#ser harrold westerling x reader

[hannibalsbaby]

The Knight in Shining Armor.

This is a small Harrold Westerling x Targaryen!Reader drabble. In this, the reader is the eldest sister to Rhaenyra, but Rhaenyra is still the heir to the throne. There is a lack of content for him, so I will make the content myself. Please tell me what you think! Reblogs are appreciated, but do not post my work on other sites!

The Lord Commander of the King’s Guard was always soft with her, the way he touched her was unlike anything else. His hands were always rough in contrast to her soft, delicate skin but the touch itself was never harsh or brash like the man always seemed to be. One would say he was using her for her innocence, her naivety, her wealth, and her status as a princess, but she knew more than anyone in this world that he would not dare to betray her in any way. He did love her innocence and the way she would seem to be in extreme awe of the world outside of the Red Keep, but he would never dare infiltrate that innocence. He simply would rather put his own head on a spike. 

“Ser Harrold, join me,” she spoke softly, her words perfectly pronounced as she sat upon one of the roots of the Weirwood Tree. The princess had a handful of delicate sweets wrapped in cloth. She looked up at him with a kind look, her eyes delicate but he knew better than anyone that she was a dragon. Her eyes could hold a tone of malice he had not even seen her uncle hold before. 

Ser Harrold did as he was told and leaned against the side of the tree, he would not sit beside the princess as it was his duty to protect her no matter what. Once again as she reaches up to hand him a delicate pastry from inside the cloth, the roughness of his hand came in contact with the softness of hers. He would always be content with only these touches, he did not feel as if he was worthy of touching a princess like herself in any other way. So, these small and delicate things would keep him content until his last days on this Earth. 

[assortedseaglass]

Borne & Bound

Aemond Targaryen X Geowyth Beridan (Shieldmaiden!OFC)

[Masterlist]

Story Content: Strong Language, Violence, Slow Burn, Smut, Canon-typical Sexism, Mentions Canon-typical of Incest

Notes: Aemond and Geowyth meet in the training yard.

Mearl thundered across the glade at the edge of the kingswood. A flash of green whirled in the dark aspect of his eyes, and his long mane of raven hair flew in the wind. So dark was his coat that the very landscape seemed to tear as the great beast cut his way across the green.

Geowyth knew she was driving him hard. He hadn’t been ridden since their arrival into King’s Landing, and she was permitted to visit him only twice during her busy stay at the capital.

It was easy to exit the keep that morning. A great many attendees of the King’s council and feast were leaving for home, and in the hubbub of servants preparing their house’s journeys, Geowyth was able to slip into the stables and saddle Mearl in the awakening dawn.

Across the Blackwater estuary and away from the city, from her brother, she drove him hard as dawn turned to day. In the few days since she had ridden, Geowyth had not forgotten the thrill of speeding across grassland, coast or cliff with her mighty companion, but memory and dreaming could not quite equal the exhilaration of the real thing.

The cold air of the morning chilled at her face as Mearl’s unbraided mane whipped before her in long tendrils. Her knees were tucked into the round barrel of his ribs, and with every stride she felt the ripple of muscle there. Occasionally, he cast his head side to side as he ran, huffing and whinnying as he did so. It was in those moments, that Geowyth knew he had missed this as much as her. Together, they flew across the grassland, their two bodies alert utterly free.

Geowyth’s angry tears had dried the moment she rode Mearl over the shallow water of the estuary’s opening. What a difference fresh air and freedom makes. In truth, when Geodred told her that she would be staying in King’s Landing a while longer, she hadn’t been entirely angry. Staying with Helaena was the primary reason, in fact, that Geowyth hadn’t taken her dagger to her brother’s throat. A companion to a princess. She’d be lying if the little girl within her didn’t jump with pleasure when she heard those words.

No, it wasn’t that which made her angry. It was the way Geodred skulked to her chamber door late in the evening to tell her. That he had not consulted her before arranging it with the Queen. His reasons, that she could learn about court life from such a household, remain with Helaena and have the freedom to be a young noblewoman that life in Braedel had not, and soon will not, afford, did little to quell Geowyth’s anger. It seemed that despite their brief stay in the capital, Geodred had learned much about the way things were done here. Namely, duplicity, secrecy and order that relied not on the merit and skill of a person, but their gender.

‘Tis no wonder Princess Rhaenyra left.

When Geowyth flung these accusations at her brother, he’d softened. His bright eyes darkened and he’d held a hand to her face. It was no use, trying to hide herself from the person she loved most.

“I should have told you, but when confronted with the Queen and her machinations, ‘twas hard to back down. I am just as nervous here as you, sweoster. I know,” he had continued lowly and stepped into her room. Alma had left only a few minutes before, and Geowyth had half hoped she had seen Geodred on her way to the servant’s hall. Alma was not good at disguising her appreciation of Geodred. “I know that you are worried about our uncle. But I swear to you, I will send for you the moment our father beckons him home.”

Tears threatened to fall once more, and Geowyth blinked a few times against the wind, focusing her mind on the stamping of Mearl’s hooves. Somehow, the earth beneath them sounded different here. In Braedel, beyond Eobarrow, across the mor and harad and along the brimlad, Geowyth knew every knoll and mound like the back of her hand. Here, the land was a stranger, just as she was.

The sun had risen yet the chill of night remained. From atop Mearl, Geowyth looked at her surroundings. The trees on the edge of the kingswood were dark, their boughs tinted pink by the early morning sun.

Red sky at morning, shepherd’s warning.

Deeper in the wood, she saw some of them rippling, like wind across water. Mearl veered suddenly to avoid a trough in the land and Geowyth looked forward. Ahead, hills covered the horizon like sleeping green giants, and Geowyth wondered how long it would take to ride there. A day, at least. Perhaps she could convince Helaena to take her there one day. Helaena and Dreamfyre, she and Mearl.

Though she was yet to see the dragon, Helaena had told Geowyth much about Dreamfyre. Of her silver and blue scales that shimmered in the sun like the fish of Blackwater Bay. How she flew with grace and speed, and that her spirit possessed a lightness that seemed to soar when in flight. When Geowyth remarked how well matched Dreamfyre and her rider were, Helaena had blushed proudly. “I will introduce you to Mearl before we leave,” Geowyth had told her. Helaena shook her head furiously, fear flashing in her eyes. “Princess,” Geowyth took her hand. “You are a dragon rider.”

Geowyth smiled at the memory, and patted Mearl’s strong neck. “How could anyone be scared of you?”

At once a great roar, like the felling of a great tree, split the air. Mearl bolted, and Geowyth fought to calm him, all the while looking around.

“Sy swige, Mearl, y heore!” “Be still, I am here!”

He stopped his weaving course and settled into a steady run, yet Geowyth could sense the tension humming throughout his body. The very air around them seemed to swell under the weight of their worry, pressing down on them from the skies. Geowyth rode Mearl to small tor on the edge of the wood, and together with heaving breath, they waited for the storm to pass.

If the air had been chill on the ride out of the city, it was nothing that compared to the cold that swaddled them now. It was just as Geowyth leant over Mearl’s sleek neck, attempting to soothe him with whispers of home when a great shadow fell across the valley. Mearl whinnied and rose onto his back legs, spooked by the sudden blackness that swept across the ground.

In terrified awe, Geowyth looked up. She had heard rumours, of the beast that lived beyond the city, too large for the dragonpit and ridden by the bravest and most merciless riders. But to see her on the wing, a goliath against the sky, eclipsing all light as she flew, was another matter entirely.

Vhagar.

Excitement and terror prickled Geowyth’s skin in equal measure, and a shiver ran down her spine. The same seemed to have happened to Mearl, for the shackles of his neck and mane were alert to the creature overhead.

Geowyth watched as Vhagar rose higher into the sky, her bulk never seeming to diminish. From her battle-worn belly to the holes of her wings, the great she-dragon was utterly beautiful, and Geowyth felt an instant kinship to the dragon. Mearl bristled restlessly as though reading his rider’s thoughts, and Geowyth patted his neck once more as they both watched the sky.

Time stilled as Geowyth watched Vhagar circle ever higher. She was transfixed by the slow beating of her wings, the elegant way she glided through the air, her tail cutting the cloud like a knife. Of his own accord, Mearl moved off the tor and onto the plain of grassland. He stopped in the centre of the glade Geowyth had ridden him through, as though the open landscape gave her a better viewpoint to watch the dragon. Still, he pawed at the ground impatiently.

“Ungeara, min lufu,” “Soon, my love,”

Geowyth returned her gaze to the sky just as Vhagar turned sharply on her wing. The sleek hair of her rider caught fire in the pink morning light and Geowyth’s excitement turned to envy. For those fleeting minutes, Geowyth had forgotten that Prince Aemond Targaryen was Vhagar’s rider. How lucky of him, to be so entwined with the dragon. She wondered if he new how lucky he was. Judging by the attitude he had displayed throughout her stay, she doubted it.

By some strange coincidence, the prince seemed to have spotted the Braedel shieldmaiden far below at the same time she noticed him. There was a distant cry that Geowyth knew to be High Valyrian, and with surprising speed Vhagar changed direction and entered a dive towards the earth. Reacting instinctively, Geowyth kicked her heels into Mearl’s side and the stallion galloped into action.

The shadow Vhagar cast grew larger as she approached the earth. So too did the echoes of her rider, laughing and shouting words Geowyth did not understand. Mearl, sensing the dragon’s approach, ran harder in the direction of the keep. It was about time Geowyth made her way back to her duties, but why not have a little fun before she did so?

She wasn’t scared. Quite the opposite. Geowyth knew she was safe. The prince may not be able to hide his dislike of her with the skill that she managed to hide hers, but it wouldn’t do for a prince of the realm to kill one of their visiting guests, let alone one with whom his family was trying to make an allegiance. If not for the political fallout, the terror of his mother’s fury was surely enough to put that idea from the young prince’s mind.

And so, beneath the shadow of Vhagar, Mearl and Geowyth rode with freedom until the breath from the beating of the great dragon’s wings whirled around them. Geowyth cried out with glee, her shriek transforming into raucous laughter when Vhagar flew low overhead before sweeping away towards the capital.

Just to witness her in flight was to feel a freedom unlike Geowyth had ever known. Onward she rode, basking in the path Vhagar had flown, toward the city with a renewed vigour in her spirit. Perhaps staying in the capital would not be so bad.

People nodded and smiled to Geowyth as she strode through the keep’s corridors towards her small guest chambers. Alma would be there now, drawing a bath and fresh with gossip from the other servants. Some were surprised to see her awake so early, such was the life of a noblewoman, while others glanced at her dishevelled state. When she gave them a broad smile, her amber eyes alight with happiness, they either looked away, startled by their hue, or beamed back. Whatever their reaction, Geowyth found she did not care.

After her early morning ride, felt almost herself again. The smell of sweat and early morning dew clung to her cloak, and her riding boots left a muddied trail in her wake. It was like being at home; up before her uncle and Geodred rose, taking to Mearl with other riders of the Renward.

By the time she reached her chamber doors, a few other visiting ladies were leaving their rooms for an early breakfast. One of the Baratheon girls, the timid one, smiled to Geowyth as she passed, and a beautiful Tyrell girl swept after her.

“Morning, Alma.” Geowyth smiled as she entered the room and removed her riding gloves.

“Morning, Geowyth,” Alma had been instructed to abandon formalities almost at once.

“What news?”

Alma sprang to life in an instant. “It’s been such a night! Willow, one of the scullery maids, said that Rouncewell, one of the grooms, disappeared in the middle of the night. How she knows, I can’t guess,” Alma clicked her teeth and hurried to add rose petals and rosemary to Geowyth’s steaming bath. “And then Myonette, she’s a lady’s maid, said that she saw him sneaking off from the Tyrell lady’s room!”

“Well don’t you go revealing anything to anyone, other than me of course,” Geowyth had removed her dirtied outer layers and was making away with her undershirt.

“Course not.” Alma held her hand and helped her into the copper bath. Geowyth sighed as the warmth eased her aching muscles and Alma continued her tales. “Maryam, the cook, said that Barbary was in such a state yesterday evening. Barbary’s another scullery maid,” Alma added, moving somewhere in the room. “And then, guess what!? This morning, she was gone. Bed turned down, no note, nothing. Maryam reckons she’s got herself in a bad way and done a runner. You wouldn’t catch me losing my virtue and doing a moonlight flit-” She tutted again.

Geowyth leant an elbow against the bath and looked to where Alma stood by the writing desk. “Not all women have a choice, Alma. Surely, your mother told you about the evils of men?”

Alma hung her head. “She did, my lady.”

“And let us not forget,” Geowyth turned around in the tub. “Women are hot-blooded creatures too, with wants and desires. Why are we not allowed our share of fun for fear of tarried virtue?”

“My lady!” Alma gasped and Geowyth giggled. There was silence a while, and Geowyth could almost hear Alma thinking over her words. Suddenly, the maid gasped. “I almost forgot, this arrived for you not long before you got back,”

Alma appeared before Geowyth and held out a folded piece of parchment. Geowyth took it hastily from her hands and water sloshed over the bath’s side. “Sorry, Alma. Pass me the knife on the table there,” Alma made to grab a cloth and returned to clean the mess, handing a small dagger to Geowyth. With one fluid motion, Geowyth broke the wax seal and settled the dagger on the edge of the bath. It had once belonged to her mother, Finwyth. Geodred had inherited their father’s sword and rank, Geowyth, her mother’s dagger and countenance.

She need not read the signature to know who it was from, she recognised the writing and the seal emblazoned with a horse’s head.

Deorling maeg (darling girl),

You will never know the joy your council brings me, whether in person or written form. I had not expected to hear from you so soon into your stay, but by all above and below did it lift my spirits. I would happily read pages of your account of life in the capital.

All is well here. Folchild and her parents visited from Stanas Isle to go over what remains of the wedding. Remember you and I talked of how she seemed brighter and happier each time we saw her? Well, she seemed reserved these last few days. I put it down to her missing Geodred and the worry of the wedding and all that it will bring, but her father was in foul mood and her mother barely spoke. Hrodan suspects her father is regretting her betrothal to Geodred. I can’t see why, Stanas Isle is a place of little influence and her marriage to Geodred will see her elevate her rank while having to fear in the way of war. And anyone can see how she adores your brother.

Hrodan has been helping me run things in Geodred’s absence. I know you do not like him, Geowyth, but he is a shrewd and astute fellow. Let this be my next lesson to you. Not all people you dislike are the enemy, their flaws my even work in your favour.

Perhaps this is something to put to the test with your new acquaintances. You were right in your assumption, Geodred had not written, though I received word from him not two days ago about your extended stay. While it seems you need no help with the princess, why not be more attentive to the princes’ merits? The heir apparent you say is a wastrel but bonny fellow, and Geodred tells me that Prince Aemond has been giving him private tutelage in mainland history. List me two more of their virtues with your next letter.

I will miss you, deorling maeg, but I cannot tell a lie. Geodred and the queen are right that you should stay. I want you time to be a young woman of the realm before taking Geodred’s place as commander. We do not have long until that day comes, and I will not have you waste your life on this ill old man. I am in good hands. The cooks keep me well fed, I take a walk with Galepan each day (even if I am not fit to ride anymore), and Hrodan oversees the council. Mawe has even taken to sleeping by my bedside. It is the chicken you told me to feed him. Straight from the table, just as you said. He shall be my companion when you return, not yours!

I will you see you soon, do not worry. And if for whatever reason my forebears come to take me early, know that it is with you in my heart. I will tell your father of your grace.

Merits, my deorling maeg, and manners.

Eower tyme eam, (your devoted uncle)

Galan, Cyng (Gallan, King).

Geowyth stared at the letter. Silently, she held it out for Alma to take. Merits and manners? Not a thought for her wants, just like Geodred. The moment Alma turned her back to place the letter on the writing desk, Geowyth stood, bath water rippling around the tub.

Alma hurried over with a cloak. “You’ve been in not five minutes-”

“A walk,” Geowyth said to herself. “I’m sorry, Alma. I need a walk.” With no other word, Geowyth redressed in a clean smock and a tunic of Braedel blue and brocaded bronze. Tucking her mother’s dagger in the hidden pocket of the tunic, Geowyth put on her muddied boots and made for the gardens. It had worked that morning and it shall work again. Fresh air would set her mood right.

Gallan had said nothing untoward in his letter, yet Geowyth felt he was scolding her somehow. Surely, if he had met the princes he would be in agreement? They were two people about whom there was little good, and even “good King Gallan” would not be able to find such.

As she stormed towards the gardens, her footsteps became heavier. How dare he. How dare they. Geowyth’s cheeks flushed. Not two nights ago she had boasted that Braedel did things by merit, not gender. And here she was handed off to be a royal plaything by her brother and uncle without so much a thought to her feelings.

The day was bright when she forced open the door to outside. The sun was not quite at its zenith yet. Before noon. Geowyth still had a few hours until she was to meet Helaena. Perhaps this would be the day she introduced her to Mearl. It seemed as though an entire day spent out of doors was the remedy Geowyth needed.

Geowyth made directly for the Godswood, yet something paused her steps. The dagger tucked in the secret pocket of her skirts. It burned there, the cold metal. Turning swiftly on her heal, she made instead for the armoury and training yard. If Herumbrand and Geodred were not there, and the Seven knew she wished to fight him, then some other rider of the renward surely would be. All she needed was an hour to exorcise her frustration, and a partner with whom to do so.

Cole was slow that morning. Unusually so. Aemond could see his attacks coming almost before the knight had decided on them. When Ser Criston swung his morning star in the prince’s direction, it slipped from his hand and plummeted into the ground.

Aemond hissed in annoyance.

“Forgive me, Your Grace.” Cole’s sentiment was quite at odds with his face, which was stony as he glared at Aemond. The prince hummed in reply and swung his sword as he jumped from foot to foot.

Aegon had retired a few minutes ago and was currently stood beside his wife. Helaena, for all her angelic beauty, seemed despondent as she listened to him prattle on in her ear. A few metres off, Ser Harrold stood in conversation with Ser Herumbrand, who was flanked by riders of the Renward. Each watched the prince and Cole with interest.

There was something about Ser Herumbrand that Aemond found disconcerting. From his battle-scarred visage to his imposing height, there was much to be wary of. But Aemond was not intimidated by the brute’s size. It was the slow way his eyes followed Aemond’s every move, a smile playing at the corner of his thin mouth. Beside him, Ser Harrold was indicating certain movements and whispering to this counterpart, who nodded, his eyes never leaving Aemond all the while.

While Cole regathered himself, Aemond’s eyes cast around, and landed on Helaena. She’d turned away from Aegon, who uttered one last sentence and made his way up the steps to the royal apartments. Helaena’s seemed to follow him, but when Aemond looked they were not on her husband, but the woman passing him.

Aegon took a step closer to the shieldmaiden but she stepped away. As she stomped down the stairs, Aemond was reminded irresistibly of his nephews. Of the petulant way they stomped about the keep, longing for it to be theirs. Her dark frizzy hair, usually hanging long past her shoulders or in front of her face, flew behind her. The bronze brocade of her skirt caught light in the midday sun and her eyes blazed fire. She was angry.

When she reached Helaena, Geowyth bent down and whispered in her ear. Helaena smiled kindly and took Geowyth’s hand as if to calm her, running her thumb across the back of her hand. Just as Aemond did to soothe her. Helaena too came alight before Geowyth, but due to happiness, not anger. Aemond huffed and bounced more vigorously on the balls of his feet. Cole was taking forever.

His eyes followed Geowyth as she let go of Helaena’s hand. She made her way to stand next to Ser Herumbrand. In a move Aemond had not seen between a noble and a knight, at least not in view of others, Herumbrand placed his arm around the young woman. Ser Harrold and Ser Criston both bowed, and together the four talked lowly.

Aemond hissed again. He was anxious to spar. He was in full swing just as Cole dropped the ball and, as yet, did not have another partner.

“Cole!” Loathe as he was to admit it, Aemond wanted the attention to turned back to him, not the angry woman Cole now conversed with. The knight looked in his direction. “Another spar?”

Ser Criston placed his hand against the breastplate of his armour. “My Prince, you are becoming too proficient a fighter for me. Soon we will have to find you a new partner!”

Ser Harrold smiled. Ser Herumbrand continued to stare. Geowyth had moved to talk to some women of the renward. Aemond scoffed. Then, an idea swam into his mind. Spinning his sword elegantly in his hand, Aemond stood still and called across the yard.

“Lady Geowyth,” he watched as she turned slowly to face him. Her amber eyes still blazed with agitation and he knew he was right in his idea. “Your brother commanded I spar with you, owing to your ‘wits’, as he put it. And you yourself demanded I owe a spar or dance.”

As he spoke, Geowyth picked a sword from the armoury rack and slowly approached him, nostrils flared. She raised the weapon as he continued.

“The latter of which I wish to avoid,”

“I shall ignore that, Your Grace,”

Aemond laughed, though it did not reach his eyes. Instead, he watched how she held the sword. Certain, strong. At that, she was confident. He looked for other weaknesses. The lady was nearly as tall as him, but still smaller. Geodred had said he outranked her in strength, not wit. Even if only a spar, he had betrayed his sister. Aemond would make quick work of this.

Geowyth had stopped in her tracks and the sword she held was now at her side. It was a long, its pointed tip just scraping the yard dirt. The way she held it there, loosely in her hand was almost nonchalant. Her eyes had shifted from that blazing fury to something more dangerous. Confidence. She leant against the weapon as if leaning on a walking stick, waiting for Aemond to strike first.

Her second weak point; complacency. Aemond made a plan. A defensive attack, playing on her confidence. Let her think she was winning. Then, launch a dominant offence when her guard comes down.  

Aemond’s biggest advantage was his eye. Or lack, thereof. Since the very incident that struck it from him, he and Cole trained tirelessly to develop a combat style unlike any other. Let no opponent underestimate him; two eyes or one, Aemond Targaryen was one of the best swordsmen in the realm.

It seemed, however, the Braedel’s did not know this. Geodred was confident in his sister’s abilities, and stood as she was, the maiden seemed to agree.

Aemond raised his sword. So too, did Geowyth. For a while they circled each other slowly, and the surrounding crowd stirred with excited anticipation. A prince fighting a lady! From the corner of his eye, Aemond saw Harrold and Herumbrand still watching. Cole, too, had his eye on the prince, though this was more of an assessing gaze than admiring one. Let’s see how well I’ve taught him.

The air stilled. Geowyth’s eyes narrowed to slits. Aemond heard the faint caw of a rookery crow. Senses alert to all around him. This was it.

With one great stride, Geowyth swung the sword above her head, bringing it down hard over Aemond. He blocked it just in time; he hadn’t expected an attack such as this to open their spar. No matter. He pushed her away and once more they circled. Geowyth span the sword in hand and made for him again.

Much like his own fighting style, Geowyth’s was not like any he had encountered. Though she was tall she was slighter than Aemond, and compensated with a light-footedness to match his own.

Over and over their swords clashed. Aemond spinning away so that his good eye was always trained on her, the action causing Geowyth’s arm to twist uncomfortably. She in turn span circles around Aemond, making sure to dizzy him as he fought to keep her in focus.

On and on they fought, so long that a few uninterested onlookers left for other activities. The renward remained to watch their future commander, and so too did Cole and Princess Helaena. Far from being worried for her brother and newly found friend, a delighted smile crossed her face as she clasped her hands happily.

Geowyth was charging at Aemond now, all her might focussed on putting him on the back foot. He let her. It would not do to embarrass is parents’ guests, even one so irksome as this.

Underestimating your opponent is a mistake. In battle, a fatal one. In a spar, embarrassing. Geowyth was so forthcoming with her quick attacks, and Aemond so keen to fool her, he had not noticed she’d pushed him to the edge of the fighting circle. His foot slipped on the well-worn path that cut around the training yard and he fell to one knee. A few things happened simultaneously.

Just as she had begun, Geowyth swung the sword high above her head. Some watchers in the crowd gasped, one woman let out a faint cry. Ser Criston drew his sword. Aemond, from his position on the ground watched, as if in slow motion, as Geowyth brought her sword down above him. With one arm, the muscle burning with her weight, Aemond managed to block her. To hold her off. They were both panting, neither sure who would make the next move. When Aemond looked up into her red face, he was astonished to see her smiling. His dragon blood boiled. Does she really think it over? That she has won?

With great effort to push her off, Aemond tried to stand. Geowyth’s small laugh prevented him and he looked at her in anger.

“Be careful, my Prince,” she whispered, looking down. Following her eyes, Aemond glanced at her other hand. A dagger, glinting in the midday sun, was held beneath his ribs. “You can yield to me,” Geowyth said in light tone. “Or I can save your blushes and pretend you have bested me. Maybe a little more fight for show-”

Geowyth was not allowed to finish. With a ferocious growl, Aemond pushed himself to standing and ended their dance. How dare with horse maid mock him. Assume to think she is better than he, a prince.

Aemond wasted no time. The barrage of hits he bore down upon Geowyth were relentless, brutal. Madness flared in his eyes as, teeth bared, he struck the sword from her hands. She stumbled quickly backwards, a flicker of fear flashing in her mesmerising eyes.

“My prince!” a voice was calling out to him but he did not hear it. “Prince Aemond!” He had her. She slipped on her skirt and Aemond took his chance. With his own hand he knocked the dagger from hers. It clattered to the ground and all was quiet but for its metallic ringing and their panted breaths.

They stared at each other. Aemond’s eye fuelled by hunger and pride, Geowyth’s with shock and consideration. He raised his sword perilously close to her neck. She did not budge.

“AEMOND!” The voice bellowed. Ser Criston was at his side. “They are watching,” his eyes gestured to the crowd, staring with horror and trepidation. Aemond shrugged him off and lowered the sword. Still, the prince and the shieldmaiden stared at each other.

Then, slow as time turning, Geowyth curtsied, her eyes never leaving Aemond. “Well fought, Your Grace,” she said quietly, turning her back and leaving the training yard as though nothing had happened.

The bustle of the yard resumed, and a few people glanced at Aemond warily as they went about their business. All, except Ser Herumbrand, whose pointed stare was unrelenting. Unnerved, Aemond watched him.

“She had you rattled there, son.”

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[starogeorgina]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐮𝐬

Pairing: Criston Cole x reader

Warnings: Swearing

1.02

In the king's private chamber, you sit across from Ser Harrold Westerling, Lord Commander of the king's guard, and Lord Lyonel Strong, the hand of the king. Your father's hand reads out the names of potential knights to be your sworn shield, but your father was only half listening; he was more interested in showing Meera his sculpture of Valyria before the Doom.

When your father doesn’t answer, Lord Lyonel clears his throat. “Your grace.”

“Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk are sworn to my wife and heir. Both Queen Alicent and Rhaenyra choose their shields.” He offers you a smile and says, "Perhaps you should do the same.”

“I would like to familiarize myself with the keep before deciding. After all, it won’t only be myself they are protecting.”

“Excellent idea,” he watches fondly as your daughter climbs to the top of your lap and shyly observes the knights in the room. “I thought my granddaughter may inherit her strong northern roots, but she is the image of her grandmother.”

“That was the first thing Rhaenyra said when she saw her.”

Anyone who knew your late mother, Queen Aemma, commented on how much Meera resembled her. However, it was surprising when you first met your sweet nephews, Jacaerys and Lucerys, who didn’t resemble their mother or father. Your uncle Daemon had made a snide remark on how they had a strong resemblance to the Lord Commander of the City Watch, but seeing your glare, he shut up. Regardless of the side glances they got at court, Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor look genuinely happy, and that’s all you could wish for.

“I thought Ser Gwayne might have joined us.”

“I believe he was meeting with the queen to break fast.”

He raises his brows and says, “And you and my granddaughter weren’t asked to join them?”

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

You had only been married two days, and you hadn’t spoken with Gwayne properly since he left your bedchamber after performing your marital duty. And you had yet to see Alicent without a scowl on her face, so it was no loss not to be invited.

“Besides, we have a busy morning planned, don’t we, sweetling?”

Your daughter nods. Meera was only five and already very cautious; it will take her a while to adjust to her new life. You wrap your arms around her, keeping her from accidentally sliding off your lap. Smiling fondly, your father tickles her cheek, and you glance at his other hand, which he usually kept hidden under a leather glove, and observe the black rot that was spreading across his flesh.

“Do you have anything planned with Ser Gwayne?”

“No, we are going to pick a dragon egg before we go to Meera's first lesson. Then I’m going dragon riding.”

Your father's mouth twitches slightly; the burning desire to say something you wouldn’t like was on the tip of his tongue, but a knock at the door prevents that from happening. When the door is opened, one of the ladies in waiting enters the room and says, "Forgive the interruption, my king.” She curtsies before facing you. “The remaining carriages from Winterfell have arrived, princess.”

For the first time in many moons, you feel excitement bubbling inside you. “Thank you.”

Meera jumps off your lap and says, “Storms here.”

The men in the room look baffled, mainly your father. A small laugh passes his lips when he sees how excited his grandchild has suddenly become. “Storm?”

“Her direwolf,” you stand up and take Meera’s hand. “If you’ll excuse us, father,”

“I shall enjoy meeting the wolf tonight at supper.”

Just as you reach the doorway, Ser Harrold calls out, “What knight, in the meantime, would you like to be your shield, princess?”

“Ser Criston Cole.”

—

Pulling off your riding gloves, you allow Lady to nuzzle into your hand. She seems to take comfort in the familiarity of your scent. Much like yourself, the she-dragon had been timid in youth, but without other dragons overbearing, her lady had flourished and become boisterous over the years. Her peach-coloured scales reflected in the sunlight beautifully. Lady would be enjoying basking in the sun on the hill she landed on after spending so long in the cold.

Not long before his death, Edric had a grey and white heart-shaped collar made for Lady. Edric was equally fascinated and terrified of the large creature, but he always acknowledged how deep your love and bond with your dragon were.

“It’s different here, huh?” You press your forehead against her scales. “I miss the north as well.”

A single tear rolls down your cheek, and as if Lady can sense you’re upset, a squeal that resembles a cry erupts from her. You had lived in the north for six years, and while mourning your husband was difficult, being ordered by the king to return home and remarry immediately hurt. You suspected Alicent was the one who insisted it was a matter of urgency.

You wonder why Storm would miss the feeling of snow when he walks along the cobblestones and sandy beaches? It was known that direwolves didn’t travel south, but you couldn’t leave your daughter's faithful companion behind. Raya, your most loyal lady-in-waiting, traveled in the same carriage as the wolf and shared her desire to continue to serve you at the king's landing. You accepted her immediately, not only because you saw her as a friend, but because she had cared for Meera since she was a baby. The only reason you had her arrive at a later date was because it felt disrespectful to have anyone who served house Stark for so long attend a wedding of you marrying into another house.

When you step back from Lady, she flaps her wings and roars before taking off into the air, a mist of dust lifts into the air.

Hearing a horse snorting, you jump startled. “Good gods.”

“Forgive me, princess,” the knight says, clearing his throat. “I didn’t mean to frighten you; I just didn’t want to interrupt—”

“Me cuddling a dragon? It’s quite alright, Ser Criston.”

A small smile graces his lips. The knight was gently stroking his horse, trying to calm his black mare down. The poor thing was terrified because of Lady. When the horse is no longer trembling, Ser Criston looks over at you and says, “You know, princess, it would be a lot easier doing my job as your shield if you informed me of where you are going.”

You laugh. “I will keep that in mind.”

“I was told you had gone dragon riding, but the dragon keepers informed me your dragon hasn’t re-entered the pit since you returned.”

“I doubt she will. Lady has spent the last six years sleeping in caves; I imagine she will do the same here.”

“There is a carriage ready at the bottom of the hill for you to return in.”

Your mouth twists with amusement. “That was most kind of you to arrange; however, I came on horseback and intend to return in the same way.”

A look of disapproval crosses his face.

“You may escort me to the stable at the bottom of the hill where I left Dancer before we ride back.”

Ser Criston lightly taps the saddle, clicks his tongue for the horse to follow, and walks beside you. “You keep surprising me, princess. Have you been riding Dancer for long?”

“No, he is my late husband's horse.”

—

Hands linked behind your back, you stroll through the garden surrounding the godswood, watching as Meera plays with Storm.

You walk in a comfortable silence with Ser Criston by your side. When he spots your uncle approaching, his hand rests on the hilt of his sword. “Prince Daemon.”

“Ser Crispin,” Daemon clicks his tongue. He glares at the knight, silently challenging him.

“Uncle?”

Daemon speaks in high Valyrian, most likely to irk the knight, who wouldn’t understand. “I’m returning to Pentos and wanted to make sure that cunt off a husband hasn’t tried anything stupid.”

“No, I’ve hardly spoken to him since the bedding ceremony.”

“My condolences, niece; that must have been a rather unfulfilling experience. I could always feed him to Caraxes.”

“Two husbands dying so soon? The people will say I dabble with blood magic.”

“As they did with Queen Visenya,” he smirks. He looks Ser Criston up and down and says, “I’m sure if the Hightower does anything in my absence, your guard dog will bite him.”

Criston clenches his jaw, which causes Daemon to smirk amusedly, but his demeanor changes when Meera runs towards him with her arms up in the air. It wasn’t surprising how quickly she had taken to him, given that you would tell your daughter stories about Daemon and Rhaenyra often. But your uncle being so good with a child was surprising; fatherhood had brought another side of him out.

In English, you say, “I do hope that when you return next, Lady Laena and the girls accompany you; I’d love to meet your daughters.”

“As they would you, dear niece.”

—

After your uncle had left and Meera had resumed playing, you turned and faced the knight, saying, “Forgive me, Ser, as that was rather rude of me and my uncle.”

“Do not apologize; I’m sure Prince Daemon thoroughly enjoys it.”

You offer him a grateful smile, and conversation flows between the two of you easily. The knight tells you about his experience being a foot soldier during the Dornish Marches, and he asks about your life while living in Winterfell. “Edric was a good man, and despite it being a political arrangement, we were in love. It wasn’t the type of love poets wrote songs about, but we were happy. We respected one another, and he was always good to me.”

“I’m glad to hear that, princess; even that type of love is rare.” A few moments pass before he speaks again. “Might I ask Princess, how old are you?”

“Nine and ten.”

His eyes widened slightly. “And Princess Meera is five?”

“Yes.” You watch his brows pull together while he does the math in his head. “I married not long after my thirteenth name day.”

“Was your husband close in age?”

“He was only a year older than me, which is probably why we had a good friendship. Although I’m glad I get to live with my family here, I will miss the north dearly.”

“Let us hope Ser Gwayne shows you the same kindness as Stark’s did.”

[giorno-plays-piano]

House of Chains

Part VI

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x mage!reader

Warnings: noncon, yandere, obsession, canon-typical violence, chase scenes, death of minor characters.

Words: 1.4k

Summary: In return for help to come back to your home world, you have been faithfully supporting the Greens to put Aegon on the throne. But when your promise is fulfilled, neither Otto nor Aemond are keen on letting you go.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

P.S. Finally, the long-awaited twist!

_________

At first, Daemon's face betrays nothing as if he hadn't heard you. You think he might consider it a joke as anyone else probably would: you don't look like a lunatic, asking to be burnt by a dragon. Hell, you went as far as travel to Dragonstone, to the lair of your worst enemy, for this, somehow evading soldiers and Rhaenyra's supporters on your way. Daemon surely thinks there is some catch.

"So dramatic," he muses, making an imperative sign with his hand to make Caraxes quiet, the dragon restless behind his back, eager to have you between its teeth. "There are enough dragons in the Red Keep. Why mine?"

You feel yourself trembling, droplets of sweat sliding down your back from fear and pressure. No, no, you can't. You must stay firm, or it'll all go to Hell. Daemon should believe your lies.

"I am pregnant with Aemond's child," you declare, loud, the sound multiplying and echoing deep in the cavern, and Daemon's face finally changes, eyebrows raising. "He forced himself on me. His payment for all I've done for him and his brother, I suppose. And I better die in flames than work for him again."

Luce whimpers softly against you, a bit of blood staining his grey collar.

Before Daemon can ask you questions and ruin your story, you continue, "Why should you care? Because you don't want me alive. You know I'm not truly a Hightower, don't you?"

There's a recognition in his eyes, and Daemon bows his head mockingly as you draw a deep breath, griping the blade harder so it won't escape your sweaty palms.

"I am behind the murder of the White Worm and most of her spies," you smile, baring your teeth at him like an animal. "I killed Ser Harrold Westerling when I found out he supported Rhaenyra's claim, and many others who thought they could fake their promises to King Aegon II. I've been spying, torturing, and killing your wife's friends in the Red Keep for more than 2 years. But Hightower betrayed me, and I'd rather die than give birth to Aemond's child."

The more you talk, the more Daemon's face twists in cold fury, his hand clenching a torch like it was a sword. Does he believe you? It is, perhaps, difficult to trust a word of a woman who looked too young and too feeble to do any of those things, but you have arrived to the Dragonstone undetected and even took Lucerys hostage despite the castle being full of guards, lords, and servants. It isn't a coincidence, and Daemon has always been too suspicious of you, a girl appearing out of nowhere and serving the Queen with too much vigor.

The anger and a thousand of other emotions in his eyes give you some hope.

"Burn me, Daemon Targaryen." You exclaim loudly, trying to make him act, your hand trembling. "Send my charred remains to Aemond as a gift. I'm sure it is a fair price for the sins I've committed."

"Why going such a long way?" The man suddenly asks, and you freeze, afraid you won't answer his question. "You could have jumped from the balcony and killed yourself instantly."

You lick your lips nervously. "I could, and Aemond would grieve me. But when he knows I prefer to go to his greatest enemy and have my body burnt rather than marry him, he'll be enraged."

Finally, you see a ghost of a smile on the Rouge Prince's lips. Yes, this is violent, resentful enough, a good reason for him to believe you. Mysaria's murderer wouldn't want to die like a faint lady-in-waiting. She'd want revenge. She'd want her betrayer to hate, not mourn her.

Daemon makes a move with his hand, and Caraxes crawls closer. There isn't much for him to lose.

"Let the boy go, and I'll burn you," he simply says, and you are ready to burst from the surge of adrenaline, your heart beating wildly.

He said yes. Daemon said yes, and you'll be going home.

"But please, burn me for long!" You almost cried out, too excited to keep calm and almost releasing your grip on the boy. "Burn me till there are only bones left."

Lucerys weeps in your grasp, but you don't hear him. You don't even feel the handle of the dagger in your own hand, eyes on Daemon as he smirks, recognizing a fellow monster he thinks you are, a daring creature dressed in white cloaks's robes and armor that don't even fit you. It is impossible to not recognize a woman in men's clothes, and yet no one asked questions when you boarded the ship. No one saw anything suspicious when you landed. No one demanded an explanation why a woman was marching in the Dragonstone castle among the Kingsguard. No one saw you kidnapping Rhaenyra's son.

Perhaps it is true you murdered Misariya and her spies. He knew somebody did. You are sure he thought of Larys, the slippery bastard, but tracking down so many spies in such a short time seemed very unlikely for him without someone's intervention.

Someone who could point at the right people as if by magic.

Truly, you are a creature he would never understand, but Daemon is not a fool. Leaving a dark horse like you alive is too much of a luxury when you are conveniently asking for death right in front of him.

The man nods, and you gigle like a madwoman.

"I'll let Lucerys go on the count of three," you announce, and Caraxes steps closer, his monstrous, clawed feet leaving giant imprints on the ground, and you feel the earth tremble a little. "Shoot the flames then."

It's a horrifying feeling, but you are electrified, every part of your body filled with magic you saved for the last incantation. You are going home. You will be back to the Tower, free to join your teacher and family. No more gloomy stone castles with their ice-cold chambers and pesky kings. No more swords, heavy armor, pretentious dresses, and silly jewels. No more spying and murder.

No more Hightowers and Targaryens.

"I'm sorry, kid," you whisper to the boy before you start counting. "One. Two."

Luce stills against you, color drained from his face.

"Three."

You drop your dagger, and he dashes to the side, holding his neck as if it bleeds profusely, but you don't look at him. Your eyes are on Caraxes and how it unclenches its massive jaw, fire building up inside its throat like in a forge of a blacksmith. It should be enough. Caraxes is not a young dragon, and his strength might rival Vhagar's. It will be enough.

When it unleashes its flames, the words of the incantation are ready on your tongue, and you feel the glow filling you up like hot air fills a giant balloon. It's working. Caraxes' fire is enough.

You chant, and you chant, and you chant until the world starts spinning around you, and the cave, the dragon, and the men finally blend into the great nothing.

________

Subtle wind plays with your hair.

You stand in the midst of the dead gardens of Babylon, surrounded by hollow grey trees that had dried up a thousand years before you were born. Their crooked forms don't scare you: you are far too familiar with the view, wandering here after each of your trips to the other worlds. On the contrary, if anything, it is comforting.

You have arrived safely back to the world of the Tower. You can even see it from here, its tall, proud form making you tranquil and nostalgic.

Unbelievable. You are home.

You have to wipe away the tears with your dirty hands before you can take a step towards it. You've made it. Soon, you'll be sitting on the red and yellow pillows in the great hall, listening to your teacher berating you for such a dangerous journey, eating barley soop and garlic bread, and wearing a long embroidered tunic and your many necklaces and rings. You will never see Westeros again. You won't even step out of the Tower before you feel whole again, pulling your old self back piece by piece before you remember nothing of the stupid, cruel world you have been a prisoner for two long years.

You are free to do as you like.

But when you make a step towards the Tower, you hear someone's sigh behind your back. And when you turn your head, you see a man dressed in black leather who sits on the trunk of a fallen tree.

__________

Aemond Targaryen stares back at you, a crooked smile spread over his face.

Part VII

Tags: @heavenly1927 @yazzzmints @devils-blackrose @lost-and-founds @kennafild

[misguidedasgardian]

The Winter Sun

Prologue.

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Fem!Targaryen Reader 

Warnings: Cursing, death of characters, medieval and asoiaf customs, death at childbirth

Wordcount: 1.4 k

Notes: Reader’s mother is a Stokeworth, I chose this house because they are from the crownlands, they are mentioned in the current stories, and their sigil is a lamb and their motto “proud to be faithful”, i think is funny. Reader will be very shy and naive… so there it is jeje

110 AC.  4 years after King Viserys marriage to Queen Alicent 

The night was cold, a storm raging outside the castle, its winds seemed to shake the very foundation of the huge castle.

The King was awakened, as was the Queen who was sleeping right next to him

“Your grace, a noble lady has died in childbirth tonight”, the guard whispered. Viserys grumbled, with the sleeve of his nightshift he rubbed his face, trying to shake sleep away from him 

“That is unfortunate Ser Harrold, but I truly doubt that is a reason to wake up the King!”, he said

“It was the daughter of Lord Stokeworth, your grace”, he whispered, but Viserys still couldn't understand what he meant

“What is it, Ser harrold?”, Alicent asked 

“The babe, your Grace, was born with Targaryen features, and the Lady’s mother had confirmed it… the babe is your niece”. Viserys then finally understood it, jumping form the bed and dressing quickly in a robe 

“How could you let this happen?”, he barked at Ser Harrold

“You had forbidden them from seeing each other, but he did not listen, they must have been using the secret passageways”. Viserys had betrothed his brother to a Baratheon girl, but apparently, he was in love with someone else, this girl from House Stokeworth

“I understand”, he grumbled

Ser Harrold guided the King through the corridors of the Red Keep, Alicent soon followed. They walked towards the chambers of members of the court, and from outside of one of the rooms, they could hear the wailings of a newborn baby

“A girl you say?”, Lord Westerling only nodded. Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King met them there

“Your grace I have been briefed on what happened”, he said efficiently

Viserys nodded, and entered the room

A Midwife and a Septa were both there, calming the babe and placing her in her crib from them to see, and they bowed as they saw him. The king and queen walked until they leaned in, to watch the babe, she had the silver hair of the Targaryen family, from old Valyria

“She is a bastard your grace, we can take her to the Septas, or the silent sisters”

“She is not a bastard!”, the king whispered, “she is my brother’s child”

“They never married your grace”, whispered Otto

“You are the King”, Alicent whispered, her hand gently caressing his arm, “she is your niece…”

“Of course, as King, you are entitled to declare her as legitimate”, Otto said, looking at the baby in her cradle.

Aegon, King Viserys and Daemon’s younger brother had, apparently, been having an affair with a Lady of a lesser house, who in her state was kept in secret by her family. She died in the birthing bed, and the child? a small, silver haired beauty, growing in her mother’s belly right in the Red Keep, under everyone’s noses 

The whole situation was troubling, and was proven to be a headache to the Hand of the King as he watched the babe wiggling in her crib. She wasn’t crying, but the little noises she made were proving to be a future storm, like the one that was raging outside.

Otto thought long and hard about this one… she was a nobody, a bastard, a silver haired one at that… Did she mean trouble? he didn’t think so.

“You can always send her to dragonstone, to be raise amongst other Dragon seeds”, Otto whispered, but only one look from Alicent and Viserys shook his head

“Never”, he said firmly, “she is my niece”, and Alicent smiled. “Call in my brother…”

“He is in Braavos my lord, negotiating with the Iron Bank…”

“I don’t care”. He said with a faint smile, looking down at the child 

The very next day, they gathered the court in front of the Iron Throne, right in front of it, in the center, a cradle was placed, with the baby girl inside it

Viserys stood from the Iron Throne, coming down those treacherous steps, until he was standing right in front of the baby girl, who looked up at him with eyes that reminded him of his brother. 

“I present to the court this day, (Y/N), daughter of Aegon of house Targaryen, and Lady Falena of house Stokeworth their legitimate daughter, they had been married in secret, therefore I Viserys Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the first men, lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and protector of the realm, declare this child a legitimate heir to her houses, and I present her as Princess (Y/N) of House Targaryen!”. He gently place the blade of Blackfyre in the rail of the crib, and the court applauded

A small lie, that nobody was going to question

The Stokeworths wanted to see her, only after he legitimized her, but he wouldn’t let them, taking the baby girl in his own chambers, where Helaena, of only 2 name days and Aemond, his own newborn, where living. 

The babe was a Targaryen now, a dragon, not a sheep.

Aegon was known for his wild character, he took after his mother, Alyssa Targaryen, but contrary to Daemon, his own brother, he also followed his father, he was a joust, responsible man, and Viserys had relayed on him many of the diplomatic missions. He had this easiness to him, but he was a dragon trough and trough, so he helped greatly to the crown in as many aspects as he could. 

When he heard what happened in the Red Keep, he flew back on his fearsome dragon Vhaelar, a white she dragon, fearsome beast, hatchling of Vhagar, his father’s dragon, her egg placed in his crib when he was born. 

He felt mixed feelings on his belly, for one, happiness, he had a daughter, a healthy daughter who looked just like him, and on the other side, terrible sorrow, the love of his life was dead. Falena was dead and he wasn’t there on her side as he should have. He thought he could go to Braavos and return before the ninth moon, but the baby came early.

Nothing could stop him, the maester said he jumped off the carriage that awaited him in the dragon pit and he ran all the way to the Red Keep.

He trampled everyone on his path until he reached his nieces’ rooms inside the Red Keep, where he saw her, his baby girl, on her crib, being accompanied by her cousins. 

A breathed a relieved sigh when he saw her, healthy, beautiful, so tiny, so cute, looking back at him with eyes just like him, but filled with innocence.

He grabbed her gently and placed her against his chest. The baby cooed in his arms

“Hey you”, he greeted gently, he touched her little hand and she grabbed his finger with strength, “hey little one”

“Brother, you are home”, greeted Viserys, entering his rooms, “I’m glad, how are you going to name her?”, he asked softly

And with a long sigh, he named you. 

“You can stay here, brother, she can be raised alongside her cousins, she will lack nothing… no love, nor comfort, nor food, she will…”

“I’m taking my daughter home”, he sentenced 

“And where is that?”, the King asked. Aegon only smiled.

Viserys never saw his brother again, he had said he had a castle whe bought from a broken family in the Vale, where he raised his daughter there. He was a father now, so he relinquished all his responsibilities as a representative for his brother, his only job now was going to be to care for his child, his only child, who he loved with all his heart

The next time Viserys saw his niece, her ten year old’s face was covered in tears and snot running down her nose dangerously towards her mouth. 

His brother, her father, had died from a fever. And she was now on the doorsteps of the Red Keep, with trunks of her clothes. 

And she was an orphan now 

[aphroditesmoon]

kerosene (part ii)

jacaerys velaryon x targ!reader

summary: after you find out your family has been orchestrating a plan to use you as a scapegoat to assure your brother's reign. You pledge your allegiance to the black queen and switch alliances as pleaded by your secret lover himself, prince jacaerys velaryon.

warnings: none yet

taglist: @simrah1012 @maplumebleue-blog-blog @remuslupinwifee

note: thank you for the love on part 1, I'm so glad a lot of ppl enjoy it<3

°°°

"Who wears green on their wedding?" Your mother's eyes snaps to yours in a glare.

"it's pale green. it'll look white from a distance." She reasons with you while rolling her eyes and passing the dress to a servant.

You snorted at her statement and go back to your reading, determined to show her how unbothered you are by this farce. As frustrated as she is with your immature act, she's glad you're not putting a show of it.

Your mother's presence was finally taken from you when a knock was heard on your door, claiming your brother Aemond have arrived back from his visit in Storms End and seemingly had something important to discuss with her.

You were grateful for the moments peace before you yourself was called out, minutes after to meet with them urgently.

"Well? What is it?" You asked impatiently as you were met with both cautious looking Aemond and your dear mother.

Alicent takes a deep breath before meeting your eyes and telling you; "You will fly to Storm's End tomorrow at dawn and the wedding will be held that exact night-"

Her sentence was cut short as your eyes bulge out of your sockets and you gasped in shock at her.

"-Excuse me? No. I will not-"

"You will not argue with me! Your brother has caused us a risk of losing the alliance when he killed Lucerys-"

"he WHAT?"

"I didn't kill him- it was VHAGAR, I told you, She would not listen to me and ate him-"

"VHAGAR ATE LUCERYS?"

The conversation went like that with all three of you cutting eachother off and screaming in eachother's faces until finally your mother's voice was the last to scream out begging the both of you to shut the fuck up.

"None of you- NONE of you can ever do as you're fucking told! If this goes on we'll lose this war before it even start-"

"There wouldn't be a war of it weren't for Aemond-" "I already repeatedly told you I didn't kill Luc-"

"SILENCE- or I'll feed you both to Vhagar as well you brats" She snaps at the two of you.

Alicent releases a tired sigh pulling the roots of her hair in frustration.

"Lord Borros Baratheon should receive my letter of the acceleration of the wedding by tonight, I will hear NO argument from you, [name], I already have enough on my plate, do not become a problem to me." She says this word by word as she walks closer to you making you meet her intense gaze.

You gulped and nodded, fearing your mother's wrath. And thankfully that was just what she needed, releasing a relieved sigh, Alicent shooks her head tiredly and excuses the both of you.

You and Aemond side eyes(eye?) eachother as you leave your mother's chambers, Before he can start defending himself again, you turn your head to the direction of your room and rush there to avoid saying something that'll start your own war between the two of you.

°°°

"What do you mean I can't see her?" You raised your voice at the guards.

"I'm sorry my princess, the queen has ordered your dragon to be kept in chains and to not allow you-"

"Yes I heard you the first time." You snapped as he apologizes again bowing his head. Your mother was obviously scared you'd attempt to flee. She's had your dragon Ciervo in chains. Like some prisoned animal.

You excuse the knight and upsettingly walk back to your room. There was no escape in this, you were to be forced into this whether you wanted it or not.

Your thoughts was distracted as you were met with Ser Harrold Westerling, walking too fast and slamming into his armour as he holds you upright.

"I apologize my princess" He immediately says and you wave him off apologizing back for not paying attention to your front.

As you're about to walk away his hand grips your shoulder halting you to a stop.

You look at the commander in confusion but then you feel his hand hold yours, before letting it go and walking away with a bow.

He has slipped something to you. A paper.

°°°°

Everyone was asleep in this hour, You wrap the shawl and hood around you tighter, changing your shoes into flats, you hear the walls beside your bed being pushed as the secret passageway attached to your room slowly opens.

You see ser Harrold's shadow as he remains in there, close enough to see you but not entering your room. Immediately you close the lights of your room and rush into the tunnel and he passes a light to you before pushing the wall to close again.

You follow close behind him and his fast pace as he holds your hand and leads you out to a direct gate that that brings you out of the palace.

He breathes a relieved sigh when the both of you reaches the public, noises and chatters of commoners fill your ears and he walks you fast to an alleyway.

He pulls out a sack pushing it into your hand. "This is enough to pay for the seat I've bought for you on the ship. It sails in a few so I'm going to need you to go straight there, no detours, no talking to anyone, if anyone asks, say you're sailing to meet your aunt in Pentos, the moment it's stops at Dragonstone, do not look back and just keep walking, the castle is barely 2 miles away from the Port the ship usually stops at-"

His rambling cuts off as you throw your arms around him in a bear hug.

His arms slowly comes around you before you feel him relaxing and hugging you tighter.

As you pull away, he holds your shoulders making you look at him, "Be careful, princess."

You smile despite the anxious feeling in your gut, "Always, ser Harrold. Thank you, for everything" You tried your best to sound confident, but he sees through the bold woman that you are, straight to the scared child inside you. "Always, princess."

He bows one last time before letting you go, and as you turn to follow the directions he's repeated to you, you don't look back even once.

°°°°°

The news of Lucerys' death spread like wildfire the moment the clock hits 12 at dragonstone. Jacaerys was to fly to meet the Arryns tomorrow as the distance was further compared to the one to Storms End, but now all he wants to do is ride Vermax straight to Kingslanding and cut off Aemond Targaryen's head off.

As a gift for his mother.

He spits out a bitter taste of Aemond's name from his tongue as if he's said it out loud. Even thinking of what's happened makes him sick.

He couldn't cry when he heard, It all felt too impossible, Lucerys was just here a few hours ago. Saying his farewells, making a bad joke about winterfell wolves eating him, braving himself to Storms End on the brave Arrax.

Braving himself even through his death. His mind was lagging, anger clouded his sadness and grief, all he saw was red.

His mother has been sobbing on the floor of the council room, Daemon's arm secured around her, not daring to try and move her.

The moment the news reached her, Jace has immediately yelled at everyone to leave the room. Leaving with them as his heart hurts too much to witness more of his mother's will to live disappear. Everything was taken from her, bit by bit, all because she was a woman.

"My prince" Her mother's guard, ser Arryk was breathlessly running towards him.

"She's here" He gasped out. He frowns in confusion.

"She?" Alicent?

"Princess [name], She's arrived from Kingslanding, she claims to be here to pledge allegiance to the Queen" His words were fast from his lack of air but Jacaerys heard every bit of them.

"Then let her in." Daemon's voice booms from behind him, making him flinch. He was holding the Queen by his side, arms linked.

Rhaenyra had seemed to calmed down, though the redness of her face and swollen eyes, a loud reminder of what could never be forgotten.

Ser Arryk nods at prince consort's command.

Jace's heart was going to explode.

[delfiore]

you drew stars around my scars, but now i’m bleeding [part i]

pairing: rhaenyra targaryen x hightower!fem!reader

synopsis: the reality of life at court for nobles tears two best friends, sometimes more, apart.

word count: 3.3k

a/n: basically the dance of the dragons through otto hightower’s second daughter’s eyes. i’m trying to build a character around this y/n so this might involve some relationship building with alicent and otto. some time jumps might be different as well.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You were one-and-ten when you swore your loyalty to Rhaenyra Targaryen.

The Godswood, red leaves all around and above you, was your favorite spot to spend time with her and your sister.

You and Rhaenyra liked to play tickle, and you always found yourself yielding to her.

Rhaenyra was a year older, small for her age but possessed great strength for her frame.

“Yield! I yield!” You shouted out, your laughter dying down, as you attempted to catch your breath.

“You can’t out-tickle me,” Rhaenyra said proudly, arching her eyebrows. She had made no effort to move from you.

“I said I yield, didn’t I?” You smiled.

You knew how to wield a sword, a small sword albeit, but a sword. Your father has seen you drag around a sword a knight had lain next to him while he ate supper one day. Your tiny, seven-year-old body was barely big enough compared to the weapon, yet you held it up and pointed it at the knight, whose heart was about to leap out of his chest at the likelihood of the small lady injuring herself with his belonging. You started training with Ser Harrold Westerling ever since. Your strength was superior compared to the princess’, yet you would yield over and over if it meant seeing that bright smile upon her face.

“And frankly, your father would have my head if I hurt you,” you said simply and shrugged.

“You can’t hurt me, Y/N, not in a million years.”

“You’re right, and I would hurt anyone who dares try to hurt you, badly.” You said. “I’d tackle them to the ground and stab them with my sword. No merciful death for anyone who dares to harm the princess.”

“Oh, my knight in shining armor! How chivalrous of you,” Rhaenyra announced dramatically. “Perhaps you should be my sworn protector.”

“If I could, I would,” you said, looking at your sword, which was rested against the tree, “I’d guard you with my life. You’re my best friend.”

“And you mine. You and Alicent both. I can’t imagine a life without you two. It’d be so dull, so depressing.”

“Then perhaps you shall keep us with you forever, future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” you then got on one knee much to Rhaenyra’s bemusement, “I, Y/N of House Hightower, do hereby swear fealty to you. I pledge my sword and my life to defend yours, from this day until my last day.”

“Rise, Lady Y/N Hightower, as my sworn shield,” Rhaenyra held her chin high in attempt to stay earnest, but soon broke out into giggles with you.

Under the Gods’ eye, you had made a promise, as young and callow as you were. It had been forged into place. Your heart as well as your sword was hers.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You were two-and-ten when you realized that you had feelings for Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Tears had clouded your weary eyes as you sat, curled up on a bench in the gardens. Your little heart was beating fast after the outburst you’ve just had, yanking out flowers and leaves from plants nearby and tearing them apart. Adults walked past, but they didn’t dare to say anything because, though you were only a child, you were higher in station than most of them.

“Y/N? Oh, Y/N, what’s wrong?”

You felt arms wrapped around you, instantly put you at ease. You were still seething with anger, but you weren’t overcome with these emotions anymore. You felt like you could kept them at bay, at her sweet voice and her warm embrace.

“Alicent,” you said, hiccuping, “we fought, and she said that I was the spare daughter, that Father would do just fine without me.”

“Oh, Y/N. That’s not true, look at me.” You obeyed your princess. There isn’t anything you wouldn’t do for her. “Alicent was wrong to say that. You know who wouldn’t be fine without you? Me, Y/N. You’ve made this place so much better, with your witty charms, and your good manners—to the point that it drives me crazy how good you are. I need you, Y/N. I’ll always need you.”

“Really?” You said.

Rhaenyra smiled, reaching up to wipe away your tears. “Really.”

This time, it was you that hugged her, but it felt more like a cling of desperation. The Princess was your only friend, even your sister would be envious, you were sure of it. Your heartbeat was fast, but it was warm with love. You were warm with love.

You never expected anything to come to your name, as the youngest child of the Hand. Certainly no lands and titles—for you were no man—no riches and gold either, not of your own anyway. Instead, you spent your days training with your sword, and sharpening your mind with books. You were committed to becoming the most capable person your circumstances allowed you.

But there was a lot that you didn’t know about life at court. How could you? You were only a child.

You had been training with a dummy in the courtyard with Westerling, when you noticed the old knight straightening up, his armor plates rubbing against each other in metallic dissonance.

“My Prince,” he said, bowing his head.

You looked up in awe. He stood there in all his Targaryen glory, with his long white hair, tall frame, arms folded behind his back regally, and a princely smirk. You’ve heard tales about him, how he had slain half of King’s Landing for various petty crimes. You’ve heard Rhaenyra talk about him too, yet none of it prepared you for the nervousness of meeting your hero.

“Training hard, I see, Lady Y/N.”

Your mouth hung open, as you thought of what to say. But Ser Harrold had nudged you with a stern look before you could think.

“Y-Yes, my Prince.”

“Spar with me,” Prince Daemon extended his hand to the weapon master for a wooden sword.

“My Prince, she’s not ready—“ Ser Harrold attempted to intervene. Little twelve-year-old you was still in awe at the white-haired man.

“Come, now. Let’s see what you’re made of, Hightower.”

The Prince circled you, a blunt, wooden sword swirling in hand, but he looked like an apex predator nonetheless, ready to swallow you whole.

You couldn’t back down, though, and embarrass your House. You were Y/N Hightower of Oldtown, daughter of Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King.

The movement came to you like muscle memory, everything Harrold taught you suddenly moving you as Daemon delivered blow after blow. You knew he was holding back, but you didn’t want him to. You were strong enough to take on the Prince.

You had had him right there, with a feigned lunge forward to make him dodge and then you would knock the sword out of his hand. But Daemon was quicker, and switched his weapon to his free hand to push you to the ground. When you looked up, Daemon Targaryen would have buried his sword in your throat in a real fight.

“Good movement.” He extended a hand and pulled you up with ease. “Does that hurt?”

He pointed at your reddened palm that has since scraped up with blood. “No, my Prince. A scratch.” You said, puffing your chest, and hiding your wounded hand behind your back.

The Prince nodded. “We’ll make a warrior out of you yet,” He handed you his sword, then he was gone.

When you returned to your father’s living quarters to read, he had been there to wait for you, unlike most days. You were too giddy to pick up on his disdainful frown.

“Father!” You called happily, running towards him to bring him into a hug. “I fought Prince Daemon! I fought him in hand-to-hand combat in the courtyard!”

Your father only pulled you from himself, and examined the scratch on your hand. “Did he do this to you?”

“Yes, but Father, it’s alright—“

“You are no longer to speak to that man, ever, do you understand? He is no good person, and he will hurt you again.” The Hand said firmly. “You are my daughter. You are Y/N Hightower, and you ought to remember that. Daemon Targaryen is not our friend.”

You looked down at your feet, you didn’t know why Father was making such a big deal of it. Injuries were bound to happen in combat, and Daemon is not a bad person.

“Do you understand, Y/N?”

“Yes, Father,” you said meekly, steadying your voice so as not to show him that you were crying.

You didn’t tell Rhaenyra of the incident the next time you saw her coming back from flying with Syrax, and you never did. You just stopped idolizing the Rogue Prince from then on.

“You reek of dragon,” you teased, scrunching your nose, as she walked towards you.

“Careful,” she removed her gloves, “Syrax doesn’t like people talking about how she smells.”

“To the Godwood?”

“Always.”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You were three-and-ten when Rhaenyra Targaryen was named heir to the Iron Throne.

Seeing her there at the foot of the throne in all her glory, as all the lords of the Seven Kingdoms swore to defend her succession, you couldn’t be prouder. No matter what happens, you knew you’d always be by her side to council her, comfort her, be her shoulder to lean on when ruling the realm gets difficult. You had sworn an oath that you meant to upheld.

Rhaenyra looked nervous though, terrified even. You could only stand aside and shoot her an encouraging smile, to which the corner of her mouth pulled up slightly.

As soon as she was released from her duties, she stuck with you and Alicent all night. Even while the handmaidens were undressing her, removing her hair updo and helping her into her nightgown, she insisted you stay with her.

It was only when the handmaidens had left, and Alicent was called to your father’s chambers, had Rhaenyra hesitantly asked you to stay the night.

“Rhaenyra,” you said, “it is the biggest day of your life, but why do you seem so sad?”

“Do you think I’ll be a good queen?”

“Of course,” you said matter-of-factly, “you were born for this. You’re the blood of the dragon.”

“No,” Rhaenyra shook her head. “Do you think I’ll be a good queen? Me. Not a Targaryen, not my father’s daughter, just me.”

Her questioned surprised you. You would never think someone as self-assured as her would question her own inheritance.

“Rhaenyra, I know you’ll be a good queen,” you said, placing your hand over hers. “You’re what the realm needs, a resolute mind and a gentle heart. Come your time to rule, they will see that you are as fit to lead as any man.”

For the first time that night, she smiled, albeit tearfully. “I can’t do this alone, Y/N. I’ll always need you by my side.”

You nodded, squeezing her hand before bringing it up to kiss it. “Always. However long you need me with you, I will be.”

The night had come in the Red Keep, the darkness giving the princess an usual courage. She dropped your hand, and leaned over, pressing her palms on the bed. You let it happen, you didn’t breathe because you had wanted this for so long. It was merely a second or two, then she pulled back.

You kissed her again, naively, your lips puckered to touch hers, and you can’t remember a life before it since.

The morning light peaked through the windows when you opened your eyes. You smiled, and let out a sigh of contentment, careful not to wake the Realm's Delight in your arms as you got up. The walk back to your chambers was quicker than usual, mostly because you were giddily skipping and running for most of it. How good it was to love and be loved. It was all you cared about, and all you wanted to care about.

Two years went by, and Rhaenyra was growing into the young woman she was always meant to be. Beside her, you were also growing, as her companion, and her best friend. Your father has been bugging you about marriage, something you found no appeal in. He proposed a betrothal with House Blackwood, Crakehall, Reyne, and Lefford, but none of the prospects interested you.

“You’re almost a woman-grown, Y/N. You must marry, as I did, as your mother did, and as did most noble person in this realm before you,” Father countered.

“Why does Alicent not have to marry? Why does she get to stay?”

Otto Hightower held your gaze lowly, “Alicent will do her part.”

“Father, I don’t wish to be married.” You said firmly. “I wish to stay here, with my family, with the Princess. I’ll be her lady-in-waiting that’s what it takes.”

The flame flickered on his face, as he came closer to out his hands on your shoulder.

“Loyalty has always been one of your best qualities. You're like your mother in that way, that fire in your eyes is what I admire about you.” He spoke softly. “But you need to remember who you must be loyal to. Your family, Y/N. Your family is the only people that will never abandon you, in this world of those who are ready to trample you to get what they want. And the more people we make our family, by marriage or otherwise, the more people we have to protect us.”

Your father pulled you into his arms, and pressed a kiss to your head.

On your way back to your room, your mind was clouded with thoughts. You didn’t see ahead, and the person you bumped into. You looked up to find your sister, looking as if she was in a haste.

“Watch where you’re going,” she said crudely.

“You ran into me,” you retorted, “where are you going anyway?”

“It’s none of your business. That’s bad manners, you know?”

“What is?”

“Inserting yourself in other people’s affairs when it doesn’t concern you,” Alicent said, “Seven Hells, Y/N, you’re not a child anymore. You need to learn to take some responsibility for yourself. If not, then for Father’s sake.”

Alicent has always been what your father preferred in a girl, virtuous and ladylike and obedient. She was what he wished you'd be more like. If only he could see who she really was. Some people you must tolerate, only because they're family . . .

Your sister pushed past you and hurriedly rounded the corner. You waited until there was a sizable distance between you before following her, up the stairs, through Maegor's Holdfast. She was going to the King's apartments. You ducked behind a wall, as Alicent turned around to spot any prying eyes before a Kingsguard granted her entrance into his chambers.

You feared the worse.

The next time you saw your sister, it took all of your might not to let your recent discovery dictate your behavior. It was difficult though, as your distaste for her had been present even before you knew what you knew. Rhaenyra was laying her head on Alicent's thighs as they read together in the Godswood.

"There you are. We've been looking everywhere for you," Rhaenyra rose with an excited smile; Alicent, not so much.

"I was training in the courtyard," you said.

"Don't worry about her, she's always off swinging a sword around." Your sister voiced. "That's just Y/N."

Ignoring her words, you sat down on the grass. "Where were you two?"

"In the Sept," Rhaenyra said.

"Why?" A scornful laugh unapologetically escaped you.

"We thought some prayer might do us good," Alicent replied.

"And did it?" You asked, looking at Rhaenyra incredulously. She only shrugged.

"I thought it was good for . . . releasing any emotions I've had to hold back," the Princess fumbled with her ring, the one with the Arryn falcon imprint she started wearing ever since her mother passed.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

"You shouldn't be so hostile towards your sister, you know?"

"Why not? She's stupid, and prissy, and a hypocrite and—" you stopped yourself before you could say more. You released the clover you had been rolling between your fingers.

Rhaenyra watched you tentatively with a soft smile. "She means well."

"I don't know why she loathes me so much. All I've ever wanted was to just . . . be her sister," you confessed lowly, "instead she treats our relationship as some sort of race. She always has to come out on top."

"I think you would benefit from telling her these things yourself."

"I'd rather drive a sword through my own heart," you rolled your eyes.

This elicited a laugh from the platinum-haired. "You love each other, I know it. A little kindness goes a long way, Y/N."

"I'd rather spend all my kindness on you," you leaned closer with a smirk and kissed Rhaenyra on the cheek.

"And I would not complain about that," she tilted your chin towards her lips, and kissed you slowly.

Your good mood was quickly snuffed out when on your way back to your chambers for the night, you thought you heard quiet cries behind the door next to yours, Alicent's.

Your sister's face was red, blemished, and blotched with tears when she looked up at you, very unlike the face she uses to present herself as a proper lady. In truth, even you yourself had never seen her like this before.

"Father wishes I be married," Alicent hiccuped through her tears.

Your worst assumptions held true, and you couldn't help but feel pity for her. You approached your sister slowly, extending your arms. She looked confused at first, but you pulled her into your arms, and her cries grew louder into your shoulder. You didn't know how you were supposed to break the news to Rhaenyra, or even if it was yours to do so.

Everyone would know, whenever the Crown Princess was angry. Syrax, as if feeling her rider's fury, would let out the most monstrous of roars, her wings brushing past the roofs and darkening the sky as the beast flies past. You needed to see her, so you waited near the Dragonpit until you heard Syrax's screech in the distance. And furious she was.

"Rhaenyra!"

She ignored you, and kept stomping away, Ser Harrold following behind her. So you insisted.

“Rhaenyra, wait!”

“Did you know?”

“What?”

“Did you know, Y/N? Be truthful.”

“I'd only assumed. I-I—" You held out a hand, but she pulled away.

"My father and my best friend," Rhaenyra smiled bitterly, tears stinging at the corner of her eyes. "And she never said anything, you never said anything."

"Rhaenyra . . ." you pleaded. "I couldn't say anything when I wasn't sure, it is treason to speculate such things."

“Men have spoken over smaller matters,” she said lowly. “You would not speak the truth if it does not benefit you. I thought I could entrust that from you of all people. You’re just like the rest of them.”

The truth was, deep down, you were trying to protect your sister, and maybe yourself too. You were sparing yourself and Alicent of Rhaenyra’s wrath, that now as you were seeing it, looked more like disappointment.

“Do not seek me out. I do not wish to see you anymore.”

The Princess walked away before you could utter a word of apology. In the distance, Syrax huffed and she was led back into the Dragonpit.

[jaimeslanisters]

the pawn in every lover's game (part eleven)

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!Reader

When you’re ten, your father sends you to King's Landing to befriend a princess and woo a prince. A lioness growing up amongst dragons is a dangerous thing indeed.

crossposted on ao3 masterlist word count: 6.4k chapter warning: some discussion of sexual acts, a lowkey innocence kink notes: this fic also moonlights as a love letter to helaena

Viserys Targaryen is dying.

As you stand behind Helaena, watching as she kneels at her father’s bedside to speak to him, the Queen standing next to her, wringing her hands, you realize it’s nothing short of a miracle that the man is still alive. He looks skinny, far skinnier than you ever remember him looking like back when you were a child, and his skin has taken on a gray and pallid hue, more corpse than a living man. He’s rotting as he lays here, decaying before he even passes, and you note with a grim sense of satisfaction that it’s the bare minimum he deserves for what he’s done to his children.

You hope he’s in there still, behind the haze of milk of the poppy dulling his pain and senses. You hope he’s trapped within his own body with nothing but his regrets to keep him company.

The King is dying and you wish he were dying sooner.

The smell of the medicines that the maesters must be pouring into him to keep him alive is strong, unbearably so, and you can feel your nose twitch as you fight to keep your face neutral against the sting. Whenever you finally get to leave, you know that the scent will follow you, will linger on your clothes like a stain that’s too stubborn to be scrubbed off. At your side, Ser Harrold Westerling faces away from the King and his family, the ever-watchful sentinel, and you wonder how he does this day after day. Only a few moments have passed since you entered the royal bedchambers and already, you’re desperate to get out. Perhaps he’s grown used to the awful smell. Perhaps he’s as familiar with the stench of death as you are with the old dusty smell of the library or the sweet floral aroma of the gardens.

“My love,” Alicent murmurs, reaching out to brush a thin piece of hair away from the King’s face. He doesn’t react, doesn’t shift to seek out her touch, or flinch away. He’s a statue, perfectly still, and only the labored movement of his chest tells you that he’s alive. “Helaena is here. It’s her last day as a maiden and she wants your blessing for the wedding tomorrow.”

Helaena looks at her mother nervously before her gaze shifts to look at you. You smile the best that you can, nodding your head to encourage her, and, after a deep breath, she focuses her attention back on her father. Even from your spot, you can see how her hands tremble slightly as she rests them on the bed, her fingers curling into the thick covers to give herself something to cling to. “I… I wanted to thank you, Father, for allowing me this opportunity to bring our House honor through continuing Valyrian traditions. Aegon and I… Aegon and I will bring you pride, Father. We will. I promise.”

He doesn’t deserve it, you want to assure her. You’ve given him enough. You have nothing more to give to him. Not when he doesn’t deserve even your kind words.

After she finishes speaking, Helaena looks like she has more she wants to say but, after a long drawn-out moment where the only sounds are the rattling breath of a dying king, she shakes her head and rises to her feet. She stands, her silver hair a pale flame in the darkened chambers next to her mother’s blazing red hair, and looks over to the Queen, plainly waiting for instruction on what to do next.

Alicent sighs, her hand gently smoothing over the little hair that Viserys has left, and her eyes flicker down to her husband. From here, you can see the way her mouth turns downward, how her eyes stare down at the King with open pain and distress.

You curl your fists at your side, digging your nails deep into your palm, just so you can anchor yourself to something.

“Husband,” Alicent tries again, valiantly trying to steady her voice but, in the silence of the room, you can plainly hear the slightly higher pitch, the more pleading tone. She’s begging Viserys to care, to acknowledge Helaena, and you wonder if you’ve ever hated anyone more. Erren and Victor Florent had made the valiant attempt to supplant the king from that dubious honor but you know that, if the Stranger asked you if you would trade Victor’s death for that of Viserys Targaryen, you would take that deal in an instant. For Helaena, for Aemond, and for Daeron and Aegon too. “Your daughter is here. She’s here for her final maiden day, my love. Don’t you have anything you wish to say to her?”

There’s silence, dead awful silence, but then the king shifts in his bed, a low groan leaving his body, as he feebly pushes himself up slightly, craning his head to stare out at his wife and daughter at his side. You watch as Helaena’s face hesitantly brightens with something resembling hope, how Alicent twists her frown into a cautious and encouraging smile, and fear suddenly grips your heart as you realize all at once why the old king had moved.

No, you think wildly, wishing you could reach out to shield them and silence the King in one quick motion. Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare.

But Viserys didn’t do what you had wanted him to do in Driftmark and he certainly wouldn’t do it here.

“Rhaenyra?” Viserys asks, his voice weak and shaky as if each word is fighting and clawing its way out of his chest. “Rhaenyra is here?”

The king could only have done more damage if he had struck his wife and daughter across the face as he uttered that name. As it were, the Queen flinches back as she has been slapped, her brown eyes wide in distress and betrayal as she stares down at her husband, as she looks at the man she had vowed to love and protect and cherish ignore the daughter she had given him.

But Helaena… Helaena only closes her eyes, tilting her head down for a moment as if she’s trying to find balance again, squeezing her hands so tightly together that her already pale knuckles grow even whiter. When she looks up again, there is no heartache or disappointment written on her face. No pain. No anger.

There is only resignation.

You don’t even think - you step forward, suddenly desperate to reach out to Helaena, to brush your hand against her sleeve to assure her that you’re here and that you’re here for her, not for some rotting old king that would get what was coming for him in this life or the next. The moment your heel touches the ground, however, Viserys lets out another rattling breath and his pale eyes, dull and lifeless and so far removed from the bright eyes of all his children, swing to look at you.

He’s hopeful, that much is plain. He’s looking at you but he doesn’t see you and you can recognize the exact moment he realizes that you’re not Rhaenyra or anyone resembling anything close to Rhaenyra. Viserys looks at you for a moment longer, so plainly baffled by your presence, and indignation rises up in you.

You’ve been at Helaena’s side for nearly the majority of your life. You’ve been her loyal companion. You’ve been Aemond’s. For years, you’ve stood at their sides, as determined and loyal as any kingsguard.

And there’s no flicker of recognition in his eyes. Not when he looks at you. Not when he looks at Helaena.

For a moment, you let your mask slip. For half a second, you let all the rage and frustration and hatred slip onto your face as you glower at Viserys Targaryen, feeling as if you could reach out and choke him as easily as you could draw your next breath. For half a second, you imagine how lovely it would be to become a kingslayer, how easy. For half a second, you imagine how beautiful it would be for Viserys Targaryen to die knowing it’s because of his own actions, his own inactions.

It’s only for a moment but it’s a glorious moment.

Your mask comes back easily and you continue forward, moving to Helaena’s side, your face as pleasant as usual. The Queen is too busy staring down at the king, too busy facing yet another failure of her husband, but the princess is watching you. She had seen your control slip and, when you move to stand next to her, you look up to meet her eyes.

And she smiles.

Beautiful, sweet, and kind Helaena smiles and you know without a doubt, if she were to ask you to become a kingslayer for her, you would do it with nary a complaint. Quietly, you reach out to gently graze her sleeve, and, quick as can be, Helaena snatches your hand, squeezing it tight.

“Rhaenyra,” Viserys calls, feebly, and, reluctantly, you tear your eyes away from Helaena to stare down at him. He’s staring at Helaena, pale purple eyes pleading up at his daughter. “Rhaenyra, my girl, have you come to read to me? Have you and Alicent come to read?”

You glance over at Helaena but she’s already looking down at her father. Her face is clear, a perfectly blank expression, and your heart aches at the sight of it. “I’m not sure if I’ll have time to. We have to go to the royal sept, Father,” she says after a moment, clearly forcing the words out as calmly as she can.

“Can wait,” Viserys manages to croak out, his voice growing weaker and weaker as whatever little strength had possessed him to speak leaves his body. “Please. Alicent. Wait.” You look back at the King, expecting to see him gazing at his wife, but instead, his eyes are trained on you and you startle at the unexpected eye contact.

“Me?” You manage out after a moment, completely caught off guard. You’ve lived in the Red Keep since you were ten and not once has anyone ever compared you to the Queen. You were the walking copy of Lady Johanna Lannister and Johanna was as far from Alicent Hightower as was possible. Baffled, you snap your gaze towards the Queen, as if she could explain her husband’s delusion, only she’s already looking at you.

Her eyes aren’t anywhere near your face, however. She’s not looking over your dress in case you’ve accidentally worn something that resembled something she wore once in her childhood. No, she’s staring at your hand, wrapped around Helaena’s, and for a moment, you can’t imagine how that would cause more pain to spring up on her face than her husband’s mistake had.

It hits you all at once.

She used to be Princess Rhaenyra’s childhood companion, you realize, watching the Queen with pity blooming in your chest. His mistake has nothing to do with any resemblances he’s deluded himself into seeing. It’s about who I am to his daughter. Who she was to Rhaenyra.

You’ve never seen the Queen quite so off-kilter like this. Even on Driftmark, her heartbreak and anger had blazed more brightly than… this. That had been righteous fury, tempered by the shock and agony of failure. This was defeat and regret. She was deflated and lost, a little girl in all but appearance, so far removed from the Queen you’ve grown accustomed to after years and years spent in her company.

Even Helaena has noticed her mother’s distress, looking away from her father to stare at her mother. Nervous and hesitant, she reaches out with her free hand, gripping one of Alicent’s sleeves gently and tugging.

“Mother,” she whispers, sounding just like she had when you were both little girls, and just like that, the trance Alicent had entered is broken. The Queen reels back, brown eyes wide as she stares at you and Helaena, looking at your faces now. She’s breathing quickly as if she’s just risen up from the depths and is finally catching her first breath of fresh air after eons of holding her breath. “Mother, are you…”

Alicent shakes her head immediately, visibly rattled. “We should head to the sept, my sweet,” she quickly says, plastering a plainly fake smile on her face. “There are quite a few ceremonies you girls will need to perform today and I’m sure the septas would appreciate all the extra time you can afford to give them.”

The pair of you stare back at her, stunned by her fast turnaround before you find your voice. “Of course, Your Grace,” you say, bowing your head slightly.

After a moment, Helaena echoes your words and, hurriedly, Alicent rushes the pair of you out, the three of you quietly whispering your thanks to Ser Harrold as you pass.

None of you bow to Viserys when you leave.

——————————–

You’ve never been too fond of the royal sept. There’s nothing wrong with it in particular - it is a beautiful sept, one fit for the seat of the royal family, but whenever you were in it, you only ever felt longing for Casterly Rock. At your ancestral home, your mother, while not pious by any stretch of the imagination, would always make sure that you and your sisters would keep up appearances by performing the appropriate amount of prayers and songs in front of the statues of the Seven. It didn’t happen too often - usually only two or three times in a sennight - but it was a frequent enough occasion that the incense the septas burned immediately launch you back to Casterly Rock’s sept.

To be sure, the royal sept was larger and grander with beautiful stained windows filling the main statuary room with copious amounts of light. The sept at Casterly Rock was practically claustrophobic by comparison. Set deep within the Rock itself, it was windowless with only candles providing light but it had never seemed dark, not even when the candles were dwindling to nubs. In true Lannister fashion, nearly everything in the sept was golden - from the floors you and your sisters kneeled on to pray to the statues of the Seven you had prayed to. With no windows and only small vents carved into the walls for air circulation, the smell of incense was near unbearable. As a little girl, it had been the least favorite of your chores by far and you had often complained to Cerelle and Tyshara under your breath about how badly your eyes and nose ached after even a few seconds inside the sept, giggling whenever your mother or your septa had scolded the three of you for not focusing on prayer.

The air in the royal sept, in comparison, was fresh - as fresh as King’s Landing air could get - and the incense smell was low, far more manageable than it was at Casterly Rock. When the septa leads you and Helaena to stand before the statue of the Maiden, you find you almost miss the ache. The ache meant you were at Casterly Rock. It meant you had your sisters and your mother near.

One has left and another will leave the Rock soon enough you think to yourself, moving through the mechanics of kneeling before the statue on instinct. Soon, all of us will leave the Rock and only little Loren will remain.

It’s a discomforting thought to have to picture the Rock without Cerelle managing the household, without Tyshara entertaining Jeyne and Joy with you, and you quickly banish it from your mind, forcing yourself to refocus on what the septa was explaining to you.

Almost predictably, however, the septa leaves as soon as you decide to actually listen to her and, as you watch her leave with a twinge of regret, Helaena leans in close to your ear, ignoring the way you jump slightly when you notice how close she is. “Did you catch anything she said?”

You cough to cover up your laugh and someone in the spacious chamber shushes you. Helaena almost immediately bursts into giggles, throwing her hand over her mouth in a vain attempt to muffle it, and you grin, biting your cheek so you don’t start laughing again.

“Missed every single thing,” you promptly confess when she finally slows her giggles, gently knocking her with your shoulder to tease her when that statement makes her dissolve into another laughing fit.

Eventually, she calms, shaking her head while she looks around the sept curiously. There are only a few other septas, most of them tending to the Father and Mother statues as they gently clean them with rags. A lone septon stands in front of the Crone, head bowed as he swings a thurible gently in front of him, the smoke lazily making its way up to the statue of the wizened old lady.

“Did she say when she was supposed to return for us?” You ask, watching the septon finish his prayer and slowly move around the circle of the Seven to the statue of the Smith, swinging the thurible as he goes.

Helaena shakes her head. “I think soon. We still have to bathe, don’t we?”

You tilt your head in thought, trying to recall everything your childhood septas had explained to you about your future wedding days. A bride’s last day as a maiden was spent in prayer and recitation, usually with her chosen maiden companion at her side, and, if your vague recollections of your lessons were to be trusted, at some point, the two of you would be sent to a large bathing room where septas would wash the pair of you while reciting prayers for fertility and health. From there, it would be more prayer until you finally got to leave the sept to attend a dinner with Helaena’s family.

Attend a dinner. Not eat a dinner. Like for Maiden’s Day, the pair of you would have to fast until the next morning, and sit a dinner, surrounded by everyone eating around you, to symbolize the strength and willpower the maidens must have in order to remain pure until their wedding days.

Typically, the dinner that you wouldn’t eat was held with the bride’s family with the groom eating someplace else with his own family except you weren’t entirely sure what the protocol would be seeing as the groom was the bride’s family here. Would Aegon eat with you two? Would the family be split down the middle with some dining with him and the rest with Helaena?

You sigh, deciding that it didn’t matter now. “Yes. Your mother should be joining us after the bath, I believe, but you know… It doesn’t seem very fair that we have to spend all day in the sept while the princes get to watch the archery event. They still have roles to play tomorrow.”

Helaena shrugs helplessly, reaching towards the basket of flowers placed at the Maiden’s feet and running her fingers absentmindedly through the loose petals. “Aemond is the Warrior. It makes sense for him to be there at the tourney, I suppose.”

You resist the urge to snort. “And Daeron is meant to be the Smith, isn’t he? I don’t suppose he’ll be spending the day in the forge or will he?”

“Being the Maiden isn’t all bad,” Helaena replies, giving you a small smile. “No one can bother us right now, at least.”

Something in you softens at her expression and you smile back easily, nodding. “Of course, Helaena. I’m not complaining about serving as your Maiden. I’m more questioning what the men will be doing in preparation.”

It had never occurred to you that there was a disparity between the work that the different wedding attendants would need to do in order to properly fulfill their duties. Typically, weddings done in the light of the seven always had six attendants to serve them: the Father, the Mother, the Maiden, the Warrior, the Smith, and the Crone. The Stranger was never physically represented - not when having their presence would only invite death onto the newlyweds. The six attendants were typically divided neatly in the middle with the bride’s and groom’s party each providing three of them but, when the party was essentially one, there was no such division aside from preference. Otto Hightower was serving as the Father seeing as Viserys Targaryen could not be bothered. Alicent was the Mother, you were the Maiden, Aemond was the Warrior, Daeron the Smith, and the Crone was…

“Who’s the Crone?” You ask without thinking, your voice accidentally an octave too loud, and, immediately, you are shushed by several people.

Helaena grins at your affronted look. “Princess Rhaenys.”

You choke, earning yourself another reprimand that you promptly ignore, before you lean in, desperate for more information. “Princess Rhaenys? How? Why?”

She shrugs in response. “Grandfather has been talking with her recently. She’s the oldest, highest-ranking woman in our House, after all.”

“He’s actually speaking to her?” You ask. “Or she’s actually speaking to him?”

“Aemond told him to, apparently. He said Grandfather should speak to Princess Rhaenys about tax reforms, I think, and apparently, when he did, he ended up asking her to serve as the Crone and she agreed.”

You lean back, flatly stunned, and you rest your hands on your knees as you think. It had only been a few days since you had told Aemond he should tell the Lord Hand to consult with Rhaenys. While the days since had felt impossibly long, you knew that wasn’t the truth. In all honesty, you had expected Aemond to act on your advice once the wedding had passed, during those few days when noblemen slowly prepared to return to their holdfasts and castles. You had never expected him to enact your suggestions so fast and you fight back a smile.

Aemond’s speed aside, this was massive. Rhaenys serving as an attendant at Aegon and Helaena’s wedding was by no means a sign that she was fostering an alliance with that branch of the Targaryen family but it was an opening.

An opening you intend to use.

“Will she be at the dinner tonight? Or will she be preparing with us later?” You ask, fighting to suppress the eagerness in your voice.

You fail if Helaena’s bemused smile is anything to go off of. “I think she will be.”

You grin, laughing out loud in glee, and not even caring when a chorus of shushes responds.

——————————–

You wish the septas had bothered to heat up the water. The bath hadn’t been bad - at least, not at first. It had been odd, to say the least, to have five septas circling the communal bath while singing hymns you only vaguely recognize while two washed you and Helaena. No one has bathed you since you were a little girl and to suddenly have an audience was disconcerting, to say the least. You had quickly gotten over their presence, however, instead focusing on holding yourself back from shivering relentlessly. It was cold and, as the prayers had dragged on, it had only grown colder. The little warmth the bath had had in the beginning had died quickly and you were left fighting the urge to curse and dive for a towel to try to use to warm you up.

Helaena, thankfully, had handled it much better than you had. She had only flinched at the beginning when the septa had reached for her but eventually, she had grown accustomed to the woman’s touch and had relaxed, looking as if she was handling the cold of the water a great deal better than you.

The blood of the dragon runs hot indeed.

Mercifully, the bath ends and, after dressing the pair of you in simple gowns and drying your hair, the septas guide you to a new statuary area, away from the large room you had been in earlier. It’s spacious enough if only because it’s nearly empty and, when you spot the women waiting for you, you fight down a smile.

Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenys could not look more uncomfortable with one another if they tried. It’s clear that they’ve just arrived for surely they would be more at ease with one another if they had had more time to try and start a conversation. As it were, when the septas lead you and Helaena in, both women show flickers of relief on their faces, one more muted than the other.

When the septas instruct the four of you, you actually listen, unwilling to be caught off guard in front of people who wouldn’t take as kindly to it as Helaena had. Thankfully, the ceremony they leave you all to do is a relatively simple one although a rather tedious one. It’s an affirmation of the seven blessings - the four of you will walk around the sept seven times, stopping at each statue as you go to ask for their blessing for the wedding tomorrow.

Simple. Yet so unbearably tedious.

Thankfully, Alicent, by far the most pious of the four of you, leads the way, Helaena right by her side. This leaves you in the back, walking by Princess Rhaenys. For the first two laps, you’re all relatively quiet, only speaking when you recite the prayers for each of the Seven, but Helaena breaks the silence first, asking her mother how the preparations are going for tomorrow.

When Alicent launches into a long-winded complaint that she’s clearly been holding back all day, you glance over at the Lady of Driftmark, smiling hesitantly when her eyes, the typical dark blue of House Baratheon rather than the usual violet of House Targaryen, meet yours.

“Princess Rhaenys,” you say after a moment, bowing your head slightly in lieu of a curtsey. Rhaenys reciprocates in kind, eyes sharp as she watches you. “Do you have much experience as an attendant?”

Rhaenys smiles, clearly on guard but plainly judging you to be relatively harmless. “A few times here and there. I’ve played the Maiden as a young girl but I’ve been the Crone a few times now in my age.”

You tactfully ignore the fact she’s never gotten the chance to be the Mother. Rhaenyra and Laenor’s wedding was notoriously rushed and some of the smallfolk whispered that it had been such a cursed union because they had not been given the time to properly ask for the seven blessings. Daemon and Laena’s wedding was similarly speedy if the gossip was to be believed. Daemon had killed Laena’s betrothed and taken her to wife, stealing her away to Essos before anyone could intervene. No seven blessings there either.

“This is my first time as an attendant,” you reply, laughing slightly at yourself. “I’ve attended a few weddings here and there but this is the first time anyone’s ever asked me to participate.”

Conversation pauses as the four of you stop in front of the Maiden, speaking the prayers together, only to resume as you continue on your walk.

Rhaenys raises an eyebrow while looking at you. “You have two older sisters, do you not? I imagine you’ll be able to serve as the Maiden for at least one of them.”

You laugh. “I hope to get such a blessing soon enough. I’m happy enough to serve Helaena, though. She’s a sister to me in all but name at this point.”

“From what I hear, she might be a sister by name soon as well,” she says, smiling slightly when you visibly grow flustered. “The Targaryens may welcome a new daughter sooner rather than later.”

“I could only be so lucky, my princess. To be able to join the house of the dragon would be a blessing beyond words,” you respond after a moment, making sure to soften your tone to sound more shy and unsure of yourself. In front of the two of you, Helaena slightly falters in her footsteps and you feel a flash of nerves, suddenly fearful of her sprouting her prophecies in front of Rhaenys. Instead of that, however, she shoots you an amused look over her shoulder, seemingly having heard the shy maiden you’re presenting yourself as.

Rhaenys, however, doesn’t notice, simply eying you with quiet amusement. Better she think I’m a harmless lovestruck maid than anything else.

After the next statue, the Crone ironically enough, you clear your throat and look back over at the Princess. “I’ve been blessed with being able to speak to Lady Baela. She’s a very clever lady - a testament, I’m sure, to your care.”

Her smile comes even easier now and, in her dark eyes, you can see undisguised pride for her granddaughter. “Baela is a smart girl. Headstrong. She’s like her mother in that regard.”

“Lady Baela has told me of her lady mother - of her kindness and care for her daughters.” You say, softly, and Rhaenys tenses, looking you over with doubt rising in her eyes. You’ve entered dangerous territory with her. “The Stranger is cruel, to take someone so notable so young. I’m glad you’ve stepped in with Lady Baela’s care to honor your daughter. She, and Lady Rhaena, are Lady Laena’s legacy and they are safest in your hands.”

Rhaenys watches you for a beat longer, searching and searching in your face for a sign that you’re being duplicitous. She won’t find it since you’re not - you’re honest. Baela is better off with Princess Rhaenys than with a father who disrespects her mother. “Your words are kind, my lady,” she finally says, tearing her eyes away from yours to stare up at the statue of the Stranger. From here on the ground, the sunlight casts shadows on the stone, concealing completely the Stranger’s face hidden under their cloak. “I live to honor my children. That is my only purpose.”

You don’t reply. You don’t need to. You’ve already planted the seeds.

——————————–

After the week of feasts you’ve been attending night after night, the dining room in Maegor’s Holdfast seems almost positively quaint in comparison. It’d be refreshing and relaxing.

If you could eat.

You and Helaena are the first ones in the dining room and you pointedly keep your eyes off the spread of food, wishing you could plug your nose. You’ve fasted before for different religious holidays but the cooks are seemingly determined to make this exercise in restraint that much harder on you by making your favorites. From freshly baked lemon cakes to decadent venison pies, it all smells absolutely divine and you wish, not for the first time since you’ve sat down, that you could sneak a bite.

Unfortunately, the Queen and Lord Otto are already here, the two of them speaking to Rhaenys about the ceremony tomorrow, and you know with your miserable luck that the moment you reach out to steal even just a candied lemon slice, they’ll look your way and see you breaking your fast. You fear losing their respect more than satisfying your hunger and so you keep your hands firmly in your lap, swearing to yourself that tomorrow you’ll find a way to convince someone to fetch lemon cakes if the bakers don’t make them for tomorrow’s even more lavish feast.

You open your mouth to say something to Helaena when the doors open and Aegon all but trips in. Close behind him, Daeron is grabbing him by the back of the tunic to haul him up while Aemond watches them with such disdain that you know, without a doubt, if his younger brother hadn’t been there, he would have left Aegon to fall on the ground.

“Are we late?” Aegon asks when he rights himself, grinning broadly, and you freely roll your eyes, knowing that none of the princes would care about your act of plain disrespect. Aemond notices and he smirks at you, shaking his head slightly in mirth.

“Of course not,” Alicent says, her tone clearly saying the opposite, and Aegon laughs in lieu of responding. You wince. He’s drunk - which is normal for him - but you haven’t seen him this drunk in years, not since he was a boy and testing his limits. He’s learned to at least play the part of sober but he must have drunk Sunfyre’s weight in alcohol for him to be this drunk. He’s stumbling and only Daeron at his side is keeping him standing. Carefully, the youngest prince guides his brother to a seat at the right end of the table, all but dumping him into it, before he slides into the seat next to him, smiling brightly at the rest of the table as if he hadn’t physically dragged Aegon here. Aemond sits next to you, sandwiching you between him and Helaena, sitting across from his older brother so he can suitably glare at him.

Otto clears his throat once the men settle. “Nevertheless, the princes are here now. We should begin.”

For a moment, you fear he’s going to give a speech and you don’t know if you can stand to sit here amongst your favorite foods for longer than absolutely necessary. When he doesn’t, you almost sigh in relief except the Queen announces that they should all pray together before the meal in order to ask the gods one final time to lend their blessings for tomorrow.

Of course, you think to yourself even as you bow your head and close your eyes, clasping your hands in front of you. This marriage will need all the blessings the gods see fit to give it to be successful.

Thankfully, the prayer goes fast and, almost on instinct, you reach for food only to have to bring yourself to an abrupt stop. You stare pitifully at the tray stacked high with lemon cakes, wishing desperately that you could eat one.

“You’ve fasted before, my lady. I’m surprised you’re taking it so hard this time.” Aemond says after a moment and you pitifully drag your stare away from the lemon cakes to frown at him. He hasn’t reached for any food for his place, preferring to watch you with amusement at your disgruntled expression, and that only makes you frown even more. Around the pair of you, the conversation has started with Lord Otto speaking with Helaena and Rhaenys as Alicent and Daeron make a valiant attempt at disguising their panic at Aegon’s quickly deteriorating state.

“I have,” you reply in a prim voice, tapping your fingers against the empty table setting in front of you. “But this time it’s different. For Maiden’s Day, I’m free to lock myself up in my quarters and distract myself. Here, the temptation is the point. I need to be tempted to prove that I’m able to abstain.”

Aemond’s eyes flash with something that leaves too fast for you to identify. He looks at you for a moment, scanning and analyzing, before he looks over his shoulder to check on his mother sitting by his side. The Queen is leaning towards Aegon, whispering fiercely in low tones, and, judging from the mulish look on the prince’s face, she will be distracted the entire dinner by his shenanigans. He turns back to you and moves closer.

Without thinking, you also move closer, slowly and imperceptibly so as to not call attention, and your sleeve brushes his. Your heart begins to pound loud in your chest.

“Are you tempted often, my lady?” He asks, voice low and steady, and you blink owlishly up at him.

“I don’t eat lemon cakes every day if that’s what you’re asking,” you respond after a moment, tilting your head as you meet his gaze. You know what he’s asking - you know you’re playing the fool for him right now - but you don’t know how to articulate the answer that he’s seeking.

I’m tempted every day but I don’t know what to do.

He smiles but there’s something mean about it. His arm presses into yours. “But you do indulge.”

Vaguely, you’re aware of Helaena laughing at something Rhaenys says but you can’t register any of it, not with the blood rushing in your ears. You lick your lips anxiously and Aemond’s eyes seize on the motion, watching your mouth hungrily. Your heart stutters. “I… I don’t know how.” You confess, feeling yourself burn with shame and something else. “I’ve never… Never.”

I’m playing the Maiden you think to yourself as you watch Aemond’s smirk slowly grow on his face, when that hunger from after the melee grows in his eyes. Surely, this is breaking some rule, going against the blessings we’ve spent all day asking for.

But to be fair to yourself… You don’t think this union could be any more cursed, wayward Maidens and tempting Warriors aside. Perhaps the gods would take pity on you. Maybe the Maiden had never been tempted by a man like Aemond Targaryen.

“But I want to,” you say, the words rushing themselves out of his mouth before you can reconsider them. “Gods, I want to.”

Temptation is the point, you reason with yourself, ignoring how the heat from your and his body makes your head go hazy. There is nothing to abstain from if there is nothing to tempt.

Aemond tilts his head, looking like a cat that’s cornered the mouse, playing with it, knowing he’s won. Part of you rebels against it, wants to remind him that you’re no meek maiden, but a larger part of you delights in letting go of your own restraint and control, if only for a few stolen moments at dinner. “Would you like some advice?”

Something in you thrums at his voice. Mouth dry, you nod.

His eye looks around him for a moment and, judging it to be safe, he leans in, his lips touching your ear as he does. Your hands fist up your dress in your lap, pulling it tight. “I would, my love, but I’m afraid we’re unbound as of right now. My mother might be remarkably uninterested in keeping my head on my shoulders now that the tourney is done.”

He pulls away but you reach out, capturing him by the arm to hold him still. You look at him, mindful to keep your careful distance but still close enough that you feel that rush of excitement when he looks at you. “You said that there’s always been an understanding,” you remind him, squeezing him slightly. “Ever since I came.”

Only peripheral awareness of your surroundings keeps you from telling him that your father wouldn’t mind, not really, if he took his liberties. He would only mind if the perception of you from the court was that he had not, that you were the perfect Maiden that you were meant to be.

From the look in Aemond’s eye, you wonder if he already knows.

He smiles, gentler than he has during this entire dinner, and, for half a second, you feel robbed - of what you’re not sure and that’s the worst part that makes you want to scream. As quickly as the disappointment arises, however, he dashes it when, under his breath, low enough so no one else can hear, he says, “There’s a bud, my lady, in the apex of your thighs. When you’re alone, touch it. Or perhaps, you’ll be strong enough to abstain.”

Your legs snap together, rubbing, and you heave a sigh, nodding shakily, as he pulls away completely. His smile grows even softer as he takes in your state of disorientation.

“Are you tempted?” He asks, nodding his head towards the lemon cakes, as if he’s asking you a perfectly innocent question about your fast. Next to him, finally noticing something aside from Aegon fighting to not vomit, Alicent frowns at him.

“Aemond,” she scolds, looking as if all her patience has left her. “Don’t tease her - she’s performing a great duty for Aegon and Helaena.”

Aemond nods solemnly. “Of course, Mother,” he replies, as innocent as a Targaryen prince could ever be. “I was simply admiring her strength and asking if she was alright.”

You briefly entertain exposing his misbehavior to the Queen, if only to watch him squirm as he had you, but instead, you sigh. “I am fine. Thank you for asking, my prince.”

Aemond bows his head towards you, as if acknowledging your sacrifice for his family, and Alicent turns back to her oldest son, her attention plainly leaving the two of you. He looks at you for a moment longer.

Before he reaches out to steal a candied lemon slice off a lemon cake, popping it in his mouth, and licking the sugar off his fingers.

You wonder if you’re strong enough to flip the table.

[antukaqajsiri]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔶 ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲

Summary: An old (love) friend of the Cargyll's brothers comes to King's Landing.

Pairing: Ser Erryk Cargyll x OC Female!Reader x Ser Arryk Cargyll

Warnings: AFAB reader, plotting sexual situations, alcohol consumption, implied/referenced abuse.

Words: 2080

Author's note: Thanks for reading, this is my first fic in English and here on Tumblr. I apologise if I made any mistakes, English isn't first language. I wrote this for the first time in Spanish, and you can find more chapters in Wattpad and Ao3.

٭⊹¤.•⨳•.☆✬✦✧✦ ✬☆.•⨳•.¤⊹٭

Chapter I

114 AC

For Fiona, traveling to the King's Landing was one of the things that fascinated her most. She loved those long trips to the capital in a carriage. Her father had sent her and her brother Angus to see their uncle, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Harrold Westerling, to serve him as a squire, and her to marry some lord of a vast house. The Westerling were not a house of great wealth, and therefore she had to commit herself to somebody as soon as possible before she had lost her youth; she had already flourished several months ago, but her father could not find whom the little lady would accept for husband. He had already rejected three proposals from the Stark, Frey, and Blackwood houses. They were all "old, ugly or stupid," as Fiona had described them with a face of horror. His father was about to lose his head, he was Lord of Westerling, Lord of the Crag, and his seventeen-year-old daughter manipulated him as she wanted, after all, she was his little girl and only daughter; he needed the help of the King and the Queen to betrothed his daughter and turn his son into a warrior; the time they would spend at the King's Landing would help them to form themselves as good lord and lady of Westerling.

“You should have accepted Lannister as much,” said Angus as the carriage moved forward, “you would be richer and your children even richer.” Fiona hit him in the arm playfully. Her Septa Amara looked at her with reproach before continuing with her knitting. “I'm just telling the truth,” he said.

"Have you nothing to say about father wanting you to become a warrior you are not?" Angus didn't have enough to be a knight. He was noble, tall, and handsome, but he knew not how to use the sword, and notably preferred the company of men rather than women, neither did his father's attempts for wanting to deflower women in bordels change his being and the rumors were beginning to be noticed. “I'd change places with you if I could, baby brother”.

Fiona was a fighter, not very good with the sword because they were too heavy and chubby for her taste, but she knew how to move and evade strikes, her art with the bow and arrow was impressive, and she rode on horses with delicacy. If she had been a man she would have been a knight of the Kingsguard, yet she was born a woman and it was up to her to fulfill her role, that was what her mother used to say all the time. She knew it and accepted it, but she wished to find love and not to marry by obligation a stranger. How longed she to enter an adventure like the one her ladies read to her.

"Maybe in another life," Angus tried to conceal his dissatisfaction. “Uncle Harrold will train me and make me a good sir”. He played with his sword that his father gave him three onomastics back, “I will bring honor to Home.” commented in a broken High Valyrian.

Fiona gave him a paw to calm him down. It was supposed that Angus would not be with her on that journey, but for reasons that put him there Lord Cassius sent him away from home to make him a "true man", his father threatened to disinherit and name his sister as his heir just as King Viserys did with his daughter the princess Rhaenyra.

On the way, Fiona could smell the distinctive smell of King’s Landing, a combination of shit, sex, and dragons, when she heard that the doors of the Red Keep were opening, she could not resist running out. She wanted to walk around the castle, eat pastries, and see her two favorite people, Princess Rhaenyra (with whom she had a close friendship since kid), and her uncle Ser Harrold. The horses stopped and could hear a man announcing their arrival.

"Lord Angus and Lady Fiona Westerling of the Westerling’s of the Crag." One of their father's knights helped her get off the wagon. She knew every one of the knights, squires, and lords of their house. Everyone was kind to her. Fiona was too fearless as a child. She always ended up in situations of danger and was not afraid of being repressed, for these reasons it was difficult for her to find a husband, no one wanted a lady who climbed the windows of castles and ran through the alleys.

She tried to behave like a lady, she didn't want to make a bad impression. She knew what it meant to her father that she found a good husband. Something Lord Cassius would never admit was that he hated the idea of losing his little girl and sending her with a lord who would destroy her spirit. It made her feel anxious, not because she cared that much about those people, yet her future depended on how she behaved.

The sound of steel against steel, the vague talks, and the laughter stopped for a short time to begin with the greetings. Lord Corlys Velaryon welcomed them alongside Princess Rhaenyra, and her royal guard, her dear uncle.

"Lord Angus, Lady Fiona," he revered, "welcome to King's Landing."

Her dear friend, Rhaenyra, pushed him aside to go and say hi to her. They gave each other a friendly hug. They had been friends since childhood and shared letters by raven every moon.

"I am glad you are here, my sweet Fi." The hug lasted long enough. It's been a lot of moons that they last seen. Both laughed. Angus greeted Nyra with a kiss on the hand. “It's a pleasure to see you again too, Lord Angus”.

“Nephew, niece,” said the Lord Commander. Fiona gave him a hug, and Angus did the same. They didn't see each other for more than a year.

Nyra took her by the arm and dragged her through the Red Keep, leaving the gentlemen behind, "They can manage themselves," she told her in High Valyrian as she was taking her down the corridors of the castle.

“Let them catch up with their issues of lords and knights,” she said among laughter. “I'll escort you to your new chamber, it's beautiful and with a view of the garden, you'll love it”.

From what Nyra had said to Fiona before her father, King Viserys, re-married no more and no less than her childhood friend, Alicent Hightower, she had little friendship lately, more now that all the eyes of the kingdom were on her younger brother Aegon, whom many called the true heir. Her only company was her white knight, Ser Criston Cole. Of what her friend wrote about him, she imagined a couple of things that she preferred not to say even in writing, there were little birds who listened to their darkest thoughts and could not afford anyone else to find out. Since her father's second marriage, Rhaenyra felt lonely, and now that one of her friends, whom she considered to be her family, had come to keep her company, she began to feel happy again.

The room that they had given to her was very beautiful and welcoming, although it was not comparable to hers at home. It had the perfect view of the gardens, that was true. It was very different at home. She wandered climbing the mountains and swimming in the sea during a hot summer.

"The day of the name of Aegon is approaching," said Nyra, sitting in bed. "I wish you were with me; I do not desire to share all my time with Alicent and the other women of the kingdom, they only seem to be worried about gossip”.

Fiona smiled gently at her, "I will gladly do it," she replied. “It's been a long time since I went hunting, not since my mother died”. Rhaenyra took her hands to comfort her. Fiona's mother had died sixteen months ago, Nyra's just three years ago. Her mothers were as good friends as they were now; they met when Trianna, the mother of Fiona and Angus, came to Westeros to marry Cassius Westerling of The Crag as a union between Volantis and The Crag, and although her mother was no more than the fifth daughter of one of the richest lords in the city, they managed to get her married to the heir of the House of Westerling and give him a good sum of money to acquire soldiers and wealth.

“Sometimes when I fly with Syrax I can feel my mother close,” said the girl with platinum hair in High Valyrian. Fiona replied with an "I would love to see her again" also in valyrian, her mother tongue. Both girls were comforted during their mourning. “I'm gonna let you get comfortable and I'll be back after dinner. You can dispose of the castle as if it were yours, my dear Fin.”

When she finally was alone, one of her maids, Margy, helped her take a bath and dress her. As a welcome gift, Nyra gave her a beautiful nude dress with golden flower fabrics on its sleeves. The clothes she normally wears at home were clothed in fine fabrics brought from her mother's land and that showed her shoulders with beautiful golden chains, but she never took off a bracelet of sea shells that her mother gave her at the age of twelve.

At dinner time she went looking for Angus, who was supposed to be practicing with the sword next to his uncle. Her brother's hairy hair was impossible to lose sight of. Anyone would say they were no related. Angus was the portrait of his father except for the eyes, which were brown, while Fiona, with her long black, and silky hair, looked like her ancestors, her eyes were a bright light gray that you could confuse it with the clouds during a storm.

Seeing the dance among the swords fascinated her. Her brother was no fool, but without a doubt, his skill with the weapons was not his strength. Before her father tried to commit her to some lord, he let her practice with Angus and the rumor said that she was very good at it, although she had taken a real sword, she loved to smooth the weapon with subtlety almost dancing, not until she discovered that the bow was her favorite weapon, never failed to the target.

Angus practiced with one of the knights who lived in the castle. He was not bad at all, even though the knight was distinguished by having much more experience than his attacker, and he had the advantage. She came as close as she could to stay safe and watch her younger brother exercise. A hand lay on her shoulder, and the touch made her turn around, surprised by who was touching her. Blue eyes saw her with astonishment. She knew that look that reminded her of the ocean of her home. It was familiar to her.

"My lady." The young knight hastened to make a reverence in respect without taking his gaze away from her eyes. “I'm delighted to see you again, Lady Westerling”.

"Arryk?" she asked in amazement. She hadn't seen Ser Cargyll for years. “I heard rumors that you became part of the Kingsguard. I didn't believe I'd see you again”.

“It was the greatest honour for my family that the King had chosen us as part of his White Swords”. Everything in him had changed. He was taller and muscular, he was no longer the boy with whom she played in the bay. He had become a man, left behind the younger boy she knew. She couldn't help thinking that he looked handsome with his beard, made him look so masculine, embarrassed her to think of those things. “I see Erryk has noticed your presence”.

Fiona looked at him with curiosity and turned around without knowing exactly where to look. There he was, twin number two, training with Angus. A surprise blow from her brother with the sword caused Erryk to react before he got hurt, his reflexes were good. He could notice how the twin's muscles tightened until he made her brother surrender, he kept seeing her, his eyes on hers. Fin could feel her cheeks getting hot at the sight of the noble knight. He made her a subtle reverence before dismissing Angus and leaving the weapon in its place.

"Enjoy your evening, lady Westerling," said Arryk with a friendly smile. “I'm sure we'll see each other again”.

[omgkatherine01]

The Sun in the Dragon House - Prologue

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader & Aegon II Targaryen x fem!reader & Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!reader

Please comment, like and share ❤

It had been a year now since the Heir to the Iron Throne, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Ser Laenor Velaryon, and the Princess broke his heart.

A year since Criston Cole tried to commit suicide, but was stopped by Queen Alicent.

A year since he became completely the Queen's ally and knight.

Now, both the Princess and the Queen have given birth to their sons. The Princess gave birth to her first son and heir, Jacaerys Velaryon. And before his birth, the Queen gave birth to her third child and second son, Aemond Targaryen.

Criston was standing behind the Queen as he watched the royal family with the children. King Viserys was smiling at his new grandson, not even paying any attention now to his five years old son, Aegon, his four years old daughter, Helaena, and even his new baby son, Aemond.

His Queen was hurt that her husband was paying more attention to his older daughter and son, and nottheir children.

Everyone knew that Jacaerys wasn't Laenor's son. They didn't look alike. Jacaerys's growing hair was brown, and he had brown eyes, while Laenor had the Valyrian features. The snowy white hair, the violet eyes.

Jacaerys was a bastard.

And the King didn't care.

Not since he's his daughter's son.

Criston was joining in on the hunt that was happening today, it will be him, the King, Laenor and others from the court. With a nod from Queen Alicent, he got on his horse and joined on the hunt.

----

It doesn't feel right,that's the only thing Criston could think about right now as they were hunting. He slowed his horse down to a stop while the others continued.

Criston frowned as he looked at his surroundings, as he heard distends cries. He looked to where the others rode, surprised they didn't stopped nor heard the cries. Criston knew he shouldn't leave the king's side, but he had Ser Harrold Westerling with him, so he decided to find the source of the cries.

As he rode in a slow speed and looked around, he slowed to a complete stop when he saw a blanket laying on the cold forest floor. Inside the wrapped blanket there was movements and the cries coming from there.

He frowned, stunned as he saw small arms lifting up. Criston quickly jumped off his horse and quickly rushed to the blanket. He bend down and opened it to see a babe inside, crying.

It was a baby girl.

He looked around to see if he can spot anyone, but no one was around. He quickly pulled off his gloves and picked up the babe with the blanket, and tried to calm her down. "Shh, it's alright," he said quietly.

The babe slowly stopped crying and stared up at the man. Criston looked down at her in his arms and placed his hand on her smaller ones. The babe made a noise and wrapped her small fingers around his finger.

Criston let a small smile slip on his lips before he let it disappear as he looked around again. He looked back down at her. She seemed to be only a few days old, what kind of a person will leave their child like this?

He let out a soft sigh as he continued to stare down at the now calmed babe. He couldn't leave her. He knew what he have to do.

----

"Ser Criston, where've you been?" Queen Alicent asked, looking relief to see her knight walking to the clearings, his horse by his side.

"You were supposed to be by the King's side along side with me while on the hunt," Harrold scolded, glaring at the young man for disappearing. "Apologize your Grace," Criston said, ignoring Harrold and nodding to the King and Queen. They now noticed the babe he had in his arms as he approached closer. Criston looked at the babe, "I had to change direction."

"That's..." Queen Alicent trailed off and the babe started to cry again.

"I couldn't leave her, she would die," Criston said.

"She's hungry," the Queen said as she gently took the babe with the blanket. "Where's the wet nurse?" She walked to the wet nurses and gently handed the babe to one of them. "Take care of this little one."

"Yes, your Grace," the wet nurse said and walked to the carriage with the babe. "You've done well," King Viserys told Criston, and walked away with his knight.

Criston watched him leave before looking to the carriage where the babe was now in. He felt someone was looking at him, and looked to the Princess. She was looking at him but then away when he turned to her.

Queen Alicent walked closer to him, "What happened?" she asked. Criston looked at her and started to explained, "I heard crying, so I went to the other direction. Found her a minute later lying in that blanket, all alone."

"There was no one there with her?" the Queen asked, stunned by the news. Criston shook her head, "No, your Grace." The Queen scoffed with disbelief, "I can not believe such a thing to happen. Someone leaves an infant of only a few days old, in the cold." The young woman shook her head and walked to the carriage.

-----

It has been three weeks now, the baby girl was been taken care of for the time been by Criston, the Queen and the wet nurse back at the Red Keep. Ser Criston walked into the nursery room to see the Queen holding the baby girl in her arms.

The babe was resting her head on the Queen's shoulder, sleeping peacefully while she hummed a lullaby. "Your Grace?" Criston asked quietly and the Queen turned to him. She gave him a small smile, "Come in."

Criston walked closer as he looked at the babe. "She's sleeping better now, it appears," the Queen said softly. "Seems so," Criston muttered with a small smile as he continued to look at the babe.

The babe opened her eyes and stared at Criston. She reached her small hand to him, and he knew immediately that she want to be taken by him now. The Queen gently handed the babe to Criston and smiled softly as she rested her head now on his shoulder. For the past three weeks, the Queen noticed that he and the babe seemed to have grown attached to each other.

"It seems like she wants her shining knight to hold her for now," she said. Criston smiled a little and looked at the babe, watching as she closed her eyes and yawned. The Queen's smile faded and spoke again, "The King is expecting to know what to do now with the babe since she is now in good health."

Criston's smile disappeared but he nodded, "Have you found someone?" he asked. The Queen shook her head, "I wasn't looking to be honest." She placed a hand on the babe's back softly, "I'm afraid I let myself... be fond of this little one. It's hard to just give her away."

Criston nodded, clearly feeling the same way. "I was informed that Princess Rhaenyra suggested to place her in the Children House, maybe someone will want her from there," the Queen said. Criston looked at her in surprise, the Queen scoffed as she shook her head, "She clearly doesn't know what happens to some of the poor children."

Criston looked at the babe in his arms sleeping and then glared at the doors, like the Princess was there. The Queen let out a breath and watched Criston for a moment as he held the babe in his arms protectively. She tilted her head, "Would you be able to let her be taken away?"

Criston glanced at her and spoke after a moment, "Not really, Your Grace." Queen Alicent nodded lightly and smiled a small smile, "I was thinking..." she trailed off and let a soft sigh, "I was going to speak with the King about making her my ward."

Criston looked at her again and nodded, "That's a good idea, Your Grace." The Queen smiled and nodded lightly before continuing, "Yes, but maybe I will do that after she will receive a house name." She tilted her head a little, "I think Cole could use a little lady around."

Criston looked at her in surprise, opening and closing his mouth for a moment before finding his words, "Are you suggesting I will take her as my daughter?" The Queen nodded with a small smile, "Yes. You two seem to have grown a bond, haven't you?"

Criston hesitated, "Yes... I suppose so. But, I... I've sworn an oath." The Queen shrugged, "She isn't your blood, so I don't see any breaking oath. If taking an infant that was abandoned just for being born and raising her as your own is breaking an oath..."

Criston nodded and looked at the babe. "What do you think?" the Queen asked, "Do you see her as a Cole?" Criston glanced at the Queen and smiled as he looked back at the babe. The Queen smiled happily, taking the silent as a yes, "What do you think about naming her?"

Criston stared at the babe while she was sleeping peacefully on his shoulder.

"Vera."

[hannibalsbaby]

God, thank you so much for writing some Harrold Westerling! 🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣💞💞 Like I was starved of content for him. I love him so much 😔✌🏽

Thank you so much!! I'm thinking of writing more for him and Viserys (pre-decomposition). What would you guys like for me to write about for Harrold specifically? I don't usually write NSFW or anything triggering. I’m actually thinking of writing something where the reader and he are going through the Harwin and Rhaenyra troubles with their kids.

[hannibalsbaby]

The One Who Pleases Him.

Finally! A Viserys I Targaryen x Stark! Reader blurb. Instead of marrying Alicent Hightower, Viserys marries Cregan Starks aunt (18-20 years old). This obviously takes place around episodes 2&3, so I know Cregan hasn't been born yet. I also know it's not really Aegon's prophecy that Viserys was so adamant about having a boy for, but just pretend. Reblogs are appreciated but do not post my work on other sites! Feedback is always appreciated as well. I hope you guys enjoy it!

The italic, in the beginning, is a flashback/memory.

Warnings: Language, violence, death, grief.

The prophecy that brought him to the North, was the same prophecy that killed his beloved Aemma. “Aegon foresaw the end of the world of men. It's, to begin with, a terrible winter, gusting out of the distant North. Aegon saw absolute darkness riding on those winds, and whatever dwells within will destroy the world of the living. When this great winter comes, Rhaenyra, all of Westeros must stand against it. And if the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne. A King or Queen strong enough to unite the realm against the cold and the dark. Aegon called his dream The Song of Ice and Fire," is what Viserys told his daughter, his heir. He believed it, every word of it.

So, when the Starks offered their daughter’s hand, he was not going to refuse. Learning from the North could help him explain the prophecy better, or even solve it before it happened. Yet, he never expected to fall in love.

↳

It had only been six months after their wedding, and Viserys could say that he was the happiest he had been since the death of his beloved. The way his bride was so gentle with him, the way she would gently rub his shoulders as he worked on his model of Old Valyria and would be so interested in what he had to say about it.  “My dear dragon, what is that,” she asked so softly as she pointed to something in the model from behind him. The question was genuine, he could tell from how her hand shook slightly as she was nervous to ask it. She quickly retracted her hand and laid it on his shoulder. Her gentle hands rubbed the fabric of his extravagant robe. 

Viserys thought about her question as he eyed what she pointed at. He smiled softly as he realized what it was, “Oh, my dear. You noticed a hidden dragon lair,” it was a simple response but he knew she would appreciate the simplicity of it. All she wanted was truth and reason, Viserys knew that. He reach back and held the hand that rested on his shoulder. 

“Thank you, my dragon,” she thanked him genuinely and laid a kiss on the top of his head. The smell of him overtook her senses. Her husband smelled of soft spices, sweat, and fire. She loved the way he smelt, no other man had made their scent as appealing as his. She was genuinely obsessed with the King, and she couldn’t wait to give him children. 

The King did not know why she called him her dragon, but he wasn’t going to complain. The nickname was something he learned to hold dear in his heart. Her soft voice, loving touches, and sweet gestures made the grief he felt so much easier to bear. His bride even allowed him to speak of his beloved, she said it would be easier for them to navigate their relationship. He was thankful for everything she did for him, and at times he felt as if he could not give her the same back. 

“You are a gift to me. I have not done anything to deserve you, my Queen,” he spoke softly, his breathing stuttering as he spoke. He had not been one to speak the loving words she always did, but at this moment he felt as if he could do anything in the world. He stood up and turned to face her, he felt her hands drop from his shoulder as did his from her own. He looked her in the eyes, and he saw all of the emotion clouded inside of hers. 

A single tear gently rolled down her flushed cheek. “Viserys, my dragon, you deserve everything and more. You are the strongest man I know,” her soft hand came to his cheek and cupped it. Her thumb caressed it with love and adoration. Her face leaned into his, and the two pairs of lips met in a gentle but loving kiss. It was not long-lived, but it cleared any doubt the couple had.