab him now and bring him up with you as you stand to your given height, causing the hatchling to flap her delicate wings to perch herself on your shoulder and remain close to Aerion.

“It’s okay,” you continue to try to console him before you wipe away his tears and press a kiss on his cheek.

Shrykos watches the interaction and stretches her neck out to coo softly at Aerion as if trying to mimic you in calming him down.

“See? She’s just worried about you,” you tell Aerion, and he sniffles just seconds before his attention focuses on the pendant that you found around your neck after you woke up.

“Of course,” you mutter with an amused smile and watch him grab your pendant before he yanks it back towards him, pulling a gasp out of your mouth. “Gods.”

Aerion pulls the pendant to his mouth but you grab his hand and shake your head. Yet before you can pull the pendant away, the doors open and snatch your attention to your husband walking in and coming to an immediate halt when he sees you on your feet.

“Aemond,” you greet him with a faint smile.

Said man takes a step forward and his eye studies you hard as if making sure you’re really there, that you’re not some ghost set out to bid a last goodbye; while also trying to figure out if your smile directed at him is real or feigned. After all, you both know who brought down Meleys and your grandmother. It wasn’t Aegon you both knew that.

Yet no matter how hard or how long his eye remains fixated on you, that sweet smile doesn’t falter or fade, that smile on your face turns to a grin actually.

“What is it?” You break him from his stupor whilst also trying to tug your pendant away from Aerion’s mouth.

“You…” Aemond trails off and finally breaks away from the cast your mere presence put him under to close the distance that keeps you apart. “You should be abed. Not on your feet.”

You roll your eyes and approach Vanessa to hand Aerion to her, causing the little hatchling to disembark your shoulder and instead fly over to Vanessa’s.

“I’m fine,” you direct at Aemond as you turn to face him and find your body moving toward him. “I ate, I—”

“Vanessa,” Aemond snaps at your handmaiden with a glower that you get in between.

“Stop, don’t snap at her, talk to me,” you ease the worry you see weighing down on him.

Aemond’s eye flickers to you, but he also wants to scold Vanessa for not keeping you abed where you’ll be safe so he parts his lips to argue, but you finally meet him halfway and grab his arm, focusing all his attention back to you as if you were the center of the universe.

“Leave her be. I stood up, you know that. I am not an invalid, I just should've been more careful,” you add to your case. “But I ate. I’m feeling stronger already.”

His chest rises high as he takes in a deep frustrated breath before he lets it all go and is left with worry.

Before you can continue to address the matter at hand though, you turn your attention to Vanessa. “Take him to Helaena and Jaehaera, she has Morghul out too, he and Shrykos can bond.”

Vanessa nods and doesn’t linger behind, she leaves your quarters rather quickly, leaving you to face your husband and slide your hand down his arm to grab his hand.

“I’m fine,” you tell him one more. “The news just didn’t settle well, plus I was on an empty stomach, it all just overwhelmed me, but I’m fine…we’re fine,” you finish in a whisper and pull his hand toward you to press his palm against your belly.

“I’m sure the maester broke the news,” you continue with a proud smile that he misses because he watches your intertwined hands caressing the spot where your twins are growing.

“Twins,” he whispers with no worry clinging to his voice, it's soft and full of awe just like his eye.

“That’s why I haven’t been feeling hungry, and why I’ve been uncomfortable,” you address the matter. “They’re the reason.”

Aemond’s eye goes to you and now endearment also accompanies the already sweet feelings his eye expresses. You want to follow up with more, but your lips part, and a single breath escapes past your lips as you stand there feeling seen, appreciated, and loved under his gaze, but also feeling worry and guilt strike your heart as he looks at you.

You want to share it, you want to spill out what troubles you, but your words get caught in your throat when Aemond goes down on one knee and presses a gentle kiss on your belly before he rests his forehead against it.

Now at this very moment, the tension of war is forgotten completely. You exist only in your bliss.

“I wanted to tell you. I had half the mind to fly to Rook’s Rest the moment I found out to tell you, but I resisted my urge,” you share as you swing your arm around his head to caress it gently as he keeps his forehead pressed against your belly. “So can you just pretend I told you and that the maester didn’t ruin it?”

He chuckles softly and tilts his head up to meet your gaze as he remains on one knee. “He also told me about one of them being smaller than the other.” He brings up and the blissful paradise comes crumbling down as the guilt and the worry return.

“Yes, he told me too…” you trail off and gulp. “I-I don’t know what that means. He said he’ll monitor me, but…I’m scared.”

Aemond pushes himself up to tower over you again and grabs your face with a gentle touch as if he's afraid he’ll break you if he's too rough.

“My mother said it happens,” he now comes to your aid even if he doesn’t really know either. “They’ll get stronger and be equal after a while.”

You don’t find comfort in Alicent’s words, you need to hear them from your mother or read her own words to feel completely comforted.

“Ok,” your voice trembles. “Aemond,” you say and grab his hands. “I’m sorry.”

His eyebrows pinch together so you quickly respond to his confusion. “If being with child is an inconvenience right now. Everything is so chaotic, I’m sorry if I have become a burden—”

“Quiet,” he cuts you off and pulls you to him. “Shut up. You are the furthest thing from a burden or an inconvenience. Don’t apologize. Don’t torment yourself. We are blessed. That’s all. The risks you’ll take are just fewer now, but it seems you and Helaena have found more comfort in each other so you won’t be bored here.”

You blink and that worry falls, he helped resolve it. The guilt has diminished as well, but now you’re completely baffled by what he says.

You won’t just sit by the fire, you may be with child, but you will not just sit idly by while he risks his life, while your brother is out there, and while your family still needs you too. Just because you’re expecting doesn’t mean you have to sit and wait like a trapped princess in distress!

“No,” you spat and let his hands go. He sees the fire already engulfing your eyes so he pouts in annoyance whilst he lets your face go too.

“I will not—”

“I will not sit here and wait for you to come back,” you cut him off lividly. “I have a dragon, I have skill! Just because I’m with child—”

“That’s exactly why!” He argues back with quick-growing frustration. “Do you really expect me to send you to fight while you’re expecting?! Do you really think I can just watch you in the sky knowing your state?! It’s like you said…”

You shake your head and turn away as he continues.

“…it takes one arrow, a dragon's jaw, or fire…”

Your eyes shift at the last mention and you almost want to rebuttal with the truth of your…fire resistance, but that would take you down a rabbit hole that you don’t want to fall into at this very moment. You need to make a point and win.

“I would never forgive myself if something happened to you or the twins,” he tries to lure you into the trap using sweet words that usually work. “I would not feel comfortable sending you out to battle now.”

“That’s the difference between me and you,” you counter right away and twist around to face him. “I will wear armor! I had armor made for me, I can protect myself! My dragon will protect me! I will not sit here and do nothing while you are out there! While Sunfyre and Aegon are now indisposed!”

Aemond strides to you, and you stand your ground and challenge him with your enraged glare alone.

“I don’t care what you want or don’t want, you are not going to fight on dragonback or on the ground,” he counters back spitefully with his nose flared and his glare piercing right back at you. “If you try I will lock you in here with a hundred guards. Or I will take you to a tower where you can’t reach your dragon and you’ll be miles away.”

You part your lips but you can’t argue back, you’re caught in disbelief because you know he would be capable of doing that. You’re also too enraged that your words turn to ashes in your mouth by the stupid tears that come to your eyes. Thus instead you snap around to give him your back as you approach the hearth keeping the room warm, and watch the dancing flames with your arms crossed over your chest.

Aemond sighs deeply and leaves the room silent for a moment as he lets his frustration and impatience leave his body before he approaches you from behind.

At first, he breaks the silence with the soft utter of your name before he makes the mistake of brushing his fingertips on your hip, causing you to flinch away out of fear that it was someone else.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters in confusion to your sudden jolt.

You realize what you did and take a deep breath, realizing that your rage gets snuffed out like dying fire.

At first, you did not think you wanted to tell Aemond what Aegon did, but he’s here now, you look at him now; the confusion on his face. You look at your best friend, your husband, and the man that you love, and the words crawl up your throat like bile.

“Aemond,” you whimper and his confusion is lost and replaced by concern once again.

The sound of your lips parting fills your chambers, but a breath is all that comes out. You can’t be outward with it, you’re too afraid, too ashamed, so you close the distance and bring your lips to his ear.

He does look at you completely puzzled albeit that soon diminishes and slowly transforms into livid rage as you whisper the words in his ear. After that, you only pull back when you try to plead your case as if he didn’t believe you right away. He did, you just need him to know desperately.

“I told him to stop, I did, I promise, but he wouldn’t leave me alone. You have to believe me, Aemond.” You cry and he sighs, but that anger doesn’t die, he just musters the softness he can to gently cup your face before he slides his hand down to stroke your chin.

“I believe you,” he whispers so you can hear, and presses his forehead against yours.

“I wanted to fight back,” you keep trying to tell him. “I promise. I…I.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he coos and brings his hand back up to cradle your cheek and use his thumb to stroke it. “You will be okay.”

He suddenly rips himself away from you and stomps away. You turn to not miss a step and notice him grab his sword while he gets away in a rage, thus you interfere because you know he’s letting his anger steer his thoughts. “Aemond stop!”

He doesn’t falter in his pace, he keeps storming away.

“Aemond!” You cry out. “Stop! Aemond! Please,” you beg and it’s that quiver in your voice that stops him.

“Do you really expect me to stay here knowing what—”

“Stay with me,” you cut him off to tell him what you need the most. “Please don’t go. Just stay.”

Aemond slowly turns around and when he faces you he sees how hard you’re pleading with your teary eyes, and how much you need just his company. Not his rage, not his revenge, just his comfort. His anger does want to get the best of him, but he beats it down with a deep breath and rests his blade against the wall to go to you and immediately wrap you in an embrace.

When you’re surrounded by nothing but the security of his warm arms you let yourself melt in his embrace because you know that nothing and no one can hurt you there.

“Let’s take a bath, hm?” He suggests as he kisses the top of your head. “Me and you.”

You nod softly and after depleting him of all the comfort you need, as the sun leaves the earth and lets the moon and the stars shine, you have a bath drawn where hundreds of candles enlighten the room with their soft glow. Where a soothing incense fills the room, and the warm flames from the hearth near your bath is a warm third body that keeps you company while you relax against Aemond.

“And that one is my favorite song, there’s a certain eeriness to it, but also an enchanting melody that I love,” you muse as you cross one leg over the other.

Aemond hums. “Those have always been my favorite for you to sing,” he muses.

You smile widely, and slither your fingers over his gently caressing your knee, welcoming a silence to the room that causes Aemond to grow uncomfortable yet bold enough to ask one question he’s been holding back out of fear that you will admit that you hate him now, or that you’re only here because of Aerion.

He doesn’t want to hear rejection or see you turn your back on him. He still needs you and he doesn’t want to face potential abandonment. But he also can’t sleep peacefully not knowing how you feel after what he did.

“Can I ask you something?” Aemond brings up quietly before saying your name as if there were more people in this chamber. But there isn’t, it’s just you and him.

“Mhm,” you let him continue and lay your head back on his shoulder to look at him from the corner of your eyes.

“You know it was not Sunfyre or Aegon who brought down Rhaenys or Meleys,” he hesitates to say but he does speak it out loud, and right away he feels how stiff you grow.

“I…know,” you breathe out and slowly sit up, losing contact with his fingers, and causing his fingers on your knee to slip off. “I could read it off you. You weren’t so discreet you know? Maybe you should be a little less smug if you’re going to let Aegon take the win.”

He hums and sits up to press his hand on your back before gently wrapping his arm around your neck to speak by your ear. “Do you…hate me?”

How could you hate him when it’s yourself that you hate for failing her?

There’s no point in thinking. No debate needs to be had, it’s an easy answer that comes from the depths of your wounded heart.

“No,” you whisper, leaving no time for him to doubt your response. “Should I?”

You turn to face him with sincerity bringing tears to your eyes. “I don’t hate you.”

Aemond’s arm slips off you and his eye falls on the water, but rather than trying hard to find his gaze, you actually find his reflection in the water and see a frown on his face; one brought by sorrow and torment over your response.

It’s like he almost wants you to hate him.

“It’s different this time,” you try to explain without bringing up the real reason behind your logic. “She wasn’t a messenger, she wasn’t trying to get away, it was a battle. Death is never fair for people like her, she did not deserve to die, but her death was different because I know that she wouldn’t want to go out any other way. She went out like a dragon warrior. I know she fought hard until her last breath.”

Aemond’s eye climbs up your body and finds your attentive gaze, letting you see his eye clouded with tears and that weight not ease off his body, so you drag yourself in between his legs to cup his cheek and offer him a faint assuring smile.

“I do not hate you,” you assure him and hold his gaze so he can read that you’re being sincere.

When he has the confirmation his heart needs he lets out a deep breath that makes that tension lift off his chest.

“Now,” you change the subject before you start crying, and slide your hand down to hold his knee and gently shake his leg. “You are going to be Prince Regent.”

His lips tug to a faint flustered smile and his eye once again falls on the water.

“Grin, my love, all your hard work will pay off,” you flatter him with a beaming grin. “All that time spent in books, learning from great minds, and working tirelessly will be rewarded.”

Do you really think he has the mind to rule?

Maybe if he hadn't gotten his eye taken out, or if he had seen his father care for him after being maimed then he would be the ruler the Greens need to win, that the kingdoms need, but he’s fueled with anger. His ego is inflated because he never got told that he’s so much more than he knows, so he had to rely on his large dragon for power.

It’s not to say you aren’t proud of him, because you are. He’s worked hard, he’s leaned into his books to gain knowledge. He has a military mind and good swordsman skills. He's the one keeping his family alive, and he has much more logic than Aegon, but a good ruler needs to be more than that.

A good ruler needs to listen to his people, they need to be just but also need to know when to put their foot down. They need to control their emotions even if sometimes they get tested by idiots or people being too daring. They need to know when to pull their blade out to fight, and when to use harsh words instead. Can he do that?

You can’t be sure. To be honest, you are not sure he can, but it’s why he can be the key to getting your mother on the throne.

Is he something important, something so much more that people don’t see? Yes, a hundred times yes. You don’t doubt that, you genuinely are happy that he’s being seen, that he gets to finally prove himself because you know that there’s so much more to him that people don’t see, that they ignore because he’s a second son, and he’s more quiet, like a shadow.

He’s not scary or just intimidating like he lets people believe, he’s smart, he's gentle, he’s so much more than people see and you have always known that. You have always supported that. And that’s what you’re praising, because after all this waiting he’s no longer in the shadows. A light is shining on him. He deserves it.

“Maybe,” Aemond mutters with his smile faltering. “There’s also my mother. She’s Queen Dowager.”

You sit back on your legs and your confusion is clear. “But,” you genuinely argue. “Your mother ruled in a time of peace, and she has no military mind. They couldn’t really consider her. It’s you they’ll pick.”

Aemond meets your gaze and sighs deeply. “I cannot be sure until the morrow.”

You hum and avert your gaze to think if the men around the table will really pick Alicent over the next heir in Aegon's line of succession. It would be pretty stupid to pick Alicent when they’re working hard to remove your mother.

“Well, I'm sure they’ll pick you,” you express your genuine opinion. “They’ll be stupid not to. And you have an heir, maybe more on the way. Perfect choice I’ll say.”

His lips tug up to a soft smile, and your more negative opinions falter at the sight of that smile alone.

“And you,” he piques your interest whilst he leans over to capture your chin in between his thumb and his pointer finger. “You’ll be Princess Regent.”

You gulp nervously and shake your head. “Helaena is alive and healthy, I couldn’t be Princess Regent.” You contradict him, but he continues to press his side.

“My sister is sweet and good, but,” he sighs. “We all know she has no mind to be Queen, she’d rather be outside with her bugs than be anywhere near court, but you…you’re smart, fierce, attentive, and you have the mind to be a good Queen. The people love you and you care for them for some reason. You’ll be good.”

And there it is, your foundations shake at the sound of those sweet words that work like bait like magic to enchant you.

He would consider you, and that makes you consider a change of thought…

Like getting drunk, slowly your mind and your body start to lose yourself to its rich power.

“You think so?” You mumble softly with your eyes full of desperation to be told you can be so much more.

“I know it. You and I would be a powerhouse everyone would respect,” he doesn’t take back his opinion and it’s a dangerous thing. He needs to stop.

Stop.

Stop…

But you can’t help but smile like an idiot as your heart gets fed more of that addicting honey it can never get enough of. It’s all you ever wanted deep down. it’s a dream you even shared with Cregan and Arra…

But…no!

No! No…

——

*THE NEXT MORNING*

“They will name you regent,” you try to reassure him as you fix the collar of his leather vest. “I know it. So head up high and deep breath.”

He holds your gaze as he lets out a deep breath, making you giggle as you slide your hands down to pat his chest.

“I love you,” you don’t fret to send him off with sweet words that make his heart swoon.

“I love you too,” he doesn’t hesitate to return before he leans in and presses a kiss on your lips.

Before he can back away you steal one more kiss from his thin lips, causing him to leave with a faint smile.

After a few minutes of lingering in the spot where he left you, you scurry out the secret door and trudge through the secret tunnels to reach the shadows of the Small council room and be part of the big debate that will change the Green fraction one way or the other.

“The armor was Valyrian steel,” Maester Orwyle shares with the council. “But his Grace suffered grievous burns over much of his body. He has many broken bones. I fear there are more injuries within, injuries we cannot see.”

He can die for all you care.

“We are grateful for your works, Grand Maester,” Alicent interjects after you catch her take in a deep breath. “Has he woken?”

“No,” the maester doesn’t try to be assuring, he’s bold so no one gets any hope he might survive. “I must admit, I’m not sure he will ever wake. I have piled my crafts to their fullest extents. Our king's fate lies with the gods now.”

And may the gods be ever so merciful to give him death.

“A king cannot rule in his sleep,” you hear Alicent say after a few seconds of silence. “The realm will have noticed his absence. Let them hear of his great deeds at Rook’s Rest. But now we must name a regent to take his place until he recovers…or does not.”

You lean your ear closer to the gaps on the wall and wait to see if Aemond is right.

“A wise strategy, Your Grace,” you recognize Lord Larys’ pestering voice. “A regency will assure the people of the stability of the crown.”

A silence follows and you wonder why it’s so awkward in there when the choice is plain to see.

“Did you have a candidate in mind, Your Grace?” Ser Tyland asks.

“I myself served in this role for my husband, I am well-prepared to do it again,” she proves Aemond right, and if you would have bet you would have lost.

“You played your part admirably in a time of peace, Your Grace,” Lord Jasper weighs in. “But circumstances have changed.”

“And here I had forgotten,” you catch the sarcasm in Alicent’s voice which does amuse you.

“The King does not lack for heirs,” Lord Jasper continues to argue against Alicent. “The obvious choice is his immediate successor, Prince Aemond, who has his own heir in his son, strengthening the line of succession.”

“Agreed,” Ser Tyland comments, making your heart skip a beat for Aemond.

“Aemond is young,” Alicent immediately rebuttals, causing your eyebrows to furrow because you all know there’s been younger Kings. “And his lack of restraint has already cost us dearly.”

A third silence follows and you suspect it’s because she wants people to agree with her, but it doesn’t seem like anyone does. Which is awkward, you can feel that tension from where you are.

“It is an experience that offers the surest path to security,” you hear the maester give his opinion. “Queen Alicent ably shouldered the duties of the realm when her husband's health failed him.”

Once again in a time of peace, it doesn’t seem like she has a military mind. And someone could argue that your mother doesn’t either, but you know her, she’s smart and leans on her books. She doesn’t need her father like Alicent needed hers.

“Experience is valuable, yes,” Lord Jasper interjects. “But the Dowager Queen is a woman.”

You almost have to laugh but you hold it in. It’s so poetic really.

“I’m no stranger to rule or to sitting at this council,” Alicent argues. “Aemond is a fearsome dragonrider. His skill is best employed in the field, but my experience is needed here, at this table—”

“No offense was meant, Your Grace,” Ser Tyland cuts her off as she’s growing frustrated. “But at a time when we must show strength.”

“Lord Larys,” she tries to garner the man’s support.

“I agree, Your Grace, it must be Prince Aemond,” he contradicts her. “What would it say if, in response to Rhaenyra’s crowning, we raised up a woman of our own?”

Oh sweet, sweet karma.

“But, um…the Hand speaks for the King’s voice, Ser Criston what say you?”

You start to fiddle with your hands as a smirk tugs on your face.

“Aemond is the next in line,” he adds salt to the injury. “It must be him.”

You can’t help it, you grin.

“It’s agreed then,” Aemond finally breaks his silence before you hear the sound of him rising from his chair and his heels clicking around the table.

And just like that he is now regent, Alicent has now been treated the way she treated your mother. The Green fraction has changed to a more Ironfist rule. You can be certain of that.

“What is our standing in the Riverlands?” Aemond jumps right into business, proving already to possess a better mind than Aegon ever did.

“Uh, the banners of House Tully are in disarray, Your Grace,” Ser Tyland is the one who gives Aemond the answer he sought, and the first one to call him your Grace, which brings a chill down your spine. “Prince Daemon has little hope of fielding an army or any, for now.”

Why do they doubt Daemon so much? Is it just that they hope that their negativity will help him fail?

You don’t like him, and you know he has the power to gain that army, you know he will.

“We would do well to send word to young Oscar Tully,” Lord Larys follows up with his comment. “It’s only a matter of time before he inherits his grandsire’s mantle.”

“Tell me, Lord Strong, how I can trust the counsel of a man who leaves the jewel of the Riverlands to be plucked by our enemy?”

You wait for the response from the Lord, but he gives none, and you couldn’t be more smug that he didn’t and that he’s most likely intimidated by Aemond.

“Your brother's host can meet Daemon,” Aemond changes the subject to now speak to Ser Tyland. “He should quicken its pace and check the Rivermen while their banners are in disarray.”

No matter what you can’t help but be proud of Aemond. Command suits him.

“I shall send Lord Jason encouragement,” Ser Tyland assures Aemond.

“What else?” Aemond probes.

“We might turn our attention to the smallfolk here in King’s Landing,” Maester Orweyle says. “They have grown weary of the Sea Snake’s blockade.”

“So have we all,” Aemond says nonchalantly.

“Many are fleeing the city,” the maester continues. “Spreading word of their fear and unrest.”

“Mm, then let the gates be closed,” Aemond picks the wrong choice which proves you right too. “No one is to leave or enter, save with our consent. Merchants, so forth.”

And that’s how you get the smallfolk to hate you. He’s supposed to assure them, feed them, and give them something to hope for, not fear and disdain. Hopefully, your mother can work that in her favor.

“Ser Criston,” Aemond calls out. “I need you to pick three of your best and most trusted men. I shall have two guarding my son and heir, and a second guard protecting my wife. She’s with child, I don’t wish to leave her vulnerable.”

Your breath catches and your heart skips a beat.

It is going to be harder to just be around the Red Keep, but you are happy he didn’t forget about you or Aerion.

“Go to your tasks,” Aemond then abruptly ends the meeting. “We shall meet again at first light. Oh, and someone cut down the fucking ratcatchers.”

Finally! You thought it was never going to be taken down, it’s such a nasty display.

Nevertheless, now to report to your mother. And since Aemond did mention he was going to be busy after the Small council meeting, you have time to take the message to Astraea so she can go take it right away. Plus there’s another matter you need to entrust your mother about because she's the only one you trust to give you comfort.

Which is why in the second letter you write, you make sure to direct to your mother.

“Dear Rhaenyra,

As you know I am with child. The maester assured me of that not long ago, but he also told me something else. He said that one twin is smaller than the other, and honestly, that frightens me. Alicent said it could be fixed in time, but I don’t trust her, and I don’t know what it really means. I just want to know if they’ll be okay. I need them to be okay.”

You don’t sign your name, but there’s no one else who would write to her so there’s no need to really sign your name. Hopefully, this time they write back though, or send anything in return so you’re not left worried. You made sure to point that out so hopefully they listen.

And! Hopefully, Jacaerys’ nosy ass doesn’t read your personal letter to your mother!

He would dare, he would be so protective about it, like, “come home now!” It’s a surprise he didn’t fly after you when he found out you left! Sure you feel bad for leaving him behind, but he has Baela, he won’t be alone. He’ll just be worried about you, annoying too because he wants to hear any news from you, and he will also probably be attentive to any sighting of Astraea in hopes to hear any news from you, so maybe you should write a warning to keep him out.

You should, but you don’t, just like you don’t take the secret tunnels to the cove where Astraea is resting. You’re simply going to the cove behind the castle to visit your dragon, that's all! If there’s eyes on you they won’t find you suspicious, you’re not flaunting the letters; you have them hidden, and you have your sworn protector trailing behind you. There’s no need for alarm or whispers to be spread or given to Aemond, it’s a simple visit…

You just need to secure something on her horn.

Yet as you’re trying to secure the letters, she suddenly slips her head away and starts to growl at your sworn protector in the shadows.

“<Astraea, calm girl,” you assure her. “He’s a friend. He’s my sworn protector. It’s alright.>”

Astraea doesn’t listen; she pushes herself closer to the man, making sure to block your path with her large neck.

“<Astraea,>” you warn her. “<Stop.>”

Her growling gets louder and you see her opening her jaw, pushing Ser Jason against the wall with panicked breaths.

“It’s alright Ser,” you try to assure him. “She won’t harm you. She’s just wary, but <he’s a friend>,” you address the last comment to Astraea, but she has a mind of her own. She corners the man and you watch her nostrils flare as she sniffs him.

“Astraea,” you call out and try to inch closer, but the moment she hears your feet shift she moves her neck against you and starts to snarl until she then suddenly grows quiet, and her neck starts to move away from you, letting you see her close her mouth, and blink as her pupils dilate while she looks at the panicked man before her.

Instead of calling her to back away, you watch with growing curiosity as she then begins to coo at him.

Ser Jason notices the hostility slip away so between pants and with wide eyes he slowly raises his hand and carefully reaches out for her scaled nostril.

You expect your dragon to move, but she remains where she is and lets the man pet her, pulling a surprised breath out of you.

“You,” you huff with relief that she didn’t kill him. “Must be special.”

Ser Jason’s blue eyes snap to you and his eyes almost pop out of his skull before he shakes his head. “No—I mean I am a—”

“She likes you,” you cut off his nervous rambling with a sweet smile. “Funny way of showing it, but she does. She let you pet her. There’s only a few people who aren’t of Valyrian descent that she lets pet her.”

Ser Jason’s eyes slowly drift away as his hand slips off Astraea, letting her back away and turn her head towards you to focus on you.

“<You naughty girl,>” you taunt her and watch her lips spread up as if she’s responding to your comment and smile with a smirk. “Sorry,” you direct at Ser Jason. “For the fright.”

The knight lets out a deep breath to relieve himself of that fear that he was just hit with, and with a breathless laugh, retorts, “I can finally say I have touched a dragon. It’s fine.”

You hum softly in return and once and for all attach the letters to your dragon's horn before you throw your arms around her in an attempt to embrace her. But she’s too big now, your arms don’t go around her anymore, they're just spread out against her in an attempt.

“<You know what you must do, my girl. Remember just my mother, Jace, Baela, or my grandfather can grab the letters. No one else. Don’t delay and be careful.>”

Lady Arra Norrey always poked fun at you for talking to your dragon like you talk to a person, but dragons understand more than commoners know, and Astraea understands you at a deep level.

“<Now go.>” You send her off and don’t move away, you approach the shore to watch her ascend the skies.

It’s once she’s high in the clouds that you return inside, and this time rather than having a clear path, you’re interrupted just at the last courtyard before you can reach the doors. Thankfully it’s on your way back to your quarters though and not the other way around.

“Princess,” Ser Gwayne Hightower brings you to a stop, making you take a deep and annoyed breath before you turn to face him with a plastered smile.

“Ser,” you greet and watch him bow his head at you before he finishes approaching you to be closer. “You returned.”

That’s all, you’re not glad he did, you’re not surprised either, he just returned, it’s that simple.

“Thanks to your favor,” he retorts smugly, making you scoff.

“Me or a few other pretty ladies?” You remark, making him flash you a charming grin before he chuckles and nods.

“Oh yes many did give me their favors,” he doesn’t remain modest, he’s blunt and that makes an amused smile twitch on your lips unwillingly. “But only one worked in my favor. The only one close to the gods, yours, my Princess.”

You hold his gaze as you nod in comprehension before you hide your flattered smile by looking at the ground.

“I heard you are quite a spectacular singer,” he continues trying to work his charm on you. “The Siren of Driftmark. I have wanted to hear if it’s true that your voice is as enchanting as they say.”

You draw in a deep breath and clasp your hands together before you roll your eyes up to look at him with a mischievous smirk that he starts to take in his favor. Yet…

“Was it your idea to parade around the head of my grandmother's dragon throughout the city?” You bring a cold end to his flattery and make that ever-so-charming smile fall.

“No,” he clears his throat and shifts back, making your own smirk deepen. “It was Ser Criston Cole’s.”

“Our good Lord Hand,” you both say in sync and with the same level of sarcasm, bringing a silence where you both share a teasing smile as if you were friends sharing gossip.

“He may have a good military mind,” he shares with you after a small genuine smile. “But may the gods help him with political matters.”

You hum and nod. “It seems the realm was in better hands with your father as hand and Ser Criston as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.”

“I’ll say.” He doesn’t shy away from agreeing. “Uh, I heard of your accident, I do hope you are okay.” He changes the subject smoothly, causing you to blink in surprise and find yourself answering without disdain.

“Quite, being with child just takes a toll. Thank you, Ser.”

He bows his head and just as he parts his lips to add more, a third voice cuts in. “Uncle.”

You both look at the incomer and notice Aemond with his eye locked on his uncle.

“Nephew,” Ser Gwayne greets Aemond with a smile, unlike Aemond who seems bothered—“I was just talking to the Princess. You have quite the pretty pearl here.”

You swallow back nervously and watch Aemond’s chest rise whilst the corner of his lips twitch to a forced smile.

“And you are expecting!” Ser Gwayne brings up and leans toward Aemond to pat his arm. “Congratulations, nephew.”

Aemond offers him a stiff nod of his head so you cut in. “Thank you, Ser. He is the most delighted.”

Aemond hums and remains cold and bothered so you cut this conversation short before you’re swallowed by the awkwardness that begins to build. “I hope we get to see more of you before you’re off again, maybe you can meet our son, Aerion.”

“Ah, yes I would be delighted, my sister speaks fondly of her grandchildren. I will have to see them for myself,” Ser Gwayne says in return, letting you offer him the first genuine smile before you turn and head inside with Aemond who keeps his jaw clenched and his eye narrowed.

“What…were you talking about?” Aemond tries to hide how jealous he is, but it's a futile attempt considering it’s written all over his face; in his flared nostrils, in the darkness in his eye that is brought up by annoyance and anger, and in his raised chest in attempts to try and insert his dominance over you.

Any other time you would find it amusing, it's his uncle and he can’t help but be jealous, but right now you’re bothered by something else entirely that you won’t let go unheard of.

“<The nasty parade that took place while I was abed,>” you take your opportunity to bring up without actually deflecting because it’s true, the topic was brought up.

But of course, he doesn’t answer, do you let it go though? No, you don't back off even if you see him wanting to avoid the topic, you press the matter with growing frustration.

“<When do people stop fearing gods, Aemond?>” You ask rhetorically. “<When they see gods bleed. They saw that dragon's head being paraded around the city and saw that they’re just like every other animal.>”

“<They're not,” Aemond scoffs back in High Valyrian, just like you. “<They can test it if they like, let’s see what fate awaits from them then.>”

You share a dry chuckle and only counter when you’re past the doors and inside the Red Keep. “<Don't underestimate the power of the people, Aemond. They can find power in rage if you give them the right spark. And that display…>” you trail off but don’t ease off him, you don’t use your anger either, you let it go with a deep exhale and instead, try to work this in your favor with the simple power of your enchanting voice.

“<No qualified Hand would have allowed that to happen, or even given it any thought. Dragons are the power of our house, they are sacred creatures. You know that. He doesn’t understand; he did something stupidly foolish that could cost us a lot.>”

Aemond finally looks over at you as if captured by your words, or as if he agrees too.

“<He’s our Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,>” he brings up, but that doesn’t work in anyone's defense. You use that.

“Exactly.”

Aemond studies you to try and get in your mind and read your running thoughts, finding that the words you just sang are haunting his mind instead, like a melody one can’t forget.

“I’m not saying he’s not a qualified man,” you add softly as you climb up flights of stairs to head to your room. “He may not be my favorite, he may have quite a reputation, but he still has a good mind for battle. That I can say. Maybe his skills will be best displayed trying to take Harrenhal, hm? The longer that gets left alone, the more time Daemon has to gain power there.”

“I thought you didn’t like him,” Aemond brings up and glances ahead.

“No,” you scoff. “I don’t, but,” you sigh. “He’s smart. He has experience. I can admit that. We have to admit that to ourselves.”

Aemond hums and you look at him as he looks ahead. And after knowing you said all you needed to say on the matter without being pushy or suspicious, you finally shift over to a matter that brings a bright grin to your face.

“So?! Tell me, are you Regent?”

Aemond’s eye falls and a soft smile slowly starts to grow on his face before he lifts his head and meets your gaze, showing off that smile that gives you your answer and makes you squeal before you bring the both of you to a stop atop the stairs when you throw your arms around him.

“I told you! Congratulations, my love,” you praise him genuinely since you know how much he wants to prove himself. “I knew you’d get it.”

He can’t help it, he wants to grow smug, but he grows flustered instead and only makes that smile grow warm.

“You deserve it,” you whisper so only he can hear.

Aemond wraps his arms around you and presses a kiss on the top of your head, keeping his lips and nose pressed against you as he takes in the praise that you alone have given him.

“Thank you,” he mutters against you.

You hum and pull your head back to meet his eye. “Really, I’m proud of you,” you whisper with no sign of deceit, your words come from the bottom of your heart because now people can see what you see, what you have always seen; that he’s so much more, that he is something.

“I…” he trails off and his eye turns glossy, while a breath catches in his throat and a fondness and awe paints his face. “I love you.”

You bring one hand up to caress his cheek, making him lean towards your touch right away as if instinct to seek your warmth and comfort.

“I love you too,” you redirect softly and press a gentle kiss against his lips.

“You are my Princess Regent,” he whispers against your lips, making you scoff and gently smack his chest before you pull away from his grasp to continue to your shared quarters.

Aemond of course doesn’t hesitate to follow at your side and presses what he said. “I can make you that if you want. You and me.”

You shake your head. “It can’t happen. Helaena is Queen, and,” you hesitate and he knows that so he uses it in his favor.

“You don’t want it?”

You want to say no, but you part your lips and you can’t bring yourself to counter or deny. Instead, once again there’s something dark and hungry that plagues you…

And it doesn’t let you answer

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” you retort and flash him a feigned smile. He wants to counter, but you leave him no room to answer because you pick up your pace to finally get off the stairs.

Once you reach your quarters you find Vanessa with Aerion and Shrykos. You see Aerion happy with his little hatchling, you see him get even happier when he sees his father and you can’t help it, all your mind focuses on is spending time with your family. You watch as Aemond interacts with Aerion and his little hatchling. You see how much Aerion loves spending time with Aemond and vice versa. You cherish the moment, you live in it because of what lurks outside your safety walls.

Even when you see Astraea return to the city, you don’t let your attention drift away. This stolen moment is where you find joy, where you find awe as you see how easy Aerion falls asleep when he’s laying on Aemond’s chest as the three of you just spend time on the bed with Aemond’s head on your lap, your fingers messaging his temple, and your eyes interlocked as if sharing hundreds of words in the silence.

Soon there will hopefully be more of you, you and Aemond will be outnumbered, but nothing will ever lessen the love you give your son. You may love each other selfishly, and Aemond may put you over everything, but that will never impact how much you love your children because he doesn’t want them to feel lonely like the way he felt when you were gone from his life and no longer there to be the hopeful light in the darkness. He knows that for certain, just like you know for certain that you would not mind living in this peaceful moment forever.

Yet the peace gets interrupted by Ser Criston requiring Aemond’s attention to take a look at the men he chose to protect you and your son. And since the moment was already interrupted you find your chance to go to Astraea and check for any notes.

And this time there is a note from your mother that you read in the safety of your room since Aemond will be gone for a while.

“I hope you find yourself well. I thank you for your sacrifices, it must not be easy having to sneak about the Red Keep, so thank you, my Sweet. Astraea will grow impatient, and someone will suspect if she’s gone too long so I will get to the point. With the help of the Mysaria, I have sent Elinda to King’s Landing to help with a secret plan to gain the favor of the smallfolk. By the time you get this, she should be at the west city gates by nightfall, she will stay with a friend. I hope you can send someone you trust to see her in the city, she will share what we have planned—”

You pull your eyes off the paper and glance over at Vanessa as she’s the only one you can trust to do what your mother wants of you.

“—As to you. I would really like it if you came home now, I would feel more comfortable with you being taken care of by a maester I can trust. Please come home, leave Vanessa there to help Elinda, and relay any plans the greens have, just come home.

Love, your mother.”

Come home?

It's true that you would feel more comfortable there regarding your twins, but when you go home what will you do? Just sit around the table and listen? Sit and do nothing while a war rages around you?

You already failed her, failed them all once, you need to prove yourself. That’s why you’re here because you wanted to prove to your mother that you can be useful, that you can be something. You can do that here, not there trapped like a bird.

You can’t go home. No matter how much she wants you back, no matter how much you do ache to return, you can’t leave yet. Thus you stride towards the hearth and throw the letter in the fire so it’s not discovered.

Once the paper and all the words are ash you lift your nose in the air and call out to your handmaiden. “Vanessa could you let Ser Jason in, I need to speak to the both of you.”

Vanessa doesn’t wait or question you, she beckons your sworn protector, and once he’s inside and they both stand a few feet behind you, you slowly turn to face them with confidence so they feel it too.

“I need you, Vanessa to go into the city,” you share without dragging it out just in case Aemond does come soon. “Elinda is on her way to the city and I need you to help her inside. I need you to help her for me. Be my ears, my voice with what she needs.”

Vanessa’s dark eyes slowly drift down as many thoughts cross her mind. Many doubts you’re sure. The city is dangerous nowadays, and there’s no guarantee that her whereabouts won’t be caught, but you need her to run the risk because you can’t. She has a higher chance of being in the city undetected, you not so much.

“I know I'm asking a lot, but you are the only one I trust with this,” you try to make her feel comfortable. “My mother does too, if you don’t feel comfortable helping, just let Elinda in the city and walk her to where she’ll stay, okay?”

Vanessa lets out a deep breath and after a few seconds her eyes slowly scale up and she finds you, letting you see the sense of determination painting her pretty face. “I will do it, I’ll help you, the Queen, and Elinda. With whatever they need.” She assures you with a nod and a gentle smile, making you flash her a grin before you now address your sworn protector.

“As for you Ser, I need you to accompany Vanessa, protect her like you do me while she’s out in the city. She is my dearest friend and I don’t want anything to happen to her.”

Ser Jason glances at the woman beside him and swallows thickly before he looks back at you and doesn’t hesitate, he nods in agreement.

“I will protect her as I do you, my Princess,” he says with a sense of confidence that strikes him too. “I am also friends with the Gold Cloaks, I can convince them to let your friend in.”

You sigh with relief and nod in comprehension. “Good, I’m glad. Now go before Aemond gets here. And ser, don’t walk so tense, pretend you’re…taking the lady out to the city, hm?” You suggest, making his cheeks grow furiously red. “I’m being serious.”

Vanessa glances at the timid man and snickers before she approaches you and looks at you with concern and sorrow. “And you? Will you light the pyre alone?”

Your eyes flicker down, but you quickly blink and look back at her with a faint assuring smile so she doesn’t have to worry. “I’m no stranger to grieving alone. I will be fine, I know how to build a pyre.”

“It is raining,” Vanessa argues in an attempt to have you wait for her to light your grandmother's funeral pyre. “Maybe tomorrow—”

“I will be fine, I already know which courtyard to use. Go, I will be fine.” You interrupt her so she can stop worrying. “I’ll see you on the morrow hm?”

She hesitates now for the first time, and as if she was a caring older sister she pats your cheek and offers you a sweet smile.

Before she can go you grab ahold of her hand and welcome her comfort for a lingering moment before you let her go.

Once you’re alone, and Aerion’s wetnurse arrives to take care of him, you put on a beautiful blue velvet cloak and direct yourself to the courtyard you told Vanessa about; one close to the throne room, one with a spiral roof that welcomes the thick drops of rain through the gaps that usually welcome the sunlight on a clear day, or the moonlight on a cloudless night, but not today.

Today the rain is like music against the stone ground, the rain is a mess and puddles around your feet, soaking the ends of your gown and cloak. Lighting and thunder accompany the sheets of rain today, which would add an ominous feeling in the darkness of the night, but the bright fire that lights the shitty pyre you built, burns away the menacing presence of the lightning and thunder.

Now one would wonder how a pyre is still lit with how hard the rain hits the earth, but the center of the courtyard offers a roof that protects the fire and keeps most of you dry. That’s where you stand, that’s where the fire eats away at the wood in peace, and where it’s allowed to glow ragefully; basking the entire courtyard in its red and orange hue as if it was like a wildfire with the power of a thousand suns, and engulfing you with its illuminating hue that makes the grief and sorrow on your face look angelic.

Or that’s what poets would write, what bypassers would think as they watched how the raging light kisses your face and makes those tears on your cheeks glimmer like shining crystals, but you feel anything but divine, you’re grieving alone again. Just like how you grieved your father six years ago.

You shouldn’t be a stranger to grieving alone, but here you are again, away from your cousins, brother, mother, and grandfather who loved your grandmother and Meleys. You’re alone again in front of a funeral pyre bidding a last goodbye to someone you love, and no one is here to hold your hand or embrace your shaking shoulders. You’re alone grieving a grandmother you failed.

Maybe if you had written that letter faster, or sent that warning before, then she would still be alive. If you could’ve done what you were sent to do right she would be victorious or perhaps left with her life, but you failed her, you failed your Queen; your mother, and those who loved your grandmother. You amounted to nothing, but maybe that’s what you’ve been all along?

A simple girl with a luxurious title who dreamt too big and wanted too much. A selfish girl who thought she could get the world, but can’t get a scrap because no matter how hard you try you can’t reach those stars to amount to anything. You can’t feed the hunger inside you. You can’t be anything…

But…

As you stand there in the silence of solace, as you hear the fire crackle, the rain patter, and the thunderclap in the sky, there’s something that you feel calling you, something in the fire.

Something that has always called out to you since you could remember, but something that you have ignored, that you want to ignore now as you mourn your grandmother.

Yet the hot flames dry your tears and its heat embraces you tighter, but like every other time, its embrace, its kiss, and its touch is not uncomfortable like it is to everyone else. It’s welcoming, it’s nice like a friend…that’s been with you since you can recall.

No matter how hard you try, its whispers grow louder, but never desperate, it’s calling is charming, and like many other times, it entrances you.

The longer you stare at its beauty, the more it promises, swears that it’s empowering but only if you embrace it back.

You try to look away regardless of what calls for you, but how can you turn your back on what’s feeding your starving soul?

Fire kills the girl and awakens the dragon.

You can’t look away. You can’t ignore it. Not anymore.

Thus you mindlessly shrug your cloak off and let it drown in the puddle around your feet. You kick your shoes off because you are mindful of how much you love your shoes, and get closer, but it almost feels like you aren't the one controlling your body, it’s being controlled by the power of the trance. It moves you and you let it.

You raise your hand from your side and reach for the flames as if reaching out for an inviting hand.

You don’t show hesitation or fear, a malicious smirk tugs on your lips and the confidence, pride, and malice that washes over you gleams in your eyes like the illuminating fire because there’s never been anything to fear about the fire. It's why you don’t think of pulling away, you embrace the fire like securing your grip on an inviting hand.

Yet just as you raise your foot to step inside the calling flames, a hand suddenly grabs a hold of your wrist and you’re yanked back harshly under the rain.

When you look at the intruder you meet the gaze of your husband, your Aemond looking at you with horror. Yet that emotion slowly fades away as he lifts your hand and sees that you’re unharmed.

Now instead of fearing that you were going to jump in the fire to hurt yourself, he’s left flabbergasted and confused. You could explain it to him with words, but at that moment you can’t muster a single syllable, so instead you pull away and show him.

Aemond wants to stop you again. It’s an instinct, but when you put your hand in the fire and don’t wince, or make a sound of pain, as he sees that the fire doesn’t hurt a single perimeter of your flesh he’s struck with awe that leaves him paralyzed where he stands. It’s not horror or disgust. You walk under the rain again and study him closely to make sure, to know if you should be ashamed, but no matter how much you search his face or dig your gaze in his, there’s nothing you see but awe, admiration, a bit of confusion, and more adoration for you.

He sees you with the opposite of what you feared, with love and fascination, and you feel seen.

There in the darkness you are cast in is your light and you feel…like…you can be something important under his eye, with him because he sees you.

Sure you could have shown your mother, your brother, or even Cregan that the fire doesn’t hurt you. It’s your friend, you're immune to its violence and that’s your gift, but you didn’t share that with them and they didn’t see, but Aemond does. He sees you now, he looks at you like you are something more than you thought you could be and you’re relieved

You have yet to fully be embraced by the flames, but at last, someone knows and someone loves you for it. Someone sees your value and your power. Then again in some ways he always has, now he just sees all of you.

“Come with me,” he whispers, and thunder cuts in from the distant sky.

He offers you his hand and you don’t hesitate, you place your hand over his, and secure his grasp. Before you leave though you slip your shoes back on and pick up your cloak drenched with water.

At first, you expect to be taken well anywhere else but the throne room. Yet much to your surprise, you’re now embraced by the darkness of the glorious hall with only the night's hue casting in a natural light, and the occasional shots of bright lightning flashing an ominous light.

“They would love you,” his voice oozes out like honey. “I know that. Even now they love you, but imagine then, hm?” His words travel in your ear and they make a chill crawl down your spine.

“We—even before we married, when we were just kids…” he says and walks around you, making sure to bring his hand up to press his palm down on the back of your neck, making the hairs on the back of your neck rise, and those goosebumps to spread as he brings his lips close to your ear and lets his breath unfurl over your skin.

“…we were a lot more than my sister and Aegon. We valued our traditions, we value them even now. We are what all Targaryens rulers should be because we always wanted it.”

…he…

“Can’t you see it? Can’t you see us?” He whispers against your flesh, tempting you to tilt your head to try and meet his lips.

“Be Regent with me,” he offers again, but this time in a soft and almost pleading voice that makes your body move so you can be face to face and interlock gazes.

“I hear your protests,” he adds and glances at your lips only inches away from his. “But Helaena has never wanted what she has, you have…”

He…

“You and I will be the best of them,” he continues and continues to grow this realization. That’s what it is, a realization in the darkness of the room.

No matter how much you have tried to deny it, how hard you have pushed it down and brushed it off, it’s always been there. And it was never a darkness, and that hunger for more was never a plague. That’s a lie.

There was this desire, this need always within you. He knows that he sees that like no one else has. And just like the fascination he had for you when he saw you unhurt by the fire, now you return that fascination for him and his offer.

“You and me,” you whisper and those silent words travel over the sound of thunder because you can feel the warmth of his lips basically embrace yours.

And instead of answering with words, a malicious smirk tugs on his lips, and his awe only heightens for you, drawing him to smash his lips over yours just as you lean in at the same time, and bringing you both to forget where you are.

The rain patters harshly against the windows, against the roof, the thunder booms, and the lightning strikes the earth and flashes its bright light, but neither of you give it a second thought or any thought at all. It’s just you and him, basking in the passion brought by your selfish desires come to life. Because that's what it is, selfish on your part. It’s not selfless, you did not accept his offer for her, you accepted because you wanted to.

But Daemon pushed you here, didn’t he?

And Aemond sees you, he sees something in you. You can be something with him. That’s all you want, that’s all you have wanted.

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

“He dares to summon me!” Aemond barks with rage after reading a demand from Lord Jason Lannister. “With haste?”

He throws the crumbled letter to the side and leans over the table to glare at the brother sitting at your right side.

“Are the Lannisters so diminished that they cannot march from the Tooth to Harrenhal without an escort?”

You clasp your hands over the table and slowly drift your gaze to the blond man avoiding Aemond’s seething glare.

“There is a large dragon in the Riverlands, Your Grace,” Ser Tyland defends his brother's choice, which makes sense, but also sounds a bit like an excuse. A pretty pathetic excuse. “My brother's army is strong, but it does seem—”

“I am the Prince Regent,” Aemond reminds the man. “Not a dog to be called to heel. Tell your brother that if he does not deliver his host to Harrenhal, with ‘haste’,” he mocks. “Daemon’s dragon will become the least of his worries.”

A smirk tugs on your lips that you can't hide, that you can’t shame either. Aemond is right to be angry, and right to project his anger in that way, or else they won’t listen. Besides, you do have to admit you like it when he’s angry, and this new role of command suits him well.

Yet not everyone agrees, especially not his mother. She glances over at you in search of aid, but you just meet her gaze and flash her your smirk as you lift your nose in the air and sit back; because now you too carry this sense of cockiness, this rise in your ego that comes with your new title that the Lords around the table had to oblige to out of fear of Aemond.

If it were up to them they wouldn’t have allowed the daughter of Rhaenyra to sit amongst them and listen to their war plans, but you are now the Princess Regent in a time of war, you are needed around the table to listen mostly. And yes that bugs you, you still want to do more, and you hope now that Aemond discovered your immunity he’ll let you do more, that he’ll let you fight like you wanted to, but you don’t know. You haven’t talked about that night and the fact that he saw that the fire is not harmful or deadly to you, you haven’t had time, and even if you know you saw the love and awe in his eyes you still fear what he has to say on the matter, so that also why you haven’t really tried to talk about it.

You’ll talk about it soon, you have to, right now you’re just relishing in the fact that you’re around the table and that you have a more important title. You find pride in it, and more power than you’ve had before.

It’s intoxicating.

“Your irritations are justified, Aemond,” Alicent tries to do what she wanted you to do. “But it does seem—”

“I have a task for you, as well,” Aemond cuts Alicent off as he begins to stalk around the table. “Ser Tyland.”

Alicent’s brown eyes once again find you and pass her confusion for her son's sudden cold shoulder towards her, and even if you know what brought this on, you don’t offer her sympathy or pity, you look at her blankly before following Aemond with your eyes and watch him land behind Ser Tyland, like a predator scaring its prey.

“We will make an alliance with the Triarchy,” Aemond continues. “I've had enough of this cursed blockade.”

“My Prince,” Ser Tyland tries to bring up an argument. “You cannot mean to treat with the Free Cities. The captains of their ships are dangerous mercenaries, little more than pirates—”

“They are a stone's throw away across the Narrow Sea,” Aemond cuts the man's argument off as he steals a glance at you to let his gaze linger on you before he drops his eye on the man under him. “Lannister and Hightower ships will take months to arrive. The Triarchy will delight in the chance to terrorize the Sea Snake again. Let them weaken his blockade while our true allies make their long journey east.”

“The Triarchy may play at accepting terms but they are not to be trusted,” Alicent tries to reason with Aemond. “Your father knew this. What has come of our letters to the Greyjoys?” She drifts to a different matter in the same territory.

“They have been to no avail,” maester Orwyle gives the Dowager Queen the answer she seeked.

“The Red Kraken waits,” Lord Jasper interjects. “Seeking his best advantage. Though we may draw him in with honey. If it comes to it. An offer of marriage, perhaps to the Dowager Queen?”

You snicker in amusement and Alicent glances at you as she protests. “Out of the question.”

“You’ll have better luck breaking the Ice Wall,” you break your silence with knowledge you harbor from your past in the North. “When I was ward to Lady Karstark, the Greyjoys would send raid parties to Stony Shores, so to make them stop Lord Bennard Stark sent a proposal, one of his sons to one of Lord Greyjoy's many daughters,” you scoff and slowly lean forward.

“Lord Greyjoy sent back a nasty and bloody reply to deny the proposal. The raids did not stop until Lord Cregan Stark became lord because the Greyjoys’s answer with violence. I would suggest letting them sack some town close to their shores to gain their favor.”

“A bloody proposal but it might work,” Lord Larys actually says in your favor.

Alas Lord Jasper counters with discreet disagreement.

“We would have to think about it, and think of which shores they can attack.”

And that’s another way of saying no. You’ll tell your mother then, or Daemon, they’ll listen and gain their favor instead.

“The Dowager Queen spoke wisely, Your Grace,” Ser Criston cuts in. “Even if the blockade could be broken, are we to invite these alien raiders into our waters, so close to King’s Landing?”

“It’s time you set out for Harrenhal, I think,” Aemond pays his thought no mind and actually does as you told him. Which only works to feed that already heightened cockiness.

“Your Grace, if Daemon prevails in the Riverlands I no longer have the numbers to challenge him,” Ser Criston rebuttals, making you bite back your smug smile as you sit back and instead let your cockiness be shown in the way you sit, and the way your nose is slightly perked to touch the air, welcoming the sunlight to kiss your face just perfectly and only make you look that more regal.

“We lost much at Rook’s Rest,” Ser Criston makes sure to share while his eyes follow Aemond as he sits on the edge of the table beside him. “As you well know.”

“The longer we wait, the more chance he will prevail,” Aemond rebuttals using a variation of what you told him not long ago. “Lannister will march from the west. Take what strength we have and force Daemon and his Riverlords to fight on two fronts.”

You fiddle with one of your many rings on your fingers and watch the man seem almost hesitant to do as he’s told.

“His Grace speaks wisely,” Lord Larys says, but Ser Criston argues.

“We would do better to await the Hightower host and set out in good time.”

Aemond’s gaze drifts to you and you lock eyes but say or motion for nothing. You remain as prideful and smug and just hold his gaze until he returns his attention to the man beside him.

“There is no time,” Aemond counters. “It’s a fortnight's march to Harrenhal. We must strike before his army is raised.”

“And you yourself?”

Aemond tilts his head up and once again shares his smugness on the Daemon matter. “I will fly out to meet you when the time is ripe. My uncle is a challenge I welcome…if he dares face me.”

You could laugh at that. You could laugh at the many things Aemond says about Daemon because he thinks that Daemon is somehow scared, or at his level, and sure Aemond is threatening with Vhagar and his swordsman’s skills, but Aemond doesn’t have Daemon’s experience yet, once he does then you can say they could see eye to eye.

“I have some concerning news to share,” Lord Larys interjects and earns everyone’s attention. “I have just heard that Lord Cregan Stark leads an army of two thousand older men.”

You blink and that overpowering arrogance falters at the mention of Cregan, at the mention that he’s on his way to fight for his Queen after he said he couldn’t march so soon himself.

He’s actually coming down and that thought excites you more than it should. It makes your heart swoon more than it should. Yet you don’t display the smile that threatens to spread on your lips, you don’t let your heart show your pride or joy through your eyes, you remain nonchalant and ignore the attentive eyes of Lord Larys as he tries to catch any reaction, but you don’t give him the satisfaction.

“A measly army of old men that will be brought down quickly,” Aemond brushes Lord Larys off, but that's what the Lord expected, he just wanted to see how you would react, but you don’t fall for his trap.

“Now, I see we’re all agreed,” Aemond brings an end to the meeting after a moment's silence whilst he returns to his seat across from you.

“Your Grace,” Ser Criston says after he stands up.

The other bodies around the table don’t linger behind, they rise from their seats and walk out, you do the same but rather than walking out right away, you make yourself around the table to press a kiss on Aemond’s cheek that he welcomes by leaning over to meet your lips.

“My love,” you offer him sweet words before stepping back to walk around his seat with your fingers brushing over his shoulders.

Before you can lose touch, he captures your hand and brings you to a stop.

“Mother…a word,” he calls out before Alicent can leave the perimeters, all while he never once breaks your connection, and sparks this quick-growing tension that makes your heart begin to race with excitement.

“You,” he directs at you. “Eat. Don’t think you went unnoticed when we broke fast.”

You sigh. “I have found it more difficult this morning, they did not like what I ate,” you refer to the twins inside you. “Even now the thought of any food makes me want to vomit.”

Aemond hums and lets your hand go to caress your belly. “I’ll talk to the maester. You talk to Vanessa, have her make you some tea.”

You offer him a soft smile and give his mind some peace by nodding in agreement.

Aemond caresses your belly one more time with a faint smile before he grabs your hand and sends you off with a kiss on your knuckles.

As you walk away you don’t leave in silence, you pass Alicent and give her your last word. “Mother.”

Her eyes follow you and you can feel them on your back as you stride out with a teasing smirk because you both know that you meant that mockingly.

Now to the Godswood, where you won’t be alone, no, now rather than one guard there’s two watching over you now; Ser Jason, and Ser Cane Clegane; The Blood Hound as he’s popularly known, a thirty-something-year-old man who is rather stoic, with broad shoulders, built like an ox, and carries a deep and almost rocky voice. You are wary mostly because of your own indiscretions, but from what little time you have had with him he does look rather trustworthy.

Then again Aemond did personally inspect him and even tested his worth, so he is reliable if your life is ever threatened.

You hope you’ll have to wait and see.

Regardless, no one interrupts the peace you instantly find in the Godswood. You find comfort in the smell of the red leaves that swirl in your nose thanks to the gentle wind that howls in your ear. You feel bliss as the warm sunlight peeking through the gaps between the red leaves kisses your face. And not counting the shadows lurking in the distance, you don’t feel alone as you lose your eyes on the weeping face carved on the weirwood tree.

Eyes stare back at you, but it’s not a piercing gaze, it’s not judgmental, or heavy with intimidation, they’re gentle eyes, caring, and attentive. They admire your smile as you can’t help but think of Cregan marching down with his men to fight.

You shouldn’t be so happy, you need to knock your joy and pride down a peg or two after all, it’s unlikely you’ll see him, but you can’t help but feel…happy at the thought after you were certain that he would not dare come so soon.

And it’s not that you want to hop on your dragon and meet him halfway, no, the thought doesn’t cross your mind. You’re just happy to hear he’s coming with his army of men.

“Princess.”

And just like that your peace is broken, and by no other than Alicent who seems quite distressed when you turn to face her.

Why? What could she want?

A/N- Abbey by Mitski is yours and Aemond's anthem period in this story period.

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan

234 notes · View notes

urdeftonesgrrrl · 8 months ago

Text

"A girl must say a name."

Me:

Team Black stans

Criston Cole haters

Daemon Targaryen stans

249 notes · View notes

starogeorgina · 9 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐮𝐬

Pairing: Criston Cole x reader

Warnings: None

1.04

Feeling a sense of déjà vu, you place the brush in your hand, hear a knock at your chamber door, and call out, “Come in, Raya.”

You take a small amount of floral-smelling oil between your fingertips and rub it on the ends of your hair. Once your hair was braided, you’d be able to leave to attend a meeting with your father to go over the terms of Meera’s betrothal. You could practically see the wheels turning behind Otto Hightower's eyes when he suggested there may be a more suitable match than the one you had already made.

“Princess.”

“Ser Criston,” surprised by the knight’s presence, you stand. “I dismissed you this morning. You aren’t supposed to resume your duties until nighttime.”

“I’ve decided to decline your gracious offer of time off, princess.”

Amused, you shake your head. “I don’t believe you are allowed to decline me, Ser.”

“In truth, I would feel more comfortable escorting you and the young princess myself to the dragonpit this afternoon.”

“Very well.” You skim your hand over your vanity to your mother's old jewelry box, open it, and start sliding various rings on your fingers. “I’m assuming you’ve dismissed the king's guard posted outside my quarters already?”

“Yes, princess.”

Taking out the last piece of jewelry you’d chosen to wear, a gold herringbone-link necklace that was a name-day gift from Rhaenyra. Noises of frustration leave your mouth as you struggle to attach the latch at the back.

“Princess, allow me.”

Criston stands in front of you, holding his hand out to take the necklace. You hand it to him, then turn to face the opposite way and pull your hair away from your neck. His cold fingers briefly brush against your skin before clasping the necklace together. When he steps back, you let go of your hair and fix it behind your shoulders.

You look over your shoulder at him and say, “Thank you.”

He says nothing, but you feel a slight tightness in your stomach while his gaze lingers on you. The knight finally breaks the silence and, in a humorous tone, asks, “Is it a coincidence that you and Princess Meera are wearing matching dresses this morning?”

“She picked her dress after I chose mine.”

Your answer causes him to smile. “It must be the greatest of compliments to have a child that idolizes you.”

Lady Laena had sent various dresses in rich colors over from Pentos as an apology for missing your wedding. You’d chosen to wear an orange beaded gown; the fabric of the skirts is much thinner and flatter than what highborns in King's Landing wear. Meera’s dress was the same color as yours; it meant a great deal to you that your cousin had taken your daughter into consideration as well.

“Forgive me, princess,” Raya says, rushing into your bedchamber, flushed in the face. “Good morrow, Ser Criston.”

“Good morrow. I’ll wait outside until you’re ready, princess.”

You sit back down at your vanity, and Raya begins to section your hair into different parts to braid. You feel a slight tingle on the back of your neck where the knight’s fingers brushed against.

—

Your father sits at the head of the small council table, listening intently as Otto pushes his own agenda as expected. You were thankful Ser Criston was there, as you were short of allies in the room. You sat on one side of the table, while Alicent, Otto, and a very disinterested Gwayne sat on the opposite side. Your husband had remained silent while the queen and her father continued to ramble on.

“Why isn’t my sister here?”

Otto glances at his daughter, then back to you. “I wasn’t aware that you wished to have Princess Rhaenyra present during this discussion.”

You spin the green marble ball on the table with the pads of your finger. You weren’t a fool; yourself and Rhaenyra had already spoken about the Hightowers deliberately excluding her because they thought it would be easier to sway your decision without her there. “My sister is the heir to the iron throne, and my daughter is the link between House Targaryen and House Stark. I would think her opinion is rather important on the matter.”

Alicent stands, holding a goblet in her hand and a strained smile on her face. “I know you have considered several suitors, but my son Aemond isn’t much older than your daughter, Meera. I propose we betroth them and strengthen our houses.”

“A most judicious proposition,” your father says. “But as my daughter has already stated, she has accepted a marriage betrothal. The matter is settled.”

“Oh.” Alicent struggles to remain neutral as cracks of anger begin to show on her face. “Might I ask what princess Meera will be fostered at Winterfell?”

You take a small drink of wine for courage before standing yourself up. “She won’t be. After my husband’s death, Lord Rickon Stark and I discussed betrothing his youngest son Cregan to my daughter at length; they will only marry after Meera celebrates her eighteenth name day, and until then she will remain by my side.”

“And how do you plan on upholding this betrothal if the princess remains in the red keep?” Alicent asks.

The question itself wasn’t vicious or malicious, but the queen's voice was. Alicent looks at the image of the mother with her modest green dress and hair healed back neatly in a bun. It was mind-boggling how someone who possessed such beauty and intelligence could equally be ambitious and scheming.

“I plan on taking Meera back to Winterfell many times so that she remains familiar with her northern roots and the Starks have an open invitation to visit whenever they wish.“

Otto chuckles, “I’m sure House Stark won’t—”

“Lord Rickon is as much my daughter's grandsire as my father, the king, is.”

The Stark are honorable, and you weren’t going to break faith with them for any reason.

—

While walking in the godswood, you mumble to yourself in High Valyrian while twirling the rings on your fingers. It would be another hour before Meera’s lessons would finish, and the courtyard had become the place you go when seeking comfort. The entire meeting in the small council chamber seemed so pointless; all you had done was add to the Hightowers dislike for you.

“Can I speak freely, princess?”

“You may always speak freely with me, my good knight.”

“I believe you handled yourself better than most would have under interrogation.”

Ser Criston says this in a serious manner, but when you meet his eye, you both laugh. “I had heard how intense the Hightowers can be, but it does baffle me how opinionated they all are aside from Gwayne, who seems to have lost his voice.”

“Perhaps he knows his input isn’t warranted.”

You studied him for a moment; the shift in his expression was obvious. “You don’t like him, do you?”

“Do you?” Criston counters. “It’s not me who’s married to him.”

“Pity, you would have made a fine-looking couple.”

He chuckles, “Let us hope any children you bear inherit your looks and not Ser Gwayne’s.”

Your lips press into a thin line. If anyone overheard, they might have mistaken the knight's jest for a compliment.

#house of the dragon #ser criston cole x you #criston cole fanfic #criston cole x reader #criston cole x you #ser criston cole x reader #criston cole/reader #the blood between us #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #ser criston cole fanfic #the blood between us 1.04

179 notes · View notes

idkyetxoxo · 29 days ago

Text

Criston Cole - Fascination

Summary - She channels her mother's defiance, catching the dark, dangerous interest of Ser Criston Cole. She finds herself both trapped and intrigued by Criston's magnetic presence. Their volatile interactions spark a dangerous undercurrent of power, pride, and unspoken attraction.

Pairing - Criston Cole x Velaryon reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2236

Masterlist for Criston • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

I was a firecracker—wild, untamable, and unpredictable—a spirit that blazed as fiercely as my mother, Rhaenyra Targaryen.

It was impossible to deny the resemblance between us, not in the fiery gleam of my eyes or the way I carried myself with a defiance so unyielding it could shake the very heavens.

Every part of me—every ounce of my being—was her daughter. I was cut from the same cloth, born of the same untouchable pride, the same unrelenting will that had once sent shockwaves through the realm itself.

That thought, that truth, gnawed at Ser Criston Cole.

He could never quite suppress the feeling that there was something about me that unsettled him to his core.

I had no doubt he still loathed my mother with a venomous hatred that bordered on obsession, yet he could not bring himself to feel the same toward me.

Instead, I was a puzzle he couldn't solve, a living echo of Rhaenyra, and with that echo came a twisted sort of admiration—a dark fascination he could neither deny nor fully understand.

"Jace, I swear it—I will kill you!" I shouted, dagger in hand, eyes burning with fury as I chased after him. He was fast, far too fast for my liking, dodging and weaving behind anything and anyone he could find.

"You can't kill me. I'm your older brother!" he gasped between breaths, narrowly evading me.

"By four minutes, you idiot, that is all!" I barked, leaping across a table, my body a blur of motion as he yelped, scampering to hide behind Ser Harwin, who stood there, wide-eyed, watching me approach like a wolf stalking its prey.

"Princess, perhaps it's time to put the dagger down?" Harwin suggested his voice a mix of caution and bemusement.

He reached out and, with surprising ease, caught me by the waist, pulling me back with one hand while the other gently pried the dagger from my fingers.

Jace, now standing behind Harwin, panted and glared at me, hands on his hips. "Ser Harwin, tame this deranged animal."

"You rat," I snarled, twisting in Harwin's grasp, trying to break free as Jace smirked from behind the knight. I hissed, clawing at the air, desperate to get my hands on him.

Harwin chuckled, his grip tightening to keep me under control. "Enough, you're both making a spectacle of yourselves."

"What is it this time?" Harwin asked, turning his gaze between Jace and me, trying to make sense of the chaos.

I crossed my arms, seething. "This idiot went and told Lord Beesbury's son that I was 'fond' of him," I spat, glaring at Jace. "Now he won't leave me alone."

Harwin turned to Jace with a raised brow. "Prince Jacaerys, is this true?"

Jace hesitated, his face flushing with embarrassment before he nodded, looking sheepish.

"It was only a jest!" he protested, a small, apologetic grin tugging at his lips. But I was beyond the point of finding it amusing.

Before Harwin could react, I broke free from his grasp, launching myself after Jace with renewed fury.

The training yard was my arena now. I moved with the speed of a lioness, and within moments, I had him cornered, my hands gripping his collar as I pinned him to the ground, straddling his chest with an unsettling calm.

"Rat," I spat again, my lips curling into a fierce sneer as I struggled to break free from his futile attempts to wriggle out of my grasp.

"Stop it, you fool," Jace groaned beneath me, but there was no stopping me now.

Some of the knights in the yard had paused in their training, watching with amused grins as the siblings wrestled. I could feel their eyes on us, but it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered in that moment but the tangled mess of adrenaline and fury running through my veins. I wasn't about to stop. Not yet. Not until I had my revenge.

"You think this is funny, do you?" I hissed, my hands tightening around his collar, pulling him closer.

Jace's eyes flickered with a mixture of exasperation and a mischievous spark that only made my blood boil further.

"You started it," he retorted, his voice strained as he squirmed beneath me. "You've always been a wild thing, but I didn't know you were a madwoman."

"Madwoman?" I repeated, voice like steel. "I'll show you mad."

In a flash of rage, I yanked a fistful of his hair, pulling it hard, making him yelp in pain. His face twisted in a mix of surprise and indignation, but I could see him struggling not to let the laughter escape.

He may have been my older brother by a mere four minutes, but that didn't mean I'd ever stop reminding him of who was truly in charge when it came to matters like these.

"You—" Jace groaned, trying to free himself from my relentless grip, his hands futilely swatting at my arms as I tugged at his hair again.

Before he could say another word, I heard the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps approaching.

The air shifted, a heavy presence descending upon us like a dark shadow. It was Ser Criston Cole.

"Enough," his voice boomed, stern and authoritative, slicing through the noise of our bickering. Without hesitation, he reached down and, in one swift movement, lifted me from Jace's chest, pulling me back against his solid frame.

"No!" I fought, thrashing in his grip, desperate to finish what I'd started.

My heart pounded with frustration as I twisted and kicked, but Criston held me with a strength that was nearly impossible to break.

"You're making a spectacle of yourself," Criston's voice was low, controlled, his words a velvet warning against the storm brewing inside me.

I was furious, seething with the need to finish what I had started. My body tensed in his arms as I struggled, the fury in my chest turning into a wild firestorm.

"Let me go," I snarled, my fists pounding uselessly against his arm, but his grip only tightened, preventing me from breaking free.

"Calm down, you dragon," Criston whispered, so quietly that it felt as though his words were meant just for me.

His tone was soothing, almost gentle, though I knew better than to let the softness of his voice lull me into submission.

I froze for a moment, the heat of my anger still burning within me but now tempered by something else.

The way he said it—dragon—it wasn't mocking. It wasn't even a reproach. It was an acknowledgement, one that sent a strange shiver down my spine, like he understood the tempest I carried inside me.

But I refused to give in to his attempt at calming me.

"I don't need your help," I spat, twisting again, my voice thick with defiance. My words were sharp, but there was a flicker of something else in me—something that refused to let Criston see me as anything but untamable.

Criston didn't respond immediately, his hold on me steady and unyielding.

Behind him, Harwin had stepped forward, his eyes flickering between the two of us, sensing the tension that hung in the air like a storm ready to break.

"Princess," he said, his voice a gentle mixture of concern and amusement, "Perhaps you could take a moment to breathe?"

I shot Harwin a quick, burning glance, but his steady gaze did little to quell the fire in me. I was still too caught up in the heat of the moment, my chest rising and falling with the rhythm of my fury.

Jace, who had finally managed to sit up, still looked winded, his breath coming in sharp gasps. His expression was one of mockery, tinged with a grin that set my teeth on edge.

"You didn't need to save me, Ser Criston," he said, brushing dirt from his tunic and straightening his hair with a casual flick. "I had everything under control."

I shot him a venomous look, my lips curled into a silent snarl. Jace had always been infuriatingly annoying as if the world revolved around his every whim.

But before I could say anything to further incite his smugness, Criston's grip on me tightened, a subtle reminder of who held the reins of this chaotic situation.

"Enough," Criston commanded, his voice deep and firm, cutting through the tension. His words were not a plea but an order. "You've poked her enough for one day."

His tone was sharp, as though warning Jace that there were limits to how far his antics would be tolerated. I felt a strange, almost magnetic pull in his words, a sense that he was the one now in control of this tempest, rather than me.

And yet, there was something unnerving in the way he held me, as though he was savouring the very chaos I'd unleashed.

Something that stirred beneath the surface of his calm demeanour—a flicker of fascination that unsettled me more than I cared to admit.

I twisted again in his grip, trying to free myself, but he held firm, his arms as unyielding as stone.

"You don't get to control me," I spat, still struggling, though with far less force than before.

The fight in me was now matched by an odd tension, a reluctant surrender to the way Criston held me, even as my pride screamed for release.

Criston's eyes—dark, unreadable—watched me, his expression too controlled to give anything away.

There was something in his gaze, though, that lingered, as if something about me intrigued him—something that fascinated him.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The world seemed to freeze around us, and I could feel his breath on my neck, a heat that sent a shiver through me despite myself.

My heart raced, but it wasn't just anger anymore. It was something else—something new and unsettling. My pulse quickened in a way that made my skin burn.

"Let me go," I growled, my voice sharper now. "This is beneath you."

It was then that Criston's hand slid up to my shoulder, gently but firmly pressing down. His touch was almost intimate, and it sent a jolt through me, though I refused to show weakness.

He leaned in just enough for me to hear his breath against my ear, his voice low and calm, the faintest trace of something like amusement there.

"Not very proper of you, is it?" I said, my words a pointed reminder of his supposed position of authority, though it only seemed to amuse him further.

I was playing the game now, with a sharp edge to my voice. It was my way of reminding him of where his duties lay, and yet... I couldn't quite ignore how his presence made me feel both exposed and alive in ways I didn't understand.

His response, when it came, was not what I expected. "You don't need to remind me of propriety," he said softly, as though speaking to himself. "I know exactly who you are, Princess."

The words were spoken with an air of both recognition and something else—something more complicated than I could quite place.

And with those words, something inside me shifted, though I couldn't tell if it was a sense of danger or a strange, uncomfortable allure that began to unfurl deep within my chest.

I twisted again, this time more slowly, aware of the weight of his hands around me.

"You're staring at me like I'm some kind of... curiosity," I muttered, bitterly aware of the way he held me so easily. "What do you want from me?"

His grip remained steady, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, a shadow of an answer he never quite voiced.

"You," he said quietly, his voice almost too soft to be heard, "are a force of nature."

Before I could reply, Harwin's voice broke through, bringing me back to the present, to the chaos of the yard and the dozen knights who had now turned their attention back to us.

"Ser Criston," Harwin said, his voice an even tone of authority, "Let her go."

Criston didn't move immediately, his gaze never leaving mine. It was as though he was still weighing something in his mind, something he was reluctant to relinquish.

But then, with a deep, measured breath, he released his hold on me, stepping back just enough to allow me to regain my balance.

I could feel the sudden absence of his touch like a void, an absence that left me uneasy in a way I hadn't expected.

I glared at him, my anger not entirely gone, but it was tempered now with a sense of... wariness.

Something had shifted in the space between us, and for the first time, I wasn't entirely sure if I was still in control of the situation.

"Well," I said with an icy edge to my voice, "Not very proper of you, Ser Criston, to attempt to school us when you're so keen on indulging your own fascination."

He said nothing, his face unreadable.

But I saw the subtle tightening of his jaw, the briefest flash of something that could have been amusement—or something darker—before he stepped back further, allowing me to regain my composure.

As I straightened myself, wiping a few stray strands of hair from my face, I knew this moment wasn't finished. Not by a long shot.

Something had been set into motion, a strange tension that would simmer beneath the surface for as long as we both remained near each other.

And for all my efforts to resist it, I couldn't shake the feeling that Criston was watching me now with something more than duty in his gaze.

A/n - Take a shot every time the word fascination is said

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd one shot #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #team green #criston cole #criston cole x reader #criston x reader #hotd criston #ser criston cole #criston cole imagine #criston cole x you

74 notes · View notes

shuichiakainx · 9 months ago

Text

I watched the first episode of the second season of House of the Dragon, now I need the second episode 😩😩

413 notes · View notes

procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics · 2 years ago

Text

Patience is the Virtue of a Lady

Summary: As Daemon's wife, you are left humiliated by your errant husband. As the product of an annulled marriage, you are seen as barren and tainted, left to befriend Queen Alicent, gaining the reputation of an unsalvageable woman over the years.

But, the heart wants what it wants, and you have had your eyes on unattainable Ser Criston for years.

Notes: anon’s mind is imploding with the amount of genius in it. thank you for requesting, i was on my knees for this idea

Warnings: smut, religious undertones, afab!reader, daemon is an ass, criston is an ass, reader is genuinely not having a great time (at first ahaha), religious/vow-related guilt, slight size kink?

Taglist: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @a-beaverhausen @ilikeitbetterangsty @levithestripper (adding you tentatively, jack, hmu to be added to any!)

based on this request | masterlist | requests are OPEN! (and i'm back to writing!!)

Daemon never cared to hide his straying looks, and you knew of his habits. Whoring, drinking, murdering – and yet, you were lucky for having married a Targaryen Prince. You kept your mouth shut, knowing that you would, otherwise, end like your predecessor, Rhea Royce.

Why Viserys had insisted Daemon marry against his will again, you’d never understand.

You kept your mouth shut, through whores, paramours and treason. You played your part, as everyone did in the court. And when your eyes strayed, they did so secretly and carefully. You chose to stare at someone you could not attain anyway.

A kingsguard was your safest bet at something that would never happen anyway. You seethed against the humiliation of your husband and sought your own distraction. Even when Daemon stared hungrily at Rhaenyra, a girl, you said naught.

Targaryen tradition – you did not know if you could argue with that. But Rhaenyra was barely fifteen. She was beautiful, yes, but even now, the fact that your husband would prefer a girl over you stung.

In the early days of your marriage, you had gone to the sept every day, beseeching the Mother to give you a child, even if your husband refused to touch you beyond a drunken wedding night, in which he had failed to even come close to producing a child. Now, you were glad for your childless state, even if the court whispered that you were barren.

So when Daemon left your shared chambers, which were an order of the king, you bade him goodnight and turned back to your reading. Still, you stared from your balcony out at the small spot outside the Red Keep he always appeared in after a while.

A secret entrance only Daemon knew how to use. You held your breath when a small figure appeared first, silver hair glinting in the moonlight.

Rhaenyra.

A few moments later, Daemon appeared, and they disappeared into the city.

The rumors in the days to come were enough for you to draw your own conclusions, but to your surprise, Ser Criston was soon included in them, which stung more than anything. You’d deemed him safe to keep as your own in secret, and yet, Rhaenyra had not only taken your husband from you, but also him.

It hurt more than the annulment of your marriage that Daemon brought forth. You only nodded through the process, letting the Septon say what he wanted, and Daemon tell as many lies as he needed.

And so, your name was yours again and all you were in court was the former wife of Prince Daemon. Your family seethed, ready to remove you from court until Queen Alicent asked you to become her lady-in-waiting, and you were once again stuck in a court of lies.

Ser Criston grew bitter over Rhaenyra, but instead of becoming your friend, he began to worship Queen Alicent. It wasn’t lust, it wasn’t love, but something queer in between.

In his own twisted way, he once again wanted anyone but you, and it stung when it shouldn’t have. Weren’t you supposed to be past this?

And yet, you tortured yourself, watching as he raised Alicent’s children as his own and continued to barely spare you a glance. The court grew disinterested in you, and you continued to lead a life as quiet as before, turning into a lonely spinster with the years.

Only now, you turned to the Father in the Sept, begging for purpose. For anything to happen in your life that might make it worth something.

And then, Lady Laena died. Beautiful, magical, mysterious Lady Laena, who you’d never known and yet loved for ridding you of your husband was dead.

You attended the funeral, even prayed for her, hoping that she would find peace – a thing you thought highly unlikely for a wife of Daemon. You watched as Daemon once again practically drooled over Rhaenyra, and watched as she did the same. Alicent saw it, too.

“It appears as if some things do not change.” Alicent commented dryly. It was treason, what she said, but her nerves had been frayed for the past few weeks, and she knew you would not speak ill of her to the king. You wouldn’t have made a difference to frail King Viserys anyway.

“No, my queen.” You sighed. “But it is not me he is humiliating this time.”

“That did not make you deserve it.” Alicent replied, ever gracious. She slipped her arm into yours, as if you were still the young, disappointed women you had once been and led you away from the balcony. Ser Criston followed dutifully, and for some reason, it felt as if his eyes were burning into your back.

Rhaenyra and Daemon disappeared together, and everyone in their presence trained their eyes to the ground, pretending not to see. Your hand curled into a fist instinctually, feeling old anger and disappointment bubble back up in you.

Perhaps, if you had been bolder, you could have reigned Daemon in. You could have been queen consort, and saved Alicent all her pain. They were silly thoughts, and yet, they made you leave the room, and make for your chambers.

You almost screamed when you saw a dark figure sitting in them, back turned to you, until you recognized dark curls and white armour.

“I almost thought Daemon had finally sent someone after me.” You mumbled, half to yourself. Criston turned, looking right through you.

“Ser Criston?” You asked carefully. He’d grown older, as all of you had, but his beauty remained to him. Criston stayed silent, still staring.

“Criston?” You tried again, calling him by his first name this time, and slowly, he seemed to see you standing across from him.

“She could have had me, and freedom. She chose this prison, you know?” Criston told you. For a moment, your felt confused, before you realised that he was speaking of Rhaenyra, still heartbroken. Of course.

“What are you doing in my chambers, ser?” You asked. Ser Criston laughed dryly.

“You never deserved what he did to you. Prince Daemon dishonored you.” Ser Criston continued, not answering your question. “A lady so beautiful any a man would have been grateful to have you as their wife, and yet, he threw you away for nothing at all.”

Nothing. He had called beautiful Laena, wild Rhaenyra nothing at all. What treason, and how your heart loved to hear it.

You swallowed down your bitterness, ignoring the fluttering feeling in your stomach as Ser Criston called you beautiful. Yet, you kept your guard up. This place was only an extension of King’s Landing, reeking of corruption just as much. For a moment, you considered whether, mayhaps, this was some kind of ploy.

Ser Criston stood so suddenly you took a step back instinctively. He passed you, and you thought that he was going to leave, tired of your company. Instead, he closed the door in front of him. The lock clicked into place, a cacophony of sound in the silence that hung over the room. You held your breath, praying to the gods that nothing would happen to you.

He began to close the distance between you, and you began to back up, until your knees hit the bed, and you fell backwards. Criston was still walking, still closing in on you like prey, and you felt yourself scramble backwards. The headboard stopped your attempt to flee, forcing you to look at Ser Criston.

He stood at the end of the bed, his hand on his sword. Could you make a run for it? Where was there to run?

His swordbelt unravelled, and the weapon hit the ground with a quiet thud. Criston only waited, staring at you expectantly. What did he want?

Slowly, you felt yourself freeze out of place, dragging yourself across the bed towards the end of it, where he stood solemnly. Carefully, you reached up, putting a hand on his shoulder. You heard him inhale shakily.

“Ser Criston, are you alright?” You asked. A pause, then, a shaky breath and a shrug that turned into a shake of his head. “Ser?”

“I’m sorry.” Criston said finally. Carefully, his hand took yours. You stared down, looking at the dark grey glove that covered his hand, starkly contrasting the white of the rest of his uniform. The leather felt soft against your hand, and it was that you tried to focus on, not the fact that you were holding the man’s hand in yours.

“What for?” You asked, smiling up at him nervously. You hated the position you were in, the vulnerability of it. Your neck was craned to look up at him, and you were practically kneeling on the bed. If anyone found you like this, they would accuse you of unthinkable things… Alicent would never forgive you.

“For not defending you. For what I am to do.” Criston said. “Both tarnish my knighthood, my white cloak… tarnishing you.”

You opened your mouth to speak. “What you are about to…”

As Ser Criston pulled off his gloves, cupping your face with his left hand, you trailed off. You could hear your heart beating in your chest. You wanted to pinch yourself. Surely, you were dreaming. This was not real.

Yet, even if it was, you did not care to move away from him. Instead, his lips found yours, soft and gentle in their own way. You felt yourself reciprocate, though you knew that you should not. You should not be doing this, betraying Alicent in this way and yet…

He sighed into the kiss, and the thought disappeared in the fuzz of your mind. You were unable to think, almost unable to breathe. Gods, how long you had waited for this moment. Weeks, months, years.

“Do not give in.” Criston begged. You paused, breaking the kiss to look at him, but no words left your mouth. He repeated his own once, before something shifted in his eyes. This time, he kissed you less softly, and more so like in the bawdy tales your sister had told you. And you found yourself reeling, your hands against his chestplate to steady yourself.

Even as his hands slip under your dress and travel up your thighs, he begged. “Please, stop me.” He whispered. You shook your head in saccharine betrayal and Criston rested his on your shoulder for a moment. His hands left your thighs, leaving the skin hot and burning, and snaked up your neck, cradling your head. They were big, encompassing your skull and somehow, that made your breath hitch.

Hands that were made to kill, and yet, he was holding you so gently, as if you were fragile. A sudden boldness made you speak.

“Do you want me?” you asked. He lifted his head, nodded almost frantically and you made your choice.

Had the distance between you two really been that dramatically large? It felt as if there was no world around you, only your lips on his, his hands touching, holding as your husband should have held you. As you should have held your children.

Oh how you had longed for years, had none of it, and watched as others had been destroyed, by husbands, by children… yet it still felt so deeply unfair that you could not bring yourself to feel guilty for this little thing. Just this once.

You let Criston kiss you, worship you with his hands as he took his time, carefully unlacing your dress, letting the fabric pool around you. Still, you sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at him. He loomed in his armor, dwarfed you from this perspective.

When you were finally in your shift, you could not help shivering. Criston looked at you with worry in his eyes, before he slipped away, stoking the fire in the furnace. The heat did not match the feeling his hands left on your skin.

He stood before the fireplace, his silhouette illuminated as he took off his armor. The chestplate, the padding, all those parts that shielded him when he did his duties were discarded carelessly on the floor, a stark contrast to his eyes, trained to the ground.

The shadows that flickered through the room, created by candles and fire illuminate the muscles of his back as his dressshirt joined his armor on the ground. You could feel yourself biting your lips to keep yourself from making unladylike sounds.

When Criston returned to the bed, you expected him to push you into the bed, to climb atop you and do what Daemon could not. Instead, he fell to his knees before you at the end of the bed. Confused, you stared down at him.

“What are you doing?” you asked him. He did not answer, his eyes dark as he stared up at you, filled with things you would never tell your septon about. His hands pushed up the seams of your shift until it bunched at your hips.

Suddenly, you felt exposed, and your legs crossed automatically. You sat up straight, as you had been taught, until Criston’s hand returned to your knee, patient, waiting. You understood. Slowly, you uncrossed your legs again.

You still felt exposed as Criston began to place kisses on your knee, even more so when his mouth wandered upwards, towards your thighs. He had kissed your mouth, had barely kissed your neck and now he looked like he wanted to devour your thighs.

Criston took his time sucking marks into the flesh of your thighs, marking it as his, you suddenly realized. And how you loved to be loved.

His mouth moved upwards with a pace that was so slow it almost became painful. You felt a moan escape you, covering your mouth immediately. Criston, looking up again, shook his head. You felt confused – wanton sounds, those were condemned by the church. They could not possibly be what he, such a devout man, would want to hear?

Only, Criston wasn’t that devout after all, was he?

And when his lips touched your cunt in devout prayer, you answered in such currency. Eagerly, his tongue licked a stripe up your cunt, flicking the nub at the top with impatient insistence until you felt your back weaken. You let yourself fall backwards onto the mattress with a girlish ease you had not felt in years, but suddenly it was there, and you were floating…

How had the septons dared to tell you all this was sin? How could that be true? How could it be when-

Criston never ceased his movements when you grew louder, trying to contain your sounds to the confines of your chambers. A knot was beginning to tie itself in your stomach, growing tighter and tighter until you were begging Criston for something – you didn’t know what it was, except that he knew, that he would give it to you.

And then, suddenly, the knot was gone, and something else took its place. You weren’t sure if this was something you had ever felt before because it was all-consuming, washing over you like a golden wave and pulling you under. The tension, the pressure, all of it was gone, replaced by white-hot pleasure and your eyes rolled backwards, your back arching off the bed towards Criston.

Coming down from you high, you felt Criston slowly removing your shift, continuing his worship on your stomach and your chest, sucking and biting skin until he felt you squirm beneath him. It was then that he looked at you, smirking, but you could see that his eyes were full of something no one had ever looked at you with.

Not desire, nor lust, for you had seen those in men who eyed you greedily during banquets. It was not the empty, sad stare King Viserys gave Alicent. No, it was the glances Ser Harwin had thrown at Rhaenyra before her death. The look of adoration Queen Aemma had held for King Viserys all those years ago…

You had no need to say the word, for you knew, and it made your head spin. Could it be?

His hands pulled your shift over your head, until you were bare for him. He was still wearing breeches, but you could see the strain beneath them. Filled with sudden confidence, you pulled him towards you, kissing Ser Criston and wrapping your legs around his waist in a desperation to have him close to you.

Your hands fumbled at the laces of his breeches clumsily, until he gently removed them, doing the work himself. You could see Criston’s cock, half-concealed by the shadows between you and the dark, and yet, you knew it was bigger than Daemon’s. The thought of it made you afraid and your face heat up at the same time.

His hand moved languidly while he leaned down to kiss you. When his hips bucked into his hand, you heard yourself beg him for it, and that seemed to change something in him. Suddenly, Criston seemed hungry.

You could feel him between your legs, and then, you weren’t all that confident anymore. But Ser Criston held you close, whispering reassurances and praise until you could feel him enter you. There was a small stretch, a small feeling of discomfort, and Ser Criston halted his movements for a bit.

When you nodded, he began to move, his body rocking into you. He seemed to know what he was doing when he rolled his hips, stimulating that spot inside of you you had no idea existed in the first place.

The first time he hit it, you felt the air knocked out of you from pleasure. And then, the feeling became a rapid addiction. Your hands dragged his chest to yours, your legs wrapping around his waist again in an attempt to urge him to move faster, harder, to make you feel good.

Ser Criston, the perfect white knight, obliged. He snapped his hips against yours, angling them upwards and giving you something that you had not thought would work that way, feel that way.

“Please, Criston.” You gasped.

“Please what? What do you need, my lady?” Criston replied, his words coming in short intervals. He was just as gone as you, you realized, and that only added to your own high.

“Oh Gods,” you began. “Criston, I don’t know, I- please, please,…”

He rested his head in the crook of your neck again, but this time, his teeth found your shoulder, biting down gently at first. The pain was good. It added an edge you had no idea you needed, brought you back down into a realm where you could form some coherent thought.

The knot you had felt before, the tension that had turned into a coil in your stomach returned with a sudden fervency. This time, the feeling was there more quickly, more intense and it was almost too much. At the same time, you felt as if you would die if it stopped.

Criston seemed to feel it, and only later would you realise that your cunt was clenching around him so tightly that he was having difficulty not to moan as loudly as you. But Criston continued, and he pushed you over the edge, leaving you reeling in pleasure as his hand clapped over your mouth to muffle a scream.

He followed soon after, only that he refused to spend his seed inside you, instead painting your stomach with it. You know why he did it, and yet, it somehow still hurt. Before you could ponder too much on the matter, Criston disappeared, returning with his breeches on and a rag in hand. He cleaned you while you lied on the bed, the soreness beginning to sneak in after your high.

Afterwards, Criston lied down next to you. He did not speak, but he did not pray either, and for that, you were glad. And still, he was the one who pulled you closer. You held onto him, basked in his warmth.

Finally, your patience and virtue had been rewarded. You did not waste a single thought on what would come in the future, only that this was right, and no septon nor Alicent would be able to convince you otherwise (not that you would tell them about this to begin with).

You could feel yourself dozing off in your white knight’s arms, until the alarm bells of High Tide suddenly began to rang. As the castle came alive under the signal, Criston shot up, and so did you. Shouts passed your door, and he scrambled to put on his armor.

Never a moment’s peace in this world.

#criston #criston x reader #ser criston #ser criston x reader #ser criston cole #ser criston cole x reader #criston cole #criston cole x reader #smut #criston cole smut #hotd #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd smut #criston cole imagine #minor #rhaenyra targaryen x daemon targaryen #request #criston cole angst

2K notes · View notes