#ser erryk

[arcielee]

Devotion

Summary: You are a Targaryen princess with an infatuation on a certain White Cloak. Paring: Ser Erryk Cargyll x Targaryen!Reader Word Count: 5.7k+ Warnings: AFAB Reader, neglect, angst, unrequited love?, kissing, fingering, unprotected p in v, more angst, oral sex (m and f receiving), a mother's reprimand, lots of blood, death, more angst Author’s Note: Thank you my beloved beta reader @zaldritzosrose for looking this over and helping me this story. I Mushroom-tweaked it to fit the angsty plot. This started as an anon request and unfolded into so much more. It is dedicated to my darling @opheliax98 who encouraged "all the drama" of this piece. I hope it you enjoy it. 💜 You can also read it on ao3.

Your mother decided that you would return to the Red Keep as an envoy, because of your ability to hide in plain sight despite the poisoned word that first followed your steps–ilībōños, bastard. It was the same that was thrown towards your half-brothers, but with a tone as bold as their brown curls and brown eyes; they did not have the fortune of their Valyrian roots to hide under, their features often speculated as too Strong. 

You, however, were the first, albeit illegitimate, born of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen, conceived the same night that her virtue was called into question. 

There was a bitter speculation of your origins that faded away with your birth; you were another nameless Targaryen princess that would decorate the family tapestry, another egg that turned to stone in the crib. Life in the capitol was lonely for you; your father was away in Pentos with his new family, while your mother remained preoccupied with her White Cloak, and then her Gold Cloak and new husband. There was an age gap between you and your brothers, your nephews and your niece, and it was an isolating chasm that placed you as an outsider, a spectator, with the unfocused eyes of the court looking through you. 

Your only company was your handmaiden, Elinda, but her loyalties reported back to your mother, and then your Septa, but her complaints were ceaseless, especially as you learned the pathways that Maegor the Cruel had carved into the Keep; they became your escape from her lessons. 

It was then your mother requested a knight from the Kingsguard to watch over you, and you mourned the little bit of independence acquired, assuming you would be assigned someone old, doddy, who served as another set of eyes that would only look through you. 

You were not expecting Ser Erryk Cargyll. 

To begin, he was only three years older than you–it was said his swordsmanship so impressed the Lord Commander that he also recruited his twin brother, bringing them both to King's Landing to serve in the Kingsguard. He was handsome, standing tall behind your mother, long and lithe. His ruddy complexion brought out the blue-gray of his eyes that showed unsure, almost shy with the introductions. 

You smiled at him and his lips curled upwards in response, a rose dusting to his cheeks. 

You liked him at once.

He was devoted to your shadow, almost rapt to your beck and call. The attention fed your girlish infatuation with the young knight, and you were always teasing him in a way that teetered on the edge of his duty and his oath with your coy questions and smirk. Ser Erryk was rarely rattled by you, but seemed more amused–he would answer you with a frank tone, a welcomed honesty, that ended with your title: it was always, “Yes, princess,” or “I shall see to it, princess.” 

It continued on for months until one evening, as he escorted you to your room, you asked him to call you by your name, to set aside the formality. You saw the brilliant blue of his eyes, bright amongst the flush of his features; his tongue wet his lips, searching for his voice. “I could never do that, princess,” he started slowly, his eyes flickering up again to look at you as if for the first time. You saw the dust of his freckles that burned bright against his skin. “My purpose is to keep you safe.” 

His voice was low, so serious, and it made your blood rise to the surface. You tried to laugh it off. “My purpose is to wait around until I am able to marry the highest bidder.” It was something that weighed heavy on your heart; your eyes fell away and your fingers grasped into the fabric of your skirts. “I know I will not be missed within these walls once I am gone.” 

“That’s not true, princess.” 

It startled you, and you peered back up from underneath your lashes, your heart vibrating against your skin. You watched Ser Erryk choke on his boldness, his regret knotting into his face before he settled on silence. You watched him go, the muted ensemble of his armor as he returned to the barracks below. 

That moment created something palpable that pressed overhead. You were too young, too rash to even know how to tactfully touch the subject again. The forced return to your norm left your bones aching; Ser Erryk doted on your steps, and you rambled on to drown out the incessant screaming of your heart within your chest. 

It spilled over at Driftmark. Your family went for the Velaryon funeral procession for Daemon’s wife, feeding further into the resentment that rifted within the house of the dragon. You slipped away and found Aegon in his cups, deciding to steal some of the liquid courage. When Ser Erryk found you, your eyes were glassy and your cheeks flushed. 

He sighed, shaking his head, reaching to help you stand, but you swore you saw the hint of a smile touching his lips. Ser Erryk said nothing, but wrapped his arm around your waist and matched his gait with your staggered steps to your room. You rested your head on his shoulders, enjoyed his smell of olive oil used on his sword and how it mixed with his perspiration. 

At the door, you felt his breath tickle your ear, “I will not speak of this to the crowned princess, but you should get some rest–” 

You spun to face him, your hands pushing on his breastplate to steady yourself on your tiptoes and pressing your lips to meet with his. Ser Erryk froze with your kiss, his White Cloak tightening like a vice. His palms were rough, but he was gentle to wrap your elbows and pull you back, his gaze rooting you to cobblestone. 

Moments ticked away with your beating heart that was now bruising against your bones before he finally said, “I cannot give you what you truly deserve, princess.” 

He said nothing else and your embarrassment fed the fire in your blood. You pulled away from him and slipped into your room, careful to close your door. Your back pressed against the carvings of sea creatures into the oak and you melted to the floor, your tears spilling to ease your girlish heartache. 

Elsewhere on the island, a dragon was claimed and bloodshed followed. The walls rattled as the king proclaimed his true loyalty and it ended with you being whisked away to Dragonstone. It was for the best, you decided, to leave your broken heart behind. You felt the tinge of hope when you learned that your mother and your father were finally together, and decided to set aside your infatuation of the White Cloak, but instead focus to aid your mother, to help solidify what your grandsire, King Viserys, had proclaimed to the Seven Realms. 

That she was to be queen. 

It had been six years since you last been at King’s Landing. It was now a place both familiar and strange. The same architecture rose above, shadowing over Blackwater Bay, though inside your ancestry of Old Valyria had been replaced, the Keep becoming a shrine to the new gods who had not yet paid their dues for such a show of devotion. 

As you entered through the Barbican, you smirked at the memory of the girl you were before, only ten and five, on the cusp of womanhood that required your gowns to be stitched to fit your slender frame. Now your figure filled your dresses, your curves pressing to the seams and your hair twisted and styled to showcase the dragonblood in your veins, that shined in the amethyst of your eyes. 

The queen was first to come and greet you. The handmaidens selected were controlled by Elinda, who watched their flurry to unpack. You looked up to see her lips pursed, her dark brown eyes washed over like you were a specter coming to haunt, like she wished for the earth to swallow you whole. 

“It has been requested–” her tone was queenly, but you noted that she would not mention how it was your mother that penned her a letter, “–for you to have a knight assigned. I was advised that Ser Erryk has served this role before.” 

His name caused your blood to roar in your head as you turned to watch him enter the room. Ser Erryk seemed taller, or perhaps that was how he now held himself, his pride set on his shoulders and onto his features that sharpened. He was still sinewy, though he seemed to fill out the armor hammered to fit his frame, polished and gleaming in the sun that streaked through; it burned bright in his copper hair that was brushed back to show his beard trimmed to fit his jaw. 

The coloring brought out his blue-gray eyes that shined almost unsure, almost shy. 

It kindled something within you that you believed to be gone, a feeling that washed away on the shores of Dragonstone and swept to the depths of the bay, buried in the sand. 

Ser Erryk looked at you and you could not help your smile. His lips ticked upwards and you felt your pulse flutter anew, seizing your heart again. 

Your iron-clad shadow followed after your steps, a devotion renewed, and it returned the muscle memory of his constant and comforting presence as you reacquainted with the old castle. Ser Erryk accompanied your rounds to visit with Helaena and her children, watching your brief exchange with each prince, and even briefer with the king who smiled when he called you Rhaenyra. Your knight then escorted you back to your room without a word, just the chink of his armor with his steps, echoing off the stone. 

You paused in the doorway, looking back to see his stance. As he watched you, your mind flittered with words but none could knit together. “Sleep well, princess,” he finally spoke with a small bow, excusing himself. 

The room had also been stripped of your Targaryen history, almost unfamiliar despite your chests unpacked. Elinda and the other handmaidens helped prepare you for bed, and a cup of wine was poured but your stomach would not hold it down. They left you alone and your quarters were now a gilded cage to contain you; you pulled on your pale, silk robe and finished half of the goblet, summoning your old courage to slip away.

The same panel opened with ease, but inside, basked in the amber light of torch set in a sconce, stood Ser Erryk with his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Your mouth fell open and he grinned at you. “I take my oath with my heart, princess,” he reminded you. 

“How did you know–?” You stammered, licking the wine from your lips. 

He only shrugged, his eyes glittering in the fire. “You seem so very different, but also are still the same.” 

You pulled the panel closed to silence his chuckle. You finished the rest of the wine poured and returned to your bed.  

Your days at Kings Landing were idly filled. Your old Septa returned with her scrutiny of the woman you had become, her brow furrowing to find fault as you showcased your refinement of a lady mastered over the last half decade. Your afternoons were spent in the company of Helaena and her children, the only ones welcoming your return, with the littlest one, Maelor, especially taken with you. 

The time was spent in the gardens with a blanket sprawled out. Helaena would hum songs while the twins played their games. Maelor was content to sit in your lap, his eyes wide to discover whatever came within his chubby grasp. 

And Ser Erryk, your shadow, would stay close by, always. 

“He will draw his own blood to protect you.” The princess spoke suddenly, jarringly–it was a common happenstance with Helaena, you learned. Her every impertinent thought spilled off her tongue in riddles. 

Maelor’s eyes widened with his beginning grasp of the spoken word. You blew a raspberry onto his cheek to distract him, and he fell into a fit of giggles. “He would draw blood, but only if it was needed,” you corrected her, your voice low. 

Helaena only hummed in response, falling back into whatever song as she looked over the flowers that surrounded you both, watching the insects that lived amongst them. Her words remained with you, echoing in your head long after the moon began its silver stretch overhead. It guided your steps back to the panel in your room and you pushed it open. 

Ser Erryk straightened at once, his hand back on his pommel. “Princess? Why are you still–” 

You stopped him with a gentle touch on his breastplate, steadying yourself to rise on the balls of your feet until your lips pressed to his once again. But this time he responded, melting against–his lips were soft and warm, and his beard tickled your skin. 

You fell flat-footed to the floor with a smile spreading across your face; he was enraptured to watch the words that spilled from your lips. “I thought I had forgotten that night at Driftmark, but it seems what you said has embedded into my bones.” You felt light-headed, but also embolden by his gaze and the black that swallowed his murky cobalt eyes. “You once said that you could not give me what I deserved, but did you ever think you could give me what I want, what I desire?” 

It was a dam broken and he surged against you, pressing until your back touched the other side of the corridor. He reclaimed your mouth with a honeyed fervor that warmed your blood. Your fingers pull away the tie that held back his hair and combed through his silky copper spill. His fingers bruised into your hips, holding on as if you would slip away. 

You broke the kiss, breathless, your fingers knitting with his own and pulling him back into your room. It was a quiet exchange, littered with soft kisses, as you helped him remove his iron armor piece-by-piece, stacking the plates aside. 

He draped the white cape over a chair and looked to you. Underneath he wore a pale tunic and cream slacks, his outline pressing to the seams in a way that made your thighs clench. He stepped closer, his desperation more controlled, and pulled you into his chest, his thumb pressed to tilt your chin for a slow and searching kiss. 

You sighed and his tongue curled to taste, his fingers peeling away the bedtime silk that covered your skin. He worshiped every inch shown with his mouth, blooms of color decorating your skin. 

You helped him pull his shirt over his head, wanting to feel the heat of his skin, to feel the golden hair across his chest. His heart was vibrating beneath, and his arms wrapped around your waist with another kiss that pulled the air from your lungs. Ser Erryk tightened his hold to lift you and walk you backwards until you felt the edge of the bed touching the back of your knees; you sat down, your thighs plush and pink.

His hands cradled your jaw, tilting your head back to look at you. “Beautiful,” he whispered before leaning to capture your lips again. 

Your fingers curled at the nape of his neck to pull him towards you, moving back against the mattress. He followed, his skin flushed red and his eyes wide as you laid back into the pillows. He moved on top of you, gentle to touch you with soft caresses and lingering kisses, following your guide as you led his hand lower towards the intimacy between your thighs, wet and wanting. 

He trembled with his exhale as his fingertips split apart your velvet folds, his calloused touch careful to map the bloom of nerves above. You gasped with his testing touch and his smile curled into his blood stained cheeks; he moved softer, but quicker, until it elicited a sweet sigh. 

Ser Erryk was responsive, attentive to you. He was aware of your breathing and soft sounds, matching his ministration to pull something deeper within you, sparking at the base of your spine. It felt different from your own touch, this passion he pulled without your control, and you squirmed from the pressure building in your core. 

“Erryk,” you whined, your hips lifting against his hand.

He grinned, shifting to press a kiss underneath your jaw, and your skin rippled over in response to the contrast of his lips and his beard. “That’s it princess,” his husky tone was hot against your skin; your hands moved to hold him close, another pitiful mewl spilling. He shifted his hand, moving to curl two fingers within your cunt while his thumb pressed to your swollen pearl.  

“Erryk–!” you gasped, and your nails pressed red crescents into his shoulders. 

His brow was knitted with his concentration, moving to litter kisses along the column of your neck and to your collarbones–a gentle nip that bolted the length of your spine. He does not stop, his fingers coated with your slick with his rhythm that curled upwards into you, sparking a euphoria that poured white-hot into your blood, your heart bruising until you feel it rattling your bones. 

His other hand touched to return you back to your body; his palms rough but kind, following the curve of your stomach and resting to feel the rise and fall with your bated breath. You felt dizzy, blushing, and you blinked, looking down to see him watching you. He moved to give you another searing kiss that rekindled the same warmth pooling between your thighs. 

You kissed him back and spread your legs for his slender waist to slot in-between. He pulled his slacks lower, allowing the underside of his cock to spread your velvet folds, a heady but delicious pressure against your cunt. You pulled him in for a kiss and he groaned into your mouth as you canted your hips, your heart pulsing against his heavy cock. 

He was flushed. “I will be gentle, princess…”

You swallowed his words with another kiss, your legs knotting around to rut your hips against him. He panted into your mouth, his arm dipping to line himself with your entrance, and you clenched with your anticipation. 

Erryk pressed into you with a trembled control as your heat enveloped him fully. You were split apart with the most delicious fill; you mewled, pitiful, and his head fell forward, tucking into the curve of your neck. “Gods be good…” he rasped. 

Your fingers dimpled into his waist, encouraging his thrusts. His pace filled you sinfully, a slow roll of his hips that spurred a pleasure coiling within. You gasped against his chest, your nails biting into his skin as he quickened, going deeper, almost bruising. You felt your walls flutter around him, pulling another guttural groan from the back of his throat, his rasped whisper of your name buried into your hair. 

The euphony trilled your spine and you clenched with your second release. It pulled him over that precipice of pleasure, crashing like a tidal wave. Erryk melted against you, hot, pulsing deep within you, and you breathed in his skin, the same intoxicating scent mixed with olive oil and wax. 

He pulled away, the tender moment passing as duty resurfaced. 

You made a noise, pushing to sit upright and your head tilting to watch his heavy sway between his thighs as he walked back from the basin with a clean cloth in hand. Your eyes met with his and his brow arched in return, teasing; you caught his wrist and pulled him back into the bed, against your heart. 

Erryk twisted his face until it pressed into your skin, licking and kissing whatever his mouth could touch. You giggled, squirming until you could rest your head on his chest. His arms wrapped around you. 

You did not want this night to end. “Do not leave me, Erryk.” 

“I am sworn to you, princess.” He reminded you, pressing his lips to your hairline. 

It was not what you wished to hear, but it was all you would get at this moment. You hummed, burying your face until his chest hair tickled, listening to the low thrum of his heartbeat. 

That night changed the monotony of the Red Keep. You thought of any reason to pull Erryk away from prying eyes; stolen kisses and touches that lingered, heating your skin. Your eyes now would flit to find him and see that he was always standing close, his gaze piercing through, settled onto you. 

When the sun tucked away into the horizon, he would slip through the passageway and back into your embrace, the intimate tangle of bare limbs abed with breathless kisses and secrets shared. He learned your body, an instrument to be mastered and a passion to taste you on his lips, staining his beard. He became your confidant, sharing the mutterings of the court; he was the one to warn you about the claimant for Driftmark. 

You wrote your mother at once.

It had been months since you left Dragonstone and you were excited to see her, your father and your siblings again. You were deciding on what gown to wear while Elinda was cleaning up, pulling your sheets away with a scowl on her face. 

You laughed at her expression. “What is it?”

She was perplexed. “I cannot recall your last moonsblood, princess,” she admitted, her lips pursed. “I feel that time seems to run itself together within these walls.” 

Her words ripped through you, but you said nothing, your expression as solid as the stones stacked to create the walls she referred to. Elinda finished tucking the corners before she noticed. “Princess! Are you okay–?” 

“I am fine,” you lied. “Help me with my dress.”

Underneath you were rattled, frightened with the revelation of life within you. Your disquiet settled away, disappearing once your mother arrived. You rushed to greet her, seeing her swollen with another heir in the making. Her silver brows knitted as she looked over the state of the Red Keep, and you wrapped an arm around your side, pulling you close to whisper: “It is even worse than what you described!” 

There was comfort in your mother’s arms and you pressed a kiss to her cheek. She looked at you a moment before her gaze fell back to Erryk, your ever dutiful-shadow noted. “Good ser, you have my eternal gratitude for keeping her safe.”

He was pink with her words. “Thank you, princess.” 

Her focus remained on him another moment before she looked back to you, her eyes now careful to comb over. You swallowed, unsure, and she said nothing as her attention was whisked away to her purposeful return to the Keep. 

The days that followed were tumultuous in the least, with a tension that spilled crimson on the floor of the Throne Room. Your stomach dropped from the wet sound of the two halves of Ser Vaemond hitting the stone floor, the smell of iron thick around you; Erryk moved in front of you to shield you away. 

King Viserys called for a supper that evening to mend the ever-growing rift, but instead emotions imploded, splitting the room in half. 

Erryk moved to wrap his hand around your arm at your mother’s command. Your father escorted your siblings and their betrotheds back to their rooms, his silver brow furrowing at you and your knight. 

Your footfalls echoed to keep with his pace, a numbed process of what had just happened. “I will have to return to Dragonstone,” you whispered when you felt certain it was just the two of you. “Wait for me.” 

Erryk looked at you before he stepped closer, cupping your jaw. It rooted you as he leaned to give you a chaste kiss, the warmth of his mouth searing through you. You stifled a sob when he pulled back to place another kiss to your hairline, another secret whispered against your skin. “I always have, princess.” 

Dragonstone was gray and dreary as you remembered, becoming a beacon for awful when the news came that the king was dead and that Prince Aegon II Targaryen now sat upon the throne. 

It wrenched through your mother and her hands pressed to her abdomen. The day waned with your father plotting at the very table the Conqueror laid plans, while your mother’s screams echoed throughout. You waited in the shadows, your hands pressing to protect your stomach; you prayed fervently to the gods, the old ones and the new, but they did not answer. 

A pyre was stacked for the bloody swaddle and you watched the flames swallow it, the heat licking your skin. Your mother was pale, her eyes empty as she watched the curl of smoke rise above, her morbid farewell to her child unborn. 

It was the swords unsheathed that pulled your attention, your heart pounding at the sound of his voice: “I mean no harm, brothers.” 

You swallowed your tears, watching as Erryk kneeled to the earth with his vow renewed. The setting sun gave an amber aura that reflected off the crown he pulled from his satchel, the same as King Jaehaerys’ and your grandsire after, the same that was placed on top of your mother’s head that commanded a rippled bow of respect from everyone around. 

Back inside, any unease was settled once Princess Rhaenys spoke of how he helped her escape from the Red Keep. Your mother forced a smile, her pain still haunting her features. “Your vow is to me, and to my family. You are to keep them safe, like before, like always.” 

And he nodded. 

With war burning on the horizon, its imminent threat that would swallow the Seven Realms, there was no moment spared where you could speak of the life created. You kept it cradled to your chest when you saw how war-wearied Erryk was already. His heart had been cleaved in two and one-half remained in charge of the usurper. 

It allowed a new desperation in the passion shared, a clash of teeth and tongues to taste whatever intimacy could be spared amidst the bloodshed. This ever-threat of life so fleeting is what pushed you to be bolder, which was why you were waiting for him outside the bathhouse one evening. 

You reached as he moved past you, your fingers tucking into his waistband to pull him into the shadows. Your royal apartment had a path that weaved as an escape, and tonight you used it to bring him back with you, to allow a moment to forget the inevitable that was coming. 

“Princess…” he started, but you stopped him with a kiss. 

“I missed you,” you confessed against his lips. “I need to feel you.”

Your room was basked in candlelight and you pulled him through the passageway, turning to dip your hand below his waistband, your hand pressed on his half-hard cock. It pulsed against your palm and you moved closer to place a kiss on his neck.

He sighed his pleasure and his torment. “Princess,” he tried again, but you would not let him. 

You nipped at his skin, halting his words, and he smothered a groan while your other hand pulled at his drawstrings. “Let me,” you breathed, and his skin rose in response. 

He felt heavy in your hands that wrapped around him. You stole another kiss before your chin dropped to your chest, your spit falling from your tongue and onto his cock. 

Erryk hissed as you stroked his length, watching as he jerked with another low moan. Your hand held onto his hip to lower to your knees, your other wrapping around the base and bringing his flushed cockhead against your tongue. You pressed a kiss and were rewarded with a groan that rumbled through him; your tongue trailed the side of his cock, feeling every vein and ridge, and you placed another kiss on the underside. 

His fingers combed through your hair, watching as you pulled back to watch you take him inch-by-inch, with your hand holding onto what could not fit. His hips bucked into your mouth, bruising the back of your throat, and you groaned, a heat pooling between your thighs. 

Your mouth and hand worked in tandem, working his cock until you felt it twitch with his pearly spend, his briny taste against your tongue. He shuddered, pulling back to sink to his knees, cupping your face and pulling you close for a messy kiss. 

“My turn,” he whispered, standing and pulling you to follow, his eyes lust-blown. 

You sank into the mattress and Erryk kneeled before you, an altar to be worshiped. His palm pressed to your cunt and his fingers spread your folds, allowing his tongue to run along your slit. You shivered as he pressed further, his tongue now carving into you with a well-known intimacy that made your toes curl. 

Afterwards, Erryk curled into you and your fingers ran through his still damp hair, the occasional pause to press another kiss to his scalp. “I am sworn to you,” he was quiet, his voice barely above your heart beat. “But you are so much more to me.” 

Your heart swelled in your chest. “I know,” you kissed your knight again. “I… love you too, Erryk.” 

He hummed against you, burrowing into the softness of your skin. His words replayed in your mind, giving you the courage that you needed, but your mother already called you to her chambers the next night. 

When you entered, she dismissed Ser Lorent, who locked the door behind him. Her eyes settled on you and your throat tightened. Her face was drawn, thinner, a woman shattered by all the blood spilled and plagued by the fact that more was yet to come. 

You remained standing, waiting as her eyes poured over you. She took a breath before she said, “I already know.” 

It was a relief, it was terror. Your stomach dropped and you looked to see Elinda busying herself with whatever her hands could find. Damn her. “I wished to tell you myself,” you admitted, your fists balled at your sides until your nails pierced through to the bones. 

Her eyes steeled in return, her jaw set. “Who is he?” 

Instead, you answer with, “I love him.” 

“That was not what I asked,” she snapped in a way that both you and Elinda flinched with her words that were scalding with her anger. “Your queen asked who is the father of the child that you carry.” 

But you saw her tears were threatening to spill, her face blotched with her anger. You pressed your hands to your stomach, the new habit formed over the last few weeks. “It is Ser Erryk Cargyll.” 

She closed her eyes, a fury now thrumming. “I should have fucking known…” 

“And how is it any different from what you shared with Ser Harwin?” You could not stop your tongue, her temperament reflecting. 

“You truly wish to repeat the follies of my heart, you daft girl?” She hissed, her tears spilling. “We are on the cusp of a civil war because… I allowed my heart to choose instead committing to the duty that I am bound to by my blood, the very same within your veins.” Her hand pressed to her chest, a sob caught in her throat. “And that choice is the consequence that I now suffer every day.” 

You wanted to glare, to fight back, but you saw her torment. Her tears spilling called to you and you moved to her bedside, melting into her. She fell into your arms with sobs that wracked her body. She held onto you and you remained, allowing her grief to pour over. 

Behind, you heard the other door opening. Your mother looked up from your chest, wiping her face. “Ser Erryk?” 

A cold-fire twisted into your stomach when you saw him, knowing at once that he was not the man you were in love with. The imposter knight stepped closer, unsheathing his sword. He sounded pained. “Believe me, I had no choice.” 

“Brother!”

Over his shoulder, you saw Erryk, his sword drawn and his eyes wild. “Do not do this. I beg you.” 

There was a clash of steel, of heartbreak and betrayal. Your mother screamed at Elinda, but she remained cemented to the cobblestone, stricken with her fear. She grabbed your hand to pull you from the bed, your legs buckling and your heart screaming to stay. You followed after your mother, remembering too late that the door was locked, and you looked over the room for a weapon, an escape. 

Erryk yelled when the sword cut through his thigh. 

Your fear pulled you outside of your body to see your hands resting to shield your stomach, the smell of blood rich in the night air. You prayed to the gods, a cursed habit, and again, they ignored you. 

You blinked to focus. Arryk fell first, a sword splayed through his stomach, and you looked to Erryk, your relief fleeting when you saw the dagger buried between his ribs. He looked at you, his knees buckling, collapsing to the floor with the clatter of iron. 

Your mother ran for the door, screaming for the maesters, for anyone to come and aid. You rushed to his side, your slippers slick in the blood that was pouring out on the stone, staining the pale silk of your nightgown. You lifted his head to rest on your lap, your trembling touch unsure if you could even staunch the scarlett flow. 

“I cannot do this without you,” you pleaded, your hands pressing around the hilt; his blood bubbled between your fingers. “I need you, Erryk. Our babe needs you!”

Erryk looked at you as if you were the sun itself, a dawning realization that washed over with your words. Your heart wrenched from your chest when you looked at him, a choked sob when you saw the red that stained his smile. 

His lips parted, but no words would come. Instead you watched as the blue of his eyes faded to gray with his last breath.  

You leaned over him, your tears spilling, and you pressed a kiss to his brow, your blood-stained fingers gentle to cradle the head of your devoted knight.

hotd masterlist || arcie's navi

[bumblesimagines]

When Fire Meets Fate

Part 14

Request: Yes or No

Summary: After a failed assassination attempt, (Y/N)'s thoughts become filled with reminders of his family on the opposing side.

CW/TW: Typical Got/HOTD warnings, violence, Ser Erryk's death, not-so-subtle period typical sexism, Ser Alfred and Lord Celtigar are their own warnings at this point

someone get this man a ticket to the summer isles asap

~~~

His hobbies became less enjoyable with each passing day. His eyes skimmed the words on the page, reading them, but his mind could not process them due to the turmoil within. The days of devouring books, reading hundreds or more pages were gone, halted by the war seeping through the cracks of barely contained peace.

(Y/N) thought of his niece's son, and couldn't help but wonder what his sister thought of it all. Did she despise them, despise him? Did she believe them free of guilt or had her futile hope died when the sword sliced through her grandson's throat? 

He squeezed his eyes shut at the image, unable to think of the child without thinking of his own toddlers. With the death of Jaehaerys still fresh, everyone remained on high alert for a counterattack or another enemy taking advantage of the unsteady Realm by sowing more mayhem. Many'd chosen to remain neutral, some such as House Tyrell and House Greyjoy, but neither house seemed like the type to send assassins to kill children in their beds. Lord Tyrell was a mere boy whose mother ruled as regent and the Red Kraken faced his enemies head-on. 

A quiet sigh brought his attention to Elinda as the handmaiden followed Rhaenyra to finish braiding her hair, only for his wife to walk forward again, too lost in her mind to give Elinda enough time. (Y/N) closed his book and set it aside, a trickle of amusement pouring in when he took in Elinda's twisted lips. Rhaenyra stared toward the window, her hands tightly clutched and her brows fixed into a near-permanent furrow. Worry had never been a good look on her. 

"Nyra," He spoke, snapping her out of her distant trance. "Allow Elinda to finish working."

"Ah," Rhaenyra glanced over her shoulder at the brunette before snapping her head forward sheepishly, the skin along her cheeks gaining a soft pink color. Elinda, in all her patience, simply smiled and resumed working swiftly, her fingers moving automatically from the countless times she'd helped do Rhaenyra's hair. "My apologies."

"It is quite alright, Your Grace. Please try and lay down; it has been a weary day." Elinda spoke softly, finally finishing the long braid and resting it along Rhaenyra's back. 

With a sigh of agreement, (Y/N) twisted around to tug down the pillows resting against the wooden headboard before he leaned back into them and sunk into their soft cushion. Rhaenyra joined him soon after, tucking her legs beside his underneath the covers and fluffing up the pillows with the heel of her palms. Elinda watched them solemnly as she placed empty teacups onto a tray and approached the bed with a sympathetic frown. 

"You must sleep tonight," She told them gently, "Let me ask the maester for some draught." 

Rhaenyra exhaled heavily through her nose, her body naturally curling into his side once she placed her head on his chest. "Perhaps that would be best." She murmured and draped her arm across his stomach. His fingers crept up her back until his palm settled on the curve of her hip. "Thank you, Elinda."

"Of course."

Elinda crossed the room to continue tidying up, but her work was cut short when the door opened and a familiar man stepped inside. Immediately, the couple sat up in their bed with near-bated breath at whatever news he could possibly be bringing them at such an hour. Even Elinda straightened up, the calm of her features disappearing into worry. 

When the knight remained quiet as he stepped further into the room, Rhaenyra's brows furrowed. "Ser Erryk?"

The sound of a sword unsheathing echoed coldly through the room and dread settled uncomfortably in (Y/N)'s stomach. "Believe me," he spoke through gritted teeth, "I had no choice."

"Brother!" An angered shout followed the door being thrust open by a copy of the man already standing in their bedchambers. Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk, (Y/N) quickly realized, but who was who? (Y/N)'s arm shot out in front of Rhaenyra, his body scooting forward whilst his arm pushed her behind him. Her quickened breath filled his ears and her nails dug through the thin fabric of his sleeve as she clutched at his arm. "Do not do this. I beg you."

The twin who'd entered their room, Arryk, spoke heatedly but the slight tremble in his hand when he pointed his sword at his brother spoke for his true thoughts. "You are the one who betrayed us, Erryk,"

The two knights continued facing each other, one pushing forward and the other stepping back tentatively, the hesitation in their limbs keeping them separate until Arryk suddenly lunged toward the bed with a cry and his sword raised high. Rhaenyra yelped in surprise, her hands tugging and dragging her husband along with her as she scrambled backward until the two were pressed up along the headboard but thankfully, Erryk sprang into action immediately, blocking the swing of his brother's sword. Elinda dropped the tray onto the nearest table and ducked down behind it, her widened eyes jumping frantically between the couple and the brothers. 

"Elinda, go!" Rhaenyra called to the panicked handmaiden, her voice mixing with the frequent clashing of metal against metal. "Run and find Ser Lorent!"

Hurriedly nodding, Elinda scooped fistfuls of her dress into her hands and raced toward the open door where she disappeared into the hallway. The knights took a moment apart, their chests heaving and features concentrated, but (Y/N) caught the flicker of relief on one of their faces when Elinda's footsteps became distant. Ser Erryk.

"Come," He breathed to his wife, reaching around behind him to grasp her arm and pull her as he scrambled toward the edge of the bed where Erryk stood closest. The knight glanced over his shoulder and followed their movements, using his body as a shield when Arryk swung again. 

"(Y/N)," Rhaenyra whispered shakily, pressing herself against the stone collum and wincing with each clash of swords. 

When Erryk's leg was struck, (Y/N) took her wrist and ran, the clanking of metal that followed them making his throat tighten. Rhaenyra cried out when she tripped on the ends of her nightgown, forcing (Y/N) to stop and duck down toward her as Arryk's body tumbled forward and onto a vase with a shove from Erryk. He wrapped his arms around her swiftly and cradled her whimpering form close to his chest, heavy and quick pants leaving him whilst he watched the brothers swing at each other.

"Your Grace, My Lord!" Ser Lorent appeared, rushing down the steps leading further into their bedchambers and waiting for the knights to move away before he raced forward to them. "With me!" He ordered, one arm behind them to guide them toward the other door and the other arm keeping his sword trained on the two for any sudden movements toward them.

Wiggling on the doorknob, (Y/N) cursed in frustration when it wouldn't turn, the adrenaline flowing through his veins beginning to give way to panic fueled by Rhaenyra's whimpers and watery eyes. The knights had tangled themselves together, concentrating their fight on each other but with their features and injuries, (Y/N) could no longer tell who was who. They only watched hopelessly as one began strangling the other.

"We were born together," One wheezed, voice strained from the hands clamped around his throat. (Y/N)'s hand tightened on the doorknob, finding his eyes unable to tear themselves away from the sight and words spoken. Alicent, Alicent, Alicent. His sister, his twin, the other half of his soul and body. Had she known of this? No.. not even their father would think of such a thing... would he? 

"You parted us!" The other wailed through blood and tears, his body trembling from exhaustion and grief. Aching familiarity flooded (Y/N)'s chest and filled his eyes with salty, warm tears. "But I still love you, brother."

The one pinned between the floor and the wall dug his fingers into a cut on the other's leg, prompting a pained cry as he toppled over onto the floor. He dragged himself toward a tossed-aside sword on the floor as the other did similar. They stood up, faced each other, and charged, but instead of the dreaded clanging, (Y/N) heard the horrifying noise of cloth and flesh being torn into.

They held onto each other, stumbling and staggering through sobs.. until the dead weight of one forced the other to finally step back. The remaining twin panted heavily, his tears mixing with sweat and blood whilst he stared at the corpse of his brother. 

"Your Grace, My Lord," He exhaled heavily when he faced them on unsteady feet and quivering lips. He turned his sword onto himself, shoulders slumping with exhaustion as soft sniffling left him. "Forgive me."

(Y/N) blinked. "Erryk-"

His words caught in his throat as Erryk collapsed down onto his sword, impaling his midsection and covering the floor with blood. (Y/N) turned Rhaenyra toward him instinctively, wrapping his arms around her and tucking her head into his neck. The late guards that'd stormed the room at the last second stared aghast at the bodies, both men familiar but only one had been loyal to their cause.

His eyes roamed down to the floor, meeting the blank blue eyes of Erryk. Was this how he and his twin would reunite? Forced to look upon the body of the other in the end, with no way of reversing time and doing it right? 

(Y/N) squeezed his eyes shut. When had been the last time he'd told Alicent he loved her?

"He is the basest of villains." Jace's voice held barely restrained anger in it, an emotion his son had grown so used to throughout his childhood. Always the storm, the spitfire, the one who lost his temper with mere words or looks. (Y/N) felt exhausted, too tired to deal with a son that reminded him so much of his younger self but when a hint of irritation flared in his belly, he remembered the wide-eyed, teary look on Jace's face upon seeing them alive and without injury before he'd rushed into their arms like a frightened child. "He sullies his brother's grave."

"They formed together in the womb, Jace." (Y/N) muttered, feeling the dirt escape between his fingers and onto the knights below. They said the dead often looked as if they were sleeping, but not even the Silent Sisters could hide the look of death on their faces; olive skin was now ghostly pale, and once pink lips a purplish tint. "They were born together, they died together. They were halves and now they're whole again. Leave them be." 

"We cannot fault him for keeping his oath," Rhaenyra added softly, tiredly, mimicking her husband and releasing the dirt clutched in her hands onto the bodies below. Grief had become a numbed feeling, one circling their minds but too muddled with exhaustion and muted anger to take them fully into its clutches once more. 

(Y/N) stepped away from the grave, unable to stand the sight of watching dirt slowly cover the twins any longer. He'd hardly slept, and the few moments of sleep had been filled with dreadful nightmares of what would come of him and his family. His uncle would send knights and soldiers out to help King's Landing, many among them being his blood. Gwayne came to mind specifically, his older brother with a level head on his shoulders but an eager desire to please their father.

The smallfolk and soldiers were always the first to die in conflict; it made him wonder if he'd ever see his brother again with eyes full of life.

"Father," Jace caught up with him, his curls bouncing and reminding him of Alicent in her youth when her curls had begun having some definition. He made a face and the tip of his ears turned a light red. "Apologies. My Lord." He corrected himself, eyes darting toward the knights and servants escorting them back to the safety of the castle. He was a little boy no longer but he thought himself too grown.

"What is it, Jace?" (Y/N) turned to him, studying the side of his son's face and being unable to stop himself from picking out the traits that reminded him of his family; a mesh of his mother and siblings' faces stared back at him whenever he gazed at Jace, from the curls of his hair to the slope of his nose. 

"Is it not..." Jace trailed off, the tip of his tongue swiping over his lips. "Is it not unjust to bury Ser Erryk alongside the man who attempted to kill him, who attempted to kill you and Her Grace? It's despicable what he did, what he chose to do. And... for Ser Erryk to..." 

Exhaling softly, (Y/N) looked forward. "Siblings are siblings but.. it's different with twins, Jace. You are born together, they are the first face you meet.. you are one soul, one heart, almost one body. I remember the pain of losing Corren, one of my older brothers. I can only imagine that very pain would be intensified tenfold if I were to hear of Alicent's passing."

"She is a traitor." Jace scoffed. "She placed the usurper on the throne. She wanted Princess Rhaenys to bend the knee to him. She-"

"Is still my sister." (Y/N) interrupted softly. "Just as Ser Arryk, traitor or not, was still Ser Erryk's brother. You may not understand as your brothers are too young to yet inflict any sort of betrayal... but it's complicated. There may be hate and grief and frustration but the love will linger.. the hope. You'll understand, someday." 

Jace frowned at that, jaw tightening. "I'm not a child to be coddled-"

"You will always be a child, Jace, to us." (Y/N) told him, a hint of a dry chuckle following. His gaze drifted toward the woman standing on a balcony, watching them with curious eyes. Their savior; the woman who'd alerted the guards of Ser Arryk's trickery. "You will always be the boy with round cheeks, gentle waves, and a penchant for trouble. Now, head inside and check on your brothers."

His hand grazed Jace's shoulder before he parted from his son, making his way up the cobbled steps where Lady Mysaria waited, her hands intertwined before her and the hint of a smile on her lips. Truthfully, (Y/N) had expected her to depart after giving her warning as some sort of way of evening out the field. They'd kept Daemon's promise and in return, she'd helped them. Yet, there she stood, gazing thoughtfully at him before the echoing shrill of Seasmoke brought their attention out to where the dragon flew. He'd grown restless in recent times, dancing in the sky after his flights and filling the air with his cries. 

"They are... curious creatures." Lady Mysaria spoke, seemingly captivated by Seasmoke. He hardly blamed her. He himself saw the dragons in fleeting moments, sometimes even allowing Rhaenyra to convince him to join her on a flight or two with Syrax. For the smallfolk, seeing a dragon close must've been a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Seasmoke was a beauty with his pale silver skin but frightening in his bursts of irritation. He loved Laenor as much as a dragon could, (Y/N) knew that much. "Have you ridden one?"

(Y/N) nodded. "Before the youngest arrived, yes. Rhaenyra enjoys taking to the skies and she enjoys sharing her hobbies. I would not say it's a favored pastime of mine." His words drew a quiet laugh from her. 

Footsteps filled his ears and he glanced over his shoulder, his arm immediately extending toward his wife to coil around her waist. Rhaenyra gave a quiet sigh and leaned into his side, fingertips brushing away a loose strand of silver hair. She appeared conflicted at first but she wiped the look off her face to address Lady Mysaria with a polite smile, eyes briefly flickering to the dragon in the distance. 

"We were told you turned back from your ship to bring warning." 

"I was not believed at first." Lady Mysaria stated, her head remaining forward but her eyes flickered toward them, obversing and waiting. The sea breeze ruffled back her raven locks, and she turned to look at them. "What is the life of a queen worth these days?"

"You wish to be rewarded." Rhaenyra mused, withholding a heavy sigh.

A hint of a smile graced Lady Mysaria's lips, playful in a way but not mocking. "As I would think you would wish to reward me." She said, her brows briefly lifting and voice nearly drowned out by another cry from Seasmoke. (Y/N)'s attention darted between the two, trying to focus on the woman before them, the woman he now owed his life to, and the dragon that'd once belonged to his close friend. 

"What price would you set?" Rhaenyra questioned, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her voice tight and guarded, slightly worried. Maybe even paranoid. Now were hardly the times to owe anyone anything, not with war rearing its ugly head and castles being so easily breached. His fingers danced the curve along her side, tips pressing against the rough texture of her dress to ease her nerves. She exhaled through her nose and spared him a glance, but it did little to cease the way she toyed with her fingers. 

"A place.. at your court." Lady Mysaria revealed, dark eyes watching them closely. 

"You wished to free yourself from the webs of court, and yet now wish to find yourself a place in it?" (Y/N)'s brows dipped inward, perplexed. The castle had been breached by a knight with the sole goal of slaughtering a queen and he'd nearly succeded. Anyone else would've collected their things and raced for the next ship away from the Crownslands, away from the infighting. Lady Mysaria's shoulder lifted with a half-shrug. 

"And you let me go. You showed me grace when you could have withheld it. I'm not often surprised." She said gently, a shadow briefly casting over them when Seasmoke flew in front of the sun. "I know the workings of the Red Keep and the movements of those who serve there. That is worth more than gold to you now."

Rhaenyra's lips pursed, eyes squinting when she spared Seasmoke a glance at his call. "What is our worth to you?"

"I would punish the Hightower for what they have done, to me and those who served me. But more than that, I know the struggles of the smallfolk of King's Landing. They will be ruled, either by you or by the usurper. And only one of you has shown yourself to be merciful."

"Well, I hope you do not confuse mercy with pliancy." 

Another shriek, one much closer, interrupted the beat of silence that passed over them after Rhaenyra spoke. It almost seemed purposeful, urgent. (Y/N) watched Seasmoke's distant figure twist in the sky and dip downward toward the water, skimming it briefly before rising again. His flying seemed purposeless; no hunting, no playing, seemingly no enjoyment coming from it. Was it the equivalent of pacing? Or an attempt at communication without his rider to decipher it for them? (Y/N) frowned. Could it be...

"Seasmoke, my late lord-husband's dragon. He's grown restless as of late." Rhaenyea turned away from the sight and gave another tight yet polite smile, her hand rising to touch her husband's back briefly, signaling to him their departure. "We can not know why."

"Maybe he's lonely." Lady Mysaria said, and Rhaenyra halted, eyes darting back to her before turning to her husband. 

Their departure from the balcony was quiet, with Lady Mysaria staring after them until she resumed her watch of Seasmoke. Rhaenyra stared forward whilst they walked down the hallway, her lips twitching into the beginning of a frown and brows furrowing. They had news for Rhaena but (Y/N)'s mind remained consumed with other things. Dragons and their riders were bonded, united as one in more ways than one; rumors and speculations the bond was emotional, possibly even bound by souls. Syrax had grown restless during Rhaenyra's early labor, shrieking and roaring within the caves she and the others called home. It was enough to prove there was something there, some sort of connection... one that would be severed after death. 

His lips brushed over Rhaenyra's temple, his legs leading him in the opposite direction of their bedchambers. He needed more time with his children, now more than ever. His chest constricted with the beginning of grief.

They'd gone years without hearing a word from Laenor or his lover, as they'd agreed upon to avoid rousing suspicion, but Seasmoke's restlessness, his constant shrieks and cries... the chance it was his way of mourning was high. Lives were lost so easily, fragile things capable of breaking at any time and any place. And so far from home.

Rhaenys and Corlys had mourned their children for years and felt the turmoil of not having been there for Laena during her time of need. Lady Jane Arryn would take good care of the children but it hardly shook away the worries.

Could he survive losing another child, let alone one of the youngest? Could Rhaenyra? What would come of Jace if he lost Joffery, Viserys, or Aegon? His eldest son was already brash yet withheld his impulses, but (Y/N) knew the flush of youthful anger and arrogance all too well. It was all-consuming and dangerous. 

Council meetings were wearisome. How his father managed to attend each and every one for decades was a mystery to (Y/N), a mystery he thought about as he sat in his seat and listened to the droning of the other lords. In a fleeting desire, he desperately hoped once the waters calmed, he'd be able to do as other consorts did and stay far from the Small Council and its squabbling men.

"Still no sightings," Rhaenys announced as she strode into the room, peeling her gloves off as she approached her seat beside him. It'd been early afternoon when they'd heard of an army leaving the gates of King's Landing, its destination unknown and unclear thus far. "No men, no horses, no ships... no dragons." She gave a quiet sigh, tossing her gloves upon the table and sitting down. 

"Good. Then we must seize the hour and act before our enemy does. They have penetrated our castle walls and now the Riverlands are aflame after the Battle at the Burning Mill." Ser Alfred spoke, turning his attention onto Maester Gerardys expectantly. "How fares Prince Daemon with our army?"

Maester Gerardys grimaced. "There has been no word from Prince Daemon, Your Grace."

"Then we must press what advantage we do have."

"And what's that?" Lord Staunton questioned from beside Ser Alfred, eyeing him with a level of uncertainty (Y/N) could not fault him for.

"Dragons." Gods. "Send all of them out. Start turning Green strongholds to our cause and burn those who resist."

"No," Rhaenyra spoke up with a dismissive shake of her head, her fingers tightly wound together and lips slightly pursed. "If dragons begin fighting dragons, we invite our own destruction. Fear of it is in itself a weapon. The Greens will make the same calculation." 

Ser Alfred's dry laughter followed, mocking as if he were faced with a child rather than his ruler. "The value of a sword is not within its scabbard." 

"We will secure victory with armies, not with dragons alone. The Greens understand that." Rhaenyra swallowed, her jaw tight from Ser Alfred's attitude and chest falling with a deep exhale. "The Vale and the North will send men. We must give Daemon time."

"Your Grace," Lord Gormon Massey spoke next, shifting in his chair and leaning back into it as he looked toward her with a small sniffle. "You have witnessed firsthand just how vulnerable you are. Prince Daemon is abroad, Lord (Y/N) is more skilled with words than with swords, and Aegon's factions are enraged at the death of his son. You have never been so exposed!"

"Perhaps it is time for you to think about secreting yourself somewhere safe while we remain here as a source of distraction for the enemy." Lord Celtigar proposed, and (Y/N) couldn't help the laugh that tumbled free from his lips. The lords turned their attention swiftly onto him, brows furrowed at his amusement but (Y/N) simply arched a brow, eyes flickering between them all.

"You expect Her Grace to turn and cower away whilst you do what exactly? Appoint a regent in her stead? Play pretend as children do so that you may indulge in fantasies? Age has truly emboldened too many of you, made your tongues loose and brains hazy, it seems. You act as if you are speaking to your daughter, your sister, or wife. You speak too freely in the presence of the Queen." (Y/N) inhaled heavily and leaned forward, resting his elbows upon the table and studying them each. His tone remained icy, cold and distant whilst he addressed them to further watch them shift uncomfortably in their seats. "What do you think Her Grace's enemies would do if they caught wind of her.. 'secreting herself somewhere safe'? They would call her a coward, and what House would wish to follow a coward?" 

"My Lord, t-that is not what-"

"And what would you do, Ser Alfred, if we were to send all our dragons away to fight and left Dragonstone vulnerable? The riderless dragons may be prompted to attack, sure, but without riders, they have no loyalty. Dragonstone's inhabitants would be left to face the same fate as Harren the Black or the Harroways of Harrenhal." (Y/N) raised his brows at the man, turning away when he parted his mouth to speak and leaving him to clamp it shut.

"You sit here and act like children who've been gifted their very first sword whilst simultaneously disregarding the very reason we have dragons at our disposal. The rulers of the Targaryen Dynasty may have been men thus far but we have seen women rule before, or have you all forgotten of Dorne? It was Princess Meria Martell who led her people against the conquest and won. Perhaps, instead of opening your mouths, you should open a history book."

(Y/N) scoffed softly and stood from his seat, prompting the rest of the men to stand as well with their heads bowed. "Oh, and Lord Massey," (Y/N) watched the man swallow before he lifted his head to look at him. "Nearly all of my brothers are knights. I was taught how to fight in my youth. That I choose words is not a flaw, for someone else may have chosen to cut your tongue if they felt slighted." He turned away, moving to stand beside Rhaenyra as she too rose from her seat. 

Coiling her arm around his, Rhaenyra gave him a fleeting smile before looking over her council. "Let us not speak or entertain such an idea again. It'd be inconvenient amid a war to have to charge someone for treason, wouldn't it? If there is nothing else of value to inform us of, we shall take our leave."

[vanilleandclove]

rings of fire | prologue

ser erryk cargyll x targaryen! reader | prologue: the realm's craving

In honor of Queen Aemma's labors beginning, King Viserys the First and his two twin daughters, Rhaenyra and Y/n, host and sponsor an heir's tournament. The Realm's Delight was a title owned to Rhaenyra, rider of Syrax and the King's cup bearer, the older twin. Though Y/n wore the title: The Realm's Craving, rider of Nymeria and wielder of Blackfyre; Y/n made her reputation known for being the princess whom was outspoken and untouchable, wielding the conqueror's blade just after Jaehaerys.

word count: 2.4k | warnings: reader is described to have pale white hair and to look like visenya (plus largely endowed in the chest…), graphic descriptions of violence, y/n is otto's biggest opp, viserys you fool, slight misogyny. | author's note: welcome back! i fear i will not get over elliott tittensor as ser erryk, i hope you enjoy this series and it will be much longer! also, i took the liberties to spice up the reader. - i will update the meadow in which you lay soon!

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"Since the dawn of our birth, father has exceedingly taken an interest in marrying us both off to a Valyrian house dear sister" you teased to your sister just before you saddled onto your dragon mounts, "And solemnly for us, Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys have only one male child".

Nymeria was a pale purple dragon, reminiscent of your eyes that passed down through generations of Targaryen lineages, your sister's eyes were painted blue, just as your mother's and father's. The townsfolk all spoke of your appearance in great detail in the days they ever saw you. "The favorable yet quieter and fiercer twin", "The twin with more Targaryen than Arryn in her", "The Princess with the mounds of Valryia", "The actual Dark Sister", and your personal favorite, "*King Maegor as a consort".

"I love our father dearly but I do not wish to be married off… especially to someone of father's tastes" Rhaenyra spoke as she pet Syrax, earning a light coo from the dragon. Nymeria was larger than Syrax though smaller than Vhagar due to age, the Dragonkeepers all spoke of Nymeria being the dragonseed of Meraxes or Vhagar.

As your sister and yourself took off on riding into the skies of King's Landing, jesting one another into a race. Nymeria outshined Syrax though both dragons were quite fond of one another, sisters though did not share an eggs hatch. If Rhaenyra were to be the daughter of Westeros, you were the daughter of the dragons. Though your father was staunchly disagreed with your attitude and the lack of conformity both you and your sister paraded, he wished you both to be near silent and seen sisters, rather than heard.

The clouds felt soft against your skin, your hair braided strategically and your dress flowing in the wind, the fabric straining against your body leaving little to the imagination of what you were gifted with when you came of age. Your father always ordered your clothes to be modest, fearing the great houses and his council were to mistake you for a whore he would say, though you defied him endlessly, giving the king no ounce of rest. The high-born folk and townsfolk were the same when it came to you and commenting on your bodice, horny men clutched to their belts in restraint and shifted in their seats or stance whenever you were present in court, jealous women who were displeased by your body as their husband's had lack the respect for their wife, it was not your problem you told yourself. It was nature's design to be given a body like yours, your mother tiredly reassured you, being of Targaryen and Arryn lineage, your body was evidence of years of warriors. Though, she refrained from calling you what everyone else did, "Visenya's twin".

You did not see being compared to Visenya as an insult, though not your direct ancestor, Visenya was still a beautiful woman- who's beauty matched her brain. She is the reason your father has a Kingsguard by his side, the reason Daemon now has Dark Sister, the reason for your own beauty. You wore it as a badge of honor rather than a distasteful insult, often wondering if Daemon did not stain and smear your family name with his unfiltered temper that aged well before you and Rhaenyra were birthed, if you were to be named Visenya as well. Daemon's temper was compared to that of Maegor and his mother's, when you came of age of six-and-ten with Rhaenyra, your father once joked, "Now we must wait and see whom Visenya will be, and whom will be Maegor". His eyes landed on you at the instance of saying Maegor's name; you remember viscerally crying in your chambers that night, questioning if your father saw you as a nuisance of the family. Twins only meant that one child was not planned, and Rhaenyra was the older twin.

They used to speak of Aegon's feats as a soldier and warrior, though never of him being a husband or a father. Rumors and tales were spoken of Targaryen men, they are either fierce knights, or wonderful fathers. You'd wager your father was neither, but only under your breath you'd say such a thing. They would also speak of Aegon's love for his wives, for every one night he'd spend with Visenya, he'd spend ten with Rhaenys. They'd also speak of Visenya's unfaltering fidelity to Aegon, but how there were whispers at court that Rhaenys took younger men to her bed on the nights Aegon would be with Visenya. You almost felt pity for the woman, her son abused and neglected whilst her sister's sired kin were cherished and respected. Underneath it all, Visenya was still an amazing queen and consort, even with the wicked feats of Maegor, that was still her baby, even so as she waged the revenge of her younger sister's death. Though you were technically younger than Rhaenyra, you were her Visenya.

"We should see ourselves back, to check on mother" you spoke up to your sister, shouted as she was a distance away from you. She nodded at your advisement, both of you delving down into the ground, racing once again. Upon reaching the ground, met with Ser Harold and the dragonkeepers, along with a carriage that revealed Alicent. You were never too fond of Alicent, though she was your sister's dear friend and lady-in-waiting, your fondness resided in Laena, forming an inseparable bond as she rode Vhagar and you rode seemingly, Vhagar's closest kin.

"I am taking you are here for the tourney our fathers are planning Alicent?" you questioned as you removed your gloves and slid off Nymeria's mount, petting your dragon once more before touching her with your forehead in order to bid farewell as she was taken by the dragonkeepers. Walking up to the Lady before looking back to see your sister dismounting from Syrax. Alicent only nodded at your question, you could barely earn a few words from Alicent, often wondering if it was because you were the second daughter to the king, yet still a higher-born daughter than any great house of Westeros. Or if it was due to the desire her brother held for you, though you always shut down his advances, it was insult to you that he felt the privilege to speak to you, the eldest son of the second son to a noble but not great house. You'd never soil your family's name and heritage to wed a Hightower, it was not your taste.

As you walked off, Rhaenyra and Alicent engaged in conversation, you mounted yourself on a horse before looking at Ser Ryam, you were fond of him though, wildly attracted to his newly appointed kingsguard, the Cargyll twins. Tall lads they were, only two-name days older than you and your sister, their hairs match each other's short and disheveled but strategically disheveled, almost as if they both wanted to appear more desirable. Though your desire for the new brothers did not blind you of the health of Ser Ryam, noticing his energy and will to live deplete as the days pass.

"Will you follow me to the castle Ser Ryam? You look awfully tired" you asked, earning a nod from the knight, before he was named Lord Commander once again, your father had him as your sworn shield for several years. As you rode back to the Red Keep, taking sparing glances back at Ser Ryam, just as you wondered into the woods just before reaching the Keep, slowing down in order to conversate with Ser Ryam.

"Anything on your mind dear princess?" Ser Ryam questioned, his horse taking small gallops.

"Do you believe me to be inept?" you asked for his opinion, "I am taunted with the fact that I am in the body of a woman, yet I decline every Lord's hand, including the handsome Stark boys, though the only man to ever catch my intrigue…" you nearly spoke too much yet too little.

"Is bound to another?" Ser Ryam questioned in confusion. You looked up at the sky in defeat, sighing before shaking your head, chuckling in the depravity of your mind.

"Bound to oaths" you then broke the pregnant silence, "Ser Erryk makes a fine knight, does he? Seeing that he and his brother were sworn in just under a year of training. He is quite the handsome man the townsfolk yelp about" you bit your lip, allowing yourself to vent to the knight.

"He may not take a wife I am afraid, my princess" Ser Ryam begun, only earning a somber look from your face, "I too loved a woman before being knighted, she had gone off to marry one of the Tully lads due to my oath. I see her once every blue moon, my love never faltered or betrayed me. I do not blame her for going off to marry, she deserved to be loved in more ways than words, stolen kisses, and nights".

"Do all members of the Kingsguard follow the vow of chastity?" you questioned further.

"We do. Granted I was not in a sticky situation being that of equal ranking to the maiden, though her honor was one I did not want to take lightly. I do pity her husband, it should have been him to be the one to take her maidenhead, not a kingsguard besmirching both her's and I's honor. Our vows are sworn under the seven, as every woman is a picture of the mother, no matter how much we wish it to be individual" Ser Ryam answered honestly, "I am to guard your secrets as well my Princess, any words spoken in this moment are under the eyes of you and me. Though I do advise you, being unmarried puts you at odds if you fall pregnant".

You laughed at the knight's comment, "It is only a crush I am afraid; I am too socially inept to talk to him more than the simply escorts to and from my chambers in the morning and eve".

As you and Rhaenyra walked into the chambers of your mother, being met with kisses on your forehead. You quickly made way to apply warm towels to your mothers' legs as they were swollen, kissing your mother's forehead before moving her hair out of her face as the sweat led it cling onto her skin. You did not envy your mother though she was carrying the burden and joy of life in her. It was you and Rhaenyra who held royal wombs, as your mother would say.

"I will be in the council mother; I will see you in the eve" you told her before dismissing yourself. You never could stomach seeing your mother in agony, Rhaenyra knew it, your mother and father knew it.

As you were met with the knight of your dreams, you smiled carelessly, "May you escort me to the council room, Ser Erryk? I find myself craving conversation to someone who isn't completely eager to marry me off". The knight offered his forearm for you to hold, escorting you to the council room across the Keep and floors down.

"Are you enjoying the preparations for the tourney Princess?" Ser Erryk asked you, both of you never were sure of what to talk about.

"I do wish I were involved in combat I must say, I envy you men for being able to succumb yourselves to violence for a day" you jested, earning a soft smile from the knight, "Are you and Arryk participating? Perhaps I can bless you both with my favor or offer you to hold Blackfyre".

Erryk was stunned greatly of your offer, Blackfyre was a noble sword, the Conqueror's no less, "You honor me more than I deserve princess, though yes, Aryk and I are participating, hopefully we do wish to not have to face your uncle, the prince".

You scoffed silently, smirking at the knight, "Which is why I offered Blackfyre" you instigated the knight as you made your way through the halls. "Daemon wields Dark Sister and I envy him for it, it is an easier fit for a woman's hand. Though, Blackfyre was sworn to me instead of my father by Jaehaerys himself".

Once you made the way to the council room you dismissed Erryk before stating once again, "If you wish to take upon my offer, you can meet me in my chambers tonight" the bold words flowed out of your tongue as if it were familiar to you.

The knight nodded, hand finding purchase on the small of your back as you stepped onto the stairs that led into the council room. You bit your lip once again, holding his eyes for a bit too long before Ser Rickard Thorne took notice, clearing his throat in the process. As you straightened your back and bid him a farewell in a glance, moving your body to enter the council room. Noting the heat that electrified between you and the loyal knight. Only choosing to distract yourself with the bland conversations held at your father's table before Rhaenyra made her way into the council room, only then you found yourself amused once again. Tomorrow will be the heir's tournament, a babe outshining you and Rhaenyra, though you hoped to the god's that tonight, the knight of your dreams finds himself taking your offer.

taglist: @wolvestitches

[kataraavatara]

there is something SO PERSONAL to me about alicent telling dyana no one would believe her and yet the first person dyana told being a defector to rhaenyra’s side because he sees what aegon is and is disgusted by it. “oh oh but the tragedy was supposed to be twins on opposite sides with no choice, they missed the theme by giving Erryk Steffon Darklyn’s storyline” i! don’t! care! i don’t care, i do not careeeee. show erryk’s storyline and characterization is important to ME.

[lunasglow]

Now this is an Arthurian knight if I’ve ever saw one…

[aphrmoosun]

Ser Erryk & Ser Arryk

House of the Dragon (2022-2024-)

[lilycatttt]

He really meant that yall

[dailyfanficsx]

Infatuation: Arryk Cargyll x Reader

Summary: Arryk is infatuated with his highborn lady friend. He becomes overprotective and a just a bit obsessive.

(authors note: this will probably be a series. i'm writing arryk as lord commander of a land in westeros that doesn't exist in real life. he's ranked pretty high. this is just where my imagination took me. not being able to take a wife as a lord commander doesn't matter much in this story. reader is described as a darker skinned small framed woman, but imagine her as you wish!)

Arryk's POV

It seemed that every time you came to court my brother would make a habit of teasing me. He always knew it would rile me up, and today was no different. I couldn't help but look at you the second you walked in. You was a petite and curvy woman. With grace and beauty. Women like you were my weakness. I felt my eyes drift from your head all the way down to your dagger attached to your thigh, my eyes nearly going wide. I quickly turned to look at my brother giving him a cold glare.

I turned my attention back to you, my eyes lingering a little longer on you as my gaze moved up from your thigh to your small waist and up to your shoulder, my eyes taking in the long curls and the dress that gave me a nice view of your shoulders and chest. I shifted in my seat and crossed my legs tightly, trying to hide the effect you were having on me.

"You have a habit of bringing weapons into court, Lady Y/N" I said, my voice low and rough. "It's only for my protection lord commander" You say sweetly

I chuckled, leaning forward slightly in my seat. "It seems you don't trust the guards of the Lord Commander to protect you then?" I said, my tone playful as I jest.

My eyes drank in your curves and the tight dress you were wearing and my thoughts turned from playful to something much more carnal. I had to shift in my seat again, my eyes flickering to my guards before returning to you.

"They protect you, not me" I hear you say. I chuckled again. "True enough" I reply, my eyes still on you.

"Are you planning on going riding again today?" I ask, knowing that you often left the castle to go riding in the early evening.

You furrow your brows. Your face making a cute confused expression. I smirk, realizing that my question caught you off guard. "My guards report everything everyone does around here" I say, my smirk growing.

My eyes drop back down to your thighs, my thoughts once again straying to places they shouldn't. I clear my throat, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Be careful when riding" I say, my tone a little rough. "The woods are dangerous at night"

I watch as you nod your head, a sense of satisfaction coursing through me as I realize that you’re listening to me.

"You should take someone with you" I say, my voice firm. "A guard, a knight, anyone" I couldn't stomach the thought of you roaming the woods alone. The thought of anything happening to you was too much to bear. I shift in my seat once again, my eyes not leaving you.

"I will be fine it is not dark yet" You say softly. I scoff, a scowl forming on my face at your stubbornness. "It will not stay light for long" I say, my tone harsher than I intended. I quickly soften my tone, not wanting to scare you.

"Please" I say, my voice quieter and more earnest. "Take someone with you, just in case" I nod to one of my guards, silently instructing them to accompany you on your ride. They nod back, understanding my unspoken command.

I turn my gaze back to you, a small sense of relief washing over me knowing that you would have some sort of protection, but the thought of you being alone, even with a guard, was still unsettling. I still worried.

"Be safe" I say, my voice gruff but earnest. I watch as you nod, your soft voice reassuring. I wanted to say more, to tell you to stay here where it's safe, but I knew you wouldn't listen to me. I knew from past encounters that you were stubborn, and once you had your mind set on something you were unlikely to change it.

"You will be back before it gets dark?" I ask, my tone sharper than intended. I knew the question sounded more like an order, but I couldn't help it. You nod and leave. Erryk smirks as he looks upon me. "You are rather smitten" he says. I scoff at my brother's words. "I am not 'smitten'" I say, my tone defensive.

I knew my brother was right. I had been drawn to you from the moment I saw you. But I didn't want to admit it, especially not to my brother who would never let me hear the end of it.

"I am simply concerned for her safety" I say, but even I don't believe my own words. My brother laughs, seeing through my attempts to deny my feelings.

"Concerned, eh?" He says, his tone teasing. "Is that why you've been watching her like a hawk since she walked in? Or why you practically growled at her when she said she was going riding alone?"

I scowl, knowing he was right. But I refused to admit it. My brother grins, enjoying seeing me flounder. He knew me better than anyone, and knew exactly how to push my buttons.

"And your whole possessive act about wanting her to take a guard with her?" He continued. "That was just caring too, I presume?"I grumble under my breath as I walk away from my brother, frustrated by his teasing.

Damn him, he knows me too well. I think to myself.

————————————————————————

Hours pass and as I walk down the halls I see you walking back into the castle, guards on either side. I feel a pang of relief upon seeing that you are safe, but that soon turns to annoyance when I see the guards. They should have gotten you back sooner.

I walk over to you, my jaw clenched and my eyes narrowing as I regard the guards.

"You're back late" I say, my voice gruff. I see the guards looking nervous under my icy glare, clearly realizing they did something wrong. I turn my gaze back to you, my eyes roaming over your frame to make sure you are unharmed.

"You should have been back sooner" I say again, my tone rougher this time. "It was a nice night" you respond innocently.

I scoff, my eyes narrowing. "And the guards let you stay out longer because it was 'a nice night?'" I ask, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

I take a step closer to you, my eyes not leaving your face. I tower over you, my broad frame overshadowing you. I feel myself soften as your gaze meets mine, your eyes big and innocent as you simply nod at my sarcasm. It takes everything in me not to reach out and touch your curls, or caress your flushed cheeks. But I keep my hands clenched at my sides.

"You shouldn't have been out so long" I say again, my voice a little softer this time. "It's dangerous out there, especially at night."

"Yes, lord commander" You says softly in your sweet voice. I huff at your answer, my heart fluttering as you say 'Lord Commander'.

I want to say more, to lecture you on being more careful and not staying out late. But I hold my tongue, the sight of you looking so innocent making it hard to be angry.

Instead, I just look down at you, my eyes roaming over your face and hair. Damn, you looked so pretty standing there. "May I go bathe now, I am a bit of a mess” you ask softly with a hint of amusement. I nod and watch you leave. I turn my attention back to the guards who were looking sheepish. I stride over to them, my face set in a scowl.

"I told you to make sure Lady Y/N was back before dark" I say, my voice like ice. "What were you thinking, letting her stay out late?"The guards look at me, their faces pale and expression nervous. They knew they had messed up by letting you stay out past sunset.

"We... um.. we didn't realize how late it was, Lord commander" one of them stutters out. I scoff, rolling my eyes. "You didn't realize how late it was? You were with her the entire time and you didn't think to keep track of the time?"

I take a step closer to them, towering over them. "Do you know what could have happened to her out there by herself?" The guards look down at the ground, shame and guilt written all over their faces. They knew they had screwed up majorly.

"We're sorry, Lord Commander. It won't happen again" one of them says meekly. I scoff, not buying their apologies. "Damn right it won't happen again" I say, my gaze shifting between them.

"You're both lucky she came back unharmed. If anything had happened to her, I would have had your heads" I growl, my eyes narrowing. The guards both nod vigorously, looking terrified. They knew I wasn't bluffing.

"You're both dismissed for the night" I say, my tone firm. "I don't want to see either of you anywhere near Lady Y/N for the rest of the night. Do you understand?" The guards nod again, looking relieved to be dismissed. They both murmur apologies and farewells before quickly scurrying out of the room.

I turn my attention back to you as you head down towards your room, my irritation with the guards slowly fading as I watch you walk away. I sigh and head the opposite way down the hall to my study. I enter my study, the familiar scent of parchment and ink filling the air. I take a seat behind my desk, the moonlight streaming in through the windows.

I pull a scroll towards me, unfolding it and scanning through its contents. Another letter from a lord, a request for aid and supplies. “Damn politicians”. I mutter to myself. I sigh and bring a tankard of ale to my lips and take a swig, the alcohol warming my throat. I turn my gaze to the window, looking out at the mountains in the distance.

The castle looked so different at night. The walls seemed to tower even higher in the darkness and the shadows cast by the moonlight made the surroundings look mysterious and menacing. I take another swig of ale, my mind wandering. I found myself thinking about you. How you were probably in your bath at this very moment. The thought of you, alone and vulnerable in your bath, was both arousing and infuriating.

I couldn't help but wonder what you looked like beneath the bubbles, what your body looked like dripping with water... I shake the thoughts away, trying to focus on my work. “Damn it, I have to stop thinking about her like this” I mutter to myself.

As the hours passed and the tankards of ale kept coming, I felt my thoughts becoming fuzzy. My hands moved more clumsily and my vision began to blur.

Maybe I've had a bit too much... I thought to myself, knowing that I'd end up with a headache come morning. But I didn't care, the ale was making me feel warm and tingly.

I took out my quill and some parchment, a reckless idea forming in my ale-soaked brain. I began to write, my handwriting less neat than usual. I let the words flow from my mind to the page, the ale loosening my inhibitions. I wrote about your brown eyes, your soft curls and your full lips. I wrote about how I wanted to run my fingers through your hair and kiss you under the light of a thousand candles. It was a completely reckless and stupid thing to do, but the ale was making me careless and the need to express my feelings was overwhelming. I place the quill down and read.

“With her brown eyes that shine like liquid gold

And hair that falls in midnight waves to frame her face

Her skin, a toffee shade of honeyed cream

And soft and plush pink lips that draw me in

I am in torment, my feelings in turmoil

For every part of her, I wish to claim as mine

I imagine her long curls spread across her pillow

And the sight of her, bathed in candlelight

Her body, full and round in all the right places

I want to run my fingers through her hair

And explore every inch of her with my hands

And kiss her neck, and her décolletage, and her shoulders...

Her voice, so soft and so sweet, whispers my name

Her touch, so warm and so gentle, sends shivers down my spine

I yearn to be close to her, to hold her in my arms

And tell her, of all the feelings that she ignites within me

But I fear that my feelings are too deep, too strong

And that I am powerless against this storm of desire”

I finish writing the poem, my eyes bleary and my hand shaking slightly from the ale. I reread the words I've written, feeling both satisfied and vulnerable.

What am I doing? Am I seriously writing love poems for her now? I think to myself, realizing how sappy and sentimental I've become.

But the ale had loosened my tongue and I couldn't help myself. I fold the paper and place it away in my safe, vowing to burn it in the morning when I was sober.....

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

By fire and heart. Pt. 9

Daemma Targaryen. Second daughter of King Viserys and queen Aemma, you're the living portrait of your mother with the character of a true dragon, as a second daughter you don't have right to the throne but certainly, you will protect your sister's succession by heart.

Warning ⚠️: Credits of this images goes to whoever they belong to, in this case the TikTok user ccarmyy! Grammatical and spelling errors, maybe this won't be good enough but In my head the story was a good one.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

As soon as you were sure everybody was sleeping safely you went directly to your sister, you wouldn't talk about whispers and visions, just wanted to be sure your suspicions were right.

- Where's Daemon?

She's half asleep, not understanding why you are there in the middle of the night.

- I don't know, why? What's going on?

- He left without saying anything and you're not curious about it? Rhaenyra...

You walk to her bed and take her by the shoulders

-... He's unpredictable, you should be worried about it, whatever he's doing, it's not good, trust me.

Of course she sends you back to sleep, telling you Daemon will come back any time soon as if that could make you chill.

You don't know yet, but, those whispers, have been guiding you and you're slowly understanding them.

Aegon was insane, anger filled the room as soon as he heard the news about his son and the tragedy Helaena saw with her own eyes, the poor young mother was in grief, for sure, Aegon declared the war after this horrendous and bitter moment.

He said Rhaenyra was behind the crime, blaming her blindly, discussing with the small council, yelling at everyone in the room, the hand of the king adding more bugs in the king's head.

With the sunrise there was not only Sunshine but also the news of what happened, and suddenly your sister was not the realms delight, she was named as Rhaenyra the cruel, and you, her loyal sister, now named as Daemma the warrior, the master of lies, because yes, Aemond understood you fooled him to escape.

So basically, now everybody thinks you were in green territory, sent by your sister to kill the boy. So far from the truth.

The funeral of the little prince was terrible, the poor boy's body crossed the city as a dead dog, everybody saw it, his mother and grandmother were forced to share their grief with the rest of the world. Some people believed in those lies, some others found the act as something unnecessary and kept loyal to you and your sister, after all, your little actions of the past were still a reminder of your good heart and intentions.

While you and your sister are listening to this news, your mind can't stop saying it is Daemon's fault. You're looking at him, he looks different, hiding all of it behind a chill facial expression, while the rest of the council declare no one will try to support you, you can't resist it anymore.

- My sister, will not be blamed to murder a young boy, she's in grief! None of us would cause this pain to Helaena, she is innocent as much as her children!

- Tell them, send a message to the houses, we're not the monsters of that horrible crime!

You haven't noticed how long you've been watching with dead eyes to your uncle until your sister, looks at you and then follows the same direction where you're looking at, Daemon.

But Daemon is not the only one in trouble, you're there, sitting at your uncle's side while your sister demands answers about your own actions, and argues with her husband.

She's right, you and Daemon actions made her right to claim the throne weaker than before.

«Daemma is right, I can't fully trust you! At least she admitted her mistake but you! You're pathetic.»

Watching the discussion between them makes you feel like a little girl in the middle of parents arguing. You want to disappear, silently you stand up and start to give baby steps to the door, when Rhaenyra ask one last thing to you and your uncle.

- Do you guys accept me as your queen?

You instantly answer a firm 'Yes' but sadly, Daemon takes his time to respond, by this moment you quickly leave the room.

Daemon flies to Harrenhal, Baela goes somewhere else, everybody has their own trip, except for you, somehow your sister wasn't upset with you, she actually made you walk with her at any place, you became her shadow, she didn't want to trust nobody else, so now its you and Sir Erryk following and serving the queen.

You and him have talked, now you know why he's here, now he knows why you went to the capital, both conclude, the only purpose you and him have is to protect Rhaenyra.

- I can protect the queen from the enemies, but you, my princess, only you can protect her from herself, your advice makes her observe different angles and perspectives.

He's a gentleman, a good man and a noble soldier, charming too, the way he looks at you sends shivers to your spine.

Call it tension, desire or attraction or whatever you want but you can't resist him and the new friendship you developed.

You're in your chambers preparing you for a bath when Erryk, knocks on your door, bringing a message.

«The messenger told me, only you must read this, my princess»

It was Aegon's hand lettering, asking you to fly to a small isle you showed him when both were younger. The memory of Aegon's lips and all the sensations he caused you that night brings excitement and also, fear, would you resist him for a second time? Would it be safe or would it be smart to make the little trip?.

You couldn't kill your curiosity, you rode on whitefyre, the trip helped you to find some peace, you even had fun.

As soon as you saw the small Isle You also could see Aegon's dragon, the golden beast already had you on its point of view, the sand of the isle is white and soft, there are some trees and the wind smells to the sea.

Aegon appears behind his dragon, those eyes full of tears and anger, you admit, those loser eyes are charming somehow.

-Aeg...

- Is it true?

You're confused, clearly you don't know what to answer because you're not sure about his question.

- Rhaenyra didn't plan it... She wouldn't dare to do such a horrible thing.

- I'm not talking about that, I'm talking about your visit to Aemond's chambers. Is that true?

Now you're feeling your body tensing even more than before. His anger disappears but then, tears are running through his face.

- I... Yes, I did.

- Why him and not me? You said we were good together. Is it because you felt you would betray your sister?

- What? What are you talking about, Aegon, my sweet boy...

- Stop that! Stop acting fool, you know what I'm talking about Daemma! You fucked him!

He walks to you, taking you by your shoulders, you're not angry with him, you're angry with Aemond but at the same time your brain is analyzing the situation how to take advantage of it.

- I didn't.

- STOP LYING!

- I'm not lying! Don't you understand Aegon?

Pushing him to create distance and release yourself now he looks at you cautiously while you let some tears fall from your eyes of course is a trick to try to soften him.

- He's lying, you're surrounded by liars! My father never wanted you as his successor, it was your mother and grandfather's plan! That ungrateful Criston Cole is worse than your whole family, And your brother...

He doesn't believe in your tears anymore, this makes your anger increase.

- No, she said...

- What? That my father, who was dying and losing his mind, at the least second before giving his last breath decided to change his decision, don't be a fool Aegon... Open your fuckin' eyes! He never loved any other of his children but Rhaenyra, not even me! You never crossed his mind as his successor, it was always and only her.

There's a bitter taste in your mouth, the truth has a horrible taste. Aegon observes your face, you can't hide this truth hurts you, this realization has been living deep in your guts, twisted them and yet, you're not a rebel, you're loyal because you love your family even if they never showed you the same devotion or affection.

Another realization appears in both, two fortunate people who were born in a cradle of gold, but also cursed by a bloodline, too angry, so unhappy and lonely.

Aegon and that loser face, it makes you weak, see him like that makes you weak, you don't understand why or how, perhaps he wakes up your maternal instincts or you somehow see yourself in him, no one ever really noticed you, except for him and now Cregan, but Aegon was there first, you can still remember that little boy hiding in your room, trying to pronounce your name, following you around everywhere you went he was there.

While in Aegon's mind, he remembers the first time he felt affection, your hugs, the kisses over his forehead, your soft hands cleaning every tear, caressing his hair. you were deep inside him, it didn't matter if those moments were real or lies, your claws were deep inside his heart, he couldn't hate you.

From one moment to another, both are kissing eagerly, melting in desire, unzipping your dress, unbuttoning his pants, untying clothes, the thoughts of how wrong it was, were vanished as soon as you felt his lips over your body, his desperate breathing, whispering your name, his hands and fingers touching and squeezing the right spots.

Your mouth takes all you can, you would have a sore throat later for sure, but who cares? The excitement, adrenaline and all kinds of emotions mixed with your desire and passion, your hips the movement, your sweet voice moaning his name, the smell of him, the essence of his curls on your nose, is intoxicating.

The sun is hiding, the sky is getting dark, you're dressing again while he braids your hair, he always loved to do it. No one had said a word, you know this was something that never should have happened, Aegon feels happy, for a second he forgets what is actually happening around him, his mind is blurry until you stand up abruptly, calling your dragon.

- Daemma wait, Where are you going?

- Home.

- What? You're kidding, right?

Unbelievable, you think. Is he talking seriously? What was he expecting, it was just a moment of weakness now it ended and both need to go back to reality.

- Why would I be kidding? We're at the edge of war, remember? I can't stay here with you.

- Why not? Forget about that. Let's fly away from here, Let's start together somewhere else.

He's sitting in the sand, not worried at all, maybe his mind is still blurry and in the clouds, but yours already landed on earth again.

- Gods, please have mercy on me...

You whisper before Walking and kneeling in front of him, your hands holding his face.

- This is not a game, Aegon, your ambitious family started this, now mine has to fight and win to claim what is legitimate ours.

He rolls his eyes, exasperated, takes your forearms and both stand up.

- Why do you care about this so much? It is not your business, Daemma, what will you win with all this, huh?

- Nothing (releasing yourself from him and stepping back) I will not obtain anything as always! But I made a promise to my family... All I have in this life is my name and my word, and this one, I will not break it just for you! I refuse to escape from my duty like a bloody coward.

There it was, that loser's facial expression again, he was angry and hurt, there's no point in trying to play the sweet sister character anymore, you don't need to pretend, with the war knocking on your door you don't need to act like you're on his side because it's clear where your loyalty resides and who you will support.

He doesn't try to stop you, he simply walks behind.

- You're playing with fire, sister. Be careful or all the love and devotion I have for you will turn into hate and I will not have mercy, you don't know what I'm capable of.

Stopping, turning back and walking to where he is, you stay as close as you can, your nose almost touching his.

- No, you listen to me, I'm not afraid of you Aegon, you're the one who has to be careful. I might be playing with fire, but you and your poisonous and treacherous family are playing with real dragons, real Targaryen. We'll not give up so easily.

He smiles mockingly while you walk back to your dragon. Landing at Dragonstone was like you expected, a guard sent you to your queen's chambers, Rhaenyra wanted and demanded to know where the hell you were.

Meanwhile, at the other side of the kingdom, Aegon is back, answering for his own actions, Otto Hightower in his anger finally spills the beans, and just as you confessed to him before, Otto told him, Viserys never wanted Aegon as successor, it was all planned by some men who thought they were doing what it was best for the realm. Of course after this, Otto, once again loses his place as the king's hand.

Right back with you in Dragonstone. Your sister was there already, changing her clothes and fixing her hair, apparently she previously had a small meeting with lady Mysaria and Ser Erryk, so you were waiting, observing around, reading what was over a table while your sister was talking with her maiden.

The door opened, cracking, you look back at the door and there's Erryk, or at least that's what the three of you thought.

- Ser Erryk

You haven't finished your sentence when he unsheathes his sword, quickly all of you comprehend that's not Erryk. You practically drag your sword and a dagger wherever you go, so you do the same, there's a small battle, the sound of swords crashing.

- I have no choice.

That's what he says after he slams you against a wall, your sword falls far from you, coughing and hurt you can't even stand up, your sister is in her place, she's not understanding what is happening,

- Brother, Do not do this!

The next thing you know, is that you're crossing the room to jump over your sister while Erryk and his brother fight, one wants to kill your sister, the other wants to protect both of you. Your sister's maiden ran away looking for help, so now everything depends on Erryk.

You never felt so small, stupid and incapable of doing something, you're so heartbroken watching them killing each other.

The first body, falls on the ground. You're speechless, the other observes both of you, new guards appear, observing the whole scene, the one who's still on his feet.

- Your Grace. Forgive me.

He stabs himself and falls too. Without thinking you run to him, screaming his name.

- ERRYK!

Your friend, the one who swore to protect you and your sister never expected he would have to kill his own brother. It's a deep, dark and twisted realization, how rotten the apple it is, how far this has been going, brother against brother, you're sobbing and crying uncontrollably, you don't remember who separates you from him, you don't remember what happened later, who changed your clothes, who dried your tears, you were broken, not only for what happened between them, also, because you never felt how heavy the rock over your shoulders was until now.

[beanysofa]

i think the concept of knighthood in house of the dragon is so interesting and serves criston’s arch, but haven’t been established well enough. it’s most evident in s2, when we first have erryk and arryk, then guards in the red keep, those scene where the knights sit on the stairs - such a small detail, yet so important for the overay picture. same goes when aegon’s knights laugh at the “chastity vows” which he doesn’t particularly byu. and rook’s rest and 2×8 being the catalyst of this ongoing theme with the gwayne and criston.

we have these two narratives of those who take this position and serve with dignity, and those who just want shiny armour. and you can’t argue that cole started as the first type, he viewed it as something sacred, something that is written in the books. but in s2 he seems to understand how little value it actually holds for his own wards. i think he sees it as his own failure, knowing damn well he is a part of this structure that is actually not as fancy as it looks from outside. those line about “the white cloak being soiled” is a great representation of the whole situation that brings criston to where he is. frantic in his desire to change it, leading to even more damage.

[vanilleandclove]

rings of fire | chapter two

ser erryk cargyll x targaryen! reader | chapter one: the twin of politics

After your mother is laid to rest alongside your brother Baelon, your father's council is urging the King to choose another heir, though to Otto Hightower's and the council's distaste, the heir and the spare, are both women. The princess's as fierce and ruly they are, they are still women at the end of discussion.

word count: 2.6k | warnings: reader gets her lick back over viserys, reader gets compared to daemon (when i catch you otto), reader also only cares about honorifics if they aren't used by people she hates | author's note: i kept listening to "grace" by jeff buckley and "so tonight that i might see" by mazzy star while writing this, that is why the reader is progressively irritable. AGAIN (just in case you didn't see my update), preaching to the choir, never talk to or engage into a situationship with a man who plays guitar, even if he looks like kurt cobain.

previous - next

Upon hearing the news of your mother's death, you remained staying at the godswood, standing still, looking intently on the branches that grew above ground. The leaves that were painted crimson, a pop of color from the trees white and pale branches. You've been here time and time again, often gravitating to it whenever you needed an extra-bit of seclusion from the outside world. It has been a day since your mother's death, you awoke from the handmaidens removing the blood-soaked birthing blankets and Otto Hightower announcing the death of your brother, Baelon. You remained in your chambers as you heard your father's curses ring through the Keep, your wails were whispers amongst the walls.

"Y/n" a voice spoke up, a voice belonging to none other than Alicent Hightower, "It is time to ready yourself for the funeral, your father is looking aimlessly for you". You closed your eyes, sclera's both damp and dry from crying endlessly. You did not look back, or show any sign of acknowledgment, simply just walked off from the godswood, when you brushed shoulders, you simply stated.

"Princess".

Walking the halls of the Red Keep, you were only met of looks of pity and fear, fear for your consequences that may become of you from your father's yells and shouts of your name, pity for the obvious reason, you were a motherless child, whose father hardly treated her like that of a daughter. Once you walked past your father's chamber in the Holdfast, you simply nodded at Ser Ryam, who alerted your father of your presence before you wandered to your own chamber. Only then you were met with the likes of Erryk, his brother guarding your sister's chambers.

You nodded whilst looking into his eyes, he saw your pain, your anguish, he only wished to carry it rather than let you go through it on your own. Though he feared it would not be his place, as you entered your chambers, closing the door almost immediately, your handmaidens quickly ran to your side.

Undressing your clothes, to change into your funeral attire. Your handmaiden, Hana gave you a look, seeing the littered healing bruises that were cascading down from your breasts to your inner thigh, only then taking note to the almost fully faded bruise on your neck. You closed your eyes as Hana excused all the other handmaidens out of your chambers.

"I take you had company not so long ago" Hana clicked her tongue, before she helped you dress, carefully choosing her words, "Perhaps some makeup can cover-". You shook your head, knowing your hair would easily cover the lovebite that looked like a near tiny mole. Hana did not press you on the matter only helping you dress before aiding you on your hair. Truth be told, Hana was a second mother to you, in the gaps Viserys left you with as a father, Hana doubled as a mother and father, but amongst all the things she was, she was a trusted confidant.

After dressing, you exited out of your chambers, meeting the gaze of Erryk. "I did not think you would still be taking post Ser Erryk" you broke the silence, stepping out and taking his arm that he held out, keeping eye contact only led for your heart to begin to thump erratically.

"I keep my vow to protect you princess" Erryk answered, "That means both physically and emotionally. Arryk is escorting your sister to the pyre as we speak" he continued as you both walked throughout the halls, "I meant to return Blackfyre to you princess, but I do not believe it to be appropriate at this moment" you glanced over to his hips, where two swords laid to rest. You nodded before responding to the knight.

"I fear Blackfyre dons better on your body than mine" you exasperated as chills ranked throughout your body, "Though the distaste I earned from the Hightower's might spill onto you Ser Erryk".

"I believe it to be worth it, my princess" Erryk told you, upon making it outside, the cold air rushing against both of your faces. He gracefully placed his hand on your waist, situating itself comfortably amongst the fabrics, he squeezed lightly. It was like the stagnant spin of electricity between you, every time you met eyes or laid touch on each other; a spark or multiple.

Once reaching the pyre, Erryk excused himself to be stationed next to his brother and the Kingsguard as you stood next to Rhaenyra- just in front of your father. Daemon muttered to you and Rhaenyra as everyone made their positions upon the pyre, you began to muster a few sobs under your breath. Rhaenyra held your hand tightly; Daemon placed a hand on your shoulder. They wanted you to do it, to burn your mother and brother. Though, Nymeria laid in the Dragonpit, you would not be able to command Syrax.

You bit your lip tightly, looking to your left to see the Kingsguard standing in position, Erryk staring at you intently before nodding at you. Unbeknownst to you, Otto Hightower took note to the glances, as all Kingsguard stared at the pyre, Erryk only stared at you. You nodded to yourself as you let go of your sister's hand, stepping up. Rhaenyra shall be the daughter of the Seven Kingsdoms, whereas Y/n, shall be the daughter of the dragons. Just as Rhaenys and Visenya.

"Syrax" you spoke up, "Dohaeragon issa" you became to gulp, staring at the graves, hearing the voices of your sister and Daemon, looking back at them, earning a simple nod of proceeding from both of them, "Dra-Dracarys" you ordered, Syrax did not relent, seeing to the cremation of your mother and brother, to become ash.

Taking place back to your sister you spoke up, "Visenya, istan se kostōba se nēdenka tala- nykeā diplomat se nykeā drēje jentys" looking at her with glassy irises, "Muñnykeā va moriot compared issa naejot zȳhon, se ao naejot Rhaenys. Though, nyke pāsagon zirȳ naejot sagon keskydoso, ziry iksos Visenya qilōni iksos honored syt zȳhon cruel yet nēdenka temper" your voice did not falter as you spoke to your sister in your mother tongue, earning looks of those around you, "Baelon would emagon issare se prince naejot sagon idealized hae Aegon, lu īlon raqagon ziry nykeā daor" before ending your speech to your sister, "Avy jorrāelan jorrāelagon mandia, īlon issi ry īlon emagon hen each tolie. Ao shall sagon dāria mēre tubis; nyke shall sagon se idañnykeā hen diplomacy".

"Perzys se ānogar" Rhaenyra told you, your house words. Fire and blood.

"Perzys se ānogar" you repeated, looking back at the fire that burned.

Walking the halls of the Keep, hearing the indistinct mutters of your father's meeting as the council posed the question of the succession. Looking across the hall to see Erryk and Arryk walking the way to the chambers of you and Rhaenyra, you sensed Erryk caught a glimpse of you, though he kept to his direction. You sneakily snuck your way into the halls of the council room, a window peeping into the room, just as you overheard more distinctly the conversation.

"Daemon would be another Maegor- If you pass the title of heir to Rhaenyra, if she does not have children, we will see Y/n- another Visenya and Maegor- ascend the throne" Otto pressed. Your jaw clenched tightly; you have shown nothing but peace to the Hightower's. Otto quickly saw his advantage of besmirching the name of your house and forebears.

To hell with 'Maegor the Cruel', whether you liked it or not, he was still of Targaryen blood. Visenya's direct blood might not be flowing through yours, her appearance was yours, her attitude, pride, and drive. Visenya, rider of Vhagar, a woman of politics, a conqueror, a warrior, though only remembered for being the mother of Maegor. Maegor was born cruel they said, though they forget the lack Aegon was a father to Maegor, even as Maegor wielded his blade and rode his dragon- Aenys, as much as a spectacle his parentage was, was Aegon's favorite. Say what you may about Maegor, but for Visenya, she loved and cared for her son and house, for the betterment of each- to the very fucking end.

You would be a mad woman to allow a cunt such as Otto Hightower to blatantly attempt to shame and dishonor your house's name and forebears in order to usurp. You were aware of Otto's other attempt to bring his daughter closer to your father. Your father was weak. Your mother always kept him somewhat strong, she made a man out of him, without her, he was lost puppy. Nevertheless, you left the council room, heaving with anger but with a new sense of pride. They would rather be clueless enough to tear the entirety of the realm apart, than sit a woman, your sister in question, on the Iron Throne. Even though it is the women who conquered the realm as their brother made them as a spectacle for jealously or rivalry, only exemplified in their sons that followed. It is women who united the realm, it is men who want to tear it.

"Valar morghulis" you muttered under your breath.

It was a quick gesture, inviting Erryk into your chambers shamelessly. Undressing yourself in front of him unabashedly, undressing his armor and detaching his cloak, all quick with no regrets. You stood naked and bare in front of him, not a care for oaths sworn to your father. That shameless behavior extended to the fire that ignited within the two of you as Erryk made love to you. He knew what made the daughter of dragons burn.

Your nails clawed at his back as his cock kissed the innards of your walls, his hand finding itself rubbing your clit slowly as it led you tightening on him, it was a fair exchange. Your back arched in response to his cock hitting the anchor of your pussy, though it hurt, the pain was overwhelming masked with the carnal bliss. Kissing his lips intently in order to soften the moans that exuded from both of your mouths. It was a treachery that sex was frowned upon for women who had not been betrothed or married, you had him once, now you cannot get enough. You envied the married and the men of the realm, not enough to find yourself wanting marriage, but enough that you wished you could scream at the top of your lungs the name of the man between your legs.

"Where do you want me to finish princess?" Erryk groaned as his thrusts unrelented, your eyes, the once pale lavender, were closer to black from lust. Your irises were glassy and your face glistened under the candlelight.

"Inside of me" you moaned, Erryk hesitated, afraid of the repercussions, "Please" it was until he sees your face, though mourning, needy, nonetheless. He obeyed your request, seed spilling into your pussy, filling you with enough warmth to keep you warm for the winter. You stood still for a minute, bones shaking with the pleasure. Erryk grunted as he removed his cock from you, breathing erratic as he laid next to you.

A moment of silence ensued before you broke it, "Do you believe it to be true?".

"What to be true princess?" Erryk quirked an eyebrow, repositioning himself to be facing you.

"Valar morghulis and dohaeris" you further stated, "all men must die-".

"And all men must serve" Erryk cut you off and sighed, fixing your hair to be out of your face, "I believe I must believe it in this line of service princess" you looked him intently, "Being a knight, a Kingsguard no less, you must serve the royal family even with the looming idea you might die serving them".

You shook your head in disagreement, "It must be torture to succumb someone of such service" you hand found itself on his peck, as his heart thumped, "I do honor the tradition of the Kingsguard as Visenya wrote it to be true, though living your life in service to another is just as much as a slave and their master".

"You and I see it differently".

"Then, help me understand" you whispered, looking into his eyes once more.

"I took an oath, I chose my path as a knight, granted Arryk and I were chosen" Erryk told you, "Just as they say Targaryens are closer to the gods than that of man, the Kingsguard are their protectors, what makes us different than men?" he posed the rhetoric question, "There are thousands of men roaming the realm, none of whom know how to protect the King and his family, or on my chances, protect the princess who needs no protection".

"It is a great service" you said before teasing, "Though no man in the realm can also, make the princess cum as you do" Erryk's eyes shined of sin, you were an addiction to the man.

"The King has not named an heir" your handmaidens spoke up as you awoke mid-morning, your face urged intrigue, "Daemon shall be the heir interim, though everyone believes and hopes it to be Rhaenyra before the moon turns".

"Daemon?" you spat at your father as Rhaenyra stood idly in the background, your father remained at his model of old Valyria. "Rhaenyra and I have endlessly shaped ourselves to be the heir to the Iron Throne and Dragonstone, that was our seat as it was since the moment we breathed" you started, "You killed mother for your urgency of siring a son! Unless you plan to marry-".

"Y/n!" Viserys shouted, standing up from his seat, "Daemon is my brother-".

"We are your children!" you screamed, "Rhaenyra is your first born, I your second, you forget yourself! Our grandsires Alyssa and Baelon would have proudly sat a woman on the throne!" you continued only before saying the words you needed your father to hear, "Daemon will not be another Maegor, I will be. I will proudly, take back the crown that belongs to my sister as she is more suited for such role, not a man who draws his sword before thinking. Nymeria is much bigger than Caraxes, do not forget, heirs are a diplomatic decision, you choose Daemon, you lose your strongest asset".

"And what would that be?".

"Your second born daughter".

taglist: @wolvestitches @callsignwidow @majoso12

[sererrykk]

I stand by the rightful Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen

[arcielee]

Please please, erryk x targaryen girl 🥺🥺🥺🥺🙏🏻

I have posted this story here!

[lilycatttt]

Im like soooo done with him

[lovelyy-moonlight]

[owarinaki]

HOTD S2E1 - Daemon & Myseria & Erryk

EP1 P1 / P2 / P3 / P4 /P5 / P6