#set right after the usurping

[chancekey]

it was technically his temple anyway, so Narinder's holing up there instead of in some stupid hut

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Whumptober Day 3 - Set up for Failure

Link walked the castle hallways in the dark. Occasionally he could still feel slippery warmth on his fingers, a strange echo of what had transpired. Vaguely, in the back of his mind, he found it odd that it would imprint itself on him so much considering it was hardly his first kill.

Perhaps it was just because it had been a while. Or because of who the person had been.

It had been deserved. But he regretted doing so in front of Zelda.

Nausea overcame him, alongside a mind numbing exhaustion that fought for control. His skin crawled, hair on the back of his neck standing on edge, but his mind was so utterly blank he could hardly put together a single thought.

He felt nothing, really, as he continued to walk. His skin settled. He checked his hands once, twice, thrice. No blood. But he could still feel it, could still hear the gurgling breath as air filled pathways it wasn’t meant to, bubbling and drowning.

He wished Zelda hadn’t been there. But there was no avoiding it. The man had lost his mind, had been threatening her. Whether he’d truly meant it or not was a moot point by now; the damage had been done.

The man’s followers had done more damage than anyone. And Link was still very keen on hunting the rest of them down like the animals they were.

He’d spent the last month in a continuous fury, focused and determined in a way he hadn’t been since the war. It had been invigorating, honestly, and it had brought him and Zelda closer together than ever before.

Now that it was over…

Link paused, world growing hazy and spinning. He felt dizzy. He felt sick.

He wished today hadn’t happened. But what else had there been to do?

It was over. That was all that mattered.

The king consort sighed heavily, deciding that perhaps some prayer would settle his rattled mind. He maneuvered through the castle discreetly, entering the small sanctuary dedicated to the goddesses that was set aside for the royal family.

He hadn’t expected to see Zelda there.

The room was only just a little larger than Link’s own bedchambers, wooden pews lining in pairs for four rows, leading up to an altar where the ancient goddesses shimmered in golden splendor high on the wall. Beneath them was a depiction of Hylia, harp in hand. The altar glowed in different colors as moonlight spilled through stained glass, flanked by incense that slowly trailed tendrils up to the heavens.

Zelda sat on the floor just in front of the statues and altar, a blanket wrapped tightly around her, knees drawn to her chest.

Link felt like he shouldn’t be here. He was likely the reason she was praying, hunched over in such a vulnerable position. The Queen of Hyrule should be seated at the pews, or perhaps standing in front of the alter with hands folded over her heart. Instead, she looked like a child seeking comfort. It made Link feel all the more uneasy.

But no. He shouldn’t leave her like this. That was cruel.

Is it crueler for her father’s killer to be near her?

Ozen’s face flashed through Link’s mind again, nagging at him. He shook the image away, only slightly perturbed that it haunted him. He’d killed hundreds. This couldn’t be any different. It couldn’t.

Slowly, Link walked to the front of the chapel, sitting on the floor beside her.

Zelda didn’t acknowledge him initially. The cold of the stone floor brought some life back to him, trying to push the fog in his head away. He started trembling, catching himself off guard.

“Do you think Farore made us to suffer?” the queen asked quietly, eyes never leaving the golden statues above.

Link watched her a moment, uncertain, and then followed her gaze. The Golden Three looked serenely back at the pair. His eyes traced over the scales of justice in Nayru’s hand, over the flowers blossoming and encircling Farore’s arm, the fire and stone sparking around Din’s fingers.

“I don’t see why that would be the case,” he answered truthfully. “They have no need to make us just to watch us suffer.”

“What if we’re their entertainment?” Zelda questioned almost bitterly.

Link honestly sometimes debated if they even mattered to the goddesses, but the Triforce had chosen them, so clearly they had their favor, for whatever that was worth.

“Farore made us for a reason,” Link settled on saying. “I don’t think she wants us to suffer. I wouldn’t make something to watch it suffer. I wouldn’t want to see our children suffer.”

He supposed, then, that perhaps with that logic Farore had to care at least a little bit. But perhaps she was too removed, too busy dealing with something else – his destiny, once entwined to her graces, was over, after all.

“I suppose our suffering is our own fault, then,” he admitted. “We must be doing something wrong.”

He wished he could take the words back as soon as he’d spoken them—he’d decided to sit here to comfort Zelda, blast it—but he had no way to retract them. He himself had thought it multiple times, wondering why he was the way he was. Clearly it was his fault. He didn’t pray enough. He knew that. It wasn’t as if Hylia wouldn’t help if he petitioned her, even if Farore was too far to reach. She’d answered his prayers in the past, when he still bothered to speak to her.

Zelda was quiet for a long time before looking at the ground, pulling her knees a little closer, eyes staring somewhere beyond the stone floor. “We aren’t the only ones Farore made. We all have destinies, we all play our part. Just because others break the pieces of the puzzle, just because we bleed when we try to fit together as a result… that isn’t our fault.”

The words settled heavily in his mind and heart, and a million scenarios ran through his mind. Ganondorf, ruining everyone’s lives with his selfishness and pride. Ozen, almost destroying Hyrule time and again with his own paranoia. Zelda, constantly using those around her to further her agenda.

Link, helpless and pathetic and stupid, letting himself be hurt time and again, wallowing in self-pity like a child pitching a fit, undeserving of any sort of praise or love given all the idiocy he’d done.

He almost smiled. “I’m constantly reminded why Nayru chose you with her grace. I imagine your explanation is the correct one.”

The pair sat beside each other, each lost in their own thoughts. Link wanted to look up at the statues again, perhaps even to try and pray, but found he didn’t even have the energy to raise his head. Instead, he watched his hands, convincing himself he’d scrubbed off the blood for the millionth time that night.

He probably shouldn’t have killed him. Ozen was no murderer. He may have been brandishing a sword, but he hardly knew how to use it. He may have been yelling at his daughter, but he had never actually hurt her.

How could Link have known that she wouldn’t get hurt, though? How could he have stopped himself, when years of anger and hurt snapped at once, when all he saw was blood and all he felt was rage?

What was wrong with him?

What was he at this point? Had he ever been a Hero? He was no Hero now. He hardly felt empathy anymore, hardly felt anything. Dealing with the insurgents was the first time he’d felt life breathe through him in what felt like years.

Even now, despite how he ached at the pain emanating from Zelda, he could still feel anger and impatience trying to burn inside him. He had the gall to be frustrated that Zelda was suffering like this because of his actions, the audacity to be upset that he had to comfort her after she’d watched him murder her father.

When had it gotten this bad? Why couldn’t he fix it? Could he fix it?

Zelda swallowed, taking a slow, deep breath, and when he looked at her, he could see how she bit her lip to control her emotions.

“I still loved him,” she whispered, barely audible, voice breaking.

The queen of Hyrule began to cry quietly, trying to hide her tears from her husband. Link tensed even further, stomach rolling in protest, heart slamming against his ribs. The frustration boiled to the top and he looked away for a moment, frozen in anger and fear and exhaustion and hurt and guilt, not sure what he should feel, knowing, begging himself to comfort the woman beside him, unable to speak a word.

He dug his nails into his skin until they broke through. It made his body feel like ice in an instant, quieting his mind and heart. He felt sick. This was his fault. He wanted to run and never look back.

Instead, he leaned slowly towards her, wrapping an arm around Zelda, inviting her to rest against him. She started to sob, wrapping herself more tightly in her blanket, burying her face in his shoulder.

Link just held her as she cried. He couldn’t speak for the longest time, but the longer her tears stained his tunic, the worse he felt. The anger dissipated, exhaustion burned away, leaving a raw, raw emptiness and hurt that he couldn’t put any words to, a wound that had scarred and reopened time and again over the years, never healing fully, never addressed, and never leaving him alone.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, hardly able to get the words out. “I’m sorry.”

Once the words came out, they wouldn’t stop. He apologized over and over and over, images of Ozen, of Ganondorf, of Hemisi, of Merovar, of fallen Sheikah and Gerudo and Hylians, of Lady Impa bleeding on the floor after the attack, of his children watching him, of his own blood dripping down his body—I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry—

The King and Queen of Hyrule wept bitterly into the night, their cries carried on incense rising into the sky.

[waitingforsecretsouls]

Fëanor and succession

"High princes were Fëanor and Fingolfin, the elder sons of Finwë, honoured by all in Aman; but now they grew proud and jealous each of his rights and his possessions. Then Melkor set new lies abroad in Eldamar, and whispers came to Fëanor that Fingolfin and his sons were plotting to usurp the leadership of Finwë and of the elder line of Fëanor, and to supplant them by the leave of the Valar; for the Valar were ill-pleased that the Silmarils lay in Tirion and were not committed to their keeping." - The Silmarillion, Chapter 07: Of the Silmarils and the Unrest of the Noldor

„Though after the rule of the Noldor was committed to him [Fingolfin] by Manwë (in place of his elder brother and father) he took the name of Finwë.“ -Morgoth’s Ring, The Later Quenta Silmarillion (II)

"He [Fëanor] claimed now the kingship of all the Noldor, since Finwë was dead, and he scorned the decrees of the Valar." -The Silmarillion, Chapter 09: Of the Flight of the Noldor

"As he [Fëanor] said with some justice: ‘My brother’s claim rests only upon a decree of the Valar; but of what force is that for those who have rejected them and seek to escape from their prison-land?’" -The Peoples of Middle - Earth, Chapter 11: The Shibboleth of Fëanor

"Therefore even as Mandos foretold the House of Fëanor were called the Dispossessed, because the overlordship passed from it, the elder, to the house of Fingolfin, both in Elendë and in Beleriand, and because also of the loss of the Silmarils." -The Silmarillion, Chapter 13: Of the Return of the Noldor

"With him into banishment went his seven sons, and northward in Valinor they made a strong place and treasury in the hills; and there at Formenos a multitude of gems were laid in hoard, and weapons also, and the Silmarils were shut in a chamber of iron. Thither also came Finwë the King, because of the love that he bore to Fëanor; and Fingolfin ruled the Noldor in Tirion. Thus the lies of Melkor were made true in seeming, though Fëanor by his own deeds had brought this thing to pass; and the bitterness that Melkor had sown endured, and lived still long afterwards between the sons of Fingolfin and Fëanor." -The Silmarillion, Chapter 07: Of the Silmarils and the Unrest of the Noldor

"One thing only marred the design of Manwë. Fëanor came indeed, for him alone Manwë had commanded to come; but Finwë came not, nor any others of the Noldor of Formenos. For said Finwë: ‘While the ban lasts upon Fëanor my son, that he may not go to Tirion, I hold myself unkinged, and I will not meet my people.’" -The Silmarillion, Chapter 08: Of the Darkening of Valinor

"Fingolfin had prefixed the name Finwë to Ñolofinwë before the Exiles reached Middle-earth. This was in pursuance of his claim to be the chieftain of all the Ñoldor after the death of Finwë, and so enraged Fëanor that it was no doubt one of the reasons for his treachery in abandoning Fingolfin and stealing away with all the ships." -The Peoples of Middle - Earth, Chapter 11: The Shibboleth of Fëanor

"So it came about that to Fëanor the rejection of þ became a symbol of the rejection of Míriel, and of himself, as her son, as the chief of the Noldor next to Finwë: […] So Fëanor would call himself 'Son of the þerindë', and when his sons in their chilhood asked why their kin in the house of Finwë used s for þ he answered: 'Take no heed! We speak as is right, and as King Finwë himself did before he was led astray. We are his heirs by right and the elder house. Let them sá – sí, if they can speak no better.'" -The Peoples of Middle – Earth, Chapter 11: The Shibboleth of Fëanor

"To his sons Finwë gave his own name as he had done to Fëanor. This maybe was done to assert their claim to be his legitimate sons, equal in that respect to his eldest child Kurufinwë Fayanáro, but there was no intention of arousing discord among the brothers, since nothing in the judgement of the Valar in any way impaired Fëanor’s position and rights as his eldest son. Nothing indeed was ever done to impair them, except by Fëanor himself; and in spite of all that later happened his eldest son remained nearest to Finwë’s heart." -The Peoples of Middle- Earth, Chapter 11: The Shibboleth of Fëanor

[atopvisenyashill]

IF YOURE SANSA MANDERLY STARK

And you realize, after your uncle Edric dies, that your husband Jonnel is going to name not Edric’s son Cregard his new heir, but his other brother Barthogan as his heir. He is doing this specifically because “Cregan died after Rickon, so since Rickon wasn’t a Lord, it passes to Cregan’s next born son. Since Edric wasn’t a lord, it passes to Barthogan.” You are very mad because you and your sister Serena have been raising Cregard to rule and now you’re worried about her daughters, and her sons, and what becomes of you if Jonnel also dies, and you’re still mad you were passed over, so you decide “yeah fuck it i’m not just going to set myself up well, i’m going to make sure i have the ability to take the lordship, make myself ruling lady, and make things easier for a woman to inherit because now i’m pissed off”

What do you like. Do. Marrying all of Serena’s kids well is important but what would “marry well” mean. Someone rich and southron who comes with money & a household that is loyal to the two of you? Someone Northern, who will back your claim because they have a vested interest in you ruling? A mix of both?

You have to get the King on your side right. Have an in with him so if someone complains he’s like “well a daughter before an uncle blah blah blah.” You want LYANNA and HER husband on your side, and you want all of ALY BLACKWOOD’S daughters and THEIR HUSBANDS on your side because if your ultimate goal is ABSOLUTE PRIMOGENITURE you want the older sisters on your side right. You want the people of Winters Town to like you more than Barthogan and Jonnel. You want to do good things for them, so you want money (again - good marriages for Serena’s children). You want to be more competent or at least seem more competent. You probably want like….what Barthogan and Brandon like Not In Winterfell with you…….

[kaerinio]

That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper's rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. Some small part of her knew that she was dreaming, but another part exulted. This is how it was meant to be. The other was a nightmare, and I have only now awakened. She woke suddenly in the darkness of her cabin, still flush with triumph. Balerion seemed to wake with her, and she heard the faint creak of wood, water lapping against the hull, a football on the deck above her head. And something else.

no, because the whole this is how it was meant to be. The other was a nightmare, and I have only now awakened is giving some serious reincarnation vibes??? like, what do you mean the other was a nightmare, when you hadn't even been born yet?? what do you mean you've only now awakened???? it's not dany saying that her life has been a nightmare up to that point (it has). it's her distinctly reflecting on the fact that what happened at the trident shouldn't have happened (and though she doesn't know it yet . . . in so many ways, the outcome had cosmic influences!). it's something akin to aemon saying that stannis' fake light sword is only going to lead people further into darkness. robert's rebellion and the events it sets off tear the targs further away from their destiny, as alluded to in the whole ice armor imagery. but also, ofc, this is directly pointing toward dany's destiny as the prince that was promised, azor ahai reborn, stallion who mounts the world, etc.

[imp-furiosa]

glass onion tidbit (spoilers)

before I do this, know that this is a down and dirty quick splash of an idea that’s been knocking around my head since watching it. particular wording I know needs work and if I were writing up a paper this would be much more thought out and particular words would be very considered. in short, there are a few phrases I use here which could be picked at to undermine the entire argument and that’s not the sort of feedback I want to engage with. consider the vibe rather than the exact phrasing

thesis: Blanc’s character can point out what’s wrong but will not take the necessary corrective actions. a perfect allegory of liberal American politics that just wants to be correct, not do the correct thing

antithesis: it wasn’t Blanc’s action to take. he’s not some sort of white savior. he helped create the situation by exposing the truth but then left the shot at justice in the hands of the one person who deserved it, Brand

synthesis: Netflix workshopped and focus grouped a fun film targeted at a specific audience one might describe as “woke maskers” -- no offense intended to fellow politically motivated mask wearers. the film works very hard to create a situation where you can feel good that the Mona Lisa gets destroyed while of course the Mona Lisa doesn’t get destroyed irl. one of the first things it does is make up a fantasy mouth spray so that you don’t have to hand wring about Blanc and the others not wearing masks during their Covid party. our antagonist/villain is a guy just as insufferable as everyone else you want to punch on the screen, with the exception that we’re given some good reasons you’d actually punch him, whereas the social norms (the status quo we wouldn’t dare disrupt) say we can’t do that to the others

it’s a film about feeling good when the stars align and some rich asshole gets justice but not actually rocking the boat enough to do it for real. it’s about ignoring systemic issues to focus instead on intensely personal ones. the system is unimpeachable. you can only lash out at individual actors within the system when they commit some personal crime. like the “disruptors” in the film, the work’s final act of disruption and the good feelings it brings the audience are ultimately the false catharsis of a bourgeois placebo intended to placate its target audience. you know you’re good because you consumed a good film. there’s no need to do more (and you’re good: good people wouldn’t burn the Mona Lisa)

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, yandere, omegaverse, forced bonding, subjugation, some type of discrimination, elements of androgyny

♡ fem reader

Thinking about the big and burly behemoth Omega finally finding himself the cutest little Alpha to breed with…

He could never bring himself to breed with Alphas. Growing up, he developed a great disdain for them—all high and mighty rabid animals prone to violence, more often than not completely dimwitted to top it off, as if their massive ego had usurped the place of basic brain operation.

He couldn’t hate them more, yet he doesn’t correct anyone when they mistake him for one, either. In many ways, he wished he was born one instead of an Omega. It would make it easier to fulfill his desires that way. A dominant Omega isn’t all that normal, after all—and submissive Alphas are an even rarer breed to come by.

He hadn't found one yet. And other Omegas don’t really do it for him. They approach him, thinking he’s an Alpha, then feel disappointed when figuring out he’s not—which is fine, as he isn’t particularly interested in their scent either. Betas make for an okay compromise—they don’t care if he’s an Omega, it makes no difference to them—yet he could never really shake the feeling that something was missing when lying with them.

At the office, the scent of Alphas plagues him all day—how they strut around, stinking up the place with no concern for anyone else. This is a workplace, for fuck’s sake—can’t they have a little dignity and not treat it like a mating ground? He really hates them. All bigheaded assholes—

“Ow—” there’s bark and a hard thunk of something hitting the floor.

Someone just bumped into him—someone so small he hadn’t even seen them over the top of his clipboard. Looking down, he sees a fellow Omega—a pretty one. You must be as disoriented by the scent around you as he is—probably why you walked right into him—poor thing. He ought to help you up.

You hold your head in your hand, wincing at the sting of your rear—you’d fallen right on your tailbone. Looking up, you give the fellow Alpha who’d knocked you down a mean glare, “What the hell, asshole!”

His outstretched hand stiffens midway. That’s not a very Omega-like thing to say—especially not by one so small as you. No, wait… what’s that scent?

You ignore his hand and get up on your own, dusting down your pin-stripes with angry brushes—face pursed, almost pouty, but not quite, too stink-eyed as you lean in and jab a finger into his chest to punctuate your words, “Watch where you’re going next time, you…”

You soften up halfway through the sentence. It must have dawned on you as well. His scent. Not like other Alphas, but something else entirely—something that suddenly makes you blush all over, wide-eyed.

You don’t say another word, only giving a weak huff before turning tail and stomping away.

There’s something very cute about it—he’s left thinking while watching you, utterly stunned and still, replaying the events that just occurred over and over in his head—wondering how he’d never seen you before. You must work on a different floor.

Luckily, he’d made sure to read your name tag—pinned all properly on your chest like a badge of honor, neatly like the rest of you. Well put together from the top of your salon-styled hair down to the tips of your pointy black stilettos. Even with their added height, you must have been two heads shorter than him—no taller than any regular Omega.

It's no wonder he mistook you for one. You were as cute as one, too—like a doll he could put behind glass, up on a mantle, and keep forever. But oh my… that mouth on you and that awful snarl. Just like any other imposing Alpha, he supposed. Bratty and arrogant, quick to jump the gun and pick a fight instead of taking it for the simple accident it was.

He goes back and sets himself down by his desk—but he’s way too distracted to work now, too busy with the thought of you. That flushed face you showed him before teetering off was something he wouldn’t mind seeing again—also that cute scowl under certain circumstances and what type of expression you’d give him if he wiped it off.

He's lucky an office party came along so quickly. He wouldn’t usually go, but now he had a reason. He bet you’d be there—the way you were dressed when you’d bumped into him tells him you’re one to respect the memo—head to toe in such a neat suit, trying to come off as androgynous as if in desperation needing everyone to know you were an Alpha. It must be hard for you—looking like that but wanting to look… well, suppose more like him.

He's glad he never felt that way—wishing to be smaller and cuter like other Omegas. Sure, he’s been envious of them at times, but more so of their easy pickings and not their appearance. He’s happy being bigger and stronger—it keeps unwanted attention at bay. You probably struggle to do the same. He bets you get a lot of the wrong eyes following you. Yeah… you must attract the bad sort all the time—alphas swarming you only to catch your scent and lose interest. Or maybe not… Alphas are sick, after all. Come to think of it, most of them would probably get off on dominating another Alpha. In that regard, it must have been worse for you than for him. Luckily, both of your issues are now solved.

He wondered what you’d wear tonight. You’d look much better in something feminine and not that suit you’d been wearing. He hopes, but no, you’re wearing much the same thing—another tailored two-piece that all but drowns you.

He understands what you’re going for. You have to dress like that, or else what Omega would ever want you looking the way you do? Aside from him, of course.

No matter. When you move in with him, he’ll dress you in all the pretty things he knows you want to wear. After all, pretty colors, ruffles, and lace will suit you so much better.

“Hello again.” He approaches you by the hors d’oeuvres even after you’d visibly and explicitly chosen to ignore him.

You groan under your breath, responding without even bothering to look at him, “Do I know you?”

Your tough act is cute. He has to withhold a chuckle before answering, “Don’t remember? You called me an asshole a week ago.”

“You walked right into me, so it’s not like it wasn’t deserved.”

You have to love that arrogance—that air of unfounded superiority. He wonders, where do you keep it all? “Well, how could I not? You’re so small I didn’t even see you.”

You’re quick to bare your teeth—obviously, he hit a nerve—showing him that same snarl you’d done back then. Cute little canines—he bet they won’t even hurt going into his neck once you mark him.

“Watch your mouth, Omega.”

Still, with a small smile, he feigns surprise. “Wow—are you an Alpha? Funny, I didn’t know they came in such tiny packages.”

It flusters you, no doubt—your brows lowered into a full glower now. “And I didn’t know Omegas could be so rude.”

You turn to stomp again, as you’d done before—though this time, he grabs your arm before you’re gone.

You whip around with another bark, “Hands off—"

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes unexpectedly, giving you puppy-dog eyes you hadn’t thought him capable of. “I should have been more mindful of my steps. It was entirely my fault.”

You go still at the sudden show of humility and respect. Finding yourself softening by the tilt of his head, bowing at you in acknowledgment of your higher standing. Not that many bother doing that to you—between mistaking you for an Omega or otherwise neglecting your standing as an Alpha, both due to your physique. Seeing it up close and so abruptly flusters you.

“Let me get you a drink to make up for it?” he offers politely, almost in plead.

Struck with feelings of somewhat regret for your own uncouth attitude, you nearly accept on a whim. “That’s kind…” But then think it over. You don’t really want to lead him on, either. You nearly stutter, yet steal yourself. After all… “But you’re not really my type.”

He hangs his head with a dejected sigh, “That’s harsh.” But he’d already figured as much and didn’t really care. Giving you his most sorry grin, he insists, “Humor me anyway? Just one drink so I don’t feel like an asshole for the rest of my life.”

It’s clear you want to refuse—still, as suspected, your heart just can’t handle seeing a desperate Omega in need. Bless your dim Alpha instincts.

“Okay, fine. One drink, that’s all,” you end up agreeing. One drink can’t hurt, right?

You feel like a good Samaritan once the big hunk of an Omega runs off to fetch you a glass. Pitying him or even sympathizing, maybe—it can’t be easy for an Omega in the mating scene to look like that. No Alpha around would want an Omega bigger than them—it’s utterly emasculating, not to mention unnatural.

Of course, you’re aware you’re in much the same shoes as him—you’re not delusional. Only, it’s easy being an independent Alpha—you don’t mind being a lone wolf in the world—but Omegas were built to be domestic. So yeah, you pity him—the poor guy, he’ll probably never find a proper mate.

But you can’t let your pity grant him too many favors—you have no intention of taking on any charity case tonight, especially not a pity fuck. You’ll have one drink with him as a mutual apology. That’s all.

Luckily… one drink is all he needs. Add a little sprinkle of this and that in your glass, and you’re already in the palm of his hand.

He has to carry you bridal style before he’s even managed to lead you to the elevator—it’s empty all the way down to the garage. He puts you in his car, locks your seatbelt in place, then drives off. It’s honestly quite astounding how easy it had been. He’d thought trapping an Alpha would be a much more remarkable feat, an impossible one for an Omega—but this was no different from eating an unguarded piece of cake.

You’re drowsy as he carries you into his apartment. And that’s when the other drug kicks in. The overwhelming scent of being inside his nest sets off your rut like a matchstick being ripped along the red.

Your claws come out, puncturing his sheets as he lays you down on his bed.

You’re too delirious to do much but writhe—making it easy for him to unbutton your dress shirt, followed by your slacks. He has to scoff at your plain black boxers and binder bra. You poor thing, always trying to run with the big dogs when you’re no bigger than a bite-sized puppy. From now on, you’ll only wear lacey things he brings home for you. You won’t have to puff your chest—you can be as sweet and pretty as your delicate physique constitutes—his cutest, littlest, most perfect mate.

You gain newfound strength once he’s peeled your underwear down, baring your needy heat to his touch. Instantly, your arms spring into action, flinging themselves around him, pouncing like a predator at its prey with your fangs bared.

He stops you easily—placing his wrist between your teeth, using it as a muzzle. He chuckles, looking at you gnaw on it like a bone.

“I think the world has it all wrong,” he starts, though he’s not sure you’re even capable of understanding speech in your state. “Omegas are the ones better suited as leaders of society, not Alphas.”

As he talks, he continues with his ministrations, stroking your needy slit with a mean finger, swiping it cruelly before splitting between the folds.

“I mean, look at you—mindless in a rut, willing to pounce on anything that moves—like a wild animal.” Once he sticks his finger inside you, your teeth do his wrist the same justice—drawing blood, making him hiss through his smile, “I ought to keep you in a cage.” And yet he doesn’t pull either hand away. “It would suit you well—on your knees with a pretty leash and collar upon your throat.”

You’re wet in his hand—soaked and so warm he loses track of his own finger as if melting within you. His cock strains against his boxer, wanting to feel it for himself. But you’re still way too tight for that.

He feeds you another digit, and you moan—suckling on his wrist now more than biting, though still with your canines out and seeking.

“Look at these wittle teeth, tch—” he grins upon closer inspection, looking between them and your eyes—pupil-fat orbs, far gone in your instincts. “I bet they’re just itching for my neck instead, huh?”

The provocation seems to make you more desperate. Pumping you slowly, more so to stretch you out than stimulate, he can feel your breaths turn thicker with need, how you press your tongue against his wrist, wet and lousy, wanting for more.

“Well, go on then, Alpha...” He chuckles again, removing his arm from barring your mouth before wrapping your throat with the same hand, holding it like a collar, keeping you under control.

And then he bares his neck for you.

“I give my consent.”

♡ part two

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Amajiki ♡ JJK – Gojo, Geto ♡ HQ – Kuro, Oikawa, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ BLLK – Reo, Nagi, Bachira, Isagi ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Suo, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[fanaroff]

Kind of continuation to this comic.

The first thing he opens his eyes to—

———

“Narinder?”

Too loud. Too bright. Too much. Even through closed eyelids and flattened ears. His head pounded behind his eyes. A rhythmic thumping so loud in his ears. A noise he was so unused to. A mortal sound.

Pain was a blinding experience when one was no longer numb to it. The One Who Waits could only huddle in one spot and cling to his own shoulders with claws he couldn’t not yet control enough to retract. He knew where he sat, but he was not going to allow the recognition to settle.

Hurt lanced across his chest, his wrists. He wanted it to stop. This was not how things were supposed to go. He’d planned for so long. How could this have happened?

Narinder chose wrong. He chose wrong. He chose the wrong vessel. His vessel who built him up, built a Temple in his name, raised devotion! His vessel who then tore him down and reduced him to this quivering mess of a new mortal.

How he wished they’d chosen to kill him instead. To have ended his millennia of suffering, not extend it further.

He chose wrong.

The physical hurt now ran in tandem with the emotional. How could they do this to him? When he saw them choose… he thought that maybe things would go right. He would be free and his vessel tucked safely in their own little heaven… but he saw them return the Red Crown to their own head. That damned Lamb!

The one he gave life to! The one he saved!

Betrayed by one he trusted so—

Now he was here. Now he was mortal. How foolish of him.

“…Narinder?” Faust’s voice was gentle, no doubt a front put on for the followers (they should be HIS) that he could hear hanging about in curiosity. (Insects to be squashed! How dare they look upon his visage and see him in this form!)

Narinder knew that if he were to open his eyes, he’d see nothing but hatred in theirs. After all, he ordered his vessel to sacrifice themself. And after all, this was not something his vessel was willing to do. Would such an ask not generate hatred in one unwilling?

Either way, the refusal… the betrayal… has generated hatred within Narinder and when he returned to strength… he would make them pay.

There was no point in putting things off.

Narinder cracked open an eye, blinking rapidly against the blinding light, prepared to see the Lamb standing before him with a weapon in hand. (They’d be foolish not to, what if he chose to attack?)

Instead, the Lamb kneeled before him (why kneel now and not then?), a bowl of water in hand and fake concern across their face. They were still covered in spots of their blood and Narinder’s ichor from their battle, fleece torn in places and wool sticking up in different directions. Yet, they were the victor and looked it. Narinder had no doubt that he looked worse.

He felt worse.

Light from the setting sun lit against Faust, brightening them in almost a halo. It would be beautiful sight… if not for the knowledge he had.

“Betrayer.” Narinder rasped. It came out wrong. He wanted it to be a hiss. A snarl. But it was a wheeze of air at best. His throat hated it. He hated it.

Faust had the gall to shake their head. They opened their mouth to speak, but Narinder beat them to it.

“Betrayer. I never should have chose you. A lamb that defiled my name. My Temple for their own!” He slowly devolved into a rant. A proper tantrum for the ages. Spitting insults that brought gasps of shock from those around them, a few being hands to weapons (garden tools at best), and yet Faust did not react.

If he had taken a moment, he would have noticed their eyes darken to sadness and a frown overtaking their features. He would have noticed the hurt. The Crown trying to get his attention that he had chosen the wrong subject for his ire. But he was understandably focused on his own.

“I wish not to see you! I wish not to be here! Kill me, Usurper! End the suffering you drag out further!” Narinder’s voice had torn by the end, quieted by the force he attempted to put behind it and sounding as if he’d been exposed to the smoke of fires for hours.

He’d begged at the end. Begged to be killed and put out of his misery. And again the Lamb ignored this.

When Narinder was done, panting harshly and lying against the ground as his body turned tired, Faust stood from their kneel and turned to a she-rabbit. They placed the bowl of water in her hands.

“Take him to a tent. I feel he would be calmer if I were not in his line of sight. Have someone come to me if he attempts to attack anyone. Make sure he drinks. Make sure he eats. Force him to if you have to, but be careful. He has not eaten in a long while.”

The she-rabbit bowed her head as Faust turned without a second look to Narinder and strode towards the Temple. His temple no longer.

Narinder could only squirm and attempt at clawing, glaring at Faust’s back as he was dragged away with the help of two other followers. Kicking and screeching, he vowed to himself that the Lamb would pay for this.

They all would pay.

— —

Quick Oneshot that may not stay canonical, or it may stay as a companion piece. The image will stay canonical as the first thing Narinder sees upon his indoctrination. For now, it’s a prompt for myself.

I plan to do the main fic series from Faust’s POV, but I wanted to play around with some of Narinder’s thoughts. I don’t know if it worked though, I have a hard time thinking how someone might react in hatred so I hope I got it close enough.

Hope you like it!

[nebulaafterdark]

The Rats (Pt. 3)

Aegon ii x Velaryon(Strong)! Reader

Summary: Aegon attempts to make peace with Rhaenyra after being forced to usurp her throne. Lucerys’ death complicates things.

18+ ONLY, MDNI. Targcest, smut, angst, violence. S2 SPOILERS

Part 1 | Part 2

“With free reign of King’s Landing, Aemond will focus his attention on the occupation of bast-” Aegon’s face flushes bright red. “Harrenhal.” He corrects himself, “and the extermination of house Strong.”

“What did you call it?” Daemon arches a brow.

“Harrenhal,” Aegon repeats.

“Before that,” Daemon prods.

Aegon sighs, looking to his wife.

“Bastardhal.” Y/N rolls her eyes.

“My brother’s term of endearment.” He explains, “a slip of the tongue.”

“Mmm,” Daemon hums. “Perhaps allegiance to your brother runs deeper than you let on.”

“I have left my siblings and abandoned my post to be here. I remain loyal to Rhaenyra’s claim and her line of succession. What else would you have me do?” Aegon scoffs.

“There are a number of things.”

“If you refuse to believe that Aegon is loyal to our queen, believe that he is loyal to me and I am loyal to my mother.” Y/N takes a protective step in front of her husband.

Daemon’s jaw ticks, frustrated and teetering near sanity’s edge. “You then, are responsible for his indiscretions.”

“I take full responsibility.” Y/N agrees, “he is here for me.”

“Perhaps he might further demonstrate his loyalty.”

“And how, do you suggest, I do that?” Aegon wonders.

“Deliver us your brother’s head on a platter.” Daemon sneers.

“Mother!”

“Am I wrong, Rhaenyra?” Daemon scoffs.

“That is enough!” The Queen slams her fist against the table. “Thank you, Aegon for the information you provided. We will coordinate with our army and send reinforcements to Harrenhal. We will send word to Cregan Stark-”

“By raven?”

“However I see fit, Daemon. Stay your hand.” Rhaenyra snaps. “You are all excused.”

Aegon is out the door just as swiftly.

Y/N flinches as it slams behind him.

Jacaerys remains stoic in the corner, saying nothing for a long while as his mother and step father begin bickering. “Sister,” he nods toward the hallway.

Y/N returns the gesture, following him out past the royal guards. “The nerve of him.” She is fuming as they begin strolling the grounds.

“That is Daemon.” Jacaerys breathes. “Pay him no mind.”

“It’s not as if I don’t want Aemond’s head. Luce is our brother, for the gods’ sake.”

Jace swallows, mouth set in a firm line. “He was our brother.”

Was…is he not anymore?

“In these dealings with Aemond, you must remember that killing him will not bring Luce back.”

“It would be even.”

“A son for a son was also even.” Her brother reminds her. “Your grievance with it hath brought you here.”

“I should have allowed the murder of a child?”

“I did not say that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“What is even is not always right, I expect you know that by now.”

“Indeed.”

“Ravens will take too long.” Jacaerys laments, “but mother will not let us deliver messages anymore. It is a shame that our safety comes at the expense of other’s.”

Y/N draws in a steadying breath. “Pity.” She turns away, in the direction of her chambers. Aegon is waiting for her there, sipping from a pitcher of wine. “Did they not give you a cup, my darling?”

“Hmm,” Aegon hums into the container, “of course.” He lowers the pitcher from his mouth, “but this is faster.”

The princess puts a hand to her head.

“I am not a dog that’s been kicked, do not look at me that way. As if I am weak.”

“I love you and you are hurting.” Y/N sighs, “I do not know how else to look at you.”

Aegon mulls this over for a moment. “I did not mean to call it bastardhal.”

“I know that.”

“You are not a bastard.” He presses on, “I am sorry for ever calling you one.”

“You are forgiven.” It is nothing more than a word. It cannot harm her anymore.

“If no house would claim you, then I would.”

Y/N gives him a sad smile, “thank you, Aegon.”

“You think I jest? Or does it simply mean nothing coming from me?”

“It means everything coming from you,” Y/N takes a step toward him. “Forgive me if I have made it seem-”

“No,” Aegon shakes his head, “forgive me. I am lost in this. I mustn’t take my frustration out on you.”

Y/N cups his face in her hands. “If you are loved by no one, know you are loved by me.“

“Without you I have nothing.” He reaches a shaky hand out, stroking her hair, reverently. “I am nothing.”

She draws back, searching his eyes. “That is not true.”

“If you ask me to slay my brother, I will do it.” Aegon breathes.

Y/N presses her lips together. She had not asked, Daemon did. But Aegon does not bend to Daemon’s will, only hers.

“Please do not ask.” He murmurs with wide, sad eyes.

Y/N cannot stand to see him cry. It tears at the depths of her soul. She wraps her arms around him, “I will not ask.”

Aegon clings to her. “I would do it.”

“I know, my love.” Y/N presses kisses to the side of his face. She knows his sadness, the burden of being least loved by everyone else. Some part of him will always seek to win her approval, her affection… her love.

He is pawing at her then, at the laces of her dress. He does not know how to comfort her, nor himself. He knows how to bring pleasure so blinding it nearly drowns out the pain.

Y/N helps him remove his clothes, wrapping him up in her arms. “I love you.”

“As I love you.” He’s stumbling backwards then, hovering over her on the bed. Easing his cock into her.

She sighs, losing herself in the gentle rocking of his hips. There is no haste to reach their peak, taking what little comfort they can from each other.

It is not until his thumbs skate over her cheeks that Y/N realizes she is crying. Even here, on their marriage bed, there is no end to suffering. Only an end to loneliness.

————————————————————————

Y/N waits until Aegon is sleeping soundly to clamber from the warmth of his arms and dawn her riding gear. Dragonstone is quiet as she makes her way down to the dragon pit. Stormborn is nestled in beside Sunfyre, her light blue scales complement the golden hue of her companion.

“Where are you off to at this hour, your grace?” One of the keepers asks.

“I’m going to take Stormborn out for a bit of fresh air. The moon is beautiful this evening, don’t you agree?” Y/N smiles, tucking a bit of loose hair behind her ear.

“Indeed, Princess.” He eyes the sword, sheathed at her back.

“This is only a precaution,” Y/N lies, “we can never be too careful in these times.”

He nods, “I will saddle her.”

“Thank you, Marcelo.” Y/N nods, tugging on her riding gloves as she waits. Tapping at her wedding band, beneath the cool fabric.

“She is ready, your grace.”

“Thank you, again.” She says, climbing up onto Stormborn’s saddle.

“It is my great honor.” The man smiles, watching in wonder as the princess sets off across the sea.

Only a few torches are lit at the entrance of Harrenhal.

Y/N lands near the stone walkway, striding up to the tall hooded figure and ripping back his cloak.

Aemond turns to his assailant. “Y/N?”

“Take out your sword.” She demands.

“Lucerys death was a tragic mistake, a lapse in judgment I do not care to repeat.”

“I will not kill you with your back to me, I am no coward. You will face me, take out your sword.”

“For the sake of the gods, Y/N,” Aemond growls. “Do you aim so desperately to break my brother’s heart?”

“I will not allow the slaughter of innocent people. This ends here.”

“A brother for a brother it will be then, not a son for a son.” Aemond reluctantly withdraws his weapon.

Y/N charges him, in a blind rage, their blades meet, clanking together.

“You make a better sparring partner than most.” He draws his sword away, narrowly dodging her next attack.

“This is not a children’s game, I want your head!”

Aemond purrs, “you must earn it then.”

She sees red, swinging at him again, until his blade slices across her side and she has cut deep into the flesh of his leg. Bringing the Prince to his knees, with her sword at his neck.

“Do it,” Aemond insists, “you will not get another chance.” He stares up at her blade, dripping with his blood. The fear etched into her eyes, tresses of dark hair clinging to her sweat damp skin.

In this light, each of them resemble their brother.

The end Y/N desires is so near she can taste it, rising like bile in her throat. She chokes on it. “No.” She drops her blade from his neck, covering her aching side instead. “No.”

Aemond hangs his head. “I am sorry for that business with Luce. I lost my temper that day.”

“And I lost my…” No, she cannot say it, the pain is too great.

“Let me see your wound.” Aemond insists.

In her shock, Y/N obeys.

He tears across the bottom of his cloak, knotting the material firmly around her torso. Unbothered by her hissing protest. “This will hold until you reach Dragonstone. Go to Aegon, he will tend you.”

“You must leave this place.”

“You have my word.”

“And you must leave King’s Landing.”

Aemond smirks, “where would I go?”

“Anywhere.” Y/N suggests, “take Helaena and your children. We both know, she is too kind to bear the weight of the crown and our blood. Take her away so she might be happy…and free.”

“Do you not wish to be free from the weight of the crown?”

Y/N hesitates for a long moment. “I am the crown. I am my mother’s heir, her only daughter. I cannot abandon her, she has lost too much.”

Aemond swallows, “very well. Helaena will write you. You and my brother might visit, once we’re settled.”

“Perhaps we will.” She will never forgive him for Lucerys. They will never be as they were before Storm’s End. “You are my husband’s brother and husband of my dearest friend.”

“I am also your brother’s murderer. A title that trumps all, despite your best intentions. You are good, and kind, but human all the same.”

————————————————————————

“Aegon.”

“Hmm?” He reaches for his wife, blindly, stroking a hand over her dark waves. “What have you done to your hair, darling girl?” He grumbles, “it is awfully coarse.”

Jace bats Aegon’s hands away. “My sister is gone, you buffoon. Get your clothes on.”

“Jacaerys?” Aegon springs up, covering himself with the top sheet. “What are you doing?”

“Y/N is missing. The dragon handlers informed me that she left on Stormborn nearly two hours ago. Sunfyre has been yowling ever since.”

“Alert your mother,” Aegon demands, “raise the guard. Who on earth let the heir to the throne take a dragon from the pit in the middle of the night?”

“She is a princess, not a prisoner.” Jace reminds him, “I have a hunch as to where she went.”

“Harrenhal.” Aegon begins tugging on his clothes. The little brat bedded him and snuck off; again. “She will be a prisoner upon her return. I tire of these games.”

“You mustn’t be so harsh, my sister would go to the ends of the earth for you.”

“Yet she will not stay with me.” Aegon steps into his boots. “Surely she loves me so dearly that she flees at every opportunity.”

“Do not see it that way.” Jace sighs.

“I have no other way to see it.” Their chamber door swings open, revealing the woman in question.

“Aegon,” Y/N chokes. The blinding rush of battle is gone, leaving only her pain.

“Leave us,” Aegon waves a dismissive hand at his nephew.

“Y/N,” Jacaerys looks to his sister instead.

“I am well, brother.”

“You are bleeding.”

Y/N glances down at her wound, “perhaps you might go quietly to the maester and request milk of the poppy?”

“The maester should tend you,” he argues.

“Aegon will tend me, tis but a scrape.” Y/N insists.

Her brother squares his shoulders. “Very well, I will be back.”

“Thank you, brother.” Y/N forces a smile as Jace exits the door.

“What happened?” Aegon demands, squinting into the dim light as his wife stands before him, in her riding gear.

“I could not do it.” Y/N curses her own weakness. “I went to Aemond, I stopped him from taking Harrenhal and I let him go.”

Aegon shifts her garments aside to reveal the damage. A long bleeding gash, beneath her ribs. “Aemond did this to you?” He sits her down on the foot stool, pacing in the small space before it.

“We dueled,” Y/N admits. “I made my mark on him as well.”

“Gods be good.” Aegon breathes.

“If Daemon catches word of this-”

“You are injured. That is where my interests lie, not in the folly of men.” Aegon seethes.

“He has already condoned the murder of children. Helaena’s children, of all people. What will he do if he hears of this?”

Aegon passes a hand over his face. “Surely we cannot leave the wound open like that, it will fester.”

“I know,” Y/N nods. “We must seal it up, with a heated blade. We can do it here, no one need know.” She reaches for his cup on the dresser, chugging the foul liquid down for some relief.

“You’re asking me to…” his eyes dart to his dagger, abandoned near his boots. “No.”

“Aegon.”

“I can’t.”

“It will be quick,” she reasons. “It will scar, but it is on my side, you will not look upon it often.”

“That is what you’re concerned with,” Aegon snaps, “of all things, you think I care about the scar it will leave? That I might frown upon an imperfection?”

“I-”

“You are maddening.”

“I am sorry. I do not wish to fight.”

“It is unavoidable from what I’ve heard. Marriage causes strife and disagreements.”

“Not ours,” Y/N insists, “you are the only person who understands me.”

“I do not understand why you would put yourself in danger.”

“For you.” Y/N tells him. “So you would not have to choose between your wife and your brother.”

“I would choose you, imbecile.”

Y/N bares her teeth. “I couldn’t let you.”

“Why?”

“Because you are mine, Aegon! I protect what is mine.”

In the way of the dragon. And that, Aegon understands very well.

“Here it is,” Jace returns with milk of the poppy.

“Thank you,” Aegon takes the gauntlet, bringing it to his wife’s lips. “Drink all of it.” He demands.

“Is there anything more I can do?” The other man asks.

“Rest the blade of my dagger over the fire until it glows red, then bring it to me.”

Jace nods.

“First, might you find something for her to bite down on. Leather works best.” Aegon purses his lips, “bring me my belt.” One of them is still etched with her teeth markings from Laenor’s birth. He’s delivered two of their children, surely he can do this.

Jacaerys rushes to the armchair beside the bed, tugging Aegon’s belt free and placing it on the foot stool beside his sister.

Y/N curls her fingers around the harsh material. Her vision has doubled, swaying from side to side.

“Are you going to faint?” Aegon catches her face between his hands.

“I feel fine,” Y/N slurs.

Aegon taps her chin. “That is good, my dearest love. I am going to remove your shirt.” He eases the material over her head, leaving only the bindings to cover her breasts.

“The blade is ready,” Jacaerys calls, from the fire place.

“Open.” Aegon tugs at her bottom lip with his thumb until her jaw goes slack, taking the leather belt from her clenched fist and placing the strap between her teeth. “Bite.”

Y/N clamps her teeth around it.

“Good girl.”

Jacaerys approaches, handling the instrument with care.

“You will hold me around the waist, you are not to let go until I say.” Aegon instructs, waiting until she is wrapped around him in an awkward sort of hug. “There you go.” He pats her head before taking the dagger from her brother. He offers no additional warning before lying the blade flat across the expanse of her wound. The cut is a clean one, without jagged edges.

Y/N lets out a muffled cry.

“Shh,” he hushes her, holding the heat to her skin for just a moment more before tossing the dagger away. Gingerly withdrawing the belt from her teeth. Resting his forehead against hers as whimpers settle to deep breathing. “Are you alright?”

Y/N nods.

“If you dare leave me again, Gods help me, I will shackle you to my side.”

Y/N strokes a hand over the side of his face. “Yes, Aegon.”

“I do not jest.”

Part 4

Taglist: @minttea07 @callsignwidow @fallout-girl219 @syraxnyra @vickynephilim @jeondeluxe111 @geeksareunique @arya-brooke @7minutes-tomidnight @ninastyless @aleemendoza2425-blog @livingdead-reilly @whenmypartysover @darlingisntit @nayaniasworld @uniquecroissant @spacexdrago

[viaviavie]

short drabble about overblot!jamil projecting onto you, but on the bright side, you're distracting him by feeding his ego! tw: it gets suggestive at the end part 2?

You swear you have seen this scene play out before. Perhaps it was in one of those old animated films you've seen before waking up in Twisted Wonderland, but the resemblance was simply uncanny. The feeling of warm gold gripping at your wrists made you grimace as you eyed its chain leading back to a haughty Jamil, seated upon the lavish cushions and fabrics. Students, or perhaps, slaves, tended to him from every corner, whether they were feeding him, fanning him, or guarding him. Luckily, at least he had some courtesy to let you keep your uniform, rather than give you a makeshift set donning Scarabia's colors.

God knows where Grim, Kalim, and the Octanivelle students were now. Wherever they were, you found some solace in knowing that Grim would at least remember you. If that direbeast were to ever make his way back, you would become his priority next to fixing this mess. The thought of not being rescued made you grimace, an expression that did not go unnoticed by this mockery of a Sultan.

The great Jamil spares your pitiful form a singular glance, piqued with amusement. "Prefect," The title slipped from his lips so smoothly, but the way he tugged you over with the chain was anything but gentle. Choking back a yelp, he watched as you scrambled to your feet and hurried to his side like his pet.

For a student with no magic, no family, and no knowledge of this world, it was a wonder that someone like you ended up in the eye of the hurricane. After all, Jamil thought of you to be insignificant to his wicked plan to usurp Kalim's position. It wasn't as if you had any real power to stop him, though he would be certainly amused if you tried to fight back. It would only give him a reason to put you back in your place.

Much to his surprise, however, you had been surprisingly obedient since he kept you captive and threw your companions to the other side of the realm. You did not wail or protest, nor did you struggle when he placed these chains on you. Instead, you watched along and nodded accordingly without rebellion.

And he adored every second of your obedience.

(Really, what else could you possibly do? There was too much risk in fighting back when Jamil looked like he could bite your head off! It wasn't obedience, it was absolute fright and wise decision making on your own reactions!)

Jamil was not too fond of you standing while he was lowered to the floor. With a single tug, you found yourself collapsed onto pillows, a knee trapped between Jamil's legs. Eyes wide, your cheeks had begun to burn red at how close he was, not to mention how your hands had been pressed to his chest. With a click of a tongue, Jamil raised a brow. "Clumsy." He allows you to readjust yourself, only satisfied when you sat on your knees with your hands clasped on your lap.

Perhaps that was the one thing he was intrigued by the most about you. Boring his dark eyes into yours, he leans into your stoic expression with a wicked smirk. He knows what you truly are, after all. "Delightful little thing, you are. You've seen right through my facades quicker than any of those buffoons ever had since my enrollment here." You cannot tell whether it is because of how close he was, or if it was because of his deduction, but he takes such amusement in the way your breath hitched.

"Pray do tell, what is it about you that gave you such foresight?" You swallow to yourself. Your lips had already parted but your teeth were clamped shut, as if you refuse to admit your secret. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem that Jamil appreciated your prolonged silence. A harsh hand gripped your cheeks, and you couldn't control yourself from reacting in pain. The viper forced you to look at him, and the snakes protruding from his body hissed and rattled with aggression. "You cannot fool me, prefect. I see right through you, even now." Still, he does not let you go. "To think that Azul fell for your naive and docile facade, he was a fool to let you retake Ramshackle dorm. I would have seen it coming a mile away."

You remain silent, pupils shrinking as he gripped your chin tighter. A grin of a snake overtook his features, and for a moment, you swear that his eyes were slitted too. "You and I, were are not so different." With his other hand, Jamil allowed his digits to play with the golden band around your wrist. "No one really knows what you're like. All they know is how agreeable and nice you are, and that is all that it takes to gain their trust." He gripped your wrist and suddenly, you find yourself pressed flush against the cushions and Jamil is on top, pinning you down as if you were prey. "Or maybe, that's all it took to gain more."

Still, you do not fight back. You stare at him with shock, frozen and uncertain on how to plan your next move. Jamil is looking for something on your expression, but not even he could force a reaction out of you. "Did you find me a fool, prefect? If one cannot wield magic themselves, surely, they can find others to wield it for them." His eyes narrowed with suspicion as his grip tightened even more. "You could have stopped with Housewarden Riddle, but you had wormed your way into Savanaclaw and Octanivelle. And now, you are trapped here with me." Jamil lowered himself into your ear, and you can feel that sinister smile.

"You and I are the same. I don't need my unique magic to make you admit it." It takes everything in your power to keep yourself from correcting him. A man who has worn a mask his entire life, and you, who only learns to adapt accordingly. He, who yearns to be something he can never be allowed to be, and you, who has been struggling to blend into a world that did not belong to you. You are not him and he doesn't seem to realize that. After all, when you live with envy, it becomes easy to believe that everyone out there is aching to be more than what they already are.

"What did you hope to gain from me?"

As much as you wanted to reply, you saw a glimpse of teal hair from the corner of your eye. Then you spot two heads of teal, and that fedora hat. Hiding your relief and excitement, you avert your attention back to Jamil. Holding back a gulp of courage, you sighed in an affectionate tone. “Jamil,” You breathed out, turning slightly to shield his view. “I never realized how attractive it was when you took what was entitled to you.” You felt him stiffen before he shifted towards you, almost suspicious of your words.

In an attempt to feed the lie, you mustered wonder into your eyes and smiled in triumph. "I did not hope to gain anything from you, Jamil. Rather, I was just looking for the right person to admire." You could sense that there was still distrust in his gaze, but nonetheless, he did not pull away. Instead, he allows a hand to play with your cheek, toying with your starstruck expression. "Go on." He purred, as if he were trying to milk more honeyed words from your lips.

And you would indulge him. "Riddle was only a little boy with a temper. A housewarden with such a short fuse would forever be blinded by his rage. An impulsive boy he was, and even now." You lie cleanly, leaning into his warm touch. He hummed, seemingly pleased. "Leona wouldn't care less about matters within his dorm unless it were to challenge his pride. He will forever be indulged in sloth. He knows nothing about hard work." It hurts you to say such things about your friends, but seeing Floyd give you a thumbs up from afar as he snuck through the crowd had eased the guilt.

Jamil is smiling now, allowing a hand to play with your hair. "What can I say about Azul?" You paused for a moment, watching as your friends halted from behind a pillar as you mentioned the Octanivelle housewarden. You sucked in a breath, and hummed condescendingly. "He is nothing without victims, and without his contracts, he is just as insignificant as everyone else without power." Jamil barks harsh laughter at your words, almost surprised himself but your 'true nature'. Luckily for you, he was so distracted by his wicked laughter that he does not notice you screaming a silent apology to a seemingly offended Azul.

Once he composed himself, however, his face darkened as he forced you to meet his gaze with a slight tug of the chain. “And Kalim?” His voice cut through the silence like the sharp end of the knife. For a moment, you swore you were going to falter into fear. “What of Kalim?” Jamil hissed, growing more agitated at the thought of his supposed master. Instead, you stare at him with narrowed eyes, mimicking his scorn. “A foolish boy who is undeserving of his position.”

You allow an impulsive hand to cup his cheek, and luckily, the gesture was welcomed. “It was a relief to see someone so capable take his place.” You sang with a villainous smile, fooling the viper perfectly. "You and I saw how he managed this place. If he was given a kingdom, it would have collapsed under his weight." Jamil shuddered as your hand trailed from his cheek to his neck, down to his collarbones. "It was not too hard to see who was truly ruling Scarabia. I knew immediately who was bringing glory to the name."

Hook, line, and sinker. Jamil fell for every bit of the act.

"Oh? You sing such sweet words, prefect. I prefer this 'honest' you. Perhaps I should keep you in a cage." Jamil relaxed onto his side, his back turned against the rebels who are attempting to hide behind the next pillar. Your attention on them was returned to Jamil as he leaned in close to you, sneaking himself into the crook of your neck. You felt his hand dance along your hip to your waist, making you shudder in his presence. "Wouldn't you like that, prefect? You would never have to pretend again." You find yourself biting on your lower lip as you nodded slowly. "Only for you, Jamil. You are the only one who saw through me." You breathed out as he looked at you once more, barely closing in the gap between your faces.

"Master, prefect." He smirked so boyishly for a moment, and it was enough to make your face red. "Call me 'master'." Your eyes fluttered shut on instinct as his lips finally touched yours, demanding just as the giver was. You felt your heart stop and your neck grow warm as he pushed into you, lowering you both until your head hit the cushion.

If your eyes were open, perhaps you would see the Leech brothers share stunned yet amused expressions at the sight. Kalim was certainly puzzled, maybe a bit scandalized and confused by the sight of Jamil being so forward. Grim and Azul could only stare with their jaws hung until Grim clumsily found himself stumbling onto a table with metal platters that fell with a loud clang!

The spell you had trapped Jamil in had broken in that moment. Eyes snapping alert, Jamil jolted up and whipped his head forward. "What was that?" He gritted out, about to look in the direction of the Leech twins before you yanked on his neck, pulling him back down. "Master, please let me have more." You murmur hastily as you forcibly wrapping your arms around his neck. With urgency, you pull him back into another kiss, rougher than the previous. Whatever resistance Jamil had in the beginning had immediately melted away as he fought against you, prying away your dominance and returning it to his hands that massaged and played with your hips. Purring into your touch, Jamil smiled against your lips. "What an honest pet." He murmured before diving in for more.

With dizzying affection, you lost yourself into Jamil. Perhaps he did not need his unique magic after all to draw out such a secret desire. However, you do hope that Azul and Kalim figure something out sooner before Jamil's hands wander any further from your hips. If you remember exactly how the story was supposed to end, the Great Seven only knew what was going to happen if you never got rescued.

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

And I'm back with Part 3 of the "Merlin accidentally conquers Camelot" au! Thank you all so much for your patience and continued support for this story! It makes me so happy to see people get excited by my silly (and occasionally delusional) au ideas!

NOTE: You can find part 1 here and part 2 here.

EDIT: And you can find part 4 here!

And without further ado, onto the new stuff!

It was rather drafty in the lesser furnished cells of the dungeons. Merlin knew this well, as he had spent many nights during his first couple of years in Camelot trying and failing to get any sleep on the cold stone floors of those cells, kept awake by the freezing chill that would sweep through the dungeons at any given moment.

Merlin also knew that Arthur had never been kept in one of those cells, even on the rare occasions that Uther had him locked up for going against his orders. Whenever Arthur had to be put in the dungeons, he had been put in the fully furnished cells, meant for prisoners who were members of noble families.

Even when they were held in the same dungeon, the nobles and the peasants were subjected to wildly different experiences.

With that in mind, Merlin stopped by Arthur's chambers (or... were they his chambers now? Merlin certainly didn't want to think about that.) to grab Arthur's favorite blanket off of his bed. It was a luxuriously soft blanket, dyed a rich Pendragon red. That blanket was fit for a king and a pain for a manservant to wash, but Merlin had always taken good care of the blanket, knowing how much Arthur liked it.

Merlin folded up the thick blanket with meticulous care, ignoring both his own trembling hands, rendered unsteady by the volatile emotions welling up in him, and Gwaine's presence behind him, silent for once. Despite Gwaine's undying loyalty and penchant for mischief landing Merlin in an even worse situation than before, he seemed to understand the solemnity of Merlin's actions and the profound sense of grief over the life he had lived once before that had been so suddenly torn away from him.

The motions of carefully folding up the blanket filled Merlin with both comforting familiarity and near-crippling sorrow. Would he ever do this again, ever provide support and comfort for Arthur again? As much as Merlin wished to stay optimistic, even if his plan to reinstate Arthur as the rightful king of Camelot succeeded, the darkest corners of his mind hissed that Arthur would never tolerate his presence again, let alone trust him, after usurping him and, in Arthur's eyes, proving everything Uther had ever said about sorcerers to be true.

Merlin's heart plummeted, nearly stopping him in his track towards the dungeon entirely, at the mere thought of what Arthur must think of him now: a treacherous, conniving sorcerer who had manipulated Arthur into becoming his friend only to betray him. Merlin blinked, banishing his tears before they could roll down his face and fall onto the blanket in his arms, and forced his feet to keep moving steadily forward. No matter what Arthur thought of him now, how deeply Merlin has unintentionally wounded his friend, or how catastrophically Merlin's world felt like it was crumbling down around him, he needed to set things right.

Merlin clung desperately to that conviction, the thrumming need to set things right again, as everything else in him wanted to curl up in a dark corner and never move again. After an eternity and yet all too soon, Merlin descended past the gates of the dungeon, where he forbade Gwaine from following him any further, down the noble cell blocks, which were filled with sleeping, but thankfully uninjured knights, and finally through the dark, damp, empty, and cold peasant cells.

He couldn't see Arthur at first, but his magic sensed that he was here. Like always, it jumped, tugging on Merlin to act, whenever Arthur was nearby, causing Merlin to pause his step in order to focus on whatever his magic was attempting to do. This time, it tugged his attention towards the unlit torches lining the walls of the cell block. Light them, his magic seemed to beg of him, our king is cold!

Merlin's immediate reaction was to stop his magic, to push it down so that no one would notice, and, after a deep breath, he did just that. As Merlin stood still, holding Arthur's blanket in his arms and cherishing what would likely be the last few seconds that he could ignore what had happened over the last day and pretend that everything was normal, he heard the voice that he'd been both yearning and dreading to hear for the past day coming from the cell at the very end of the dungeon.

"If you're waiting to sneak up on me, you'll have to try harder than that. I can hear that neither magic nor a crown have made you any more stealthy, Merlin."

Merlin flinched backwards, expecting but yet somehow still unprepared for how much vitriol and bitterness Arthur hissed out his name with. He had heard Arthur yell out his name in variety of tones over the years, ranging from annoyed to bemused to downright furious, but he had never heard his name pass from Arthur's lips like this, spat out from his mouth like it was poisonous and vile. It caused so much hurt to well up in Merlin's chest that he felt it like a bruising punch, causing him to wince in pain, still hiding where Arthur could not see him.

As Merlin stood silently, only a few steps away from Arthur's cell and facing Arthur's well-deserved fury, and tried to desperately blink away the tears gathering in his eyes, his magic abruptly tugged his attention towards the torches again, more insistent this time. Letting out a stuttering breath, Merlin obliged with his magic's request this time, and the torches lining the walls burst into bright, golden flames in an instant, filling the cells with a merry warmth that felt entirely out of place.

Merlin heard a sharp gasp coming from Arthur's cells as soon as the torches lit up by themselves and winced. Right, Arthur was fresh off of Merlin's betrayal, so he was probably pretty jumpy, especially around magic.

Merlin's guilt rose alongside his frustration. Everything he does with his magic, he does it for Arthur, and yet every single damned time it backfires on him and somehow hurt Arthur! A spell meant to heal his father kills the king instead. A battle waged to ensure his continued reign steals his sovereignty instead. And lit torches meant to provide him with warmth and comfort scares him instead!

But before even more guilt could build up inside of him, Merlin heard Arthur's voice once more.

"I won't be scared by a coward of a sorcerer who would steal everything from the man he claimed to serve! Or is the great Emrys too important to even face the fool he tricked into believing that he was his friend?"

Before Merlin's mind could even process Arthur's words, his feet were already carrying him to the end of the hallway, right to the front of Arthur's cell. He needed to prove Arthur wrong here, their years of friendship weren't a lie or a trick, Arthur needed to believe that! Too much of Merlin's life, his very soul, was woven into his bond with Arthur, he couldn't let Arthur have any doubt that their bond was even real!

As he finally arrived at the door to the cell that held Arthur, Merlin's heart stuttered again, this time with grief. Based on the ferocity in his voice, Merlin had expected to see Arthur pressed up against the bars, ready to battle his perceived opponent. Instead, he was greeted by the sight of Arthur, sitting alone on the dirty stone floor, his face wearing the same dejected and defeated look it had just days earlier, after Morgana had taken the citadel and Arthur doubted his own ability to rule his people. The only difference was that the lost look in Arthur's eyes from before was gone, replaced by a scornful glare that had Merlin feeling like he was the scum of the earth.

Merlin opened his mouth, ready to apologize, plead for forgiveness, whatever it took to just stop Arthur from looking at him like that, like Merlin was his enemy, but no words could form in his mouth, as too many emotions were welling up in his chest that it closed off his throat entirely. Merlin drew in a deep, fortifying breath, purposefully avoiding eye contact with a still-glaring Arthur the entire time. Once he felt like he had his feelings even marginally under some tenuous control, he finally met Arthur's gaze and held out the blanket like a pathetic peace offering.

"I brought you your blanket. I know it gets cold down here."

Merlin was rather proud that his voice only wavered slightly, not giving an indication of how disastrously close he was to breaking down into tears in the middle of the dungeons. Arthur merely stared at him for a moment, bewilderment appearing on his face for a few seconds before it was quickly wiped away by angry sneer.

"I don't accept gifts from the likes of you, sorcerer! It's probably cursed or enchanted to kill me so that you can finally get me out of your way for good!"

"No!"

The blanket fell to the floor as Merlin grasped the bars of the cell with both hands and pulled himself as close as he could to Arthur, who had flinched back at Merlin's outburst. His magic flared again, wanting to break down this barrier between them so that he could get closer to Arthur, but he denied its request, knowing that such an action would only agitate Arthur even more.

"Arthur, please, I never meant for any of this to happen! You must believe me! I only wanted to for Camelot to be safe from Morgana and for you to retake the throne! I only want to secure your reign, not end it!"

That, it seemed, finally got a reaction out of Arthur, but it wasn't the one Merlin was hoping for. Arthur finally stood up from the floor and stormed over to the cell door, getting close to Merlin, but just out of reach.

"And why on earth should I trust a word you say?! You've done nothing but lie to me for years, even when I gave you my complete trust! I thought you were my closest friend, the one person in my life who would never betray me, but as it turns out, I never even knew your real name, much less where your true loyalties lie!"

Merlin's face fell at Arthur's accusations, knowing that he was, in some ways, completely right in them. Still, he met Arthur's accusing glare with as much honesty as he could. After all that his own actions had taken from Arthur, he owed him the truth at the very least. Merlin spoke again, trying to muster up a calm, soothing tone despite his strong emotions.

"I know that you don't have much reason to trust what I say now, but I will do all that I can take make this right. I was born with magic, yes, but I was born this way for a purpose, and that purpose is you, Arthur. I am Emrys, destined to be the guardian of the Once and Future King, who will rule over the greatest kingdom history has ever known and bring peace the likes of which has never been seen throughout the land."

Merlin could see the moment of realization on Arthur's face as he put together who exactly the Once and Future King was, his eyes going wide with shock. Despite the situation, Merlin has just a bit of a smile on his face as he reminisced on fond memories.

"When I first met you, I just couldn't understand how such a prattish clotpole could ever be a king of legend, but the longer I stayed by your side, the more I could see the king that you were destined to become. A great man, a great leader, who will always stand up to protect his people, even if it means putting himself in danger."

Merlin's speech trailed off as he smiled gently at Arthur, trying desperately to give him reason to believe Merlin, to believe in the prophecy that tied them together, and, above all, to believe in himself.

To Merlin's surprise, he could see Arthur confusion melting into... something. It looked like something along the lines of hope or awe, which gave Merlin hope in return. But just as quickly as it was there, Arthur's expression shifted again to a frustrated anger.

"Even if what you're saying isn't some trick, your little bedtime story is wrong anyways! I can't be the Once and Future King if I'm not even a king in the first place!"

Merlin sighed deeply, knowing that they'd get to this point eventually. He had a plan, but would Arthur ever agree to it?

"I've tried! I tried to simply order the council to make you king again, but they won't do it! Geoffrey stopped me with some old laws that Bruta wrote! He said that I can't abdicate the throne to you because you're no longer legally a nobleman."

Arthur eyes widened frantically at the mention of Bruta's laws, his breathing picking up with panic. He backed up from the bars of the cell and began pacing around.

"Bruta's code, damn it, I forgot that they applied in these situations! Wait..."

His eyes snapped back to Merlin, looking red-rimmed and on the verge of tears. His voice, which was so full of fire mere seconds ago, now sounded hollow. Merlin's hope wilted upon seeing Arthur like this, and his magic flared again, still wanting to destroy the barrier between them.

"This means that the Pendragon house is no longer recognized, doesn't it?"

Merlin could only nod, unsure of what he could do to comfort Arthur. At Merlin's confirmation, Arthur took a shaky breath, trying to collect himself from the inner turmoil that he was surely experiencing.

"Everything... I've lost everything."

Merlin gave Arthur what he hoped was his most comforting smile, but it didn't do much for Arthur's hopeless disposition. After a small sigh, Merlin spoke again in a soft, comforting voice.

"Arthur, all is not lost. I have a way to make you king again! We just have to make you a noble again, and then I can abdicate the throne to you! And luckily for both of us, there's an easy way to make a peasant a nobleman quickly! And you should know, you wrote it into the laws yourself!"

Arthur blinked at him, not comprehending what Merlin had said for a couple seconds, before a sliver of hope showed on his face. However, as soon as it was there, it was gone again, once more replaced by anger and betrayal. Arthur quickly stormed over to the cell door, this time reaching the door itself and wrapping his hands around the bars so that he could yell in Merlin's face.

"I knew it! This was a trick!"

"What are you talking about? How would me knighting you and then giving you back your throne be a trick?!"

"You would have me swear on oath of fealty to you, which would legally, and for all I know magically, put me under your command! This was all just another plot to control me, wasn't it?!"

"Oh come on, you wouldn't have to mean it when you take the oath! You'd just have to say the words and then let me abdicate!"

"So now sacred oaths of loyalty are nothing but empty words to you?!"

"Gods, you really can't make anything easy for the both of us, can you, you prat! I'm just trying to give you your crown back!"

"You would have me disrespect the sacred oaths of knighthood! I would never swear an oath of fealty to you! It is a sacred bond of trust, which is apparently something that you know nothing about, Emrys!"

Merlin flinched back, still unused to Arthur saying the name given to him by the druids, much less hissed out in anger. Merlin backed away from the cell door and took a deep breath, trying to find some solution to this mess.

"So, I take it that you would not accept a knighthood from me?"

"Never."

Merlin sighed again, his eyes drifting around the dungeons as he tried to think of a different way to make Arthur a nobleman. Eventually, his eyes drifted back towards Arthur, who was still holding onto the bars of the cell door. As Merlin looked at Arthur, pondering any solution that he could possibly come up with, a metallic flash caught Merlin's eye, drawing it to Arthur's left hand.

There, the torchlight was reflecting off of Ygraine's ring, the one that Arthur rarely ever took off. Merlin was glad that Arthur still had it with him after everything that had just happened to provide some comfort, but it still didn't present Merlin with any solutions...

Wait.

Oh no.

Swallowing thickly, Merlin called out to Arthur again.

"Arthur, do you know of any, any other ways to elevate a peasant to the status of a noble?"

"I'm afraid not. Me granting knighthoods to peasants was the first legal opportunity for peasants to elevate their stations. There is no other way."

Merlin closed his eyes and tried to hold back his frustration. He wouldn't have to resort to that, surely?

"And you've really thought this through, Arthur? If you don't accept a knighthood, I don't think that there's any other way that I can legally make you a noble again, much less the king. Are you really prepared to go the rest of your life as a peasant with no title, no lands, no riches, nothing?"

Merlin could see that his words gave Arthur pause, forcing him to at least reconsider Merlin's offer. Merlin internally pleaded with Arthur to please don't be an idiot, just take the offer!

Finally, Arthur seemed to have reached his decision, as he glared at Merlin once again with conviction.

"I might be forced to live out my days as a peasant, but at least I'll be a peasant with my honor and integrity intact."

Merlin was, at this point, sorely tempted to bash his head into the stone wall behind him. Why, why did this clotpole have to make his life so difficult?!

Merlin gave a heavy sigh as he nodded, accepting Arthur's decision. Arthur looked rather smug about Merlin conceding to him, which he wouldn't be feeling if he knew exactly what Merlin had in mind as his contingency plan.

"Very well then. You've made it clear that you won't willingly take this one opportunity for me to give you your throne back. But make no mistake, you are the Once and Future King. This is your destiny, and I will see that it comes to pass, no matter what I have to do. I know that it might be unfair, but I only ask that you forgive me for what I do next. Please remember, everything I do, I do for you and the kingdom that you're destined to build."

Arthur's expression had gone from smug to confused to concerned very quickly, but Merlin didn't acknowledge the slight fear that had appeared on Arthur's face. Instead, he carefully pushed Arthur's blanket, which had been lying at the foot of the cell door, through the bars, ensuring that Arthur could grab it.

After that, Merlin turned on his heel and walked out of the now silent dungeons, his footsteps sounding authoritative and ominous as they echoed off of the stone walls.

Despite his measured footsteps, Merlin's mind was moving at sprinter's pace, trying to plan out everything that would need to be done in the coming days. The first thing that he definitely needed to do was let the steward know that he needed to plan a wedding on short notice.

After all, it wasn't uncommon for conquerors to marry their war prizes.

I hope you all enjoyed this continuation! Were you right in your guess as to what Merlin had in mind at the end of part 2? Please let me know if you'd like another part of this story!

I'll try to tag everyone who asked for a part 3 here. Thank you all for your support!

@magic-mushroomss @miyriu @whole-buncha-snakess @achillesuwu @aerismoon

@tidalwavesandthunderstorms @marki9 @isaidno @retro-wallflower @samwinjester

@lascienzadellafantasia @sugar-coated-prat-dragon @theoldfroglady @ryeallytired @mind-of-a-crow

@whynotreinventmyselfeveryday @likeapaperplane @odinjm @orliththedragon @aglmry

@caraspud @aostrek-236 @justaz @slippysalt @coffee-shop-gay

@the-king-and-the-druidess @theroundbartable @fanfic-library-for-me @linotheghost @scuttlingsleipnir

@guiltyscarlet

And, as always, than you for reading through my ramblings! :D

[thewritetofreespeech]

Here & Now

pairing: Aemond targaryen x Targaryen!reader [Rhaenyra & Daemon's daughter]

summary: on the morning you were set to return to Dragonstone to reunite with your family, the Greens make their move to take the throne, and Aemond comes to you.

tags: heterosexual sex, fingering, loss of virginity, targaryen incest themes, tw: blood, tw: knives

words: 3.1K

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When you were a little girl, your mother used to read you stories. Ones about knights, fey creatures, and princesses locked in towers. You never liked the tower ones. You always asked why they just didn't jump out of the tower to get away.

Looking down at the courtyard from your window, you realized that maybe they had a long way down as you did and that's why they couldn't get away.

The door opened and you sprung from your seat to face your intruder. You weren’t sure who you were expecting, but it wasn’t Aemond. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you.” His voice was even, but years of being near each other told you that his undertones were that of someone who was ashamed. “Are you alright?”

“I am a prisoner in my own home, Aemond. What do you think?!” You don’t mean to scratch at him. You are sure this is none of his doing, but he was the only one here.

You felt the fool for choosing to stay with your great-aunt Rhaenys, not wanting her to be left alone; even fierce she-dragons needed someone to lean on. But this morning you were barred from leaving your chambers by gold cloaks. You demanded to know what was the meaning of this. Demanded to know what was going on. Demanded to speak to your grandfather. Yet no one would answer you.

“Our patriarch is dead.” You felt a stone sink into your stomach. Somehow, you knew this to be true. King Viserys was very ill. It was only a collection of days in the best circumstances. “They’re going to make Aegon king this afternoon.” You felt as though the stone, and your breakfast, was going to come back up.

“So you are going to usurp my mother’s claim?! Take her birthright away!”

“It’s not my doing.” Aemond snapped at you. Clearly tired of being scratched. “It’s my mothers.” You scoff. You both know that Alicent’s clumsy maneuverings are just the attempts of her father. The King’s Hand with the knife in his back.

“So I am to what, hm? Sit here quietly while you take away my family’s future until you throw me over the walls edge?”

“I doubt you would sit here quietly, and no one is going to throw you over a wall, or any other ledge. Not if I have a say in it.”

You laugh. Despite yourself. Aemond was always funny, if you paid attention to him.

So few ever did. A second son, of a second marriage, with a princess in line for the throne. He was as meaningless as sand to the beaches to most people, then avoided completely after he was maimed. You always felt bad for that. Thought it was unfair that Lucerys got off scot-free after he crippled one of their own. People called those who took blood from their family Kinslayers, but what of those that maim their members?

“So you will let me go?”

Aemond shrugged. “Probably.” It was likely the best answer he could give. This wasn’t his decision. He couldn’t honestly tell you either way. But he did know, “you cannot take your dragon though.”

You felt your heart freeze in your chest. As if your Targaryen blood rushed out of you at the thought of abandoning your dragon. “You would take Stormsheild from me?” Your voice quaked despite your efforts. “Why not just cut off my arm? My heart….”

Aemond rushed over to you as you began to sob. Everything crashing down around you, and the thought of losing your dragon too much to bear. He wrapped his arms around you and held you close. “It doesn’t have to be this way.” He whispered in your hair. “You can stay here. With me.”

You pull back from Aemond’s chest to look at him. Blinking away tears as you must not have heard him right. “What?”

“Stay here with me.” He repeated it. You had not misheard. “Stay with me and you can keep Stormshield and your home, and be back in line for the throne. As my queen.”

You step back from Aemond to look at him. “You would…have me forsake my own mother? Turn my back on her?”

“You were always meant to turn your back on her to be with me.” He clasped at your hand. Not pulling you close again but not letting you go. Aemond speaks of course of your engagement. You had been betrothed from a young age, much like Aegon & Helaena or any other noble child in the realm. King Viserys last ditch effort to bring the two sides of his family together, you assumed. It had not gone over well with Alicent or your mother. Your father threw a chair when his side was alone. But none of them could stand against the king and his decision, so the pact stood.

You had not been upset about it like the adults. You cared for Aemond. He had been sweet when you left him. You sent him ravens. He remembered your nameday and sent your candied treats in secret. And when you return, he had grown into a fine, if not jaded, man. Fierce, refined, handsome. What had been childhood friendship and fancy turned into a blooming love overnight. One you were excited to explore. But now your blooms were burning into ash.

“My mother won’t stand for this. My father will come.”

“I have no doubt he will try.” There was no way Daemon would let his truest daughter, his favorite, stay here without a fight. He wouldn’t be so brazen about his favoritism like his father, but even with his one-eye Aemond could tell that you were his favorite over his Velaryon vipers. If Rhaenyra took the throne, he would have broken their engagement the first chance he got. A second son nowhere near good enough for his Targaryen jewel. Now he had all the more reason to break it, as Aemond wasn’t stupid enough to think Rhaenyra & Daemon were going to give up the throne without a fight. But what if he didn’t have a choice?

“I want you to be my wife. Right here. Right now.”

You looked at Aemond in shock. Suddenly afraid. “You’re not going to—“I would never hurt you.” He seemed offended you would even suggest it. Understandable. “But this was how it was always meant to be. You and me. No matter what happens, no one can take that away from us if you agree to be mine. We can be together.”

Your head was swimming. Your heart was pounding. “L…Let me think…”

“There’s no time.” Aemond insisted. “Once the coronation starts, Aegon will be King and that will be the end of it.” They will be divided. Those for Rhaenyra. Those for his brother. And Aemond did not trust his brother or family not to ruin this for him. Just as Daemon would have her taken from him, his mother and family would do the same. He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t bear to give up one more thing for Aegon’s happiness. “Say you’ll be mine. Say you will be my wife. Say you’ll stay here with me and we will be here together. Tell me that you want that.”

“I do.”

The words leave your mouth without you even realizing it. You had spent so long imagining a future with Aemond. He was your intended. He was your future. You loved him, but you also loved your mother & your family.

Aemond doesn’t recognize your distress though and swooped in to kiss you passionately. The two of you had kissed before. Brief, as children, to see what it was like. Then again before you left as a sort of parting gift. Then once final upon your return as a welcome home and back in his arms. It had never been like this before. Aemond, for all his hard edge, was gentle and shy with you. Now, however, he kissed you like a man who meant to consume you. Taking you into his body, instead of the other way around, so you could never leave him. When he broke away from you your vision swam. Righting itself after a few deep breaths but all you could see was Aemond.

“Undress.” You blink up at him in shock. “If we do this now, there’s nothing they can do.”

You realize Aemond wants not just your words but your chastity. As a sign of good faith. He wants to consummate your marriage before your vows. Cart before the horse. Everyone would have no choice but to accept your marriage now, or your side would risk the news that you were no longer a maiden and rumors Aemond was no more than a craven opportunist who would force himself of a captured princess.

You gulp. Feeling your tears bead up again in your eyes. This was not how you pictured your life with Aemond starting. This was not the dream you were meant to share. But dreams often fall short of reality.

For Aemond’s part, he also swallowed the lump in his throat and began to undress. Paying no mind to the habitual work of undoing his jerkin and belts to look at you. He hadn’t thought much on his marriage before your return. Save that he would do it and try his best. He would do his duty and have you give the realm more Targaryen blood to reign and treat you as honorably as he could. But on the few times he did think of his marriage, he would think of the wedding and your wedding night. How he would take his time with you. Appreciate you, the way you should be appreciated as a lady, as a Targaryen royal, and as his wife. But that was all gone. They will not have time for sweet words and sweet moments. That will have to come later now. Just another thing taken from him.

You feel embarrassed to be standing naked in from of Aemond. Your hands hopelessly trying to cover your modesty. Fretful glances around as if some septa in the shadows was going to jump out and cast shame on you. “Lie on the bed.” You do as you’re beckoned and lay down. Stiff. Ridged. Your hands balled into fists at your sides to keep them from flying up and covering you again.

Aemond watched all of this and did not look pleased. Still, he climbed onto the bed on top of you, and you try to sink further into the mattress to instinctually get away. “I will try to be gentle.” His words certainly were. You relax as a bit of the Aemond you knew came back into his voice and nuzzle against the hand on your cheek. “But this may hurt. It is not my intention. None of this…this wasn’t what I wanted.”

You know he doesn’t mean ‘this’ in general, but how this has come about. “I know.” You were both doing something neither of you wanted in order to get what you did want. What was love without sacrifice?

“It should only be this time. And I swear I will never hurt you again. Please, do not hate me.” You touch Aemond’s cheek in return. You could never hate him. Be cross with him. Snap and bite at him from time to time, but never hate him. He must know that.

He nuzzled into your palm as you did his and rested there for a moment with his eye closed. He then nodded, opened it, and his hand was no longer touching your cheek but the sacred spot between your legs.

You jump at the touch with a sharp hiss. Trying to crawl out from under Aemond but blocked by the pillows. He held you back. Shushing you as he continued his touching. “It’s only this time.” He reminded you. And you try to remain calm and still as he kept going.

Aemond needed no proof that you were a maiden. Your trust and faithfulness was all he needed to know that you would not break the arrangement between you; although he had not been so chaste, but he was a man. When he touched you, however, it was clear that no one had been there before him. Your entrance was tight around his finger. Nearly barring him out. He wanted to tell you to relax, but felt he had no place for it. ‘Yes, my love, relax. Don’t think about the fact that you are about to lose your chastity to a brute. Or that my family is usurping yours. Don’t think about the fact that this still may not work and you have thrown everything away for a hairbrained plan of a desperate man who just doesn’t want to be alone.’ Yes. Those were the sweet words every girl wanted to hear on her ‘wedding night’.

He removed his finger from her entrance, bringing it up to his mouth to lick two then pushing both back in. You whine. Feeling your entrance stretch to an uncomfortable level of accommodation. Your mother had been very forthcoming on what to expect from your wedding night, although she had been clear she wished it to be far in the future. She let you know that there would be pain. That there would be times that it felt like it wasn’t worth it. But it was your duty as a wife, and, with the right man, it could be quite enjoyable. You knew what she meant now as you felt your apex burn. When would the ‘quite enjoyable’ start?

By the third finger inside you, you had gnawed on your bottom lip so hard you were drawing blood. Aemond said nothing. Just watched you. He seemed terrified to do anything than what he was doing. Finally, his fingers came free of you and shifted above you. "You need to spread your legs." They had instinctively closed when he pulled from you and you blush as you do as he says. "Please do not hate me."

You had thought your apex burned when his fingers were inside you, but if that was the case then your whole pelvis was on fire when he pushed inside you. Your hands fly up to claw at Aemond's back as you let out a wordless scream when he split you & your maidenhead open. "Stop! Wait, wait! It hurts!"

"I know." His words are apologetic as he offers you a kiss on the cheek but does not pull out. "Just bear with it for me."

He stopped long enough to give you time to adjust. Try to relax. Anything. Then he pulled his cock out and slid it back in. Your teeth grit at the pain. It’s not as bad as you thought, after the initial shock. It does hurt, but to hear people talk about it it was the same as losing a limb. You fell off Stormsheild once when you were a little girl. Bruised something fierce from the fall. That hurt worse than this, but it was no less uncomfortable.

Aemond tried to take this as slow as he could for you. He knows this is not how a maiden expects to become a woman. Some hard fast thing to be done with and move on. But the clock was ticking. They had very little time left before the coronation and the ceremony started. It needed to be finished before then.

That’s what he told himself.

In truth, he was a lost novice again inside you. Your warmth. Your tightness. Just…you. This was not how he pictured you being bonded to him, but he would be a liar if he said he wasn’t still elated that you were beneath him and soon all his.

He could feel his climax building. Unable to hold it back any longer. Aemond reached blindly for the knife at the side of your bed, as no true Targaryen would ever go to sleep without a blade at their side, and sliced your hand open. You cry out finally. Having kept your jaw tight the whole time you were doing this in order to not scream and turn wild eyed toward Aemond to ask him what the hells he was doing, only to see him cutting his own hand. He threw the knife away to the side and linked your hands together. His eye turned to you. Holding you there for a moment before he kissed you deeply to fully seal your bond. A Valyrian bond.

With the pain redirected to your hand, you can finally feel Aemond inside you with some joy. It’s not pleasurable, but it’s not painful. Your head swam at the realization that he was inside you, he was kissing you, that he was all around you until suddenly Aemond’s hips stopped and you realized that there was more than just his cock inside you.

He let your lips go after that. Panting with you. Sweaty. Whole. You hiss sharply when Aemond pulled out of you. The pain returning to your center from your hand. Still bloody, sheets bloody, why did there have to be so much blood for this?

Aemond sat up and ripped a corner of the sheets into two clean strips. One for you and one for him. He wrapped your hand first and then his own, before he pulled you close to him on the ruined bedding. “Are you alright?”

You shrug against him. Your maidenhood was sore. Your hand was throbbing. Your mother was about to be tossed aside and you were still technically a prisoner in your childhood home. You weren’t sure how to answer that question.

“I will have to go. For the ceremony.” Aemond doesn’t want to talk about it, but he does have to go. Must show a united front for the kingdom. “I’ll come back later. To check on you.”

“Will I be allowed to leave?” You ask him. That question had still not been answered.

“After it’s over we’ll go talk to my mother and King Hand.” A name you both gave his grandfather as children to tease him, in secret of course. It wasn't nearly as funny as you remembered now. “You are under my protection now. I will keep you safe.”

Safe. How strange that word sounded now. You had felt safe with your parents. You had felt safe within these walls. You had felt safe with Aemond. But all of that had suddenly changed. What was 'safe' now?

Aemond dressed quickly, then came over to you again. Tentative, shy even, he came over to give you a brief peck on the lips. Like the ones you used to give as children. “I will come back.” He promised again. “Everything will be alright.”

Then he was gone. You were alone. You pulled your knees to your chest, despite the pain in doing so, and look out your window. Maybe the other princesses stayed in the tower because they had no choice too.

[lady-ashfade]

No Longer

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Alicent Hightower x Lady!Fem!Reader

╰･ﾟ✧☽ words: 371

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: tw!death, sickness, mourning, angst, crispy and Alicent aren’t a thing, short, maybe slight!dark Alicent, Rhaenrya x reader.

-`｡ﾟ˘: ﾟ⋆ ––✷☽ ᱬ ☽✷––⋆ ﾟ: ˘ ﾟ｡.`-

Alicent was relieved to have you by her side throughout the years, her comfort and someone who brought her peace. The day’s in kingslanding were troublesome and you let her forget about everything.

“My love, are you alright?” soft hands reached her shoulders and the smile residing on your face she saw in the mirror sent a wave of warmth throughout her chest.

In a short answer she was not well, her faith was being tested and her guilt was eating up at her. The gods had placed her one this path and she must see it through, even if it’s hard.

“Tired,” she turned and kissed your knuckles, “long day of petitions.”

A part of you always hated the way she carried herself and how she treated things, but you loved her and wanted to be blind to the cruel truth she hide so well.

The truth was never hidden for long and was quickly revealed the next morning after being awakened by her maid with the news of the kings death.

Watching as the crown was placed on Aegons head you felt sick to your stomach. The throne of your old friend being usurped by your lovers son. Of course Alicent was blessed you were by her side and even dressed you in green.

Fear and anger set inside you at Alicent and she wondered why you pushed her away at this time. She was free from being queen, free to be yours but you ignored her existence, failed to come to shared meals.

The news of lucaerys Velaryon’s death spread rather quickly and you stayed locked up in your room all day. Part of you was to blame, you could have made Alicent see the Rhaenrya would have be right. That no war was supposed to happen. The maids came in and out your room to clean the sickness, or check up on you even when you screamed at them.

Alicent lost you by her side.

Leaving a note to say you had left kingsland with no support of her son, claiming that the woman you loved was dead.

Gossip was how she found out you were back in Rhaenrya’s arms. Back to the one you loved first.

[starogeorgina]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐧

Warnings: Incest

Pairing: Cregan Stark × reader, Aemond Targaryen × reader

1.03

The hour was late, and there was not a soul aside from yourself and Prince Jacaerys in the guest house in Winterfell, so you were able to speak freely with each other away from any prying eyes. Your nephew's most recent revelation causes unexpected feelings of grief and sympathy to unfold.

The poisonous actions of your own family had spread so far it caused Rhaenyra to go into premature labor. “My condolences, Jacaerys. I did not know your mother had lost her babe.”

“Did word not reach the keep?”

“If it did, I was not informed.” You sigh, “Losing a babe is a lonely experience. I wouldn’t wish on my worst foe.”

“You speak as if you know this from experience?”

You feel a sudden chill; the only light in the room was from the candles on the table and the flames from the fireplace. Even in the dim light, you can make out the glossiness in his eyes; he was fighting to hold back tears. “A few years ago I had a babe that came early, a girl. I was going to call her Visenya.” You scoff, “Perhaps the name is cursed.”

“I’m sorry.”

The dead girl's birth was more painful than Maitland’s. The maester had no understanding of what caused the premature birth; the only thing you knew for sure was that you were completely alone. “I couldn’t bring myself to say it,” your voice begins to crack. “At her funeral, I couldn’t bear the thought of my own dragon being the one to set my tiny daughter pyre on fire, so Aegon commanded Sunfyre to do it.”

The mention of your brother causes Jacaerys to tense up. He looks furious.

“I know you think he is a monster, but he was the only one who helped me through my grief.”

Confused, he asks, “What about your mother, husband, or Helaena?”

You sit back in the hard wooden chair and smile at the mention of your sister. “Helaena is the most kindhearted and gentle of us, but she doesn’t cope well with death. It took her three moons for her to speak with me again, and even then my sweet sister only spoke in riddles.”

“What about Alicent?”

You lift the cup of wine sitting you had yet to touch to your lips in a poor attempt to hide the involuntary scoff. You rarely saw eye to eye with your husband, but your mother being untrustworthy was something you always agreed upon. “I have kept her at arm’s length and have for many years, trusting nought that she says.”

Jacaerys looks horrified. He was struggling to understand what it must be like to have a family that did not care much for one another.

“Do not fret, my prince,” you say reassuringly. “Not all mothers can care for their children in the way they perhaps wish they could.”

“Was Aemond not there to comfort you?”

Visenya’s death is what completely shattered your marriage. The broken feeling of sitting in your bedchamber alone after the silent sisters came for your daughter still haunted you. Not only should Aemond have been mourning with you, if he was there, they wouldn’t have taken Visenya away from you so soon. You prayed he would burst through the door when the midwives ripped the dead babe you had been cradling from your arms, but he never came.

He was with his whore, missing everything.

When Aemond returned and the maester told him what happened, he beat his knuckles bloody against the wall and only stopped when Ser Criston managed to restrain him.

“No, he was not,” you finally take a large gulp of the bitter-smelling wine. “My brother Daeron is kind, but he lives in OldTown. He wrote to me more than usual, but it was only Aegon who visited me when I was inconsolable.”

Jace says nothing.

“It’s not Aegon’s fault; all of this was my grandsire, Criston, and the men that sit in their council. They were the ones who plotted for years.”

“And your mother? Was she not the ringleader of the rightful queen being usurped?”

“My mother thinks she has a voice in the council, but she is yet to see that it was only possible previously because the king allowed it.”

“How did King Viserys die? Daemon thinks he was poisoned.”

“Perhaps he was.” You look down at the smallest candle and watch as the last of the wax melts away. “Will the queen be merciful when she sits upon the throne? Will she spare Helaena?”

“If you bend the knee, she will gladly take you into her heart, all of you. Our family doesn’t need to be torn apart.”

“It's not only our family who’s been affected. We’ve turned brother against brother. Ser Erryk is on Dragonstone while Ser Arryk remains in the keep. The kingdom's divide has already begun within the kingsguard. I dread to see what will become of the small folk.”

“When my mother takes kings landing, Daemon’s first act will be to hang all those who betrayed her, including the kingsguard who remain loyal to Aegon.”

“It’s not so simple, Jacaerys. Ser Arryk, he only stayed because he’s sworn to me, to my son. Not because he agrees with what happened. Everyone knows my father chose his line of succession; he wanted Rhaenyra on the throne then for you to be king.” You lean your arm over the table and take Jacaerys hand. “If I tell you something of value, you must promise that you’ll never say you heard it from me.”

“What—”

“Swear it.”

He nods, “Yes, I swear it.”

You let go of his hand; tears threaten to spill from your eyes. “On the day he was crowned king, Aegon tried to flee. And he has considered doing it again, but my mother and grandsire have the keep-on lockdown. But it may be possible if someone helps him.”

“Who… you would help him leave?”

It felt like a betrayal discussing Aegon in such detail with another, but you needed Jacaerys to understand the blacks weren’t the only threat to your family. “I would, and not because I don’t believe your mother would spare his life if he bent the knee, but because I know what would happen if he did.”

A look of understanding passes his features. “His own men would turn on him.”

“If Aegon is gone, his son Jaehaerys is next in line. Healena does not want this for him; she will gladly hand the city over to Rhaenyra, and without bloodshed.”

“I have the feeling you are still withholding.”

“Of course I am,” you chuckle lightly as the tears you fought so hard to hold back finally fall. “I do not wish to send my own brother to death. I want to save him from being crushed under the weight of a crown he did not ask for.”

“Do you really think he’d leave his wife and children?”

“Yes,” you answer honestly. “He cares for the twins, but it didn’t stop him from trying to leave before.”

Jacaerys looks uncertain, but how could he not be? There were things you couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t begin to explain that you’ve seen the threat from the north, his mother sitting on the iron throne. The death of thousands by the hands of dragon flames. How you just knew your mother would betray Aegon one day.

“It’s late,” Jacaerys stands up. “We should both sleep and speak again tomorrow. Goodnight, princess.”

“Goodnight, nephew.”

When Jace leaves and you are alone, you begin to crumble. You desperately try to hide the sobs escaping your mouth; exhaustion and pent-up emotions are finally catching up. You pick up the small wooden toy sitting on the table and hold it tightly. Maitland had many toys, and you hope he wouldn’t seek the one you took to feel close to him until you return.

Hearing a soft knock at the door, you rub at your eyes, and presuming it’s Jacaerys, you open the door and are taken aback when it’s not him. “Lord Stark,” you step back to let him in. “Forgive my unladylike appearance; if I had known you were coming, I would have dressed more appropriately.”

Being in a nightgown and robe with only Jacaerys as company didn’t phase you, but in front of the Lord of Winterfell it was rather embarrassing.

“Forgive me, I saw the candlelight and presumed you were still awake... We can speak in the morrow.”

“No, my lord,” you cross your arms over your chest and smile. “It’s fine.”

He stares at you for a few seconds before continuing. “From the moment I returned to my chambers, my son has been all over me. Apparently he’s going to meet the bronze fury.

You smile. “He asked today if he could come with me to see the dragons, but I wanted to check with you first.”

“I—can you assure he won’t get hurt?”

“No dragon can ever be completely tamed, but their emotions are entwined with their riders. And since I hold no ill-will towards your son, he’ll be safe.”

“Okay, he may go with you.” He reaches to open the door. “I best be going; try and get what little sleep I can, as I’m sure Rickon will be up early with excitement.”

“Goodnight, Lord Stark.”

“Cregan,” he locks eyes with you. “When it’s just us, you can call me my first name.”

Mother above, you could only imagine the look on the dowager queen's face if she heard a lord give you leave to speak his name.

“And when it’s just us, you may still refer to me as princess, Cregan.”

He smirks at your teasing. “I’ll see you in the morrow, princess.”

—

𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳. 𝘎𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘶𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺—𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺.

𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴, 𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦, 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦.

𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥’𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳-𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘚𝘺𝘭𝘷𝘪. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘴.

𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘈𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵.

𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘯𝘦𝘸𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮’𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵. 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘭 𝘳𝘶𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘯.

𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘥𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵, “𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘦.”

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘸, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦. “𝘔𝘺 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺—”

𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. “𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦?”

“𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘦𝘭. 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦.”

“𝘐𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦?” 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘵, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦’𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴.

"𝘕𝘰, 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.”

“𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦.”

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘥. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩. 𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.

𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦; 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘱𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥. 𝘏𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯, “𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘐 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘱𝘴𝘦𝘵? 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.”

𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘹𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳. “𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦, 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦. 𝘞𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵; 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘱𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯.”

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘨. 𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯?

“𝘕𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦; 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦,” 𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘭𝘺.

“𝘠𝘦𝘴, 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦,” 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴.

𝘉𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘥.

“𝘞𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘝𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯?”

“𝘐 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘝𝘩𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭,” 𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺. “𝘈𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮.”

𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘴, “𝘍𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘵; 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘝𝘩𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘳. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥.”

“𝘐 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘳.”

—

“As you say it’s difficult with sons, I dare say I spoil my boy. He’s inherited most things from me, even the things I wish he did not.” You lean against the wooden bannister, standing beside Lord Stark, watching as Rickon plays with his direwolf on the snow below. “Your son, Rickon, is a very kind boy; you must be proud.”

“Northerners are born hardened; it’s in our nature, but I do sometimes regret my son not having the softness of a woman to help guide him. But as you say, he is kind, and that’s all I could ask for.” Hearing the Lord of Winterfell speak of his son in such a way was bittersweet. You didn’t doubt Aemond’s love for Maitland, but your son being kind wouldn’t be high on his priority. “And I’m sure the young prince is lucky to have a mother who loves him dearly.”

You clear your throat. “I find it rather fascinating how different things are outside the city I grew up in. A young lord or lady not marrying soon after their spouse dies is almost unheard of.”

“I could have,” he muses. “My marriage was political, but I was lucky; I grew to love my wife, Arra. She was soft-spoken and would sing a lot. I did not believe it would be possible to find another like her or anyone so deeply devoted to loving another woman’s son. The ladies I entertained with the idea of marrying showed little to no interest in Rickon, so I chose not to bring them into his life.”

You turn to face him and say, “Not many men would say that. Most of them would put desire above love and duty without a second thought.”

Cregan rests his arms beside you on the bannister and leans in ever so slightly, a mischievous smile pulling on his lips. “Tis possible for both to exist; even the most dutiful of men and women still have desires, princess.”

Heat creeps into your cheeks, and you can’t help but smile. “You wouldn’t have fared well growing up in the keep as a lady, my lord. I was taught if a woman had improper desires or urges, they were to go pray in the sept for forgiveness.”

You feel the warmth from his body when his broad shoulder brushes against your own. His voice is lower than before when he says, “Winterfell doesn’t have a sept to pray in.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Vermithor landing just outside the walls of Winterfell.

“I believe it’s time for Rickon to meet my dragon.”

—

True to your word, Rickon was unharmed when you took him to greet the bronze fury up close. You even flew around the outskirts of Winterfell three times before Vermithor landed beside Silverwing from the same location you left.

Rickon took your hand and excitedly pulled you through the castle grounds until he spotted Lord Stark and the maester, who were patiently waiting on him. As you watch the young boy go to attend his lessons, you jump, hearing a voice beside you.

“A morning he will never forget.”

“Nephew,” you take in his appearance. “Are you going hunting?”

“Yes, I’ve been invited to join several of the lords; however, I reckon whatever I catch will be devoured by Vermax.”

Jacaerys offers you his arm, which you take. “Very ill-tempered for a little thing, I imagine he will be formidable when fully grown.”

“Big enough to saddle two, so the dragon keepers say. I wanted to let you know the queen has written; she has refused Aegon’s terms.”

“What terms?”

He narrows his eyes, “the ones your grandsire, Otto Hightower, spoke of when he stepped foot on Dragonstone. Did you not know?”

“I was unaware he had even left the keep at any point.”

“The former queen claims me and my brothers will be treated kindly; after my own mother bends the knee.”

“Alicent speaks with two tongues.”

“I suspected as much. She spent years calling us bastards.” When you reach the stables where the other lord's horses are being prepared, he lets go of your arm. “Lord Stark isn’t going; I believe he is staying so he can speak with you in private.”

“I won’t go back on my word. I will do what I can to help your mother sit on the throne.”

He nods and begins to walk towards the stables.

“Jacaerys,” you call after him. “It’s true you don’t share the same features as your mother, but that does not make you a bastard.”

“Do not jest,” he says defensively.

“People will believe what they wish and may whisper behind your back, but it doesn’t change the fact you are of blood and fire,” you cup his cheek. “Ser Harwin had blue eyes. You have brown eyes, as did Ser Laenor.”

You almost feel guilty seeing the look in his eyes. Had the young boy not thought of this before? The rumors of Rhaenyra’s sons being bastards were most likely started, but those on the Green Council as another way to belittle and discredit a woman in a position of power. It is known Aegon has bastards, but not once has it ever been mentioned at court.

You are caught off guard when you turn to walk in the opposite direction, and Cregan is waiting for you. Smiling, you walk towards him, “my lord.”

“Princess, I was wondering if you care to join me in the godswood.”

“Of course.”

“I’m glad; I believe we have much to discuss.”

[unabashednightmarepizza]

𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝐴𝑟𝑒 𝐿𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑑, 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝐴𝑟𝑒 𝑆𝑒𝑒𝑛

A/N(1): Considering Gaming is pretty much like me in every aspect and a weird sagau-like thing happened to me where, whenever I make a 10 pull, I always get Gaming and now baby boy is C5 already( THREE of them were on the same pull btw), and that we need to spread more love for him... Here I am with this impulsive piece of work that suddenly came to my mind where us, the reader who is the Creator of Teyvat and all the universes, descends only for him and IS the one who grants Vision to people. (Visions are not some shitty way of controlling people here)

A/N(2): I know Lantern Rite is over but damn, did I loose inspiration to finish this so soon so, I divided this into two parts.

Warnings: Spoilers for Lantern Rite and Gaming's backstory, Reader giving good parenting advice and literally being a grandma who would slap someone with a slipper and commit homicide for children, communication problems between parents and children.

"I think the Creator isn't too fond of me y'know?"

Lumine and Paimon sweated at the mention of your name, the former one rubbing his defeated shoulders for comfort as she looked at her companion.

Paimon worriedly looked up where her mother was as she floated above Gaming, the now peaceful and serene Celestia floating above them with the rightful owner in it. After gathering all your essences back and helping you come back once again - and learning that her emergency food was actually the Creator's daughter-, Lumine had the chance of meeting you quite a lot actually.

The reason for it was pretty simple: Lumine and Paimon had become inseparable.

They had been travelling together for years, all alone with only having each other to rely on. Sure, they made great friendships over the years and they were always happy to reunite with them whenever possible... But none of them could come with them on their journey.

Especially since it was unknown when exactly it would stop.

But although they thought to be alone as they discovered the truth about both Lumine and her brother's story and Paimon's origins... Lumine knew they weren't really all by themselves in such a vast and seemingly endless world.

She could feel it in her soul... With the warmth that never left her ever since she woke up near that shore, the one that had never left her even if she was starting to loose hope, always pushing her to fight for one more day.

There was no way you wouldn't love one of your own child.

"Ahhh... Why do you think so, Gaming? Have you done something to offend Her?" Paimon asks cautiously, with a hint of softness Lumine rarely heard since she was often sarcastic just as you were, as she patted his head warmly with worried eyes. This was one of the rare times that Lumine really saw You in her, that Paimon had more than one thing common with You.

Except Your love for food, that is.

She, better than anyone, knew how You were, after all, as a daughter... She felt your unconditional love even when she had no recollection of, well... Everything that happened.

Even when she didn't know what or who she was, she knew one thing clear: The Creator loved Her creations so dearly... The one on the throne could never be Her.

"Uhhh, Paimon really doesn't think so! Her Highness is known to be so loving and kind and also supportive of Her creations-" she nervously stuttered, looking up to where you were supposed to be as she gave as much comfort as she can. She didn't need to be an expert to know that most of the people in Teyvat adored their Creator, and all of them respected You for... every single thing You did for them.

Including setting new Heavenly Principles to ensure peace all across Teyvat, after millenias of destruction caused by the Usurper which tainted the soil, the very core of Teyvat and the souls of people and gods alike.

Gaming, of course not surprisingly, was one of those who admired you the most. Chenyu Vale, after all, was known for their tea and tea ceremonies, especially those of Adepti and the Creator. The stories of your both heroism and creation was one thing told throughout the land... And then there was the parental ones they had heard and read about thanks to their Archon, Gods and Adepti wanted to preserve for Your and their sake...

To remember those peaceful times they all used to sit with You and eat, drink to their heart's content as they shared stories and what they had been doing with their humans... Before either Barbatos or Menogias and Bosacius "ruining it" with their banter and over all "idiocy" with one of them begging to drink wine with You while the other two argued about the fact that Bosacius shouldn't enter where you are, alongside the ladies, practically half-naked as a mean of respect.

Menogias was not the one describing such events with much disdain, it was Rex Lapis' rather "dislike" towards a certain God of Freedom as those who read your stories sweated awkwardly at his descriptions of " that drunkard who wouldn't stop hogging the Creator all to himself and had no brains too actually give a thing for rules"... All the while You cackled with the "ladies" at the back with a comedic look on your face, betting on how many tries it would take for them to finally agree.

It was good old days... that seemed far, far away from reach as the years passed and now Teyvat was becoming another version of itself, one that You would be proud of no matter what.

Safe to say, most people praised your name and prayed to You through those ceremonies. Liyue and Chenyu Vale were the one who was perhaps the earnest with their belief, and the tea leaves they were proud to grow with Your blessing...

And with the dim-sum they had as a breakfast, to reminisce and pay respect to You and all the Gods who dined with You above the sky once.

But back to the modern days, where three youngsters were having a meltdown for different reasons...

Gaming, because he just told them- two once strangers and now his friends- his biggest secret and insecurity after his problems with father.

Paimon who almost bawled her eyes out from sadness because of the drop of his head like a kicked puppy at the slight sign of his insecurity of failing her mother.

Lumine, because these two were being total dummies and she was wondering how the hell Paimon could be related to You, who was always the logical one and always choose the rational side of things.

"I-I know that, and trust me, I am very grateful to be acknowledged by Her but... Well, I mean, I am surely in no position to complain but life wasn't the easiest for me. Especially since I chose to indulge in Wushou Dancing. You guys already know my story and... And I'm afraid that I didn't satisfy Her with how I failed at making Wushou Dancing popular-"

Gaming ranted in one breath, his face contorting in pain, both from the possibility of such thing being true and from being breathless, as he looked like a kicked puppy with his huge brown eyes from where he stood in front of the petite blond, who stared at him with a confused and troubled look.

" Woah, woah! Easy there, calm down, Gaming... So you think she is upset because of... This?"

Lumine couldn't help but frown while pointing at him and back to his vision, confusion and slight worry clouding her golden eyes as Gaming gulped and looked at her through his lashes, head turning away and eyes trailing over to stare over the tea fields. She only hoped he didn't think it was because she was belittling his worry, but rather, she didn't understand why he worried.

You were always so proud of your creations, did they really not know this?

"Uhm, y-yeah? Why wouldn't She be? She saw potential in me to make it so popular and well-liked by people yet, hehe... Here I am, as a complete failure. Just like my dad predicted..." He rubbed the back of his neck embrassed, sweating from the nervousness at the intense glare the duo was giving to him.

Logically thinking, he knew there was absolutely no way of knowing anything about the Creator, especially something as trivial as this. Both because of a) you must be too busy to care for such a small and childish thing and b) you were the Creator, how were you not supposed to love what you made?

But poor boy's insecure mind was too consumed by the self-hatred he had kept inside for so long that it started to consume hım whole... Enough to question everything he had been taught all of his life, questioning himself for the first time ever since that day if all these struggles were worth it.

Paimon, seeing and having a guess at his state, quickly budged in to divert his attention elsewhere.

"B-But I am sure that mot- I mean, Her Highness didn't bless you with a Vision and showed her favor while expecting something in return!" Paimon suddenly shot up to the air, her short legs kicking at the air angrily as her face was contorted in pure anger for the way he was thinking. And Lumine, for the first time ever since meeting her, cold sweated because of how scary she looked at the moment.

"But..." Gaming sighed dejectedly, coming down from the shock of her sudden burst, head hung low and feeling the familiar sting of his eyes of many nights he spent alone on his bed and looking back to his decisions, trying to determine if he regretted them or not, thinking about his beloved mother and Creator...

And what you both must be thinking of him.

Had he... Failed both of you?

You, who created the whole world with so much love, "The Mother of All" and his own mother, who never shied away from showing her support to him even when his father was angry at her for "spoiling" him...

"But..." he couldn't help but get frustrated at himself, and the tears gathered at the corner of his eyes. How long was he going to act like a kid? How much more would he trouble others because of his problems, much like he was doing now to even his new friends that he just met? He knew he kind of failed at his biggest dream, although his stubborn father didn't know about it just yet and he intended for it to stay that way...

Actually saying it out loud made him realize how... futile, his hardwork had been.

He really didn't make any progress at all, huh?

Before he could get any other self-deprecating thoughts, he contiued with gritted teeth as shame slowly filled him and he moved to get up. "...I was given a Vision because of my ambition to make Wushou Dancing popular in Liyue Harbor, at least that's how I see it although I know not everyone's jumping at watching it... And if I can't make it come true then..."

Another dejected sigh as his hand subconsciously went to his Vision, feeling its comforting warmth as he clutched the glass orb tightly. He always believed that the Visions' warmth, apart from containing the aspirations of the holder, had always had a part of you as well... That the comforting warmth that accompanied him much like other holders, was because of your love and hopes for them. To see what path they would carve for themselves while watching over them...

And there was no way he made anyone proud with what he had become. His relatives? They didn't particularly care about him, they couldn't, right? And his father was another story with the restless and hurtful quarrels they used to have every day, especially after his mother's death. He wouldn't even talk to him, yet alone look at his face, why would he care to come looking for his son?

How would a young boy like him ever know that the reason his father couldn't look at him in the eyes was because he was also reminded of his mistakes and hurtful words he uttered towards his own father when he was his age? How would he know that his own father, though he didn't show himself like that, lacked the way to express his guilt to his own son that he hadn't seen in a long time?

How would he know that his own father was drowning in his own guilt, but too afraid to say anything to his son when he too, was drowning himself in guilt and self-hatred?

His, and unknown to him... his dad's, mind was clouded with their own sadness, all the while never leaving their eyes from the clear sky while Paimon's and Lumine's worried eyes were on Gaming's melancholic ones, as the duo shared a stare only they could understand... with a question after years of being on Teyvat suddenly popped inside their mind.

That they had to reach to you as soon as possible...

And learn how the Vision-giving process actually worked.

"Then, what am I?"

Meanwhile, up in Celestia, you were merrily decorating your place in Liyue themes, since the Lantern Rite night was coming closer, and watering the many plants you had as a gift from your children was taking too long, you opted to keep yourself busy with humming a soft tune.

Completely and blissfully unaware of the chaos in Liyue.

But you know what they say: A mother intuition always works and is always right.

"Hmm... My mom senses are tingling yet once again. Could it be my daughter?" You curiously asked to yourself, a slight worry deep in your heart as you walked back to your throne room to check on her and her companion, the music still blasting inside your head.

Those "earphones" your Fontanian kids called, was really something else as they blasted of your son Barbatos' one of the many ballads, only requiring a magical jade to store that tune. Perhaps you could visit your son and see how they are all doing after that whole Usurper ordeal?

"My children truly exceeded my expectations... If only they didn't nearly destroy Khaenri'ah all those years ago, give them a very unnecessary curse and give me one week of detailed work before the new year..." You couldn't help but sigh out "tiredly" and crack your back, rubbing your neck as you opened the huge white gates of the throne room.

Khaenri'ah, your dear children, were unfortunately caught between the crossfire of Celestia and the misled Archons, getting either killed or cursed with monstrosity and immortality. With yet another scheme of the corrupted Heavenly Grounds combined with them being too blind from their greed, the evil surged to the surface near Khaenri'ah and thus... since the only God they believed in was you, the biggest enemy of the Second... They were nearly destroyed completely.

But now, after a very brutal battle on the very same grounds you now peacefully walked on, Teyvat and your children were finally free with no blood of them dripping to the ground. You gave a new hope, a new world where people would thrive and live in harmony.

Children no longer in pain and crying, not being without parents...

Mothers never having to cry for their fallen children and fathers going mad...

However, just like you always thought of your children... They didn't hesitate to surprise you, and on some occasions scare you, with their quirks... It was only natural to be scared for your children, most importantly your baby, right?

Listening to the conversations of your daughter and Lumine with their other companions had always been a joyful experience for you, even when you were yet to take a form and were shackled. Often they joked with each other, or threw sarcastic quips at each other much to your amusement as you saw yourself in your daughter as clear as the day.

With how easygoing and cheerful their conversations would often be, you didn't think there was anything alarming happening as you looked into our orb.

There were times even you, the Mother-of-All, were left speechless...

As soon as the foggy and disturbed watery surface of your orb cleared out with a wave of your hand, and you were able to see the worried eyes of your dear vessel and daughter looking at a young boy with red and brown hair, their conversation made your mom senses 100 times worse.

"Gaming... Are you okay? Did you sleep well? You look like you are about to fall asleep any time!"

"Not really. Just yesterday, I stayed up all night playing cards..."

"Huh? Stayed up all...night? Isn't that- Isn't that a bit concerning for humans?" You worriedly asked your royal guard as he shook his head just as worriedly from behind you, although disguised it better than You did as you repeatedly looked between him and the orb, picked on your lips and pulled on it in worry as if it could somehow make you understand what you just heard.

He wasn't the Mother of All, after all. It wasn't in his nature to worry about the young ones.

"This boy... He surely doesn't give a single care about his health! I didn't create sleep for humans for nothings! One thing they need for completely resting and-and look at this! Unacceptable!" You groaned with a deep, threatening tone, angry and not understanding why humans tried to go against their nature like that, hands on either sides of your hips as you stared at Gaming's reflection and see... Just how really tired his soul was.

Going between a great dilemma for his future, a hard time for him, one that hangs heavily upon his shoulders and the soul you crafted quite carefully and gently.

What was it that made a boy so young such as him so deeply upset that it affected him deep to his core?

Yet... Made him still so sweet and... pinchable?

"Hmm... They seem to be getting along well nonetheless." you affectionately expressed with a hand under your chin, trying to be still positive, lovingly looking at the content smiles of all three children as your daughter feasted upon food after food and was being spoiled to no end by none other than Gaming himself.

The young boy's willingness to pay for everything and not "disturb" other's, even if he earned that Mora in the hard way, impressed you and his kindness and easygoing side was something you had never seen in a human before.

And considering you were the Creator, that said a lot by itself.

But still... His way was one that could be considered as... "Self-destructive", one that rang the alarms of a troubled childhood even from miles away, and also one which needed to be stopped at one point.

Even if it required the two most essential weapons of a mother: "The Mom Voice" and "The Slipper".

Your thoughts were cut short when you saw your daughter's shy yet puffed out cheeks as Gaming cooed at her, you couldn't help but chuckle as well, leaning down over the orb with both hands on your cheeks and heart combusting and running up the walls from the sudden surge of love you felt for the three young children as the other two coddled your daughter, in their own ways of course.

Aww, a fed Paimon is a happy Paimon, huh?

"And just like that, Gaming is her new favourite friend." You giggled at Paimon's flushed cheeks from the orb you watched, Lumine's smug yet peaceful smile after all the traumatic events she went through brightening your face. Gaming's bright smile wasn't so behind on the race of "radiance", his eyes twinkling in happiness at Paimon's happy and wide smile, feeling proud with himself that he was the reason she was a full and happy child at that moment.

That was exactly what you wanted for your children and people to have: Get along well with each other, learn from each other as everyone experienced the world you served beneath their feet... Not fight for their lives in greed and selfishness.

You sighed in relief when you realized that they were fine and happy, a bit tired perhaps from the hard work earlier but still... They were finally being what they were supposed to be from the beginning as they joked together already.

Two teens and a child, though the latter was questionable since Paimon has been there ever since "the Beginning".

"Gaming is one unique boy, just like many of Your creations, Your Highness... Easily well-loved, and befriended even by 'two outsiders'."

You absentmindedly nodded, you attention straying away from the scene before your eyes as you looked at one of the pillars of Celestia in deep thought.

It was no shocker that humans were... weird, in the eyes of other gods.

You created them with compensation and empathy, with the need to socialise and friend others in their journey. The way they would do it, however, entirely depended on their choices and often times, even when shackled, you watched them in amazement with the different routes they had taken with their life.

Some gods didn't want to question your authority, but couldn't help the questions linger in their minds: Why would you built paths for them when you knew the end? When you knew how they would act?

Well, that was the question forbanother day...

But even with knowing it all, Gaming's behaviour shocked even You, who was the one to set the order.

The sixteen-year-old just... gave and gave and gave at an alarming speed, without ever stopping... Without even asking for anything in return.

That wasn't good at all... A person who gives and gives, who is very self-sacrificing with absolutely zero care about their own emotions, trying to gain people's gratitude so that they would continue the relationship/ friendship, definetly experienced a situation where they felt... Invalidated for their feelings.

And You saw it... Even your daughter, who loved food and tea more than anything, hesitated to accept his request for more food and treats to eat after all the things he bought for her.

But in the end, she was just a child. A child who loved treats, especially if it came from someone else.

"You really liked it, huh?... You know what? I'll buy you a whole bunch and pile them so high, you could swim in 'em!"

"You... You noticed what Paimon likes?" you could hear the slight wavering of your little baby's voice as a gentle smile overtake your whole face, your insides filling up with an unexplainable need to crush her to your chest with many kisses all over her chubby cheeks... Although what he said he would do was a bit impossible.

You always knew your daughter had a very soft heart behind her "ugly nickname giving ceremonies" or her sarcastic answers, even when she unintentionally ( or not, at least when she saw someone she didn't like) spoke too much and too loud.

Lucky of her that she had people who loved her anyways.

It seemed Gaming and Lumine also thought the scene to be wholesome as they both smiled with closed eyes at her obviously touched state, Lumine snickering under her breath as Paimon sniffled and blushed while glancing away from Gaming, who also supported a brotherly smile at her.

"Wait... Seriously? Paimon was just joking, you don't have to do... that!... But if you are going to get us something anyways, we would much rather have Winter Melon Cake instead! And you said you hadn't eaten it for so long, so Paimon calls it a win-win."

"Ah, don't mention it! Just think of this as a thank you for all your help." He waved his hand dismissively as he prepared to leave, doubts and anxiety still swirling in his eyes and soul. Yet, he hid all those behind a warm smile and saddened, downcasted eyes.

But there were things he couldn't hide from one entity...

"Besides, the thing between me and my family... It's a long story. It might take some time to tell. You get all hungry in the meantime as I prepare everything, goodbye!"

With that, Gaming sprintered away from the two travellers who looked from behind him with perplexed eyes. Poor Lumine couldn't understand what had just happened, with both Gaming's "story" and the way he abruptly ran away.

Paimon was busy with getting agitated, having had enough, though.

Fortunately, they weren't the only ones who felt that way... Although Paimon's reasons were different than You and Lumine.

"Is he underestimating Paimon? Hah! The audacity! She is just gonna have to show him how much-"

"Paimon could eat, perhaps?"

"Mama!"

Paimon's angry rambling and flapping of her cape ceased, her happily exclaiming as her eyes lightened up with stars when she zoomed in to where you were waiting for her with a closed eyes smile, leaving a trail of constellations in her excitement, head slightly tilted and arms wide open for her to come crashing into and nuzzle to your warm chest.

It had been such a long time after all, the last time you were peacefully together being Sumeru where you had been hiding to gather all your powers back and lead Lumine to where you were.

After a very emotional reunion, answering a lot of questions about the creation in general and the Abyss and Celestia, saving the Sumeru (as in entirety) and their Archon who was apparently your freakin' granddaughter who was very eager to finally meet her grandmother whose voice was the only thing she was able to hear in her dream...

All of you decided to wait for a bit more until everything settled and this silent war was over, to "descend" onto a very much so eagerly waiting Teyvat and declare Paimon as your youngest daughter.

Oh the amount of war flashbacks some people would have because holy shit, they treated and even insulted her- the Creator's child- so badly, they were sure they would get a very torturing punishment...

"Hello, Your High-" A hard, yet teasing, stare of your starry eyes was all it took for Lumine to sweat anxiously and correct herself with a shy smile, cheeks flushing at your serious yet still soft eyes. It wasn't in your nature to chide and get mad easily, although your eldest children would beg to differ about the previous one. However, for your dear ones, they didn't have to use such honorifics when you were all tightly knitted through the fate you let happen.

Besides, Lumine was just so cute with her bashful forgetfullness of adressing you casually, even when you often reminded her.

"Y/N... I hope you have been fine lately?" You hummed pleasantly as you nodded, patting your daughter's back as she nuzzled to your neck for warmth with a toothy smile.

"Hmm... I really was, thank you Lumine. I hope your journey on Chenyu Vale wasn't so harsh?" You inquired with a turn of your body, the floral designs on your dress and the edge of your long sleeves flowing as if they were slowly moving and your mighty crown standing on your head, shining blindingly and setting fear on enemies.

But it only amazed her further, making her stare at you for the power you held in amazement and how easily you could destroy everything and yet, chose not to.

"It was not as harsh as it was then Inazuma's, it was quite pleasing." She answered after a few seconds of pondering, making you laugh out awkwardly and sweat as she smiled kindly at you, knowing how you still held yourself to blame for what Ei had done to both of them and her own people.

I couldn't show her the right path when she needed her mother the most... Of course, I'm one of the people to blame...

That was what you said when you witnessed the pain Ei's grief and twisted thinking of "Eternity" caused to her people. Grief... Grief often blinded logic and the truth right in front of people, which resulted in unwanted situations and the hurt innocent people would have to face.

The sight of lightining scars across Lumine's petite body, a crestfallen look painted with grief raking through her body as your soft hands slowly touched her scars that you offered to heal... You never felt more disgusting and a failure than you did at the moment.

To which she always replied with " They do not hurt anymore, Your Grace..." with a tight and secure squeeze of her hands over yours as she hugged you, the Creator who felt immense guilt for something that happened out of Their control, because of the wrong doing of something else.

A Creator that felt sadness and compassion for one of Their creations so openly...

"Ah, apologies once again... I wish it was just as pleasant as it was with Liyue and Mondstadt but you know-" you shut yourself up with a forced cough, not wanting to remind her of her bad experiences as you stared at her golden eyes, to which she averted eyes and looked at the horizon bashfully under Paimon's judging eyes.

She really better had a little talk with her about Lumine's treatment towards her mother... Before something else came to her mind.

"Mom... There is something Paimon wants to ask your help with!" She excitedly chirped as she got out of your hold and made a flip, kicking her legs as you laughed out at her energy. It wasn't every day that she would ask something from you, especially that happily as if her request was a bright idea.

"Of course, darling of mine. What is it?"

"It's about Ga-Ming and his family!"

Lumine's smile froze on her face as she nervously looked at Paimon, fiddling with her fingers while hinting at her to stop, to which Paimon ignored. "I don't think it is our place to do something about his family, Paimon."

It wasn't that she didn't want to help him, she did. She already loved Ga-Ming and his energetic bursts, how he was always ready to lend a helping hand. She already considered him to be a friend and as his friend, of course she wanted him to be happy.

She knew the value of family more than anyone else, especially after loosing it, but... She was also aware that some things were supposed to stay between family and solved by them, not by some outsiders.

However, it seemed that Paimon had other ideas. As she started to reject Lumine's idea, saying how much he helped them and gave them and that they had to repay back some way, you raised a brow in question at their banter.

You already had a brief idea of what was going on with his family, courtesy of having 15 children directly related to you with different personalities, and what the problem between the father and son was, but it wouldn't hurt to hear it from them.

"Do you mean his father, sweetheart?"

She nods enthusiastically when Lumine budges in to cut her talk. "Yes, Y/N... But I do think that his problem runs a little bit deeper than we can help him with..."

You nodded at her understandingly, knowing the miscommunication going on has been prolonged far longer than it was necessary. Children often didn't notice much, didn't accept or wanted to accept their parents' expectations of them. They wanted to fly with their own wings, even if it could hurt them at first.

The parents didn't make it easy for them either and most of the times... They didn't want to accept their children wanting to go away and be themselves.

And as a result, both sides would drift apart until the other saw from their point of view, not caring that one wanted freedom and the other wanted safety and security for the other, even if it ended with their child angry at them. As long as they were safe and sound to do so... It was all that would matter, even if it seemed like a disrespect in the eyes of the child.

The stubborness of each side would only result in a distance that would severe the bond more and more with each passing day.

Perhaps... All they needed was a little nudge for them to see what both sides were loosing while they were drowning in their own stubborness?

"You are right, Lumine... However, there is nothing that could not be changed with a little help and a nudge towards the right." You hum with a hand over your chin, forefinger tapping your cheek in thought as you cross your arms over your chest. You soon broke out in a smile, having made your mind as you happily made a little jump.

"I shall help you two achieve your goal! The New Year is coming up and I do not wish any of my children to enter a new year full of new chances while being sad and alone."

You would make sure of that.

[kckt88]

Skoros iksos ñuhon

Summary:

Vaelyssa is not the only one at Storms End seeking the support of Borros Baratheon.

Warnings - Angst, Drama, Langauage, Arguements, Vulnerability, Realisation, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Smut, Fingering, Oral Sex, P in V.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C NIECE

Skoros iksos ñuhon - What is mine.

Word Count: 7922

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8

Vermithor landed with a heavy thud in the courtyard, water spraying in every direction from the force of his landing. Princess Vaelyssa climbed down from his back; her long silver hair plastered to her face by the rain. She ran a hand down Vermithor's scaled body, feeling the warmth radiate through her fingers. The dragon let out a low, contented rumble as he nuzzled against her.

Suddenly, a louder, more ominous growl echoed through the courtyard. Vaelyssa's heart skipped a beat as she turned to see the massive form of Vhagar, looming over the wall.

If she was here, then that meant Aemond was here as well. The hostility that been brewing between their family over the years had finally erupted, now the Greens had usurped the Iron Throne and had crowned Aegon as King of the seven kingdoms, defying her mother, Rhaenyra's, rightful claim, as set forth by the recently deceased King Viserys.

Vaelyssa took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. The knights of Storm's End approached, their armour clinking softly as they moved.

“I am Princess Vaelyssa Velaryon and I have a message for Lord Borros Baratheon, on behalf of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen”.

The knight gazed at Vaelyssa; his expression unreadable as he turned and gestured for her to follow.

"Come-“ he said, his voice carrying over the rain. "Lord Borros Baratheon waits in the Great Hall."

She nodded, casting one last glance at Vermithor before following the knights. The courtyard was a blur of grey stone and wet banners as they made their way inside, the heavy wooden doors closing behind them with a resounding thud.

Inside, the Great Hall was dimly lit, the flickering torches casting long shadows on the walls. Lord Borros sat on his makeshift stone throne, his round imposing figure radiating authority. His eyes were sharp as they took in the sight of the drenched princess.

"Princess Vaelyssa, of house Velaryon"

As Vaelyssa stood silent, her gaze shifted to Aemond, who stood off to the side with one of Borros Baratheon's daughters. He stood tall and confident; his hands clasped behind his back in a posture of ease that belied the underlying threat he posed.

The daughter, a striking young woman with dark hair and piercing eyes, seemed captivated by his presence, her attention focused solely on him.

Aemond's expression was inscrutable, but Vaelyssa could sense the smug satisfaction radiating from him. His presence here was a calculated move, a silent assertion of the Greens' unwillingness to wait for an answer to the terms that Otto Hightower had delivered to her mother on Dragonstone. His singular amethyst eye caught the torchlight, glinting with a mix of amusement and menace.

Vaelyssa's eyes narrowed as she observed him. It had only been a number of days since she had last seen him, strutting out of the dining room after his final tribute to her younger brothers had resulted in a fist fight.

Before that she’d not seen him since that fateful night on Driftmark where he had lost an eye but gained a dragon.

Never would she forget the painful grimace on his face as the Maester’s stitched his skin back together, nor would she forget the crazed look on his mother Alicent’s face, as she demanded one of Luke’s eyes in return.

“There is a debt to be paid”.

The King had demanded that they make their apologies and show good will to one another, but no such apology came, sides were taken, and the chasm between their family widened even further.

But here, now she could not afford to show any sign of weakness or hesitation.

Her mother's claim to the throne depended on her ability to secure Lord Borros's support, and she could not let Aemond's presence intimidate her.

“Lord Borros-I brought you a message from my mother-The Queen”.

“Yet earlier today I received an envoy from the King-which is it. King or Queen. The House of the dragon doesn’t seem to know who rules it” laughed Borros.

Vaelyssa glanced over at Aemond who cocked his head to the side and smirked.

“What’s your mother’s message?” asked Borros impatiently.

Vaelyssa handed a rolled up scroll to one of the escorting knights who rushed forward and handed it to Borros, who couldn’t read a single word that was written and had to summon a Maester.

Whilst the Maester relayed Rhaenyra’s message, Aemond stared at Vaelyssa, his hands still folded behind his back.

Not one to be cowed, she glared back. They had been friends when they were children but gone was the sweet boy who stole honey cakes for her, and in his place stood a man, leather clad and lithe, his features sharp almost as if he had been carved by the gods of old Valyria themselves. He truly was beautiful, just a shame he was such a loathsome cunt.

“Remind me of my father’s oath. King Aegon at least came with an offer: my swords and banners for a marriage pact. If I do as your mother bids-which one of my daughters will your brother’s wed?”

“My lord-I’m afraid that only two of my brothers are of age and neither are free to marry, they are already betrothed” replied Vaelyssa.

“-And what of you Princess?” asked Borros stroking his chin.

The rain outside Storm's End intensified, turning from a steady downpour into a relentless deluge. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, and lightning occasionally lit up the dark sky.

“Me? My Lord” questioned Vaelyssa.

“I have no longer have a wife-and you are of age to marry” said Borros “You are young and if you are anything like your mother, I am sure you will give me many sons”.

“My Lord I-“

“My late wife blessed me only with daughters-I am left without a male heir” replied Borros.

“Under my mother’s rule-the eldest would inherit lands and titles regardless of their gender” said Vaelyssa.

“But that is not my desire Princess-“ quipped Borros as he leaned forward slightly.

“Apologise my lord but I am not free to marry either-” replied Vaelyssa, her gaze momentarily fixed on Aemond who’s eye widened slightly at her announcement.

“Is that so?” asked Borros leaning forward slightly.

“My brother travels North to offer my hand in marriage to Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell”.

Again, Vaelyssa looked towards Aemond who’s hand was now resting around the pommel of his sword, his jaw clenched tight.

His chosen Baratheon girl was trying to speak to him, but he paid her no attention.

“Then you come with empty hands-you will tell your mother that the Lord of Storms End is not some dog she can whistle up at need to set against her foes”.

“I will take your answer to the Queen” replied Vaelyssa as she bowed her head politely.

As she turned to go, the wind howled outside, and the heavy wooden doors of the hall rattled in their frames. The storm was worsening by the minute.

"Wait, Princess-" Lord Borros called out, his voice carrying over the sound of the storm. She paused and turned back to face him; her curiosity piqued.

"In good conscience, I cannot allow you to risk traveling back to Dragonstone in this storm," Lord Borros continued, his tone unexpectedly gentle. "The weather is too treacherous. I offer you a room for the night. You may leave in the morning once the storm has passed”.

Vaelyssa hesitated for a moment, then inclined her head in gratitude. "Thank you, my Lord. I accept your generous offer."

Lord Borros nodded, and then his gaze shifted to Aemond, who had been silently observing the exchange with a faint, unreadable smile. "Prince Aemond," Borros said, "I extend the same courtesy to you. It would be unwise to travel in such conditions."

Aemond's smile widened slightly, and he inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Your hospitality is appreciated, Lord Borros. I, too, will stay until the storm passes."

Vaelyssa's eyes met Aemond's for a brief, tense moment before she turned away, following the servants who had been summoned to show her to her room. The castle corridors were dimly lit, the flickering torches casting long shadows on the stone walls.

The sound of the storm outside seemed to grow louder, the wind howling and the rain lashing against the windows.

She was led to a modest but comfortable chamber, the bed adorned with thick furs and a fire crackling in the hearth. The warmth of the room was a stark contrast to the chill of the storm outside, and Vaelyssa felt a sense of weariness wash over her. She thanked the servants and closed the door behind her, allowing herself a moment of solitude.

As she sat by the fire, her thoughts turned to the events of the day. The refusal of Lord Borros was a setback, but she could not dwell on it now, Storms End might be a lost cause but mayhaps her brothers would have better luck.

Cregan Stark was said to be an honourable man and if he allied with her mother then the rest of the North would follow and Lady Jeyne Arryn was their kin, it was doubtful she would turn against them.

Vaelyssa stood by the window, gazing out into the stormy night. The rain pounded against the glass, and the wind howled like a restless beast. The food the maids had recently brought was only partially eaten, and the wine was bitter on her tongue.

Almost as if he sensed her unease, Vermithor’s deafening roar pierced through the storm. His massive, bronze-scaled form was a reassuring presence in the midst of her lingering uncertainty.

Almost immediately, Vhagar answered with an equally impressive roar, her call reverberating through the walls of Storm's End.

Vaelyssa let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, seeing Aemond here had unsettled her and she couldn’t stop thinking of the look he had on his face when she announced that she was not free to marry, it was the same look he’d given her when she stood next to Jacaerys in the throne room for the petition for Driftmark and again when she sat next to him at the feast.

Never had a man looked at her in that way before.

She began to undress, her mind preoccupied with the events of the day and the challenges that lay ahead.

As she removed her outer garments, the door to her chamber suddenly opened. Startled, she turned to see Aemond standing there dressed in only a cotton shirt and leather trousers, his tall figure framed by the flickering light of the torches in the hallway. He stepped quickly inside, and shut the door, making sure to lock it behind him.

"What do you want, Aemond?" Vaelyssa demanded, her voice steady but edged with irritation. "Leave, or I will make you."

Aemond's lips curled into a smirk, his single amethyst eye glinting with amusement. "The fight would be little challenge," he said, his tone mocking.

“You clearly don’t know me very well” replied Vaelyssa, he face growing hot as she noticed Aemond’s gaze sweeping over her, pausing at her breasts which were no doubt visible through the thin material of her shift.

Aemond closed the distance between them, a determined glint in his eye. "There is a debt to pay" he said, his voice low as he reached up and removed his eyepatch, revealing the sapphire embedded in the socket where his left eye had once been.

Clearly her uncle was trying to intimidate her, but she would not fall for his provocations.

Vaelyssa scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Is that supposed to frighten me? Because I can tell you now that it doesn’t, and neither does it impress me qȳbor" (Uncle).

Aemond's jaw tightened, his anger barely contained. "What if I demanded your eye in payment for the one, I lost?" he asked.

Vaelyssa met his gaze unflinchingly, her expression defiant. "Not my debt to pay and I thought your claim of Vhagar was worth the loss of an eye," she retorted. "Or is your hoary old bitch of a dragon no longer worth it?"

The insult hit its mark, and Aemond's face twisted with fury. His fists clenched at his sides.

"You dare speak of Vhagar that way?" he hissed, his voice trembling with rage. "You know nothing of what it means to ride her, to command the largest dragon in the world."

"Tell me, Aemond," she began, her tone mocking, "Do you truly believe the almighty Vhagar could withstand a combined attack from Vermithor, Caraxes, and Meleys? She might be the largest dragon in the world, but even she is not invincible."

Aemond simply stared at her, his expression unreadable as he processed her words.

"You always seem so eager to remind everyone how large Vhagar is," said Vaelyssa, a sly smile playing on her lips. "One might wonder if you're trying to overcompensate for other-smaller matters."

Aemond's face twisted in anger once again "You think you're so clever," he snarled, his voice dripping with venom. "But your sharp tongue won't save you from the reality of this war-your mother is not fit to rule.”

Vaelyssa's eyes blazed with defiance as she met his gaze. "And what about your precious Greens?" she shot back. "You cling to the throne like parasites. Your brother is nothing but a puppet, and you, Aemond, are his most pathetic string."

“You dare-“

“Tell me, does it sting knowing that your older, wastrel of a brother is given everything while you, the dutiful son, gets nothing?”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but I do,” Vaelyssa purred as she reached out and ran a finger down Aemond’s chest. “Tell me, do you not envision yourself sitting upon the Iron Throne? Don’t you think yourself worthy to be King? Or are you content with always living in Aegon’s shadow?”

Aemond’s fists clenched, his knuckles turning white. “You think you can provoke me with your petty words?”

“Petty?” Vaelyssa laughed, a sharp, mocking sound. “-I’m merely pointing out the obvious. You serve, you obey, you sacrifice, and for what? To watch your drunken, whoring wastrel of a brother wear the crown that you believe should have been yours?”

Aemond took a step forward, his face contorted with anger. “Aegon is the King. That is the order of things.”

“The order of things?” Vaelyssa scoffed. “And you, so loyal and dutiful, never once imagined it differently? Never once thought that you could do better, be better?”

Aemond’s eye blazed with fury, and he took another menacing step toward her. “You presume too much”.

“Do I?” she challenged, her voice cold and piercing. “Or is it that I’ve struck a nerve? You can lie to yourself, Aemond, but deep down, you know the truth. You want the throne, you crave it, it is my mother’s by right, she is the named heir”.

“Viserys changed his mind”.

“According to who?” snapped Vaelyssa, her voice sharp and incredulous.

“My mother was tending to him in his final moments, and he declared in her presence that he wished for Aegon to be King,” said Aemond, his tone defensive but resolute.

Vaelyssa's eyes blazed with fury. “And my grandsire who that very same day, dragged himself out of his sickbed to defend his daughter in front of the realm—only to change his mind hours later? Do me a favour,” she retorted, her voice dripping with scepticism.

“Are you calling my mother a liar?” Aemond's singular eye narrowed, his jaw tightening.

“My grandsire steadfastly upheld my mother’s status as his heir for over twenty years. He wouldn’t change his mind, not like that” Vaelyssa said, her voice firm with conviction.

Aemond's face darkened with a mixture of anger and frustration. “You think I would lie about something like this?”

“You’ll believe what you want to in order to justify your actions-this entire situation reeks of Otto Hightowers manipulations, after the death of my grandmother he shoved his own daughter under a grieving Kings nose and used her to further his own ambitions”.

“That’s not-“ muttered Aemond.

“-What happened? Of course it is. Even down his clever manipulation of Viserys. He played on my grandsire’s fears over my father and advocated for my mother to be named heir because he knew damn well that it would be easier to usurp a woman-”

“Daemon was too much of a risk-” said Aemond.

“The only risk was my father seeing Otto Hightower for what he really is-” snarled Vaelyssa.

“Loyal and unwavering-“

“A CUNT!” snarled Vaelyssa.

“Your language is unbecoming of a Princess-“

“I don’t give a flying fuck-your grandsire is nothing but an oath breaking cunt who seeks to reach far beyond his station and it’s not a question of if my mother takes back the Iron Throne, it’s when and I can tell you that when she does your grandsire will find himself a head shorter, and so will the other treasonous dogs who plotted against her”.

Aemond observed her for a moment, a strange expression on his face before he seized her by the back of her neck, pulling her close. His lips crashed into hers with a fierce, almost brutal intensity. The kiss was rough, a clash of wills, a battle for dominance.

At first, Vaelyssa was stunned, her body rigid with surprise. But as the heat of the moment consumed her, she found herself responding, pulling him closer.

The initial shock melted away, replaced by a fiery passion that surged through her veins. She returned the kiss with equal fervour, their lips moving together in a furious dance.

Aemond’s grip on her neck tightened, his other hand snaking around her waist to press her against him. Vaelyssa’s hands found their way to his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she pulled him even closer.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathing heavily, their faces flushed. Aemond’s eye burned with a mix of anger and desire, and Vaelyssa’s own gaze mirrored that intensity.

"Is this what you wanted?" Aemond growled, his voice low and rough. "To provoke me?"

Vaelyssa’s lips curled into a defiant smirk, her breath still coming in ragged gasps. "Perhaps. Or maybe I just wanted to see if you truly were a dragon and not a slithering green Hightower snake."

Aemond’s grip on her neck loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go. "You’ve seen my fire," he murmured, his voice softer but no less intense. "Now, what will you do with it?"

In response, Vaelyssa leaned in and kissed him again, this time slower, more deliberate. The passion between them didn’t wane; if anything, it grew hotter, more intense. The kiss was no longer a battle but a mutual surrender to the heat that had been building between them.

As they broke apart once more, their foreheads resting against each other, the reality of their situation began to seep back in. They were on opposite sides of a war, bound by duty and loyalty to their respective causes. But in this moment, none of that mattered. All that existed was the fire they had ignited between them.

"We are playing with fire, Aemond," Vaelyssa whispered, her voice tinged with a mixture of exhilaration and trepidation.

"Let it burn," Aemond replied, his tone equally resolute. "Let it consume us both."

Vaelyssa had lost most of her senses the moment Aemond had pressed her onto the bed and knelt down between her open legs.

“My niece-my sweetest-” whispered Aemond.

Vaelyssa’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as Aemond’s tongue swept across her slick wet folds.

She bit the back of her hand to keep herself from screaming as Aemond began using his long fingers to slowly tease her entrance.

“None of that. I want to hear how good I make you feel” growled Aemond as he began moving his tongue against her, in rhythm with his fingers.

“A-Aemond. Oh god. Please” moaned Vaelyssa, as she writhed against the sheets.

“I know your almost there. Let it happen. Come for me” whispered Aemond, his tongue moving across her pearl.

Vaelyssa arched her back and let out a scream as her pleasure erupted.

Aemond slowly crawled up her body, placing gentle kisses on her skin as he moved higher and higher.

Vaelyssa blushed furiously when she saw that Aemond’s chin was shining with her slick.

“Calm yourself issa zaldrīzes” muttered Aemond, as he swiped his fingers over his chin and then placed them in his mouth, sucking off her slick. (My dragon).

Goosebumps erupted over Vaelyssa’s skin as Aemond removed his hand from his mouth and then took hold of her breast, his fingers teasing her rosy bud.

“A-Aemond” whimpered Vaelyssa.

“Sīr gevie” growled Aemond (So Beautiful).

“W-What are you doing?” asked Vaelyssa as Aemond’s hand slid down her body and began teasing her folds.

“I-I need to prepare you a little more” whispered Aemond.

“P-prepare me?” whispered Vaelyssa.

“I assume you are a maiden-I don’t want to hurt you” replied Aemond.

“Aemond” exclaimed Vaelyssa as he slowly slipped a finger inside her, the slick from her first peak easing the way.

Aemond buried his face in Vaelyssa’s neck as he began peppering kisses along her smooth skin as he added another finger, moving them in and out slowly.

“So warm-so wet for me” rasped Aemond, his hot breath tickling her skin.

“I-I think I’m ready” whispered Vaelyssa.

Aemond removed his fingers and then moved between her open legs, supporting his weight on his left arm as he reached down and took his hard cock in his hand and placed the tip of it against her slick entrance.

“A-Are you sure?”

“Yes-I want you Aemond-all of you” replied Vaelyssa as she felt him running his cock along her entrance.

“Y-You must tell me if it hurts” whispered Aemond.

Vaelyssa nodded and shut her eyes tight, taking a deep breath as Aemond sheathed himself within her.

“Your doing so well-” muttered Aemond trying to control himself.

“I-It h-hurts-“ whimpered Vaelyssa, the burning sensation bringing tears to her eyes.

“If it’s too much I can pull out-” offered Aemond.

“N-No just give me a moment” replied Vaelyssa softly as the tears ran down her cheeks.

Aemond leaned down and pressed gentle kisses to her cheeks, his tongue catching her fallen tears.

Aemond’s cock twitched and throbbed with need, and he released a shuddered breath while Vaelyssa sighed in relief. 

“Are you ok?” asked Aemond.

“I-I think you can move now” whispered Vaelyssa her hands running along the smooth plans of Aemond’s back.

Slowly Aemond withdrew and then moved forward, his cock reaching deep inside her.

“Are you ok?” repeated Aemond as he thrust inside her.

“Y-yes-I think you can move faster”.

Aemond rested his head in the crook of her neck as he thrusts faster, his moans muffled against her skin.

“Ooh Aemond-that feels good” whined Vaelyssa.

“Your perfect-” whispered Aemond.

Feeling a spark of pleasure Vaelyssa dug her fingers into Aemonds back, holding him close.

“P-please Aemond. F-faster. H-harder” exclaimed Vaelyssa.

“Lyssa-” moaned Aemond as he began to pound into her, his hips slapping against hers.

“-I-I f-feel-” whimpered Vaelyssa, an odd sensation creeping across her stomach.

“-Let it happen-my sweetest, peak for me” exclaimed Aemond.

“OH-”

“Fuck-that’s it-that’s it” muttered Aemond as he slipped his hand between their bodies and slowly began rubbing her pearl.

“AEMOND” screamed Vaelyssa as her peak exploded, making her entire body shake.

“I-I’m going to give you my seed-see you all round and swollen with my child-your breasts filled with milk” moaned Aemond.

“Yes-yes. Aemond. I want it-” babbled Vaelyssa as his thrusts became more frantic.

“Fuck-” groaned Aemond as he felt the heat shooting across his abdomen.

“-Aemond” whimpered Vaelyssa.

“ñuhon, ry ñuhon” moaned Aemond pushed into the hilt for one last time, his cock throbbing as he spilled rope after rope of his seed (Mine, all mine).

“Ry aōhon” whispered Vaelyssa, as Aemond rested on top of her (All yours).

“A-Are you ok?”  Aemond as he gently pulled his softened cock from Vaelyssa, he looked down and saw the mixture of his seed and her maidens blood dripping onto the sheet.

Vaelyssa nodded slowly, as she allowed him to enfold her in his arms and hold her close.

"What happens now?" asked Vaelyssa softly, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "Are we just to go back to being enemies in the morning?"

Aemond hesitated for a moment, his fingers tracing absent patterns on her bare shoulder. "No," he replied finally, his voice low and steady. "I will accompany you to Dragonstone and declare for Rhaenyra."

Vaelyssa's eyes widened in surprise, her heart skipping a beat. "You-you would declare for my mother?" she asked, incredulous.

Aemond nodded, his expression serious. "Yes," he affirmed. "For you."

Vaelyssa searched his face, trying to comprehend his sudden change of allegiance. "Why, Aemond?" she pressed gently. "Why would you do that?"

“Nyke jaelagon naejot dīnagon ao” replied Aemond (I wish to marry you).

“My father will have his sword at your neck the moment you leave Vhagar’s side”.

“That maybe so, but surely your mother will see the benefits of our union, without Vhagar Kings Landing is vulnerable and my brother’s position as King will be weakened, no doubt your father’s bloodlust will be sated by rooting out the traitors who conspired against his Queen-” said Aemond.

“-If you declare for her, then she is to be your Queen as well” muttered Vaelyssa.

“Only if she accepts my request for your hand in marriage," admitted Aemond, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "-And by our marriage, one day I will be King."

Vaelyssa blinked, processing his words. "Is that what this is? You desire the throne, and your using me to get it” she asked quietly, her mind racing with the implications of his confession and admittedly the thought of him using her did sting.

“Do you remember when we were children, when everyone else had their dragons and we only had each other”

“Yes” muttered Vaelyssa softly.

“-How I used to steal honey cakes for you and then we’d sit under the weirwood tree dreaming of our future-”

“What does that have to do with anything?” asked Vaelyssa.

“My vision for the future was of us-together. We have always been fated, bound by more than blood. You label me Hightower, but I am a dragon, and I have found my treasure. We belong together you and I” muttered Aemond.

“-And the throne?” asked Vaelyssa.

Aemond sighed, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "-I do want to be King, but only with you by my side as my Queen".

“Your ambitious, I’ll give you that-but why not just displace Aegon?” mused Vaelyssa.

"When you steal something, you spend your whole life fighting to keep it. I want a legitimate route to the throne, through the bonds of marriage".

“What about your betrothal to one of Borros Baratheon’s daughters?” she asked softly, her fingers tracing patterns on Aemond’s chest. “He might see it as an insult that you promised to wed one of his daughters, yet you plan to take another to wife.”

Aemond scoffed, a smirk playing on his lips. “A boar is nothing compared to a dragon,” he said dismissively. “Lord Borros can be placated. If your mother accepts my terms, she can make the necessary arrangements for a marriage between Floris and some lord of note.”

Vaelyssa couldn’t help but smile at his confidence, but she knew the complexities of politics couldn’t be brushed aside so easily. “And you believe Lord Borros will simply accept this?”

Aemond’s expression turned serious. “He is ambitious, but he is also pragmatic. An alliance with House Targaryen, especially one that strengthens Rhaenyra’s claim, would be more valuable than a slighted promise. Besides, Rhaenyra can offer him, a position on the council and favourable marriages for his other daughters. He will not refuse such a boon”.

Vaelyssa nodded slowly, considering his words. “You have given this a great deal of thought” she admitted. “But there may be other who whisper of false promises”.

“Let them,” Aemond replied with a shrug. “The realm is on the brink of war. Loyalties will shift, alliances will be made and broken. In the end, what matters is who sits on the Iron Throne”.

“One might think you’ve been planning this for years.”

Aemond’s gaze was intense as he held hers. “I have,” he admitted, his voice low and fervent. “You are all I’ve wanted, since I was old enough to know the ache of wants and desires. My grandsire usurping the throne convinced me that my dream would no longer be achievable, and that placing the wants and needs of others above my own desires was something I would just have to accept.”

He paused, his fingers tracing the contours of her face. “But your arrival at Storm’s End was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. I am a determined man, Vaelyssa, and I learned long ago that nothing was ever going to be handed to me. If I wanted something, then I would have to take it.”

Vaelyssa’s breath caught in her throat at his confession. “You would risk everything for this?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “For us?”

Aemond nodded, his expression resolute. “Yes. I would. Because for the first time, I see a path to the life I’ve always wanted. A life where I am not just the second son, where I am not bound by the whims of others. A life with you-providing of course that your mother accepts all of my terms-”

"What exactly are all of your terms, Aemond?" asked Vaelyssa curiously.

Aemond met her eyes, his expression resolute. "If Rhaenyra wants me to bend the knee to her, then she will allow us to marry," he stated firmly. "Our union will strengthen her claim and bring House Targaryen closer together, just as my dearly departed father always wanted-"

Vaelyssa nodded slowly "And what else?" she prompted.

Aemond's features softened slightly, a hint of vulnerability showing through his stern facade. "I want assurances that my family will be safe," he said, his voice quiet but determined. "-My mother, Aegon, Helaena, their children and Daeron—no harm will come to them. They must be allowed to live in peace."

“You will not advocate for your grandsire?” asked Vaelyssa.

“No-”

“Just as well, as my father wouldn’t allow him to live, not after what he’s done” replied Vaelyssa.

“Your father isn’t my only concern, your mother-” said Aemond.

"-My mother is not the monster you believe her to be," she began, her voice gentle yet firm. "Only those who actively repudiated the succession and conspired against her will be dealt with."

Aemond scoffed, a hint of bitterness in his tone. "Did she not demand that I be sharply questioned as a child?" he retorted, his voice growing colder. "To learn where I heard such slanders against her children—slanders which, by the way, are true."

Vaelyssa’s expression softened, a mix of sadness and determination in her eyes. "It doesn’t matter," she said quietly but firmly. "Laenor claimed us as his children, so therefore in the eyes of gods and men, we are his. He loved us as his, cared for us as his."

Aemond shook his head, his frustration evident. "The truth is plain to see, when it comes to your brothers at least, Rhaenyra's claim to the throne is weakened by those lies."

Vaelyssa took a deep breath, her hand reaching out to touch his arm. "The truth of our parentage does not change the fact that we are my mother’s children, and Laenor’s by law. We have the right to be acknowledged and accepted. We cannot let old grudges and suspicions destroy what we are trying to build."

Aemond’s eye softened slightly, though his jaw remained tense. "You ask much of me, Vaelyssa. To overlook what I know to be true, to forgive and forget what happened".

Vaelyssa took a deep breath, looking into Aemond’s eye with a mixture of sorrow and determination. "I am not asking you to forgive Luke for what he took from you," she began softly. "But I am asking for an understanding that all were in the wrong that night. Your claiming of Vhagar was ill-timed, at the funeral of her previous rider no less. You could have waited—but I understand. I know that feeling of not being enough, of having an egg that doesn't hatch-you weren’t the only one to be mocked for not having a dragon-”

Aemond's expression hardened slightly, but he listened intently, his jaw tense.

"-Vhagar chose you for a reason, just as my bronze fury chose me" Vaelyssa continued, her voice steady. "Your claim of her should have been celebrated, not marred by conflict. The fight shouldn’t have happened. You shouldn’t have tried to bash Jace’s head in with a rock, and Luke shouldn’t have taken your eye. But he was scared, and only wanted to defend his brother."

Aemond looked away, a mix of emotions playing across his face—anger, pain, regret. "That night changed everything," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Vaelyssa nodded, her hand reaching out to gently touch his. "It did," she agreed. "And we cannot change what happened. But we can choose how we move forward. We can choose to understand each other’s pain, to acknowledge the mistakes that were made."

Aemond turned back to her, his eye searching hers for sincerity. "And what then?" he asked, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Do we simply forget? Pretend it never happened?"

"No," Vaelyssa said firmly. "We remember, but we also strive to be better. To not let the past dictate our future. We use our pain, our experiences, to guide us in making wiser decisions, in fostering a realm where our future children won’t have to face the same heartaches."

Aemond’s gaze softened slightly, a hint of vulnerability breaking through his hardened exterior. "It’s not easy," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. "To let go of the anger, the need for vengeance."

"I know," Vaelyssa whispered, squeezing his hand. "But we have to try. For us, for our future, and for the realm. We can’t let the mistakes of our past define who we are now or who we can become, look at what it’s done to those who came before us-We must be the ones to break the cycle, or it will just keep happening until there is nothing left of House Targaryen"

Aemond's expression shifted as he absorbed Vaelyssa's words. A flicker of amusement danced in his eye, and he leaned closer, a teasing smirk curling his lips. "Our future children, you say?" he remarked, his tone playful.

Vaelyssa blinked, momentarily taken aback. "I'm trying to be sensible here and that's what you focus on?" she retorted, a hint of exasperation in her voice.

Aemond's smirk widened, a glint of mischief in his eye. "I quite like the idea of seeing you swelling with my seed," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate whisper. "Being all full of me. I think we should do all we can to ensure my seed takes”.

Vaelyssa's cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and arousal, a shiver running down her spine at his words.

She opened her mouth to reply but found herself momentarily speechless as she felt Aemond’s hard cock pressed against her hip.

“Pār gūrogon issa, tepagon issa aōha nūmo se nyke shall tepagon ao nykeā tresy””muttered Vaelyssa as she coiled her hands in Aemond’s long silver hair (Then take me, give me your seed and I shall give you a son).

“Nyke jāhor emagon ao naenie jēdi bisa bantis”  growled Aemond as he rolled on top of her (I will have you many times this night).

“Hae naenie jēdi hae ao jaelagon issa dārys” (As many times as you wish my King).

The morning sun broke through the clouds, casting a golden glow over Storm's End. The storm had cleared, leaving the air crisp and fresh.

Vaelyssa stood beside Vermithor, her hands resting on his warm, rough scales, her cheek pressed against him. "Jēda naejot jikagon lenton issa dōna," she murmured softly (Time to go home, my sweet).

Vermithor trilled happily, a low, rumbling sound that reverberated through her bones.

She took a deep breath, savouring the moment of calm before the journey ahead. As she glanced over, she saw Aemond climbing the rope ladder attached to Vhagar's saddle, his movements confident and swift.

He caught her eye and gave a slight nod, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. Vaelyssa couldn't help but smile back, feeling the dull throbbing sensation between her legs—a reminder of the night they had shared.

Aemond had made good on his promise, his appetite for her had been ravenous, he kissed, sucked, licked, and fucked her well into the hours of the night. Never fully satisfied until he’d filled her with his seed another three times.

Even just this morning he had reached for her again; he had refused to let her bathe afterwards and had worked himself into such a frenzy at the thought of her returning to Dragonstone with his seed dripping from her that he bent her over the small desk and fucked her hard and fast. His fingers digging into her hips as he lost himself to the pleasure he sought, his loud moans echoing around the room as he spilled himself inside her.

She placed a hand on her stomach and wondered if his seed had already taken root. She’d had her moonblood a fortnight ago and she would not take moontea so there was a chance.

Her thoughts then turned to her mother. She had been sent to secure Borros Baratheon's support, but she was returning to Dragonstone with a far greater alliance.

Vaelyssa wondered how her mother would react to the news. Would she see the wisdom in their union, the strength it would bring to her cause? Or would she be wary of the potential complications?

Vaelyssa knew one thing for certain: she had to convince her mother of the value of this alliance. She stroked Vermithor's scales one last time before stepping back, ready to mount.

Aemond was now settled atop Vhagar, his gaze steady and unwavering as he watched her. Vaelyssa climbed onto Vermithor's back, her movements graceful and practiced. She looked over at Aemond one more time, a mixture of resolve and tenderness in her eyes.

"Ready?" Aemond called out, his voice carrying over the morning breeze.

Vaelyssa finished securing the straps of her saddle and nodded, her heart pounding with anticipation. "Ready."

With a synchronized roar, Vermithor and Vhagar spread their massive wings, the powerful beats stirring up the air around them. They took to the sky, the ground falling away beneath them as they soared higher and higher.

As they flew side by side, Vaelyssa felt a sense of exhilaration and determination. She was not just returning to Dragonstone with a message; she was bringing back a promise of unity, a chance for a brighter future.

The wind rushed past her, and she closed her eyes for a moment, envisioning the world they could build together—a world where their children would grow up in peace and prosperity.

Opening her eyes, she looked over at Aemond once more, their paths now intertwined by fate and choice. Together, they would face the challenges ahead, and together, they would shape the destiny of their house and their realm.

Vermithor and Vhagar, circled Dragonstone in wide arcs, their loud roars echoing across the cliffs and the surrounding sea, announcing their arrival to all within earshot.

As the two dragons descended, their enormous wings created gusts of wind that swept across the grassy cliffs.

They landed with resounding thuds, the ground trembling beneath their combined weight. Vaelyssa swiftly unlatched herself from Vermithor's saddle, her movements practiced and fluid. She slid down his side and landed gracefully on the ground, her gaze turning to Aemond.

Aemond climbed down the rope ladder attached to Vhagar's saddle, his every movement exuding a calm confidence. When he reached the ground, he immediately sought out Vaelyssa, his eye locking onto hers. He crossed the short distance between them and took her hand in his, squeezing it gently.

The pair stood firm, side by side, as they awaited the arrival of her mother and father.

It wasn’t very long before the unmistaken shuffle and clang of armour permeated through the air.

Her mother and father were slowly making their way towards them, surrounded by the Queens guard.

Daemon's hand, as always, rested on the hilt of his sword, his gaze was sharp and assessing, taking in the sight of Aemond standing beside Vaelyssa.

The golden crown atop Rhaenyra's head shone brilliantly in the sunlight, a symbol of her rightful claim to the throne and the burden of the responsibility she bore.

As Rhaenyra neared, her expression one of regal composure mixed with a hint of curiosity and concern, as Aemond's grip on Vaelyssa's hand tightened.

"Mother," Vaelyssa greeted, her voice steady, though she felt the flutter of nerves in her chest.

Rhaenyra's eyes softened as she looked at her daughter, but her gaze quickly shifted to Aemond, a mixture of suspicion and curiosity evident. "Vaelyssa” she acknowledged.

Daemon stepped forward, his gaze flicking between the two. "Why is that Hightower cunt here” he asked, his voice carrying an edge of scepticism.

Vaelyssa took a deep breath, standing taller. "Please, Father let me explain-" she began, her voice strong. "As you know I was sent to secure Lord Borros Baratheon's support-but instead I have returned with an even greater alliance."

Daemon’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze locking onto Aemond. "Explain," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for evasion.

Aemond let go of Vaelyssa’s hand and stepped forward, he unsheathed his sword and dropped to one knee.

“I Aemond of House Targaryen pledge my loyalty and that of Vhagar to you Queen Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm-”

Daemon's gaze bore into Aemond with a piercing intensity, his hand still resting on the hilt of his sword. "And what assurance do we have, that this isn't some ploy?" he demanded, his voice edged with scepticism. "How do we know you're not seeking to gain our trust only to betray us later?”

Aemond met Daemon's challenging stare, his expression resolute "I swear upon my honour" he declared firmly, his voice carrying across the tense silence "My intentions are honest. I wish no harm to Queen Rhaenyra or her rule”.

Vaelyssa stepped forward, her voice joining Aemond's in earnest plea. "Father, please," she urged, her eyes pleading with Daemon. "Aemond has shown his commitment. He risked much to declare his support openly. We must consider the alliance this could bring."

Daemon's expression softened slightly as he regarded his daughter, then turned back to Aemond. "Words are wind," he stated bluntly, his tone challenging. "Actions speak louder. What will you do to prove your loyalty boy?"

Aemond's jaw clenched briefly before he spoke, his voice steady and unwavering. "I will swear any oath, undergo any trial, to prove my sincerity," he replied, his gaze locked with Daemon's.

Rhaenyra, who had been observing the exchange with a measured silence, finally spoke. "Daemon, let us hear him," she said softly, her eyes never leaving Aemond's face. "Let us hear what he proposes."

Daemon considered his wife's words, then nodded slowly. "Very well," he agreed, his voice gruff. "Speak, Aemond. What oath will you swear to prove your loyalty to the rightful Queen?"

Aemond straightened, the weight of the moment heavy upon him. He rose to his feet and took a step forward, his gaze unwavering as he addressed the Queen and her consort. "I swear by the old gods-" he began solemnly, "-that I will serve the rightful Queen with unwavering loyalty and devotion."

A murmur rippled through the Queen's Guard, and Rhaenyra raised a hand to silence them, her eyes never leaving Aemond's face. "And what do you seek in return?" she asked, her voice cool and measured.

Aemond glanced at Vaelyssa, drawing strength from her presence. "I ask for your daughter's hand in marriage," he said clearly. "And assurances that my family—my mother, my siblings and their children—will be kept safe and unharmed."

"And why do you not advocate for your grandsire?" Rhaenyra questioned; her voice measured.

Aemond met her gaze evenly. "Because it would be a pointless endeavour- he actively conspired against you" he replied firmly.

Daemon's voice cut through the silence that followed. "Who were Otto's co-conspirators?" he demanded, his tone sharp and demanding. "There is no way he acted alone. Speak the truth, boy-"

Aemond's jaw tightened briefly, his resolve unwavering. "I will name those I know of," he answered, his voice steady. "But I cannot guarantee it is an exhaustive list."

He took a breath and began, each name a weighty admission in the cold air. "Tyland Lannister” he stated plainly, his gaze flicking briefly to Vaelyssa "As well as Jasper Wylde, Maester Orwyle and Larys Strong-”

“I shall see everyone of those traitorous cunts suffer for this-” snarled Daemon, his knuckles turning white as he tightly gripped the hilt of Dark Sister.

Rhaenyra considered Aemond’s words carefully and finally, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke.

"I agree to your terms, brother-" Rhaenyra declared, her voice resonating with authority. "I will guarantee the safety of Alicent, Aegon, Helaena, their children, and Daeron."

Aemond's expression softened slightly, a flicker of relief crossing his features. Beside him, Vaelyssa's eyes shone with gratitude and hope.

"But-" Rhaenyra continued, her tone firm, "-Only when I have reclaimed the Iron Throne will I permit you and Vaelyssa to marry. For now, you will be betrothed, as a pledge of our alliance."

Aemond bowed his head respectfully. "Gratitude-Your Grace”

"Now the two of you will be escorted inside-" Rhaenyra announced, her voice commanding yet tinged with a touch of warmth. "-Baths will be prepared. You both smell of dragon"

Vaelyssa and Aemond exchanged a glance, their expressions reflecting a mixture of relief and anticipation. "Of course, Your Grace," Aemond responded respectfully.

"And I expect the both of you at dinner tonight," Rhaenyra added firmly, her eyes shifting between them to emphasize her expectations.

"Yes mother-” Vaelyssa affirmed with a nod, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions within her.

As they turned to make their way back toward Dragonstone, Daemon halted Vaelyssa with a gentle yet firm grasp on her arm.

Aemond hesitated momentarily, but Vaelyssa reassured him with a reassuring glance and a soft-spoken promise to join him shortly. He nodded and followed Rhaenyra and the Queen's Guard towards the castle.

Alone with her father, Vaelyssa felt a surge of pride mingled with a touch of vulnerability as Daemon gently took her face in his hands and turned her head to the side to see the various love bites that graced her skin.

"Well done-” muttered Daemon, his voice gruff yet tinged with unmistakable approval.

Vaelyssa smiled, her heart swelling with gratitude at his words. "I learned from the best,"