#she is nothing like Rhaegar's son | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

novaursa · 2 months ago

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Legacy (cold winds)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: The canon timeline is altered to fit the narrative of the story.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: winter is coming

- Next part: the march

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi

The cold stretched endlessly in all directions, an oppressive blanket of darkness broken only by faint whispers of light. Snow swirled in the air, glittering like shards of glass, and the ground beneath you was hard, frozen, unyielding. The world was quiet—too quiet. You took a step forward, your breath misting before you in the bitter chill.

The horizon loomed with a storm, black as night, and from it came a sound that chilled your blood: the shriek of wights, the groaning of the dead, and the steady thrum of them. The Others.

You shivered, though not from the cold. As you looked around, shadowy figures began to appear—half-formed memories or specters of the past. Faces you knew, faces you loved, flickering like distant stars. And then, standing amidst the snow, his silver hair flowing like a banner in the wind, you saw him.

"Rhaegar," you whispered.

Your elder brother turned toward you, his face calm and untroubled, as though the storm did not rage around him. His indigo eyes softened as they met yours, and he held out a hand. “You are afraid,” he said quietly, his voice soothing, like a harp string vibrating through the cold air.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. “Is it true? The Long Night? Is this what’s coming?”

Rhaegar nodded once, solemn and knowing. “It is coming, sister. The darkness. The fire and ice that will clash.” His voice carried the weight of prophecy, of something inevitable. “But you will not face it alone.”

Your brow furrowed as you looked at him, your breath ragged. “How? How can I stop it?”

Rhaegar said nothing for a long moment. Then his gaze flicked past you, toward something in the distance. You turned your head slowly and saw a figure emerging through the swirling snow—a man grown, tall and broad-shouldered, with silver-gold hair and deep violet eyes flecked with green. He stood proudly in armor that gleamed faintly with red and gold, his expression unreadable as he looked back at you.

“Damon,” you breathed, recognizing your son, though his features were blurred, shadowed by the mist. He was older, perhaps a man of ten-and-seven, but there was something regal, something powerful about him.

The storm roared louder, a cry of wights and shadow descending. Damon turned toward it, his hand reaching for something at his side. A sword—a blade of black glass and shimmering steel—appeared in his grip, and as he lifted it, light radiated from the weapon, breaking through the gloom.

“Protect him,” Rhaegar’s voice came, soft but firm. “He is the flame in the dark. He is your legacy.”

Tears stung your eyes as you looked back at your brother. “I don’t know how,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“You will,” Rhaegar said gently, stepping toward you and placing his hand on your cheek. His touch was warm, a stark contrast to the freezing world around you. “You are stronger than you know, Y/N.”

The storm surged closer, the shadows rising like a tidal wave, and you felt a surge of panic. “Rhaegar—”

“Wake up.”

The storm cracked like thunder, and suddenly, everything went black.

You gasped awake, your chest heaving as you sat bolt upright. Your entire body was trembling, your skin slick with sweat despite the cold air around you. For a moment, you could still see the storm, hear the cry of wights, feel Rhaegar’s hand on your cheek. But it was gone—fading like a dream.

“Y/N!” Arya’s voice broke through your haze. The girl was crouched at your side, her face pale and wide-eyed, her hands gripping your arm. “You’re awake—you’re awake!” she said quickly, as though to reassure herself.

You blinked, trying to steady your breathing. “Arya?” Your voice was hoarse, raw. “What happened?”

Arya let out a shaky breath. “You were… shouting. Thrashing around. You woke me up, and I thought—” She cut herself off, her expression a mix of fear and relief. “Are you alright?”

You took a deep breath, rubbing your hands over your face. “It was a dream. Just a dream.”

Arya sat back on her heels, studying you warily. “You don’t look like it was just a dream.”

You looked at her, considering whether to explain, but the vision was still too raw, too real. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

Arya scowled at you, the sharpness of her gaze reminiscent of her father’s. “Don’t lie to me. You’re sweating like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Your lips twitched faintly at her stubbornness, though your heart still raced. “I saw my brother. Rhaegar.”

Arya’s frown deepened. “The one they said started the war?”

“Yes,” you replied softly, your mind still lingering on his face, so calm amidst the chaos. “He spoke to me. And I saw my son… older. A man.”

Arya’s expression softened slightly. “Damon?”

You nodded, glancing toward the sleeping bundle in the corner of the room. “He was strong, Arya. Stronger than I’ve ever seen. But…” You swallowed, the words catching in your throat. “The world around him was dark—so dark.”

Arya glanced over at Damon, her face conflicted. “What does it mean?”

You shook your head, forcing yourself to calm. “I don’t know yet.” You exhaled, letting the tension in your shoulders ease. “But I will find out.”

Arya shifted closer to you, her voice quieter now. “Do you think it has something to do with the dragon? With Viserion?”

“Maybe,” you admitted. “Viserion brought me here for a reason. Everything that’s happened—everything I’ve seen—it’s leading somewhere.”

Arya was silent for a moment, then nodded firmly. “We’ll figure it out. You’ll figure it out.”

You managed a faint smile, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “You sound like Jon.”

Arya looked away at that, her expression tightening. “I miss him,” she admitted quietly. “If he’s alive, we’ll find him.”

“We will,” you promised, though the weight of the dream still lingered in your heart like a shadow.

You lay back down as Arya settled beside you, her watchful gaze never leaving you. The vision of the Long Night, the storm of ice and darkness, and the sight of Damon with his sword burned in your mind like a brand. You didn’t yet know what it meant, but you would not ignore it. Rhaegar’s voice still echoed in your ears: “He is the flame in the dark.”

And you would protect that flame—no matter what it cost.

The sun was low on the horizon when the gates of Casterly Rock swung open. The distant sound of hooves clattering on stone echoed through the courtyard as Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, rode into his ancestral home. He sat tall in the saddle, his golden hair catching the waning light like a banner. At his side, his polished sword gleamed, though his right arm hung noticeably light and empty where his hand once was.

Soldiers paused to glance at him as he passed, whispers rippling through the ranks. Jaime paid them little mind, his sharp gaze fixed on the looming doors ahead as he dismounted. He handed the reins to a stable boy, who stumbled over himself as he took the stallion.

“Where is my lord father?” Jaime asked curtly.

One of the guards stepped forward. “In the great hall, Ser Jaime.”

Without another word, Jaime strode forward, his boots clicking purposefully against the stone floors of the Rock. The weight of the fortress, the history of his family, felt heavier here than it had ever been. His return was no triumphant homecoming; instead, it was shadowed by the unease of rumors that had reached King’s Landing. Whispers of dragons and magic beneath the Rock.

He found Tywin Lannister seated at the long table in the great hall, a candlelit map stretched before him. Papers and ledgers were scattered alongside goblets of wine. Tywin looked up as Jaime entered, his pale green eyes narrowing ever so slightly. His expression, as always, was unreadable.

“Jaime,” Tywin said with little warmth. “I expected you sooner.”

“Then you’ve been waiting for me,” Jaime replied, his tone carrying its usual flippancy. “Rumors tend to travel faster than I do these days, father.” He stopped at the edge of the table, his left hand resting on his belt. “I came to see for myself.”

Tywin’s brow furrowed faintly. “See what?”

“The dragon,” Jaime said bluntly. “Or whatever it is the smallfolk are whispering about.”

The hall fell into a brief silence, the crackle of the fire filling the void. Tywin didn’t flinch, nor did he look away. “And what do you make of it?” he asked, his voice cold, testing.

Jaime tilted his head, giving his father a hard look. “I didn’t believe it at first. Thought it was nothing more than bard’s nonsense. But the stories... they’re too many to ignore. A cream-and-gold beast seen circling above the Riverlands, and now people whisper it lives beneath the Rock. Tell me, is it true?”

Tywin sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he regarded his son. “What difference would it make if it were true?”

“It makes a great deal of difference,” Jaime shot back. “You’ve built your entire life on power, on order. Now the world is whispering that a dragon—a Targaryen’s dragon—is under your feet. That your wife is missing and has vanished on its back. And you’re sitting here pretending all is as it should be.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed at the edge in Jaime’s tone, though his composure didn’t break. “Control your tongue.”

Jaime huffed a humorless laugh. “I’m not one of your bannermen, Father. I came here to know the truth. Is there a dragon, yes or no?”

For a long moment, Tywin said nothing. The firelight danced across his sharp features, shadows deepening the lines on his face. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured.

“Yes.”

Jaime froze, his flippant demeanor faltering just slightly as the word hung heavy in the air. He blinked, as though trying to reconcile what he’d just heard. “There really is a dragon.”

“There is,” Tywin confirmed, his tone matter-of-fact. “And my wife, your stepmother, rides it.”

Jaime paced a few steps away, running his hand through his golden hair, clearly unsettled. “Gods, what’s happened to us? First you marry a Targaryen, now we’re harboring dragons?”

Tywin’s gaze sharpened. “Mind your words. This is not a cause for jest.”

Jaime turned back to him, his expression serious. “You’re harboring something the realm will fear. The North is lost in snow, and now you’ve got a beast the size of a warship lurking beneath your feet. Do you even know where she’s gone? Your precious Targaryen wife?”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “She will return.”

Jaime raised a brow, mockery lingering in his tone. “Will she? You don’t sound convinced.”

“I am,” Tywin snapped, his voice low but filled with steel. “Do not mistake my silence for uncertainty.”

The two men stared at each other, the tension in the air palpable. Finally, Jaime broke the silence, shaking his head with a tired sigh. “I hope you’re right. For your sake. For the boy’s sake.”

At the mention of Damon, Tywin’s expression softened a fraction, though his demeanor remained composed. “This is about more than whispers and rumors, Jaime. This is about legacy.”

Jaime’s expression darkened. “Legacy. Always legacy.” He met his father’s gaze with a flicker of bitterness. “Tell me something, Father. Do you trust her? Your silver-haired bride?”

Tywin stared at him for a long moment. “I trust her to understand the weight of what’s at stake.”

Jaime said nothing, his silence speaking volumes as he turned and strode toward the door. Before leaving, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “I hope your faith isn’t misplaced, Father. Because if you’re wrong... you’re bringing fire and blood back to this world.”

And with that, he disappeared into the shadows of the corridor, leaving Tywin alone with his thoughts. The faint crackle of the fire was the only sound that remained as Tywin stared at the maps on the table. Jaime’s words lingered in the air like smoke.

Fire and blood.

The old words of House Targaryen echoed in his mind, and for the first time in years, Tywin felt the weight of uncertainty press against his chest. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, his face carved in stone.

Wherever Y/N was, she carried with her something that could change the world. And now, Tywin had no choice but to continue to wait.

The evening air around the Brotherhood’s camp crackled with an uneasy calm. Smoke curled lazily from the firepit, curling into the canopy of the gnarled oaks above. You sat beside Arya, the rough edge of the log biting into your legs as you watched Gendry hammering a new contraption together—a crude saddle meant for Viserion. The boy worked diligently, his face glistening with sweat despite the chill in the air. The other men of the Brotherhood murmured around him, either offering advice or casting wary glances toward the clearing where Viserion rested.

The dragon’s golden-cream scales glimmered faintly in the low light, her hulking form a shadow in the growing dusk. Though she had settled for now, every flick of her tail sent ripples of unease through the men. A Targaryen’s dragon, beneath the stars of the Riverlands. It was a sight that had no place in this world—yet here it was.

“Almost done,” Gendry grunted, wiping his brow with the back of his arm. “This will hold better than your cloak ever could.”

Arya glanced up from where she sat beside you, still running a cloth over Needle in a near-ritualistic motion. “About time,” she said, though her tone was more impatient than critical. She turned to you with her sharp grey eyes. “When are you going to leave, Y/N? You have a dragon. You can just fly to the Wall. Burn the Others before they come.”

You sighed, staring into the fire as the flames flickered and danced. “It’s not that simple, Arya.”

“It is!” she snapped, stubborn as always. “You could end it before it starts. That’s what dragons do, isn’t it? Burn things?”

“Not everything can be burned,” a deep voice said. Beric Dondarrion emerged from the shadows, his scarred face catching the firelight. “Dragons may have conquered men, but they are not the answer to all battles.”

Arya scowled. “Why not? She has the power. She should use it.”

Beric sat on the log across from you, his one good eye pinning you with a knowing look. “The Wall is not merely ice and stone, girl. There is magic there—old magic. Queen Alysanne once tried to fly her Silverwing beyond it, and the beast turned back every time. It refused.”

Arya looked incredulous. “A dragon refused?”

You nodded faintly, your voice soft but firm. “Dragons know things we don’t, Arya. They feel the pull of the world. The Wall… it holds something back. A force greater than fire alone.”

Beric tilted his head, still watching you. “And yet, you’ve seen beyond it, haven’t you?”

You stiffened slightly, the memory of the Long Night flashing in your mind—the cold, the screams, the endless dark. “I’ve seen glimpses. Shadows and fire. But if I tell anyone…” You shook your head, bitter laughter escaping your lips. “No one would listen. They would call me mad, just as they called my father.”

Arya bristled at that. “You’re not mad, Y/N. You’re not like him.”

“Not yet,” you muttered darkly. The fire cast shadows across your face, making the thought seem heavier. “But to the world, the name ‘Targaryen’ is enough to sow doubt.”

Arya turned to Beric and Thoros, frustration clear in her voice. “Then she has to make Tywin listen. Everyone listens to him.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that—sharp and humorless. “Tywin Lannister believes what he sees and nothing more. I would sooner teach a fish to march across Westeros than convince him of my dreams.”

Thoros chuckled from where he sat, swirling his cup of wine. “If you give up before you start, you’ll never know what can be done, my lady.”

Beric leaned forward, his tone more serious. “You underestimate yourself, Y/N. You are the blood of dragons, and fire runs through your veins. That is no accident.”

You stared at him, feeling the weight of his words press against your chest. “And what does that matter if no one will believe me? The North will freeze, the dead will rise, and the realm will fight itself to the end.”

“Then you must make them see,” Beric said simply. “You are stronger than doubt. Stronger than them.”

Arya tugged on your sleeve suddenly, her voice quieter. “You’re going back, aren’t you? To him.”

You glanced down at her, her grey eyes so much like Jon’s it made your heart ache. “I have to, Arya,” you murmured. “I can’t stay here forever. My son is waiting for me.”

Arya turned her face away, the flickering firelight catching the glint of tears she stubbornly refused to let fall. “It’s not fair. You just got here.”

You reached over and brushed her hair back from her face, forcing a faint smile. “I’ll come back. I promise.”

“You’d better,” Arya muttered, her voice wavering just slightly. “You always keep your promises.”

For a long while, the camp fell silent except for the crackling of the fire and the occasional deep rumble of Viserion in the clearing. The men were settling down for the night, but you remained seated on the log, watching the embers glow. Beric’s words echoed in your head: You are stronger than doubt. Stronger than them.

You looked toward Viserion’s looming silhouette, her massive wings tucked neatly at her sides. A creature of power and fire, waiting—like you—for what was to come.

The attack came with no warning. The Brotherhood camp, peaceful under the canopy of ancient oaks, was suddenly filled with the thunder of hooves, the screams of men, and the clash of steel. Shadows moved in the darkness—soldiers, brigands, or perhaps both—ambushing the camp with ruthless precision. Brotherhood men scrambled for their weapons, hastily drawing blades and bows as enemies flooded in, cutting down tents and scattering supplies.

Arya stood frozen for half a heartbeat as chaos erupted around her. “Gendry!” she yelled, spotting him near the fire. He swung his hammer with all the strength of a blacksmith, but he was outnumbered.

“Get back!” Gendry shouted at her, teeth gritted as he swung his weapon into an attacker’s chest. “Run, Arya! Now!”

Arya grabbed Needle, its familiar weight grounding her as her instincts kicked in. She darted through the melee, slipping between bodies and swinging her blade at anyone who came too close. The air was thick with the copper tang of blood and the acrid smell of smoke. Men shouted, some calling orders, others screaming their last breaths.

From a distance, Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr fought side by side, flames licking from Beric’s sword as it cut through the darkness like a beacon. “Hold the line!” Beric roared, his voice carrying above the din. “They’re breaking—stand your ground!”

But Arya knew the Brotherhood was outnumbered. This wasn’t a simple skirmish; it was a slaughter.

And then, just as the night seemed ready to consume them, the air itself split open with a sound unlike any other—a thunderous, bone-deep shriek that rattled the earth. The attackers faltered, their eyes snapping upward, faces going pale with terror.

“Dragon!” someone screamed, pointing toward the sky.

Arya turned just in time to see Viserion.

The dragon descended like a storm from the heavens. You were seated firmly on her back, your cloak streaming behind you, and the firelight reflected in your violet eyes. You were a vision of fury—a dragonrider born from fire and blood.

“Y/N!” Arya shouted, her voice lost in the growing roar of wings.

Viserion swooped low, and the air erupted in a wall of fire. It burst from her jaws, a torrent of golden flame that consumed everything in its path. The ambushers screamed in terror as the dragonfire crashed into the earth, engulfing men, horses, and trees alike. The flames roared hungrily, crackling with an otherworldly heat as they turned the night into day.

Thoros had stopped in his tracks, standing amidst the swirling smoke and cinders. His face was illuminated by the firelight, eyes wide and unblinking as he stared at the divine force unleashed before him. “It’s the fire of the gods,” he murmured, voice trembling. “By R’hllor…”

Beric grabbed Thoros by the arm, shaking him from his stupor. “Move! We need to regroup!”

But Thoros stood frozen, watching as the golden flames licked the earth clean of their enemies. He looked like a man glimpsing prophecy in its rawest form.

Above the battlefield, you guided Viserion higher into the sky, your heart pounding in your chest as the dragon’s mighty wings beat against the air. The fire below died out in scattered embers, leaving blackened earth and smoldering ash in its wake. You dared to look back one last time.

On the ground, you saw Arya. She stood apart from the others, her face tilted upward as she watched you rise into the night sky. Even from this distance, you could see the grief etched into her young face—grief and awe. She raised a hand as if to wave, though she knew you couldn’t see her clearly.

For a brief moment, guilt clawed at your chest. You had promised to stay. Promised to come back for her. But you couldn’t wait any longer. Damon needed you. Tywin needed to know what was coming.

“Goodbye, Arya,” you whispered into the wind.

Viserion shrieked again, the sound splitting the sky like a blade. Arya flinched but didn’t look away, her grey eyes locked onto you until you disappeared into the horizon, swallowed by the black night.

On the ground, the Brotherhood began to gather what remained of their camp. Thoros still stood amidst the ash, staring into the dying embers with awe. Beric came up beside him, his face shadowed with worry.

“She’s gone,” Beric muttered, glancing toward the sky. “Back to her world.”

Thoros did not look away from the flame. “She rides with fire. It is her path.”

Arya said nothing as she turned from the smoldering field, Needle still clutched in her hand. She felt cold despite the heat of the fires that had raged moments ago. She hadn’t called out to you as you flew away; there was no point.

She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as her fists clenched at her sides. “She’ll come back,” Arya said, more to herself than anyone else. “She promised.”

But as the cold night air settled over the ruined camp, Arya wondered if promises could survive dragons, war, and the dark future that loomed over them all.

Tywin Lannister sat at the head of the war table, his expression as carved and unreadable as ever. Lords, captains, and advisors filled the chamber, gathered for yet another council—reports of the Riverlands unrest, whispers of winter pressing further south, and rumors still murmured from the North. Jaime Lannister stood to the side, arms crossed as he leaned against a column with his usual air of irritation.

“Riverlords refuse to cooperate, my lord,” Kevan reported. “Our garrisons hold for now, but morale is strained. The men—”

The words were cut short by an earth-shaking roar.

Every head in the room turned sharply, stunned into silence. It was not the sound of a man or a beast of this world, but something ancient and terrible—a sound that rattled stone and made hearts clench with primal fear.

“What in Seven Hells was that?” Jaime’s voice broke the silence, though he pushed himself away from the column as though ready to fight.

Another roar followed, louder this time, echoing off the walls of the great castle, sending a cascade of dust from the ceiling beams. Tywin’s eyes narrowed as he rose from his seat. “Out. Everyone. Now.”

Lords and soldiers scrambled in confusion, shoving back chairs and bolting for the door as the roar sounded again. The ground quaked faintly beneath their feet.

Kevan stepped to Tywin’s side, his face pale. “Could it be…?”

“It is,” Tywin said sharply, his voice betraying no fear, only simmering frustration. “Jaime, with me.”

Jaime drew himself up, his face contorted with disbelief, though there was a flicker of awe buried beneath it. “A dragon?”

Tywin shot him a hard look. “Move.”

Together they strode out of the chamber, flanked by guards and advisors who whispered nervously among themselves. The halls of Casterly Rock were alive with commotion—maids screamed and darted for shelter, while soldiers rushed to man the walls, their swords and spears rattling in their hands.

The massive double doors leading to the courtyard were already open, and Tywin stepped out into the light. The moment he did, he came to a halt, and every man around him froze.

Viserion loomed above the castle.

The she-dragon descended from the heavens like a herald of the gods, her scales blazing against the sun. Her wings beat the air with force that sent banners whipping and sent men staggering back. Horses reared in terror, their panicked shrieks mingling with the booming sound of the dragon’s wings.

“Hold your ground!” Tywin barked, his voice sharp and commanding. Soldiers faltered but steadied themselves, their weapons shaking as they watched the beast circle once more.

The dragon shrieked—a sound that struck deep into the hearts of every man present—before she tucked her wings and swooped low. Jaime swore under his breath as the dragon descended, massive claws kicking up dust and stone as she landed in the center of the courtyard with a reverberating thud.

Everything fell silent.

The dust began to settle, and Tywin’s gaze remained fixed on the dragon, whose molten gold eyes surveyed the gathered men like they were little more than ants. Then, from the creature’s back, you appeared—your violet eyes sharp, your silver hair wild from the wind, your cloak stained from weeks of travel. You held your back straight, regal, even as your hands pressed carefully against Viserion’s scales.

The courtyard gaped.

“Seven bloody Hells,” Jaime muttered, taking a step back. “It’s true.”

Tywin’s gaze didn’t waver as you swung yourself down, landing firmly on the ground. You winced briefly as your boots hit the stone, the wounds from your earlier ride still tender, but you said nothing. Viserion shifted behind you, her massive head hovering just above your shoulder as she let out a low, guttural growl.

The men around you shuffled nervously, swords halfway drawn but held steady under Tywin’s iron glare.

“Stay where you are,” Tywin commanded, his voice cutting through the tension. He moved forward slowly, his steps deliberate as his piercing green eyes fixed on you. “Y/N.”

You stood your ground, chin lifted, though the exhaustion in your limbs weighed heavy. “Lord Husband,” you said smoothly, though your voice carried the faint edge of someone who had not rested in days. “I trust I haven’t caused too much of a commotion.”

Tywin stopped a few paces from you, his sharp gaze flickering between you and the dragon behind you. “Where have you been?” His voice was low, deadly calm.

You hesitated, feeling the dozens of eyes on you—guards, knights, lords, servants—all waiting, hanging on your words. “Where I was meant to go,” you said cryptically. “The High Heart.”

Tywin’s expression tightened. “You vanished without word, left your son behind, and now return astride a dragon. What exactly am I to make of this?”

Jaime stepped closer to Tywin’s side, his one hand resting on the pommel of his sword, though he made no move to draw it. “You’ve caused quite the stir, Lady Y/N. What in the world possessed you to—?”

“I did what needed to be done,” you interrupted sharply, your eyes snapping to Jaime before turning back to Tywin. “And I have returned to fulfill what must come next.”

Tywin studied you for a long moment, his gaze as cold and calculating as ever. “The men are frightened. The people will talk.”

“Let them talk,” you said evenly, stepping forward. “They will talk of dragons. And they will listen when we speak.”

There was silence for a beat as Tywin considered you, his expression unreadable. Behind you, Viserion let out another low rumble, her tail curling protectively along the ground.

Finally, Tywin straightened, his face carved into stone. “You will explain everything. Inside.”

You inclined your head. “As you wish.”

Tywin turned sharply, barking orders to his guards. “Clear the courtyard! Stabilize the horses—send word that all is well.”

Jaime lingered for a moment longer, his face a mixture of awe and disbelief as he looked at you. “I always thought the stories were exaggerated. I see now they weren’t.”

You met his gaze, unflinching. “The world is far stranger than any story, Ser Jaime.”

With that, you turned and began to follow Tywin back into Casterly Rock. Behind you, Viserion watched silently, her golden eyes fixed on the retreating men as if daring them to make a move. The courtyard began to empty, the air still thick with the smell of smoke and the lingering echoes of chaos.

As you walked past Tywin’s side, his voice dropped low enough for only you to hear. “You have much to answer for.”

“And much to show you,” you replied quietly.

For the first time in years, Tywin Lannister felt the weight of something greater than power itself pressing against his mind—something he could not control. A dragon had returned to Casterly Rock, and the world, he knew, would never be the same.

The great halls of Casterly Rock echoed faintly as Tywin Lannister led you through the winding stone corridors. The heavy doors to the courtyard had slammed shut behind the both of you, sealing away the chaos and whispers. Tywin’s steps were brisk, his presence imposing even in silence. You kept pace, though the weight of exhaustion pulled at your limbs with every step.

Guards and servants lingered against the walls, their eyes flicking nervously toward you before darting away. No doubt the sight of you astride Viserion was now spreading like wildfire through the castle. A Targaryen wife, returned on dragonback—it was the sort of story that men would turn into legend.

Tywin said nothing until you reached the door to the nursery. He pushed it open with a firm hand, the soft glow of candlelight spilling into the corridor. “In here,” he commanded, his voice low but resolute.

You stepped inside the nursery, the air immediately warmer and more comforting than the cavernous halls. The faint sound of a baby’s soft coos greeted your ears, pulling a gentle smile to your lips. Damon, now around seven moons old, sat upright in his crib, propped by cushions to keep him steady. His silver-gold hair caught the candlelight like spun silk as his chubby fingers clumsily gripped a small wooden lion. He turned his head as you entered, his wide violet eyes blinking with innocent curiosity.

Tywin’s demeanor softened, ever so slightly, as he moved to stand beside the crib. He regarded his son—his heir—with quiet pride, though his face remained as composed as ever.

“You should not have been gone so long,” Tywin said finally, breaking the silence. “He missed you.”

You moved to the crib, running your fingers gently over Damon’s soft cheek. He cooed, his small hand reaching for yours, and you smiled faintly. “And I missed him,” you said softly, the ache of separation lingering in your voice. “Every day.”

Tywin regarded you closely, his sharp eyes studying your face as you continued to watch your son. “Where did you go, Y/N? What madness compelled you to leave?”

You didn’t look at him, your voice steady as you replied. “To the High Heart, as I told you. Something… someone called me there.”

“Who?” Tywin’s question cut through the air like a blade.

You finally turned to meet his gaze, your violet eyes unwavering. “A voice from my dreams. From my bloodline, perhaps. I do not yet fully understand it myself.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, his skepticism plain to see. “Dreams. Whispers. That is what you risked everything for?”

“I risked everything to protect this,” you said sharply, gesturing toward Damon. “To protect him. To protect you. You may not believe me, Tywin, but you will listen.”

Tywin’s expression darkened, but there was no retort. He simply watched you, as though weighing the truth of your words.

Damon let out another soft sound, his small hand wrapping around your finger as he grinned toothlessly, oblivious to the tension in the room. For a moment, the heaviness between you and Tywin eased, replaced by the quiet hum of the nursery and the warmth of your son’s presence.

“He looks stronger,” you murmured, brushing Damon’s silver-gold hair back gently. “You’ve cared for him well.”

Tywin’s gaze softened, though his voice remained steady. “He is my son. My heir. I would not allow harm to come to him.”

You looked up at Tywin, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across his sharp features. “Then trust me when I say that harm is coming. You don’t have to believe my words, but the signs are already here. The winds from the North grow colder. The Wall grows restless. The world will burn or freeze, Tywin. I have seen it.”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line, his frustration barely concealed. “I cannot build armies on whispers and shadows, Y/N.”

“Then what will you do when shadows turn into an army of the dead?” you challenged, your voice quiet but firm. “What will you do when the Wall is not enough? When this castle—your precious Rock—is nothing more than rubble beneath snow and ice?”

Tywin stared at you, his jaw set, his silence betraying the faintest crack in his certainty. He was not a man given to imagination, to prophecies or legends—but you could see the flicker of doubt in his gaze.

Before he could answer, his eyes darted lower, a flicker of something sharper—concern or curiosity—crossing his face. “What is this?”

You frowned, following his gaze as he reached toward your side, where the hem of your gown hung uneven. Tywin gently caught your wrist and turned your arm to examine the faint red lines beneath the fabric, some scabbed, others only just beginning to heal.

“They’re nothing,” you said quickly, trying to pull your arm free, but his grip tightened, careful but unyielding.

“Nothing?” Tywin’s tone turned cold, his pale green eyes snapping to yours. “These are not ‘nothing.’ How did this happen?”

You hesitated, knowing Tywin would not relent until you answered. “The scales,” you admitted quietly, looking away. “Viserion’s scales cut me when I rode her. It’s my fault for not being prepared.”

Tywin exhaled through his nose, the faintest trace of irritation in his expression. “And you didn’t think to tend to this?”

“It is nothing,” you repeated stubbornly, pulling your arm back as you met his gaze once more. “I’ve had worse.”

“Worse or not, it is reckless,” Tywin said curtly, his eyes narrowing. “You do not risk yourself like this—not when your son needs you.”

“I did what I had to,” you replied softly, but firmly. “And I will do it again if it means keeping him safe.”

Tywin said nothing, but his gaze lingered on you for a long moment. It was not anger you saw in his eyes, nor disappointment, but something else—something harder to name. It was as though he were seeing you anew, taking the measure of the woman before him, one who rode dragons and spoke of nightmares made real.

Finally, he straightened, his composure settling back into place. “The maester will see to those wounds.”

You almost laughed. “I’ll manage.”

“You will see him,” Tywin repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. He turned back to the crib, brushing his fingertips over Damon’s small blanket with unexpected gentleness. “For his sake.”

You sighed, relenting. “Very well.”

There was silence for a moment, the flicker of the candlelight throwing your shadows across the nursery walls. Tywin’s presence, as always, filled the room—but this time it was less oppressive, softer, as though something unspoken lingered between you both.

“Rest,” he said finally, his voice quieter. “There will be much to discuss tomorrow.”

And with that, Tywin Lannister turned and left the room, his steps fading down the corridor. You sat down carefully beside Damon’s crib, exhaling deeply as the weight of your journey and the future yet to come pressed against your shoulders.

You ran your fingers gently over Damon’s tiny hand as he sat, his wide eyes now starting to flutter closed, exhaustion overtaking him. “For you, my son. Always for you,” you whispered softly.

You stood by the window, watching the ocean waves crash against the cliffs far below Casterly Rock. The air was crisp and salty, carrying a faint chill that clung to your skin. Damon cooed softly in his crib behind you, watched carefully by the ever-diligent nursemaid, who hummed a lullaby under her breath.

You were half lost in thought when a knock came at the door.

“Enter,” you called, turning away from the window.

The door opened, and Jaime Lannister stepped inside, his gilded armor glinting faintly in the light. His single hand, as always, rested against the pommel of his sword, but his posture was far from threatening. There was something unusual in his expression—hesitation, perhaps, or curiosity—as he regarded you with his piercing green eyes.

“Ser Jaime,” you greeted, arching a brow. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jaime tilted his head slightly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Pleasure? I doubt my presence here is that pleasant.”

“True,” you replied smoothly, turning fully to face him. “We’ve never truly spoken, despite… circumstances.”

Jaime glanced at the nursemaid and nodded toward the door. “Leave us.”

The woman looked to you for confirmation. You nodded, and she gathered her things, retreating with a bow. When the door clicked shut behind her, Jaime’s smile faltered. He looked uncertain now, his gaze flickering briefly to Damon in his crib before settling back on you.

“I suppose that’s true,” Jaime said finally, crossing his arms. “It’s strange, isn’t it? You’ve been in this family for long now, and yet we’re little more than strangers.”

“Perhaps we preferred it that way,” you remarked, folding your hands before you. “What is it you wanted to say, Ser Jaime?”

Jaime seemed to weigh his words carefully, a rare sight for him. He paced a few steps, looking down at the ornate rug beneath his feet before stopping abruptly. “I came to speak of… the past.”

You felt the tension in your shoulders stiffen. “Be specific.”

“The day I killed your father.”

The words hung in the air like a blade suspended by a thread. Your breath stilled, but your face remained composed, years of royal upbringing keeping your emotions hidden. “I do not wish to speak of that day.”

“You think I do?” Jaime retorted, his voice edged with bitterness. “That day—what happened—will follow me to my grave. Kingslayer, Oathbreaker—call me what you will. But I need you to understand something.”

“I understand everything already. You want forgiveness of a daughter, an absolution for your soul,” you replied, your voice steady but quiet. “I can't give you that and I don’t want to remember the man you killed. I want to remember the man who once cared for me as a little girl.”

Jaime blinked, caught off guard. “Your father?”

“Yes,” you said softly, your gaze distant. “Before the madness. Before the fire. I want to remember the man who lifted me onto his knee and promised I would always be safe. The man who placed a crown of flowers on my head and called me his little princess. That is the memory I choose to keep.”

Jaime’s expression shifted, his usual wit and sarcasm subdued. “You were lucky to know him that way,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “By the end, there was no man left in him.”

You looked away, your jaw tightening. “And I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

There was silence for a long moment. Jaime let out a slow breath, and when you finally turned back to face him, you saw something resembling regret in his eyes. Perhaps not for what he did, but for the weight it left on you.

“You’re here because of Cersei,” you said, breaking the quiet. “That’s why you came. She sent you to see if the rumors were true.”

Jaime’s lips twitched into something between a smirk and a grimace. “She’s worried about a dragon, yes. But she’s even more worried about you.”

“And what will you tell her?” you asked, your voice carrying an edge of challenge.

Jaime shrugged one shoulder, though the movement was deliberate. “The truth. You’ve returned. You brought a dragon with you. I’m sure she’ll make of it what she will.”

“Do not underestimate her,” you said sharply. “She sees enemies everywhere, even in those closest to her. I’ve no doubt she will see me as no different.”

Jaime’s smirk faded completely. “Cersei isn’t always wrong about enemies.”

You tilted your head slightly, your violet eyes narrowing. “And what am I, Ser Jaime? A threat? A sister? A rival? Or perhaps something else entirely?”

Jaime hesitated, then let out a dry chuckle. “You’re Tywin’s wife. And now, the mother of his heir. That is more dangerous to Cersei than anything else in this world.”

You didn’t reply, but your gaze didn’t waver either. There was truth in Jaime’s words—a truth you already knew. Cersei’s resentment toward you ran deeper than mere rivalry; it was a matter of power, of legacy, of bloodlines that neither of you could control.

Jaime turned slightly toward Damon’s crib, watching the infant as he grasped at his small blanket. “He’s… a handsome boy. Strong.”

“He will need to be,” you replied softly. “The world he will inherit will be cruel.”

Jaime turned back to you, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. “Cersei believes this child threatens her. You threaten her.”

“And do you?” you asked, searching his face. “Do you see me as a threat too?”

Jaime was quiet for a moment, then shook his head. “No. I see you as someone who survived.”

You met his gaze, understanding more in that moment than you had in all the months of knowing him. Jaime Lannister was a man shaped by the world he fought in, much like you—a survivor of choices, fate, and fire.

“Tell your sister whatever you wish,” you said finally, turning back to Damon’s crib. “But remember this, Jaime: no matter what Cersei fears, I will protect my son.”

Jaime nodded faintly, as though he expected no less. “I’ll leave you to it then. I imagine we’ll see each other again soon.”

He turned on his heel and strode toward the door, pausing only for a moment. “For what it’s worth,” he added quietly, “the world would have been better if your father had stayed the man you remembered.”

You didn’t respond, but as the door closed behind him, you sat beside Damon’s crib, brushing a gentle hand over his silver-gold hair. You whispered softly, “The world would have been better still if none of this had come to pass.”

Tywin Lannister sat in his private solar at Casterly Rock, his gaze fixed on the crackling hearth before him as he waited. The quiet within the chamber was unusual, tense. He’d dismissed the usual guards and servants, wanting no distractions as he considered the days that had unfolded since your return. There was too much chaos, too many uncertainties—dragons, rumors, and now your wounds.

The sound of the door creaking open broke his thoughts, and Maester Aldren, an older man with a gaunt face and pale blue eyes, entered the room. He carried a leather-bound satchel and walked with a slightly uneven gait, his chain of office clinking softly against his robes.

“You summoned me, my lord?” Aldren said with a slight bow, his tone hushed with a nervous undercurrent.

Tywin turned his sharp gaze to him and gestured to the seat across from his desk. “Sit. Tell me what you have found regarding my wife.”

Maester Aldren settled himself with care, his satchel resting across his lap. “I examined Lady Y/N as you requested, my lord. The wounds she bears are… peculiar.”

Tywin’s brows narrowed. “How so?”

“They are not the wounds of war,” Aldren replied carefully. “Shallow cuts, some scabbed and others still raw, caused by the dragon’s scales, I suspect. What is concerning, however, is that they are not healing as quickly as one might expect. The dragon’s hide is sharper than any blade, it seems, and its presence may carry an unnatural effect.”

“Unnatural,” Tywin repeated sharply, the word tasting foul on his tongue. “Is it poison?”

“No,” Aldren said quickly, shaking his head. “The flesh is clean of any venom or festering. But I believe prolonged exposure to the creature—riding it as she has done—takes its toll. The cuts are many, and she requires rest. Your lady wife is resilient, my lord, but even she has limits.”

Tywin leaned back in his chair, his hands folding before him on the desk as he considered this. The words lingered in the air, and a long silence followed as Aldren waited for Tywin’s response.

Finally, Tywin spoke. “She will not stop. She has made it clear. If she continues to ride, she will need a saddle designed to protect her.”

Aldren blinked, visibly startled. “A saddle… for a dragon?”

“Yes,” Tywin said curtly, his voice brooking no argument. “And not some crude contraption patched together by peasants. A proper saddle. A Targaryen woman who rides a dragon will not be seen injured and bleeding like some common fool.”

Aldren hesitated, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “My lord, the knowledge you seek is scarce. What little we know of dragons—of their saddles, their riders—comes from the days of House Targaryen. The lore, the records… they were lost. Burned.”

Tywin’s gaze sharpened, his voice dropping dangerously low. “What do you mean, burned?”

“After Robert’s Rebellion,” Aldren explained cautiously, “King Robert ordered all written works concerning dragons destroyed in King’s Landing. The Citadel still holds fragments of knowledge, my lord, but much has been lost to time.”

Tywin exhaled sharply, his displeasure evident in the slight tightening of his jaw. “Foolish. Destroying knowledge does not destroy the truth. Send word to the Citadel. Whatever remains, I want it sent here immediately.”

“I will write to the Archmaesters at once, my lord,” Aldren said, bowing his head. “Though I must warn you, the Citadel has little love for dragons or the Targaryens. They may be reluctant to part with such knowledge.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “The Citadel serves the realm, and I serve the realm. If they require convincing, I will see to it personally.”

“Yes, my lord,” Aldren replied quickly, bowing his head again to avoid Tywin’s piercing gaze. “And Lady Y/N?”

“She is to rest,” Tywin commanded firmly. “Do whatever is needed to see her well. But ensure she understands that this must not happen again. If she rides, she does so prepared.”

Aldren stood slowly, clutching his satchel. “Of course, my lord. I will prepare the necessary remedies and make inquiries at the Citadel.”

Tywin waved him away. “Go.”

Aldren bowed deeply and exited the room, the door shutting softly behind him. For a moment, Tywin sat still, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire. His fingers tapped against the desk in thought.

A saddle for a dragon… the very idea gnawed at him. He loathed how quickly the world had turned. He had spent decades carving order out of chaos, reshaping the realm to his will. Yet here he was, a dragon sleeping beneath his house, a dragon-rider wife whose blood carried the fire of old Valyria.

And somewhere deep within him, a quiet voice whispered that this fire could not be tamed.

He rose slowly, walking to the window and looking out across the horizon. The sun sat low, its light spilling over the cliffs like molten gold. Tywin’s face remained hard, his thoughts locked away.

“Knowledge is power,” he muttered to himself. “And I will have it.”

The roar of the distant sea rose up to meet him, but in his mind, he heard the cry of a dragon—ancient and unstoppable, and a herald of something he could not yet name.

#game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #fire and blood #house of the dragon #hotd #house targaryen #house lannister #got #got/asoiaf #got x reader #got x you #got x y/n #got tywin #tywin x reader #tywin lannister #tywin x you #tywin x y/n #legacy

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syndrossi · 2 months ago

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Call for Winter prompts!

It's Dec 2, so let's get the prompt-a-thon rolling! Feel free to re-prompt anything from the Halloween set of prompts that you really wanted to see but that I didn't end up writing, or something entirely new! Winter-themed is encouraged but by no means required, and the only limit to how many prompts you can chuck at me is your imagination.

At some unspecified cadence, I'll pick a prompt that tickles my fancy, write a little ficlet for it (I thought they'd be 300ish words apiece last time, but they pretty much were all in the 800-3K range 😂), and post it here on Tumblr.

Any and all stories/AUs (or AUs of AUs) are fair game, with the caveat that I probably won't fill anything that is likely to come up in Resonant itself in the next 100K-ish words. But for Resonant, things like alternate POVs/what-ifs/side-stories/etc are all fair game. Maybe this will be the prompt-a-thon where I finally write Rhaegar POV???

Running list of prompts thus far, organized by story source, below.

Total: 120

Any/Other AUs (20):

King Daemon in any capacity

AU where Daemon shows up just in time to save Rhaegar at the Battle of the Trident

A scene from Aemon and Baelon's childhood or them getting to meet Resonant Daemon’s sons in a dream

Daemon & Rhea bickering [Reverbrate, Remorse]

AU where Rhaegar got summerhalled at 19 and Jon at 14

Daemon dealing with Aerys

Canon Rhaegar's POV of Daemon's "ghost." Either during his last battle or in front of Aegon's cradle where Rhaegar first mistakes him for Aerys too

Hot springs at Runestone's winter keep [Regnal, Reverberate]

The AU where Corlys discovers chocolate and brings it to Westeros and hot cocoa becomes a Thing.

AU where Ser Willam realizes the toddlers he's escorting to the Gates of the Moon are not, in fact, Redforts. The scene where he realizes it or the scene where he informs/finds Daemon.

A scene from the heartbreaking AU where Jon and Rhaegar wake up in Volantis with chained dragons and a kidnapped, traumatized baby brother.

AU in which Jon and Rhaegar are reborn older than eight and end up claiming Vermithor and Silverwing! (Or get claimed by Vermithor and Silverwing, who knows.)

AU in which Jon and Rhaegar are reborn at four or five and Daemon gets to find them sooner and enjoy having younger children like he dreams of. (Or even younger, wherein he finds them and they are both brunette, only for Rhaegar's hair dye to start washing out after a while.)

AU where Rhea dies early on and Daemon meets/recognizes his kids when he and the Redfort siblings go to Runestone to see about inheritance things.

Something involving Royce runic magic

Jon is a girl, Rhaegar is a boy. Otto POV of when they're 11-12 and discussions are happening of their potential betrothals. Maybe a reaction to Jon's reaction to the suggestion that she wed Rhaegar.

AU where Resonant Daemon & Jon & Rhaegar & their dragons appear in the OG/book timeline after the Dance of the Dragons. The twins could help little Viserys in Volantis while Daemon appears in King’s Landing to comfort and assist Aegon III.

Regnal or Restoration or Aemon’s Sons AU: Jon being cranky that he has to be king someday. Bonus points for Rhaegar being smug that he DOESN’T have to be king. Bonus BONUS points for Jon ensuring Rhaegar knows he's just as screwed as Jon's future Hand and has nothing to be smug about.

POV of Rhaegar finding out Jon is his son in any AU

The twins' first teething & baby bath times

Resonant (40):

Rhaegar POV of waking up in the Gates of the Moon in ch1

Rhaegar POV after ch5 when he learns that Jon's an actual hero

Rhaegar POV when Jon gave him the bracelet in ch7

Rhaegar POV after meeting Daemon in ch13

Rhaegar POV the following night after meeting Daemon in ch14

Rhaegar POV in ch31

Rhaegar POV in ch32

Ser Willam's POV/thoughts on anything at all

Daemon overhearing the twins talking about their other life

Watercooler discussion of Daemon's prodigy children

Yule/winter traditions, both southern and northern. Jon being exposed to the weird shit they do in the south, and introducing Daemon and Rhaegar to the plethora of traditions/skills cultivated in the north, even though he's definitely not from there, nope!

Rhaegar goes Christmas caroling. Alternatively, he finds a baby Daeron and/or Helaena and/or other children and sings 'The Song of the Seven' as a nursery rhyme. Alicent hears him and is overwhelmed by this beautiful pious boy sent by the Gods, in need of her motherly love.

Rhaenyra finds out Daemon named Rhaegar after her, awwwwww. (Daemon panics and asks Rhaegar to lie for him.)

Jon and Rhaegar having to fend off one of their father's braver stalkers. Alternatively, that comedic gold bit where an artist in the Red Keep is drawing romance novel covers of Daemon posing dramatically as he rips open his shirt atop a dragon... ravishing young ladies who giggle and clutch their expensive art to their chests.

Future(ish) conversation where Daemon has to explain the 🐦🐦🐦 and the 🐝🐝🐝 to his children, and possibly to Viserys' children for extra lolz.

Older!Jon getting cornered by a little lady who'd love to be the future Lady of Runestone, and Rhaegar being aghast at his amazing, brave, older, heroic, SAVED THE WORLD, brother's ineptitude when it comes to girls. (Extra bonus: Daemon is both amused and also aghast himself, this is clearly a dangerous situation.)

Jon walking into a wall the first time he sees Laena because she's just so pretty.

Adorable fluff in which Helaena has a crush on one of (or both of) the twins. Alternatively: betrothal discussions/thoughts by the adults!

AU where Daemon marries Laena and promptly has another set of twins for Jon and Rhaegar to coo over.

AU where Arthur Dayne's loyalty to Rhaegar is so intense he figures out a way to summerhall himself after the kid. Potentially shows up just in time to join the applicants for the Princesguard! Potentially annoys the shit out of Criston Cole!

AU where Jon is still Jon but Rhaegar is Rhaella, and they get to have a fun misunderstanding about marital expectations, i.e., Rhaella fully expects to marry Jon, Jon chokes on his drink at this information.

Jeyne's POV when she first learns WTF Rhea has apparently been up to and the shitstorm coming her way in the form of a pissed off royal family.

Jon, unable to resist his inner child, sneaks a puppy into Daemon's chambers. He and Rhaegar do their very best to keep the little guy hidden, and Daemon is SUSPICIOUS of their suspicious behavior.

Rhaegar and/or Jon (or both!) having a nightmare (or pretending to) and then pretending (for whatever reason) to need dad!hugs immediately, thus running to him in the middle of the night as teary-eyed, scared eight-year-olds. (Bonus points if they alarm whoever is on guard duty at the time.)

Arryk and/or Erryk getting to have a heroic moment wherein they save Jon and/or Rhaegar from a bad guy!

A highly-stressed Rhaegar has a hair-related disaster and starts crying (may or may not actually be related to the hair disaster) and Jon panics because his brother is crying and he is ALSO highly-stressed and starts crying (being eight and having no control over your emotions is rough), and their on-duty guard panics and sends for Daemon because THE PRINCES ARE CRYING.

That scene where Jon and Rhaegar are talking about Dany and Daemon assumes the worst and gets to be traumatized by his own imagination.

JON GETTING A CANDLE VISION. Of Lyanna dying because of him? Or of Rhaegar, only *his* universe's Rhaegar, the one who actually fathered him, telling him he's a disappointment? Of Catelyn, berating him? Of Ned, telling the other Stark children he loves them the most? Trauma! Trauma for you! Trama for them! Trauma for everyone!

"Somebody" "accidentally" sets the curtains in Daemon's rooms on fire.

Future!Jon and future!Rhaegar's first time flying on Shadow and Qelebrys.

Another scene where Jon and Rhaegar get to play with Jace and Luke. Maybe with the wooden ships Daemon got Jon? Maybe Jace/Luke/Joffrey get to come over for dinner after being stuck with their nurse for so long?

Outsider!POV of the royal court discovering the existence of the twins and the breathtaking Royce-Redfort treason.

POV of Rhaenyra and what she might be up to and/or POV of Rhaenys and what SHE'S currently up to.

Scene where Aegon sneaks out to go claim a dragon, Jon (and Rhaegar?) sees him and follows because, uh, kids should always follow other kids into danger rather than go tell an adult. It's the first rule of all kid!adventure movies.

Daemon finding out Rhaegar can play the harp REALLY FUCKING WELL.

Daemon and/or Rhaegar gifting Jon a white puppy.

Part two of the Ghost+snowstorm ficlet!

Alicent witnessing Jon being sweet to Helaena (maybe after Aegon and/or Aemond were being not-so-sweet to her for contrast) and making up her mind that Jon is just as good a boy as Rhaegar.

The twins starting a snowball fight with the other kids. Jon has an unfair advantage that only Rhaegar knows about.

Daemon’s reaction/thoughts of finding out they dyed Rhaegar’s hair when he was a baby.

Regnal AU (9):

Twins demonstrating fireproofness and Daemon being made heir

Jaehaerys meeting the twins and/or hatchlings

Vermithor & Silverwing meeting twins and/or hatchlings

Rhea confronts Jaehaerys and realizes that her husband is still very sweet and accommodating

Alysanne's encounter with the twins

Regnal!AU scene wherein someone stupid tries to kidnap the twins when they are still babies! (Potential heroic saviors: Daemon, Baelon, Rhea, Willam. I love them all but I'm partial to Rhea being kickass and murdering some monster who tried kidnapping her child, tbh.)

Alysanne sticks her foot in her mouth when meeting the babies by saying something like, "Pity the older one was born with his mother's hair," in front of Daemon and/or Baelon and/or Rhea.

The twins being presented to Jaehaerys at court or a scene after that where they're interacting with him on a more grandfatherly sort of level.

Saera trying to seduce Baelon when she visits Runestone on her "diplomatic" mission.

Reverberate AU (7):

The rest of the family meeting the twins when they're finally brought to KL

The twins get sick and Daemon is panicking

The twins and Damon get Rhea into a snowball fight and then they all warm up under a blanket together

The twins' POV after turning one

Rhea's POV/realization that her husband isn't the monster Otto described him to be and her surprise at how involved a father Daemon is.

After a few years, Rhea falls pregnant. She's excited to finally carry her own child after being resigned to never having kids of her body, but also super worried about being an older mom and that the maester will know this is her first pregnancy. Bonus points if they're twins as well!

A mountain of treasure arrives in Runestone. Rhea is shocked, and Daemon just shrugs, all "ah, it's my share from defeating the pirates and + Corlys' thanks."

Restoration AU (19):

Snowball fight

One of the Starklings stumbles across the twins' dragons

Daemon and his pokemon collection of Targaryen children/teens make war upon Robert Baratheon

Twins playing hide and seak with their new siblings in Winterfell

Maester Aemon meeting the twins and/or hatchlings

Rhaegar's POV on the events of the last chapter

POV Daemon I or POV Catelyn I

[Crack] What if Aemon+Baelon+Jaehaerys make a sudden appearance as well and see this shitty state of a future and also meet Daemon's sons and now son-grandson

Pre!time travel Restoration AU when they're in Winterfell with Cregan's family. Jon being wistful about Winterfell? Qelebrys and Shadow playing in the snow? Rhaegar falling head-over-heels with Cregan at first sight, as one does? Daemon becoming very alarmed when the Starks try to serve rhubarb pie at dinner? Boiling hot springs and weird-ass Targaryens who dive right in anyway? Cregan "introducing" snow-related winter games and Northern traditions to Jon who has to try very hard to pretend this is all brand new information for him?

Any time in Restoration AU or Winterfell where they get to watch the Northern lights.

First night after arriving, somehow all the Stark kids end up (minus maybe Rickon) sneaking in to meet their new brothers, including Sansa (she doesn't know how it happened either, but it's clearly Arya's fault).

Rhaegar beating Jon up with a sword on the training grounds (when all Ser Rodrick asked for was a demonstration to evaluate their skill level, sob) because his brother is a no good secret-keeping LYING LIAR FACE who is also apparently his SON and a LIAR and ARGH.

Tyrells scheming to make Margaery the future queen!

Velaryons being SO HAPPY to join up with Targaryens again, sob, they don't even need the dragon as incentive.

Daemon meeting Oberyn

Viserys' hubris getting him charbroiled and eaten by a dragon

Daemon kidnapping Maester Aemon from the Wall (his pokemon tendencies aren't restricted to children)

Anything with Old Nan. Ex: her giving vague, sage advice to Ned because she somehow knows that none of the boys are his bastards.

Daemon hearing about how Catelyn treated Jon in Winterfell and seething about it. Halfway on Caraxes to burn the Riverlands until the boys calm him down.

Reversal AU (3):

Rhaenyra braiding the girls' hair (finally girls in this realm of boys!)

Some funny scene with teenage Aegon/Aemond/fJon/fRhaegar and teenage hormones

Daemon's POV of finding out he has hidden twin daughters and/or his POV of when he rescues them/soon after he rescues them.

Rescue AU (1):

Just update it, Syn!

Veteran!Jon AU (7):

Vet!Jon wakes up in Volantis and books it for Westeros

Vet!Jon reads Viserys the riot act

Twins POV of Vet!Jon swooping in to save them

Stepstone soldier's POV of Vet!Jon swooping in with his baby brothers

Veteran!Jon AU Wedding: Jon & Laena get married

Veteran!Jon shows up in the Stepstone but his birth wasn't a secret and he was taken when he was a few months old. Daemon POV of his previously-thought-dead son appearing with his secret twins.

Vet!Jon utterly destroys Cole in a spar. Possibly snowballs are involved.

Twins-as-Aemon's-sons AU (9): (the twins are Aemon and Jocelyn's sons, and roughly the same age as Daemon)

Jocelyn being surprise!pregnant, Jocelyn and Alyssa being pregnant at the same time, Aemon and Baelon commiserating over Jocelyn and Alyssa being pregnant at the same time...

Corlys trying to impress his hopefully-future-wife's little brothers

Jon being proclaimed heir

Jon/Rhaegar/Daemon all playing together as little kids

Jon and Daemon dragging their brothers out to practice swords when all they want to do is sit around and read boring old books, ugh

A young Aemma arriving at the keep as a potential bride for Jon

The more depressing version where Jon and Rhaegar are born extra late and Jon becomes King at a very young age

Corlys having to win Rhaenys's hand from a reluctant Jaehaerys by discovering chocolate/cocoa

Variation where Resonant!Daemon wakes up when the twins are born, which is instead just before Aemon is due to die at Tarth. Him being the best older cousin, protecting them, warning (unheeded) that Volantis might be after them...

Dany (5):

Dany is born as their little sister in Regnal or Reverberate, reaction to another prophecy baby

Dany is a triplet with the twins in Resonant

Dany wakes up as Nettles

Restoration Daemon saving Dany from being sold

Restoration Daemon arrives a bit later and meets Dany in Essos and helps her with her unruly dragons, maybe some singing is involved!

#resonant winter prompts

155 notes · View notes

dumbkiri · 6 months ago

Text

𝕯𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖋 𝖄𝖔𝖚 3

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐚 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝐱 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Please follow part 3 of Helaena!! AI love the character so much and I find almost nothing of her, the reader and Balerion have me ecstatic too!! You make art! Thank you for your attention :(

Yes! Please have Rhaenys and [Name] kill Aemond in the next part! On my hands and knees begging! Save The Queen Who Never Was!!

I apologize for the dragon fighting. I watched S2EP4 like 5 million times to describe dragon fighting, but my brain no work with that. As stated before, I am NOT familiar with GOT or HOTD (watched in once years ago), this is all made on the fly for a dear reader. So I apologize if it's "stupid" or terrible writing. But I will continue to write this for others that enjoy this series. Thank you for following along on this new journey.

There's also a sneak peek to a Targaryen x Stark story in the future....Sansa deserves love too.

The crackling of fire and the ocean waves crashing at the bottom of the cliff filled his ears along with the breeze combing through his hair. And the voice from the fire, which he normally heard on occasion, had been quiet for a long time. Tonight had to be different because of the strong need to light a fire in the night.

Before Rhaegar died, the Lord of Light spoke to [Name] many times. Made the father devoted to his children because one of them was going to have a son powerful enough to defend the North from the long night. [Name] thought Rhaegar would have been the one to have that son.

Obviously, he misinterpreted the Lord of Light. The son could come from Viserys’ line or maybe [Name] would have to have more children with Helaena to secure the prophecy from the god. Still, the voices stopped after Rhaegar. He thought he must have failed the god, disappointed the deity because he did not protect Rhaegar. Or get revenge for his fallen son.

“I heard that you speak to the fire, uncle.”

[Name] lifted his head from the burning fire and saw Jacaerys making his way over to the edge of the cliff where he sat by his lonesome.

A chuckle slipped past [Name]’s lips and he swept his legs over the edge of the cliff. “I speak to the Lord of Light, nephew,” His response was quick and to the point. Some people like his brothers described [Name] and Helaena to be odd; one spoke to the fire and the other spoke in cryptic messages. Aegon would tease and say that they were a special couple. The word special did not come from the heart, but Aegon’s way of saying simple.

“I’m not sure I heard of that god before, it’s not any of the Old gods or even the Seven,” Jace pointed out expertly while taking his seat, the same way his uncle did, the small fire between them.

“You’re right,” [Name] looked out towards the sea, the moonlight casting a blue hue onto the calm water, “I only experienced his existence in Essos when a Red Priest spoke to me with her alluring tongue.”

Jace snapped his head at [Name] and asked daringly, “Alluring? Did she get you in bed with her too?”

“What?” [Name] leaned back in offense then looked over at his family member, “I’m hopelessly obsessed with Helaena, Jace. I’m devoted to her and her body, no one else can satisfy me, not that I would want them too.” The man turned to the fire when a stick broke in half. Lead Jace into the fire, let him see. [Name] felt a strong pull at his chest and his eyes drew over to his nephew when he spoke up.

“So a red woman showed you her god and now you serve him?”

“That’s not how I started serving him,” [Name] admitted quietly, thinking back to the night of his commitment. The vision he saw in the fire, the voices he heard all convinced him to serve the red god. “She found me tending to Balerion’s teeth after a battle with some assassins. I don’t like the smell of burning bodies, especially ones that linger between his molars.”

As [Name] told his story, the fire subtly grew hotter between the males.

…

“Open wide, Balerion,” [Name] walked in front of his grumpy dragon with a bucket of sea water and a shirt from one of the dead men on the beach. Balerion huffed into [Name]’s face and turned away from the human with a disinterested groan.

Reeling back in disgust from the smell, [Name] covered his nose with his forearm and pointed at his dragon with his free hand. Voice muffled, but loud, [Name] shouted, “Where are your manners? I’m doing a nice thing for Dreamfyre and myself! No living thing wants to smell your tarnished breath!”

[Name] set the pale down and approached his dragon with a tired look on his face. He was warned about traveling to Essos for pleasure, but he wanted to get out of the castle. He wanted to stop hearing schemes and breathe for once. The air he caught flying was enough to fill his lungs and cleanse them.

Yet one last stop on the beach almost got him killed.

“Your dragon is very beautiful.” A woman’s voice startled the dragon and the rider, both snapping their heads to see the new person on the beach. She wore a red dress with her long dark hair cascading down the front of her chest. She held no weapon to his knowledge and her hands were placed in front of her.

Balerion’s throat clicked in unease and he lifted his head off the sand, some grains falling onto [Name]’s defensive stance.

“Give me one good reason why I should command my dragon not to burn you like I did the rest?” [Name] asked, his bloody hand gripping onto the handle of his sword. Skeptical of the woman, he didn’t let his guard down. If she was the one that sent the assassins, he would drag her by the hair and drown her in the sea.

The woman in red smirked and answered, “I am not your enemy, Prince [Name]. I came here to help you realize your potential in the upcoming war between your families. You are to be a formidable ally, one that can bring balance.”

[Name] scrutinized her and gently commanded Balerion to stand down. His beast chuffed and set his head down back onto the sand. Then [Name] looked at the bucket of water, dunking the shirt into it.

In his crouched position, [Name] began his interrogation, “Upcoming war between my families? There is no war, my lady. What are you insinuating?”

He noticed she was staring at his sad campfire and she asked quietly, “Your fire has dwindled, might I rekindle it?”

“I asked you a question,” [Name] stood up and wringed the shirt of excess water, “answer it.”

The red woman nodded her head and approached his campfire, she messed with the stick and dry grass, explaining, “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, my prince, but your father has passed away. With his dying breath, he told your mother that he wanted Aegon to inherit the throne. She-”

“Aegon?” [Name] scoffed and his face scrunched up in confusion, “That’s not right at all. My father has always wanted my sister to have the throne, for many years he’s always been adamant that Rhaenyra succeed him. Even if he suddenly changed his mind, why would it be Aegon and not me, the oldest, to inherit it?”

The campfire burst into flames and [Name] looked at the woman who conjured up fire with only her hands. She looked into the fire and said, “Your mother believes otherwise, insisting that your father spoke Aegon’s name. The Hightowers have usurped the throne and war will follow in the days to come.”

[Name] rested his hand on the upper lip of Balerion and paused for a second. Aemond was going to be crowned King, taking the throne away from their father’s true successor Rhaenyra. His mother, Alicent, couldn’t be this dull to really believe he said that on his deathbed. Even when he and his brother were born, Viserys never named either of them heir.

“My prince, please join me by the fire, I have something to show you,” The red woman’s voice spoke smoothly and [Name] blinked his eyes to focus back onto the beach. As if he was entranced by the color of the fire and the warmth from Balerion, [Name] removed his hand from the dragon.

He walked over to the woman and Balerion groaned in protest, watching his rider carefully. The beast didn’t trust the red woman yet and it showed when he bared his teeth as the woman reached for his rider. She moved her hands back and smiled at the dragon letting the beast know she won’t lay a finger on his rider.

“Look into the fire and tell me what you see.”

[Name] kneeled down on one knee and did as he was told. He felt completely different from the fire. He saw images of a long winter, a sword of fire, a white dragon that breathed blue fire and a boy from his line in the future. Then he saw people made of ice with blue eyes, a marriage with a Stark girl, and the long night that engulfed the north.

“Do you see now, my prince,” The red woman whispered in his ear, “you must return home and protect your family at all costs. Protect them so that the Dragon in the North can be born. Without him, the Prince That Was Promised will fall.”

…..

“A Prince That Was Promised, huh,” Jace huffed in question and playfully joked, “If a woman like her whispered in my ears like that, I would follow her god too.”

[Name] laughed and patted his sword next to the campfire and finished off with, “Then she blessed my sword with his power too. But I believe he wants you to see something as well. Look into the fire, nephew.”

Jace awkwardly laughed and shifted on the balls of his palms, “I think I’m alright, uncle.”

“Are you afraid?” [Name] furrowed an eyebrow and smirked, “Don’t tell me the heir to the throne is afraid of a vision in the fire. I suspected my nephew to be braver than that.”

“Fine,” Jace grumbled and looked into the fire, seeing small embers fly into the dark sky. The seventeen year old only wanted to amuse his half-uncle by doing what he wanted him to do. He had no real incentive to do it, but he was curious to see if the red god was real or if his uncle really was crazy.

The fire reflected in Jace’s eyes and [Name] saw the twists and snaps in the reflection. Jace’s lips parted open to speak what he saw in the fire, shocked to see the vision come to life in the flames.

“I see the North, there is an alliance to be made and an oath to keep.”

[Name] hummed in thought while Jace blinked his eyes trying to peer more into the flames.

“And I see-”

A huge gust of wind blew the fire out as Balerion roared past the men, Dreamfyre tailing her mate close by with a replying call. Jace ducked down immediately while [Name] laughed at the cowering position of his nephew. He fixed his clothing and his hair from the flyby, still laughing at the glare he received from Jace.

“Apologies,” [Name] cleared his throat and picked himself up from the floor, reaching a hand out to the teenager. “Balerion likes to announce his arrival, I’m sure he didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You saw him, didn’t you?” Jace asked, taking the offered hand and stood up with the help of it.

“From miles away,” [Name] answered, a grin on his face.

Jace wiped his clothes off and sighed, “A warning won’t hurt next time.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” [Name] chuckled and followed after his fuming nephew with lighthearted apologies.

Jace was soft of grateful to have his half-uncle at Dragonstone for many reasons. He looked up to [Name] when they were younger and admired Balerion from afar, too scared to ever approach the dragon. But [Name] tried to help Jace get over his fear of the Dread.

[Name] never questioned his or Luke’s legitimacy either, claiming that his twin and younger brother were green monsters. That Aemond envied their claim to the throne.

[Name] was a role model, perfect son of Viserys the Peaceful. The calm and deadly rider of Balerion. Nothing was truly bad about him.

“He’s a cunt.”

“You shouldn’t speak that way about him, our greatest ally,” Rhaenyra scolded Daemon, the council members having a small meeting about their newest arrival to Dragonstone. While the Hightower-Targaryens found sleep, the meeting concluded with the Targaryen family.

“He didn’t even demand my head or retribution for the death of his son,” Daemon growled out.

Rhaenys shook her head and made eye contact with the ill-tempered man, “No, he barely acknowledged your name. He thinks differently of the whole situation.”

“How so?” Corlys was also dumbfounded by [Name]’s sudden alliance with Rhaenyra. He also found it odd that [Name] didn’t want Daemon to suffer any consequences.

“[Name] puts the blame on his mother and her sworn protector Cole for the death of Rhaegar. He sees Daemon’s order as revenge for Aemond killing Lucerys and-” Rhaneys faltered trying to find the right words to describe [Name]’s motive for all of this, “he believes Rhaegar’s death to be collateral. You weren’t after [Name]’s son, were you?”

Daemon looked around the table and shook his head, “No. Not Rhaegar.”

“So you just proved him right,” Rhaenys continued on, “killing you or demanding any punishment from you will not bring him his son back. He’s learned that from you trying to avenge Lucerys. And he knows deep down that Rhaenyra is the rightful queen. He of all people should know that because he supported Rhaenyra’s claim along with Viserys.”

Jace nodded his head and vouched for his half-uncle, “[Name] has no desire for the crown even grandfather knew that. He never snickered behind my back or saw himself above me, never dished out the word ‘bastard’ like his brothers did.”

“He should hate me,” Daemon spat, “I killed his son!”

Everyone looked at Daemon with wide eyes from his outburst and Rhaenyra breathed out of her nose. She knew what ate away at her husband.

“Daemon, we know you feel guilty over the death of Rhaegar. Maybe this is [Name]’s punishment for you, to receive no punishment or consequences. To let you live on with innocent blood on your hands, to let you think of what you’ve done.”

Daemon looked up at his wife and glowered at her, “If I had Balerion, I would have melted this castle down to its bones, burning every person alive in here.”

Rhaneys straightened out her back and calmly replied, “Luckily [Name] knows how to use his authority on his dragon.”

Jace watched the back of [Name]’s head as he slowed down his pace to the castle. He didn’t know why, but Jace wanted to.

“[Name], I’m sorry about your loss. I-I know how it feels to lose someone, not a child, but a brother.”

Jace saw [Name] stop in his path and the young man turned around with a blank expression on his face. Perhaps Jace should have not said anything regarding Rhaegar, but [Name] spoke up with a soft voice.

“Aegon wanted me to burn you all and Otto wanted to put the blame on Rhaenyra having the people dub her as ‘The Cruel’. But I know my sister, your mother, she’s just like our father with a bit more spirit in her soul. I could never burn the true successor to the throne and if I have to make my family bend the knee with the power of Balerion, I will.”

[Name] looked up at the dark blue sky and said, “Rhaegar’s death opened my eyes and I’ve ignored the warnings from the red god. This time I will do anything for my family. Now come on, we can grieve together in the solitude of the castle walls.”

……

The next day, [Name] saw Rhaenyra’s dragon from afar, returning from her sudden trip to who knows where. Balerion noticed the golden dragon in the bright sun and called out in greeting to which Syrax replied with a screech of her own. Smiling softly at the interaction, [Name] commanded Balerion to do one last circle around his area.

Rhaenyra watched in awe as she rode her dragon, seeing the Dread patrolling the skies in all his dark imagery. Larger than any dragon she has ever seen, she was hopeful that Balerion and [Name] were on her side. Especially after the conversation with his mother.

She wanted [Name] to join in on the council meeting to discuss what was spoken too. To see if he had any advice of what his family could plan against her. So she urged Syrax to call for Balerion knowing that [Name] would catch on to the call.

The golden dragon moved her head side to side and let out a high pitched bellow to signal the black dragon to come back.

When [Name] heard Syrax’s call, he sighed and commanded Balerion to land on the beach where the black dragon made his nest. Swiftly, he took his black helmet off and began climbing down the ropes tied to his mount. Balerion grumbled then rested his head on the sand with a huff.

“Get some rest, Balerion,” [Name] took his gloves off next and placed his helmet next to his dragon, “we have tomorrow’s patrol as well.”

As if responding to his rider, Balerion's chest rumbled in agreement, the dragon closing his eyes for that much needed rest. Although, the black dragon did want to go on a hunt with his rider.

[Name] watched Syrax fly into the cave and he started making his long trek up to the castle. One of the cons of having a large dragon, you have to walk everywhere because it cannot sleep in a cave with other dragons. When [Name] was halfway to the castle, he saw a familiar red dragon fly out of the cave.

“Princess Rhaenys?” [Name] mumbled then hurried up the steps to see what was wrong.

When he made his way up to the council meeting, he spotted Rhaenyra looking pale and solemn. Helaena was by her side nodding to the words Rhaenyra spoke to her. Fearing that Rhaenyra was asking Helaena to fly out on Dreamfyre he interrupted the queen.

“Your Grace,” [Name] huffed and briskly made his way over to his wife. He set a hand on Helaena’s shoulder and said, “Send me, you promised me that Helaena wouldn’t have to fly Dreamfyre.”

Rhaenyra moved her eyes to [Name] and shook her head, “I was only giving Helaena some comfort, brother. Rhaenys is flying out to Rook’s Rest to provide backup to Lord Stuanton. There’s a possibility of her encountering Vhagar which is why you need to fly out with her. Now.” No time for goodbyes when Rhaneys was already flying out there.

[Name] looked down at Helaena and her eyes glistened with a teary goodbye.

“At once, Your Grace,” [Name] bowed his head at Rhaenyra and planted a quick kiss at the crown of Helaena’s head. Then he turned around demanding someone to give him a horse so he could ride out to Balerion.

Helaena watched her husband disappear out of sight and she looked up at Rhaenyra, “I know he’ll come back, but…the cost of Rook’s Rest would be far too great. It’s never a good thing to fight amongst blood.”

Rhaenyra looked away from the entrance and sighed. Helaena was right, odd as she may be.

……

[Name] had Balerion glide right above the sea water, knowing that if he had his dragon fly any higher than that, they would be spotted quickly. His heart raced in his chest and [Name] prepared his mind to fight his brother, Aemond. His biggest foe and greatest enemy now.

Aegon would never be on the battlefield just like Rhaenyra cause both parties were too important to be sent to battle. So he willed Balerion to fly faster to help Rhaenys against the green monstrosity that would soon come to Rook Rest.

Upon seeing the cliff Rook’s Rest was planted on, [Name] saw Meleys fighting a very family light pink and golden dragon. Eyes wide in surprise [Name] urged Balerion to fly faster seeing the blood of Sunfyre rain down on the earth.

“Aderī, Balerion,” [Name] shouted and the dragon grumbled in response. Then when they approached the cliff [Name] commanded Balerion to fly upwards parallel to the mountainside. The Lord of Rook’s Rest and his men felt a huge gust of wind blow them forward and turned around to see a giant dark beast rise into the sky with a thunderous roar. (qᵘⁱᶜᵏˡʸ)

High in the sky, [Name] spotted Vhagar flying her way towards the engaged Meleys and Sunfyre. “Naejot, Balerion,” The dragon rider growled in frustration seeing the highly focused gaze on Aemond’s face. (ᶠᵒʳʷᵃʳᵈ)

Meanwhile, Aegon held onto his mount hearing the painful cries leave Sunfyre’s throat. His ears shattered upon the noise that brought him sorrow. His mind racing a mile and his heart about to burst from his chest. That was until he heard the greatest roar in history rumble in the sky. His head snapped to the left and he saw Vhagar flying over to him with a determined Aemond on her back.

“Thank the gods!” Aemond cried in relief, but that relief was washed away. The look on Aemond’s face, it wasn’t a look of help, but a demand for blood and death.

“Dracarys!” Aemond shouted, the command Vhagar didn’t hesitate to defy.

Rhaenys and Aegon looked at the impending doom, both bracing themselves for the fire building up in the back of Vhagar’s throat as their dragons fought amongst each other.

Yet a desperate and willful demand shouted above Vhagar’s gurgling throat, “angōs, Balerion!” The black dread opened his mouth wide, snapping hard onto Vhagar’s flappy throat disrupting the line of fire. Vhagar roared out in pain while Aemond held tighter onto his mount, glaring at his brother who commanded Balerion to fly higher into the sky with Vhagar in his clutches.

But they were already too close to the earth for the command to have any merit, so he watched.

[Name] held onto his mount and watched Balerion hold onto Vhagar’s throat, squeezing tighter and tighter. Both large dragons took the show away from the smaller ones and [Name] couldn’t afford to look at Rhaenys when their biggest threat was in his grasp.

Before Balerion could sustain any injuries from Vhagar’s talons, [Name] ordered his dragon to back away. Not wanting to spoil his attack, Balerion swished his head tearing into Vhagar’s throat a bit more then kicked the green dragon to the earth. Balerion spread his wings wide parallel to the ground and glided over the burning men and fallen dragon with a victory cry, his tail smacking into some men running away.

The Black Dread took to the skies and [Name] turned around to see Sunfyre succumb to his injuries from Meleys. The golden dragon cried out with a high pitched screech before hitting the forest ground in silence and a puff of fire. [Name] cringed and turned away from the tragic scene. This was all happening too fast, Balerion had years of battle experience, but he didn’t. Neither did Aegon or Sunfyre.

Aegon couldn’t have survived that fall, he thought. It wasn’t possible. While distracted, an attack from Vhagar happened upon Balerion who roared out waking up [Name] from his stupor. He looked to his left and saw a small chunk of Balerion’s right shoulder blade in Vhagar’s mouth.

Quickly he held onto his reins with one hand and the other pulled Hellfire from its sheath. [Name] with strong legs, stood on his mount and began slicing at Vhagar’s saggy skin. The flames ate away at her flesh wounds.

“Damn traitor!”

[Name] ignored Aemond’s angered yell at him, for he was too focused trying to get Balerion help.

“I’ll kill you right here! And force Helaena back home, to fight with her true family!”

Hellfire burned brighter and [Name] stabbed Vhagar in her puffy cheek. Then he dragged his sword downwards to his mount forcing Vhagar to release Balerion because this fiery pain in her mouth was too much to bear.

Vhagar bellowed into the ash covered sky and [Name] demanded that Balerion dive down to escape from Vhagar’s talons. With a tactical retreat, Balerion flew away just in time for Rhaenys to strike a critical blow onto Vhagar.

Meleys attacked from behind and tore at Vhagar’s left wing causing the green dragon to breathe out fire into the sky. The Queen Who Never Was ended Aegon and Sunfyre, and now [Name] needed to pull his weight and end Vhagar.

[Name]’s heartbeat echoed in his head and he pulled Balerion back into the fight. If Aemond didn’t bring up Helaena in the fight, he would have left Rhaenys to claim the victory of killing Vhagar.

But Aemond was his now. Brother or not, you do not threaten his wife. Rhaenys saw the Black Dread making his way over with strong beats of his large wings. That look on [Name]’s face said everything she needed to know and she had Meleys release Vhagar, flying high into the sky to see the end of the Green’s Dragons at Rook’s Rest.

“Dracarys!”

His commanding voice sent shivers down Rhaenys’ spine and for the first time, she actually witnessed black fire shooting out of Balerion’s throat. Even at the safe distance she was at, the heat from it was too much.

Vhagar gave out a defeated bellow falling into the sea like a black fireball. A huge splash resounded in their ears and Rhaneys landed Meleys on top of Rook’s Rest looking down at the burning battlefield. Lord Staunton looked up at the princess and carefully asked, “Is it over?”

Rhaenys breathed in and out watching the aftermath of four dragons fighting. She and [Name] just ended the war in one battle. Balerion and Meleys, injured yet fearlessly fighting with their riders, ended the lives of two dragons. Suddenly Balerion landed on the burning field and roared at the usurper’s men.

One by one, men started surrendering with their weapons falling from their hands. Green banners left to be stomped on and she could hear some men whimper at the sight of the victorious dragons.

“Yes, Lord Staunton,” Rhaneys breathed out, “It is over.” Her eyes dragged over and saw a paranoid [Name] on his mount. She unhooked herself from her mount and Meleys moved a wing down to Balerion's back.

Meanwhile [Name] tried to catch his breath, but his chest felt like it could explode. His grip on Hellfire loosened and he pounded at his heart with an ache. His throat closed up and his vision got blurry.

“[Name], relax!”

The adult male blinked the tears away and saw a clear vision of Rhaenys holding onto his shoulders. She must have jumped onto Balerion from Meleys with great expertise.

“You need to calm down, breathe.”

She softly demanded, her face covered in ash morphed into worry as he said, “My own brothers, I killed them. My own blood.”

Rhaenys’ eyes softened at his turmoil. “Aemond, you saw him,” She tried to reason with him, “he would have burned Aegon were it not for you. You stopped Aemond and his tyranny, no one would blame you for doing that. And I killed Aegon, not you. You’d be wise to remember that you fight for Rhaenyra’s claim, you support the rightful heir. No one is going to call you a kinslayer.”

[Name] sucked in a deep breath and his shoulder slug forward in defeat despite winning a great battle for Rhaenyra. This happened all too fast and ended so quickly. Nothing was going to make him feel better right now.

“Princess Rhaenys and Prince [Name]!”

A voice shouted from the castle, it was Lord Staunton.

“The Hightowers have fled with their remaining men and there is no sight of Aegon, but his dragon has succumbed to its wounds. Shouldn’t we chase them down on dragonback and horses?”

Rhaenys looked back at the male adult in her arms and shouted back, “No! For now, we take this win and wait for Queen Rhaenyra’s orders on what to do next. Prepare Prince [Name] a hot bath and a meal. He fought well against his usurper brothers, it’s what you must do for him. And send a raven to Queen Rhaenyra. We have news to tell her.”

News, [Name] thought. She didn't describe it as good news for the Queen. His brothers deaths were definitely good news for the blacks. Although for him, it was just news.

...........................................................

MUSIC THAT INSPIRED THIS CHAPTER

There Will Be No Mercy - Ramin Djawadi

Rook's Rest, Pt 2 - Ramin Djawadi

The Red Woman - Ramin Djawadi

#x reader #hotd x male reader #hotd x reader #hotd season 2 #hotd #helaena x male reader #x male reader #helaena x reader #helaena the dreamer #helaena targaryen

186 notes · View notes

lunarmoonanons · 2 months ago

Text

The Garden of Lilies

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

Tyrell Reader spends the day with her lilies. And they learn so terrible truths about their mother's situation.

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

Masterlist

The Queen never mentioned how young she was when she was taken to bride to her children. Her younger children always had imagined their mother being the same age as she was now forever. Her older children logically knew she was not 24 when she had them, but they never thought about how young she really was. YN lamented to herself about how young she was, she had just turned fifteen when Maegor had taken her. Her nameday was in early spring, just as winter had melted back. In the eyes of many she was still a child. Maegor was in his twenties, a full man before a trembling child. A child who cried and pushed out three babies before she was ready to.

Yet, she never hated her children. Her mother told her, when she was ten, that even if she could love her future husband her children would be the few joys she would have in her life. YN hated that her oldest looked like Maegor, but his nature reflected a gentle strength. Aegon ii loved his mother and loved his siblings. Finding strength in his family. Maegor ii looked the most like his grandmother, he also had her prowess for the blade as well as his love for his brothers and sisters.

But Visenya ii, she was her father’s joy. If Aegon ii was Maegor’s pride, she was his joy. She was loud and brash, wearing dresses and pants. She trained with her brothers, as was her grandmother’s wish. She loved her mother and father, being spoiled by him and loved by her. Many were mistaken in believing that Maegor only loved his sons. If there was one child he would go on record as having said he loved, it would be Visenya ii.

Today was a special day, though there were no celebrations, no holidays, no namedays, nothing. Simply it was a day YN could spend with her children without the pressure of the court, the eyes of his other brides, or the weight of Maegor. The day just belonged to the quiet queen and her nine children. Starting off with her oldest children sneaking their younger siblings into her rooms and waking her up by jumping on her bed. Though it did startle her, YN smiled and laughed at the sight of her younger daughters and sons laughing at her surprised face.

Later, YN was back in the gardens. Though she did not love the strolls as she used to, she knew it would be good to spend some time outside with the other flowers in the garden. Daela sat in her lap as the woman sat under a canopy, her other children were laid variously around her. Aegon ii stood and practiced swinging his sword with his sister Visenya ii, Maegor ii sat on the floor with Baela and Rhaenys, Laenyx was being coddled by Rhaegar as the older boy spoke to his twin Malor. Aegon ii looked at his mother and furrowed his brow for a moment. His distraction cost him as Visenya ii caught him on his arm.

“Ow” Aegon ii exclaimed and grabbed his upper left arm.

“You should pay attention when you hold a blade or worse will happen.” Visenya ii scolded.

“I was thinking.” He gritted out and looked at his mother again.

“What about?” Maegor ii asked, pulling Rhaenys into his lap.

“Mama.” The oldest boy spoke, catching his mother’s attention.

“Yes, my lily?” The woman responded and smiled at him.

“How old are you?” He asked and lowered his sword.

The queen laughed breathlessly and smoothed Daela’s hair. “What an unusual question from you? I just turned twenty four, this early spring.”

That made Aegon ii frown and grip his sword tight. He did the math in his head and stretched his lips to a thin line. “But I’m nine! That means you would have had me at fifteen!”

“Well yes, I suppose it does mean that.” YN said quietly and kissed Daela’s head. “What are you asking me?”

“Mama. You were a child. Why did you agree to marry so young?” Aegon ii asked. His words made his sister Visenya ii lower her sword and step toward her brother.

“It’s complicated.” YN said. She never told her children how she became their father’s wife. How he murdered her aunt, stole her from her family before she could make it home, took her maidenhead harshly and forced her to give birth so young. Her father had promised her that she wouldn’t have to marry until she was at the least eighteen. She never told her children because it was not their burden to bear.

“It’s not complicated. It’s simple. You said you wouldn’t make any of us marry until we were eighteen. And yet you married as a child!” Aegon ii grew frustrated.

“Aegon. Let it go.” Visenya ii scolded, noticing their mother’s growing distress.

“No. It’s not right, why did she choose to marry father when she was so young and he was already an adult.” Aegon ii said in frustration.

“Let it go, Aegon.” YN said, looking down.

“But mama-”

“It’s not like I had a choice in the matter…” YN whispered. Then looking up in a hurry at what she said. Realizing her children could hear her.

Her older children all looked at her in shock. They never considered the possibility that she was an unwilling victim. Yes she was emotionally and mentally abused now, but they never thought that she was forced like his other brides. That she was a victim from the very beginning. Maegor ii held his younger sister, who didn’t pay any attention, close to his chest. Visenya ii dropped her sword and covered her mouth, and Aegon ii furrowed his brow even harder.

“So he forced you? He forced a child-” Aegon ii started.

“Change the subject.” YN interrupted.

“But-”

“Now. Talk about something else.” YN said matter of factly.

Though that did not satisfy her son, he nonetheless complied. The conversation led to something lighter. Making the woman relax. Though her words stuck to the back of her older children's minds. The day continued on, as they spent time together. They did not know where Maegor was, but if he was gone for this long while it couldn’t have been good. As they walked threw the Keep, YN started to grow more tense. Culminating in her stopping in the great hall, with Maegor stomping threw in a rage.

“She’s gone! Her and two of her brats!” Maegor screamed, he then locked eyes with her startled wife and made his way to her. “You. Did you know about this?! Where did she go?!” He stood in front of her, grabbing her wrist harshly bruising the flesh. YN said nothing as her eyes grew wide and her voice died in her throat.

“Leave her alone!” Aegon ii said, pushing his father back feebly.

Maegor simply scoffed and pushed his son away. He looked ready to strike the woman in front of him. Even with the child she held in one arm. He looked furious. But knew he would not get anything from his wife. Even if she did know anything, she was too frightened and too small to say anything. He let go and roughly pushed past her. YN let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and kissed her daughter’s head quickly.

“That’s enough for today. You should not make your father more angry than he is already. Go to your rooms.” YN said and ushered her children away.

~~~

Later, in the dark of the night, Aegon ii called Maegor ii, Visenya ii, Malor and Rhaegar to his rooms. They knew they had to do something. This abuse could not go on longer. Not only was their father hurting their mother, but he was probably sexually abusing her right now. They had to do something.

“He’s taken Viserys. Queen Alyssa left him, and now father’s going to torture him.” Malor said.

“He’s a monster.” Rhaegar whispered. “You saw how close he was to striking mother. He didn’t even care that Daela was in her arms.”

“But what are you saying? He’s a grown man. We’re children.” Maegor ii said.

“We can’t let this go on. He’s already hurting her, and now we know he’s been hurting her since she was a child. He doesn’t care about anyone else in this family.” Visenya ii spoke. She rubbed her hands and looked to her older triplet.

“There’s only one thing we can do.” Aegon ii said, turning from his window to look at his siblings.

“WE have to kill father.”

@gulnarsultan

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #yandere targaryens #maegor the cruel #yandere maegor #maegor x reader #tyrell reader

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visenyaism · 29 days ago

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my great bastard oc is larra bracken, daughter to bethany bracken (named for 4egon's mom bc barba thought she knew aegon well enough that he missed his mom and she talked her sister into naming her girl to please him and stand out in his eyes). larra has black hair and black eyes like her mom but bc of what happened with bethany and terrence toyne, there's rumors that she's not actually aegon's daughter. after her mom's execution, she's sent back to the brackens and barba raises her bc she feels guilty about what happened to her sister. she's raised together w. aegor and follows him around like a duckling for most of her life. she's bought to king's landing with aegor and grows up w. the great bastards. she despises her mom for giving up what she thinks is a pretty cushy life as aegon's mistress and leaving her w. her parentage questioned even as a bastard. the fact that barba and the brackens are aegon apologists means that these feelings are exacerbated and she longs for 4egon to claim her. aegor tries to get her to hang out w. shiera so he can get a bonus w. her but shiera is too slay for larra to get 😔. thinks she's a weirdo witch. has a gigantic cringy crush on daemon b, partly bc he's the only person in their sibling circle not involved in the shiera-brynden-aegor circle, and partly bc he is aegon's fav so she thinks getting w. him would make her dad like and acknowledge her. low-key like cersei's feelings towards rhaegar is her and daemon's vibe. keeps trying to hang out w. him and win him over and daemon is too busy crushing on daenerys 1 and she's very forgettable to him. aegor's like what do you think about my little cousin and daemon's like you have a cousin??? since when 🧐. seduces daemon when he's drunk and moping at maron martell and dany 1's wedding. gets pregnant. daemon b is very honorable and offers to marry her. girlie has all her teenage dreams come true for a glorious second and then 4egon says get fucked. need daemon to marry a tyroshi noble so i can have a way to invade dorne. names her baby aemon out of pure spite. remains unmarried when the blackfyre rebellion starts bc aegor keeps telling her to wait it out for rohanne of tyrosh to die in childbirth or something and then she can marry daemon (aegor is a huge fan of unrealistic expectations as seen from his own love life and his 50000 rebellions). daemon dies in redgrass field before rohanne and all her hopes die w. him. causes a rebellion inside the blackfyre rebellion after his death bc aegor is straight up like fuck daemon ii (🏳️‍🌈❌), let's get my practically sister's kid w. daemon to be his heir instead. he's more targ anyway and i trained him soooo. she dies after her son dies bc of that blackfyre rebellion and i see bloodraven executing her (timeline uncertain here. maybe aenys i reign? plus it would give bittersteel another reason to hate bloodraven: he killed his 2 fav siblings). i kind of think of her as a cautionary tale bc she spent most of her life so determined not to be her mom, to wait out in a perilous relationship (like she believed her mom should have done w. 4egon) instead of seizing love. but at the end of the day, bethany bracken died choosing to experience love and larra never gets that. she dies without hope of experiencing that bc she placed all her hopes on daemon instead of trying to find a person she could've loved and unlike her mom she could've survived if she'd chosen love. i see her as one of the only people aegor is nice to other than shiera and daemon in their teens and they have a pretty sweet sibling relationship. they also bond over their cringefail crushes. he's pretty devastated over her and her kid's death and there's nothing left for him other than killing bloodraven bc everyone he loved is gone bc of bloodraven.

What a LIFE Larra lived I love her canon accurate “brackens can’t accomplish anything and have sprawling and miserable lives” lore. Bloodraven ruining everything for fun is such a constant.

#asoiaf #great bastard ocs

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aelenavelaryon · 10 months ago

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THE GREENS NIGHTMARE

IN WHICH AERA TARGARYEN IN THE KARMA OF TEAM GREEN

Daemon Targaryen x Aera Targaryen

Aera Targaryen was a woman to fear. She was Visenya and Maegor come again. When the war between Rhaenyra and Aegon began, the realm divided into two. The Blacks for Rhaenyra and the Greens for Aegon. Aera Targaryen was a distant relative yet she had been close to Rhaenyra growing up. Once, long ago Aera had been Daemon'a love and once the love of his life. Some would even argue that she was still the love of his life, even when the two were still married.

Aera Targaryen gave Daemon Targaryen four children in their first few years of marriage. Maegor, Baelon, Aemon, and Rhaegar Targaryen. Otto Hightower deemed them bastards because Aera was daughter of Saera Targaryen and Maegor Targaryen, son of Maegor and Rhaena Targaryen. Aera didn't want to return to King's Landing where she was not welcomed. Viserys always allowed Otto to fill his head with lies about her and what she was capable of. Daemon, whilst being married to Rhaenyra, which was a favor that Area had granted her. Daemon did not see her as more than another family member. Daemon and Aera still had their own late night adventures when she would come visit, seeing as she spent most of her time in Pentos with her mother's family.

But, from time to time she visited Rhaenyra and Daemon in Dragonstone. Daemon's sons were men grown. Some in their twenties. Not married but with bastard children of their own. Daemon and Aera shared three other children together who were born over the years. He had taken not only Aera as his wife but Rhaenyra too. Area who he had been married to since she was ten and five and he twenty and five. Daemon Targaryen loved his wife, despite what many believed. Aera much to anyone's dismay was a free spirit, bringing not only men into her bed but women too. Alexander Rivers was a bastard son she had with Harwin Strong alongside him, his twin, Alys Rivers who many believed was the daughter of Lyonel but everyone at court knew who were the parents. Alys Rivers would be a important peace for Rhaenyra during the dance.

The Hightowers thought them gone, thinking they would never step a foot in Westeros. But, as soon as Rhaenyra sent a raven to inform her cousin of the news, Aera flew on dragon back to support her girl. The news of Lucerys' death reached her before she made it to Dragonstone, and soon after, the news of Aegon's celebration for his death reached her as well and that was truly what started the fire.

Instead of keeping route to Dragonstone like she promised, Aera flew to Old Town and set the Hightower's home ablaze for Lucerys's death and celebration of his death. She then, rode to King's Landing where the usurper thought he was coming to bend the knee. Otto nor his spies knew she knew, until from the skies she dropped the heads of every Hightower she killed, Gwayne Hightower being one of the dead. It was said that Alicent Hightower cried, screams were heard all over the Keep as the doweger queen wept over her dead family. They knew then that Aera Targaryen was the blood of the dragon. She was coming for Rhaenyra*s stolen throne.

'she loves Rhaenyra. Did you truly think she was coming to bend the knew?' Alicent asked Aegon. Otto sat in silence saying nothing. Daeron Targaryen had return to King's Landing the same day he received the letter of his father's death. Daeron was smarter than anyone gave him credit for. He knew, Aera was the real threat, not Rhaenyra, not Daemon but Aera Targaryen was a wild dragon. He knew she was not scared to be known as a kinslayer, specially when it came to him and his siblings. But, he didn't know how far she was willing to go.

Her arrival at Dragonstone was expected, her children had arrived the day before expecting to see their mother back with their father. Aera Targaryen arrived and everyone gathered out to greet her. She was covered in blood, they thought she had been attack or something of that mattered. "Mother!" her eldest son ran to her. "I am fine" she told. "I did something bad" she began. Rhaenyra cared very little for what she had to say at that moment. They retuned back inside the castle, everyone who sided with Rhaenyra was there, well, most of them.

"I burned those Hightower's to the ground" she said loud enough for everyone to hear. The room went quiet right after that. The war had just begun. Which side will prevail?

#daemon targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #Rhaenyra targaryen #jacaerys velaryon #house targaryen #team black #rhaenys targaryen #baela targaryen #corlys velaryon #rhaena targaryen #daemon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #harwin strong x reader #house of the dragon x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #game of thrones x reader #alicent hightower x reader

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daenerystargaryen06 · 1 year ago

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"How beautiful, the queen tried to tell herself, but inside her was some foolish little girl who could not help but look about for Daario. If he loved you, he would come and carry you off at swordpoint, as Rhaegar carried off his northern girl, the girl in her insisted, but the queen knew that was folly..." -A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys VII

"I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb." -A Storm of Swords -Jon XII

Daenerys wanting Daario to carry her off at sword point, and Jon thinking of stealing Val for her love. Two parallels of one girl wanting to be stolen, and one boy wanting to steal someone. Both for love.

"None of them had ever seen a direwolf before, he realized, and Ghost was twice as large as the common wolves that prowled their southron greenwoods. As he walked toward the armory, Jon chanced to look up and saw Val standing in her tower window. I'm sorry, he thought. I'm not the man to steal you out of there." -A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

"Even if her captain was mad enough to attempt it, the Brazen Beasts would cut him down before he got within a hundred yards of her." -A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys VII

Jon is sorry he can't steal away Val, and Daenerys reflects on the fact that even if Daario did attempt to carry her off at sword point, he'd be cut down.

Both Jon and Daenerys have a sense of romanticism in their POV's. Both are hopeless romantics (perhaps Daenerys more so than Jon in a sense). Both want love, despite denying it deep down. Jon because he's a man of the Night's Watch and a bastard. Daenerys because she is a Queen over her people and accepts duty over giving in to "girlish" thoughts.

Both had found love within confinement. Jon having fallen for Ygritte while pretending to be on the Freefolk's side. Daenerys having found a twisted love in Drogo after being sold to him as a bridal slave. Both were coerced into sexual relations with Ygritte and Drogo. Both had to watch Ygritte and Drogo die (and Dany killed Drogo out of mercy).

"He found Ygritte sprawled across a patch of old snow beneath the Lord Commander's Tower, with an arrow between her breasts. The ice crystals had settled over her face, and in the moonlight it looked as though she wore a glittering silver mask [...] "Oh." Ygritte cupped his cheek with her hand. "You know nothing, Jon Snow," she sighed, dying. -A Storm of Swords - Jon VII

"And when the bleak dawn broke over an empty horizon, Dany knew that he was truly lost to her. “When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east,” she said sadly. “When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When my womb quickens again, and I bear a living child. Then you will return, my sun-and-stars, and not before.” Never, the darkness cried, never never never. Inside the tent Dany found a cushion, soft silk stuffed with feathers. She clutched it to her breasts as she walked back out to Drogo, to her sun-and-stars. If I look back I am lost. It hurt even to walk, and she wanted to sleep, to sleep and not to dream. She knelt, kissed Drogo on the lips, and pressed the cushion down across his face." -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys IX

Both Jon and Daenerys have also found interest again after the deaths of Ygritte and Drogo. Jon wants Val, and Daenerys sleeps with Daario and may perhaps love him, but doubts over her relations with Daario. Both focus on their duties over giving in to what they really want. Daenerys even marries again for peace over giving in to what she really wants.

Both Jon and Daenerys think of having children, but push away the ideal. Jon due to being a member of the Night's Watch and a bastard. Daenerys due to thinking she is barren/cursed by Mirri Maz Duur and can never again have a child born from her.

Jon reflects that if he ever had a son, he'd name him Robb after his brother. Daenerys when pregnant with Drogo's child names her son Rhaego after her brother.

Jon is the secret son of Rhaegar and Lyanna. Lyanna is associated with blue winter roses:

"He was walking through the crypts beneath Winterfell, as he had walked a thousand times before. The Kings of Winter watched him pass with eyes of ice, and the direwolves at their feet turned their great stone heads and snarled. Last of all, he came to the tomb where his father slept, with Brandon and Lyanna beside him. "Promise me, Ned," Lyanna's statue whispered. She wore a garland of pale blue roses, and her eyes wept blood." -A Game of Thrones - Eddard XIII

"Robert had been jesting with Jon and old Lord Hunter as the prince circled the field after unhorsing Ser Barristan in the final tilt to claim the champion's crown. Ned remembered the moment when all the smiles died, when Prince Rhaegar Targaryen urged his horse past his own wife, the Dornish princess Elia Martell, to lay the queen of beauty's laurel in Lyanna's lap. He could see it still: a crown of winter roses, blue as frost." -A Game of Thrones - Eddard XV

When Daenerys has visions in the House of the Undying, she sees the Wall:

"A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness. . . . mother of dragons, bride of fire . . ." -A Clash of Kings - Daenerys IV

Jon is the 'blue flower' she sees growing from the wall of ice, filling the air with 'sweetness'. Jon is Lyanna's son. Both carry blue flower representation.

Jon also wants to know everything there is about his mother; who she was, if she loved him, what sort of person she was. Just alike to how Daenerys wants to learn and know everything she can about Rhaegar, as she also idolizes him in a sense. Both have thoughts about these people. Jon constantly thinks about his mother (Lyanna even if he does not know yet who she is); Daenerys often thinks of Rhaegar (despite never knowing him). Both think of these people despite them already being gone from the world, and both only wish they could have known who they truly were as people and can only guess how Lyanna and Rhaegar would've thought or acted.

Jon thinks of having dragons at the Wall:

"We should have twenty trebuchets, not two, and they should be mounted on sledges and turntables so we could move them. It was a futile thought. He might as well wish for another thousand men, and maybe a dragon or three." -A Storm of Swords - Jon VIII

When Jon dies, Daenerys hears a wolf howling in the distance:

"Off in the distance, a wolf howled. The sound made her feel sad and lonely, but no less hungry. As the moon rose above the grasslands, Dany slipped at last into a restless sleep." -A Dance with Dragons - Daenerys X

Both have an association/thought relating to one another's animal sigil/companion. Jon thinks of wishing for three dragons (Daenerys' house sigil and her dragon children). Daenerys hears a wolf howling when Jon dies, making her feel sad and lonely (Jon's house sigil through Lyanna/Ned and his direwolf Ghost).

Both Jon and Daenerys dream of home. Daenerys with the house with the red door and the lemon tree. Jon with Winterfell.

Both are estranged from their families (Jon being at the Wall. Daenerys being in Essos and the last of her family having died).

Both have lost their brothers in different means. Both have had their mothers die from childbirth and never got to meet them. Both of their fathers (Rhaegar and Aerys) died during the Rebellion.

Both had arcs of leadership and rule, and struggle with their decisions and making hard choices. Jon winds up killed due to his choices at the end of ADWD, and Daenerys becomes stranded in the Dothraki Sea due to her choice of saving Drogon (and her people from Drogon) from the fighting pit and escaping on dragonback.

While Daenerys thinks of taking the IT as a duty due to being the last of her family and Viserys' last living heir, Jon admits to wanting to become Lord of Winterfell but turning the opportunity away.

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pixiecactus · 3 months ago

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these are just my thoughts, so you know, nothing to take seriously... but i discovered that it really irks me when people say that lyanna's "romantic" decisions are purely sansa.

and yeah, sure, sansa is an idealist that loves romantic stories, but here comes my hot take. i do see sansa more as being one of those people that are enchanted and obsessed with the concept of love, rather than loving someone herself... and if we look at her part in the narrative looking for romance, it's lacking for sure, other than the stuff going on with the hound (which is clearly somewhat romantic... no, i don't ship it, but i can see what the author was doing, like c'mon this is the man that has a sansan poster hanging in his walls) there's nothing else or no one else that has a little bit of romantic focus. everyone knows what happened with joffrey, littlefinger is grooming her (do i have to explain that this isn't romantic at all?), and i'm one of those people who thinks that harry the heir is her best option, considering what sansa likes, and that is a pretty and chivalrous man of noble birth... i get that people have a problem with him because he looks at her as someone lesser than him, because she's hiding as a bastard, but then again, for me, it's just an example of how much alike sansa and harry are.

maybe i'm just frustrated with the lack of development that sansa has in all five books, but i would like her to be able to discover herself, what she actually likes with a realist focus rather than an idealist one, from a partner. she should know by now that everyone can hurt you no matter how beautiful they are or what position of power they hold in society... and that maybe will take some time... so i like the idea of sansa going through life without a romantic partner with the hope she's able to get some retrospection on herself and her actions.

do i think this is going to happen? not at all, i'm pretty sure that littlefinger will get his way at first and that he will get sansa married to harry... which will make her a bigamist since she's still married to tyrion. so that will make another problem for her to tackle alongside being disinherited in robb's will...

another thing i think it's pretty common when people say that sansa is the one that heredited lyanna's "romantic" side is that these same types of people try to erase completely all the romantic tropes and foreshadowing that arya's story has... because... how can a girl who is gender non-conforming get a romantic plot?

honestly, i don't know why she couldn't get one... but i think that means you have a little problem to check out if you actually think that girls or women that are gender non-conforming deserve less than their gender conforming peers and that the lastest are superior in any way, shape, or form.

what we can't deny is that the author set up a deep connection between arya and the possible son of rhaegar targaryen and lyanna stark, for arya, jon is the only person in the world who will love her no matter what.

what is a little more funny coming from the author is that he made us observe arya stark and the son of robert baratheon get close and become friends that got a little crush on each other before they fell out and became separated.

so the author set up arya stark as the character who has not only love coming from rhaegar targaryen's son but devotion coming from robert baratheon's son as well.

i do think that what people don't want to even consider is that arya stark is a passionate character; she will defend those she loves from all threats possible, fighting tooth and nail.

and lyanna was the very same (and that's why i fully believe that lyanna and rhaegar were in love with each other... lyanna was intelligent, just as arya is, and arya had no problem recognizing that joffrey baratheon was a pretty prince, but at the same time she could appreciate that he was a horrible person with ease, his beauty and his titles be dammed, but i digress)

#a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #house stark #lyanna stark #arya stark #sansa stark #gendrya #jonrya #anti sansa stans #anti asoiaf fandom

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amaltheas-garden · 2 months ago

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What do you think of the crazy Daenerys fans who hate Jon but like Lyanna and Rhaegar and think Jon is a threat to Daenerys?

I'm pretty sure that's why so many Dany fans ship her with Jon, because they know that if they're enemies, it's not gonna end in Dany's favor. Personally, I've always maintained that Jon won't gaf about the Iron Throne, so they really have nothing to worry about. If Jon becomes king, it will be as KitN/King Beyond the Wall, he'd be miserable in the South! The North is the only place that's ever been his home, and he has a deep spiritual attachment to it, so I just can't envision him going "yeah I totally want to be ruler of the entirety of Westeros and deal with each of these houses' internal squabbles with each other!". Becoming Lord of Winterfell/KitN is a far more emotionally fulfilling ending for him imo. As far as Dany fans loving Lyanna/Rhaegar but hating Jon, I think it mostly has to do with them wanting Dany to be Rhaegar's only true heir, and Jon not being "worthy" of carrying on the Targ legacy if he does press his claim. Which, they're kind of right? Dany is the one constantly thinking of her brother/trying to carry on his legacy/fighting for Targ restoration so it does seem unfair for her to be the one carrying the burden of her fallen house only for Rhaegar's secret son to swoop in at the last moment to steal her claim. Again, I don't think Rhaegar will be that important to Jon, seeing as he already had an incredible father figure; it was the mother he was missing. I think fAegon is the missing piece in setting up the Dany-Jon conflict, as fAegon beat her to KL, and will likely be in control by the time Dany finds out and has to rush her armies to Westeros. One mystery son of Rhaegar pulling the rug out from under her, only for another one to show up?? After fAegon is dealt with, she won't make the same mistake twice. Jon is just in the unlucky position of being a threat to Dany whether he wants it or not. As Rhaegar's last male heir, and a native Westerosi with the backing of the North, Dany is rightfully going to be concerned, and it sucks that the only way to neutralize this threat to her reign is by marrying the guy. I think the fandom tends to brush over how difficult it would be for J/D to coexist and not be married, seeing as it would hinge on people telling her how honorable Jon is and him pinky promising to never usurp her, and her deciding that's enough after his half-brother almost took everything from her. If Dany let the North secede entirely from the 7K, then maybe, but it's really unlikely she'd allow that. Which leaves J/D marriage or J/D enemies as the only viable options to how their conflict could end, which if the show is anything to go by... it's not looking good for Dany. So yeah, I get why they might see Jon as a threat, but if they care about Dany sitting the throne and, well... living, shipping J/D is probably the better bet. I've outlined in another post why J/D as a ship makes no sense, but this post is already too long ;).

#ty for the ask <3 #anon ask #jon snow #anti daenerys #anti daenerys targaryen #anti jonerys #anti dany stans #< for filtering

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coeursye · 1 year ago

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The strange union of Lucerys Velaryon and Aemond Targaryen resulted in the birth of a brood of perfectly handsome sons and perfectly beautiful daughters.

You can read the fic about them on ao3

Meet them down below ⬇️

Aemion is the dependable, friendly and oblivious eldest child of Lucerys and Aemond. He deeply loves all of his siblings and has a tendency to acts as if he was their mother. Aemion is sweet, always cheerful and rather charming.

Contrary to his eldest twin, Aeryn is shy and melancholic, he seems to always be in the clouds and likes to isolate himself. He’s pretty reserved unless he’s with Aemion, who he adores perhaps just a little bit too much.

Valaena is a rather calm and collected young girl although she is quite cold, judgemental and sardonic. She is fiercely protective of Lucerys and will not tolerate any kind of disrespect toward him. There’s no one who could be more proud to be a Targaryen than Valaena.

Unlike her sisters, Calyx is not known for being a great beauty but rather for her remarkable intelligence and prowess in archery. Adventurous, she loves to explore news horizons with her dragon. She has little regard for her youngest twin, Baelon, and mostly ignores him.

Prideful, fearful, arrogant and short-tempered, his personality doesn’t make Baelon particularly popular among his siblings. Despite his overall unpleasant demeanor, Baelon’s intelligence is undeniable and extremely praised, though it seems to only add to his already inflated ego.

Maegelle is sweet, at least that’s what she wants everyone to think. She is delighted whenever she gets to tease her older brother Baelon and more often than not gets into arguments with him. Maegelle enjoys singing the songs she wrote as Baelon and Valaena play the lute and the harp for her. She admires and is way more than fond of Valaena but unfortunately for her, it doesn’t seems to be reciprocal.

Saelyna is the eldest triplet of Osferth and Rhaegar. She is quite rubbish, clumsy and overall a very funny little girl but she’s unfortunately not the smartest. For there is absolutely nothing going on inside her head.

Calm and docile, Osferth is a sweet kid with a sweet tooth. While he doesn’t have a dragon himself, he loves takings care of the dragons of his siblings. He is very fond of his sickly little brother Maelor and often sneak in his chambers to take care of him and keep him company.

(Will add the portrait later)

Rhaegar was the youngest triplet of Saelyna and Osferth. He was the only child who looked exactly like Lucerys. The babe unfortunately passed away before his first moon, which deeply devastated Aemond and Luke.

Lucerys and Aemond were blessed with Maelor a few years after the loss of their babe, Rhaegar, and after multiple miscarriages. Sadly, he was born weak, tiny and very sickly with dragon scales on different part of his body. Rarely allowed to go outside, he spend most of his time alone in his chambers with his little dragon, Pythios.

Gael is a little girl who despite her very young age is quite energetic. She likes to run around and cause mischief.

And that’s it, for now. I hope you guys will enjoy all the pics, fics and lores about them that I’ll post in the future!!

#aemond targaryen #lucerys velaryon #lucerys x aemond #lucemond #my ocs #coeursye’s shit #abo #I will come back to this later and update some portraits as they’re quite old and ugly #fanart #hotd #house of the dragon #house velaryon #house Targaryen #asoiaf #got #artists on tumblr

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rise-my-angel · 1 month ago

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Heart of the Great Wolf

67 - Memories of a Dead Past

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 13k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, past character deaths, descriptions of blood and violence, disturbing imagery, mentions of traumatic childbirth, minor trauma flashbacks

Notes: A character is properly introduced finally in this chapter, while they are canon to the books, their book counterpart is dead so this is a mostly orignal interpretation of the character. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

He had not considered that she would not be here. He had not thought when walking the steps into the great building that he would not truly find what he was looking for. Only anger, and then disappointment. Much of his life in this thought had been spent attempting to avoid the worst of it, not wishing to consider the harsh truths and yet standing there it was plain as day. The blood he belonged to on one end was no true family. He had wanted to know if his mother was buried here, but now he felt a fool for thinking she would be.

Too though, did he feel that disappointment through the fact that his sister was buried here. Rhaenys was said to be the one born to look just as their mother, her skin, hair, and eyes all darker just like their mother. The more he had been here the more he heard the stories that painted a picture of the past never before explored to this degree for him. His grandfather had stood in the throne room and denied holding his first grandchild all because little Rhaenys had “smelled too Dornish.” A splitting image of her mother, they should’ve been buried in Dorne together. Not here. Not beside him.

Aegon hadn’t even known he was buried here. Or that his remains were found and brought back. Perhaps he thought, they shouldn’t have been. Here his name was etched in stone forever, and buried beside his daughter. The one he abandoned. The one who the men all spoke of horrors, that Ser Amory Lorch had dragged the little girl out from where she had been hiding under her parents bed and ignored her screams as he stabbed her near fifty times. But father, then daughter, one more name was etched into the stone that made him feel unsteady on his feet.

A tanners son. That’s whom Lord Varys had said was buried there. But the more he thought about it, the more the anger returned. It did not matter whose remains were in that tomb. It was him, whom his mother had ripped from her breast. It was him whom had his head smashed in, whose blood covered her body as she was raped and murdered. It was her son she watched die before she died in the worst manner she could’ve been forced into. And through all that horror, where was her husband to protect her? Where was his father?

With his remains beside his dead children, he knew Rhaegar had died at the Trident in a war which was his fault for starting.

None approached Aegon as he stood alone in the Sept of Baelor. He needed space, and no guards had been allowed to enter passed the doors. Facing his family, the one he wanted to see, Elia was not there. And neither was anyone else. If his eyes glanced further he might too have seen the name of his grandfather as well where he was buried, but his father and grandfather did not deserve to have him stand here now to mourn them. It was their fault Aegon stood all alone, and surrounded by a family that felt nothing but strangers too him. He wondered to himself, was it too late to take the remains of his sister Rhaenys, and bring her to Dorne. Here, his sister and mother rest together away from this city, this wretched family Aegon held the name too, so one day he too could be brought to them to rest finally as well.

Aegon stood in a Kings Landing now belonging to him. Not yet crowned, but still in his control, all alone with nothing but the name of a family whom he conquered in the name of. Cousins and an aunt out there, they did not truly count. Aegon stood alone, the last of his true family. The silence only grew even heavier. Yet, for the secret Aegon did not know of, it was the exact opposite of alone. The only blood of his true family that still existed, felt the same sorrow of loss, but not the feeling of standing amongst strangers.

Thousands of miles away, Jon Snow stood with the remains of his family, right where he belonged.

Orders were similar, guards stood far outside the entrance and none were allowed down for the time being. This was specific, this was not to be shared by all. Unlike what he did not know was taking place so far south, the light of day did not shine bright here. It was dark, crackles of fire from the only light of torches to guide the way but it was not silent and the lack of silence was not heavy and weightful.

Jons rasp was low, even in such vast corridors, it could only be heard were one mere feet away from him as he stood with the bundle in his arms. His infant son not yet old enough to truly even grasp at things easily, let alone something so delicate. Jon had brought it down with him, before saying a word, gently using his grasp to fold little Eddard’s fingers around the edge of the feather.

Stepping forward, his voice was low in his sons ear as he moved with him, placing the feather in the open palm of the stone stature before them. “Just like that, careful.” Wide green eyes watched as Jon let his hand go, both grips allowing the feather to lay perfectly in her hand, before both eyes turned bright and wide looking up to the face of whom they stood before.

Jon knew he had spent his whole life in Winterfell wishing he knew who his mother was. Wishing to know anything about her, and only to realize that she had been here watching over him his entire life but he felt an overwhelming need to make up for it. He would never let his mother feel forgotten or unseen by her son ever again, and too would he ensure she knew her grandson and any others she would have, knew their grandmother.

Keeping the baby laid in his arms, Jon could not stop the gentle smile from his face when he looked back down, his sons face still up at the statue did he let what he could of his hand to run along the top and side of his head, not obscuring his vision. “She’s your grandmother. Lyanna Stark.” A small babble came from the baby as if a response, as if Jon knew it meant an ask of more to tell him. Which Jon swallowed heavily, his brows furrowing a little as the heaviness entered his heart with a clearing of his throat. “I was only a month younger then you when she died. I didn’t even know until a little less then a year ago that she was my mother.”

This was why no one was allowed down here. He wanted to give his son full honesty, but not just anyone could hear Jon tell this story. Yet there was almost an innocent childishness in the way he told it, wanting to be gentle for his sons ears so soon.

“A very bad man took her from her family, and forced her to have me. Your grandfather came to rescue her, but she died anyways.” Just like he thought, was what Ramsay tried to do to you, and Euron still was out there wishing to do to you now. “She’ll never get a chance to hold you, but you will always be able to come see her whenever you want.” Finally did a small smile come over him, “If your mother was right and you were born a girl, we would have named you after your grandmother. We’ll have to save that for your sister.”

The second part spoken in a jesting whisper, as if in on a secret between the two his son did not understand. Forming a small smile looking back up, Jon reached a finger to run down the side of his face across his cheek. A small squirm came about as if the sensation tingled against the little one’s skin and Jons smile grew to a grin as his son watched the expression best he could so naturally.

“I still wonder if she’d like me. Be proud that I’m her son, but I know she’d like you.” Grins brighter and wider, Jon looked up with that smile yet sorrow bright in his eyes looking to the smooth face of a mother he never knew. His whisper speaking to his son or mother he was not sure, but he was fine with both hearing his heart as he let it out so rarely. “I don’t know if I should tell him. Who my father was, my real father. Maybe it will only hurt if I do, or he’ll grow up angry the way I don’t know if I’ll ever stop being.”

An arm reached out, as if yearning to come close to the grandmother he would never truly know. Stepping close, every carved detail was within Jons clear vision and he shifted. Allowing his sons hand to trace over the hand of hers now holding the feather. Tiny even against the stone he was, but keeping him firm and close in his grip did Jon too almost reach out without much thought. The side of the statue which acted as Lyanna’s cheek did Jon gently cup.

Wondering if he would ever stop thinking of it when down here. Why? Why did no one protect her, why did none of the so called noble and valiant knights around her whisk her away to safety? Why did they leave her dying in a bed of her own blood? But still he continued to push passed it, to tell little Eddard with all his honesty.

“Your great grandfather and great uncle Brandon, they rode to Kings Landing. Demand the King they give them Lyanna back safe, but they were killed for it. My father was at war for over a year trying to rebel against the family that was destroying ours.” He dared not look over to where Jon could see the statue of his father. “My mother had me, and the men keeping her there let her die instead of getting her help. Her brother fought to get to her, and found me. She begged him to promise to keep me safe, to hide me from those who would find out I was hers, who my real father was...So he brought me here. Raised me as his own son. From the moment my mother died, he was my father.”

Was he truly even speaking to his son, or was Jon letting the thoughts flood outloud now that none were around to hear him. Looking back up, Jon let his hand linger on the cheek of his mothers statue a little while longer before mimicking the same position with the same hand now just on the cheek of the baby in his arms. He didn’t know how much of this he would ever be able to say outloud to his son, but Jon needed his mother to be known, to be remembered.

No one protected her before it was too late, so he would protect her memory. Father and son stood there in the silence for a while. That was the thing about the crypts beneath Winterfell. Few understood why the Starks could spend such time down here, or in the godswood. But it was a harmony. In the godswood he could be one with the old gods without judgment, and here he could be a Stark.

No matter his name, Jon could stand down here and be a Stark. His son named a Snow, because you had refused to let his bastard name be that of shame in this new life built together. Some days he looked down to his son and worried he was doing wrong by him. Doing wrong by the father he was named after by not calling him Stark. But it was one of the last things his father ever said to him.

“You are a Stark. You may not have my name, but you have my blood.”

Again Jon told himself not to look over at the statue of his father. But he didn’t stop thinking about it. It was irrational you could tell him, to be fearful of this. But he stood at his mothers tomb and refused to leave yet. Jon was afraid. He did not want to stand in front of the tomb and statue of Ned Stark and fear that he was ashamed of who Jon had become.

Before Jon had thrust his sword through the chest of Qhorin Halfhand, Jon had prayed in silence to the gods watching him. To tell his father that he was not an oathbreaker, that he was not trying to do his our of dishonour. But Jon did far more then murder a brother of the Nights Watch. He had done wrong. He had done plenty wrong. More then he could say his father would be proud for.

He had named his son after his father without a second thought. He had many names he wanted to repay with, but his father had to be first. Almost a message. That it did not matter to Jon that the fathers blood in his veins was of Rhaegar Targaryean. He did not name his child after the silver prince, he named his son after Ned Stark. The father who raised him, and loved him. Who sacrificed everything, his reputation and even his marriage to protect Jon.

A man does not put that much lies at risk for a child he does not care about. No, Jon knew that it was because he was still, and always would be Ned Stark’s son. Somewhere out there, Jon knew he had a half brother, he knew he once had a half sister, but it felt unlikely Jon would let himself consider them. He was a man of the North, he was a Stark. Nothing else. A Stark named Snow, just as his son.

The sound had been increasing in the back of his mind, but senses so keen Jon paid no mind to it. He knew the pace, the speed and the pattern. He knew when it was you coming and Jon stood with his son in his arms in front of the statue of Lyanna Stark and allowed you to approach at your own pace.

You hadn’t expected for Jon to still be there when you approached. You knew he wished for time alone, seeing his mother, introducing her to his son. It was a very personal thing and without a doubt whatever painful emotions were to arise he simply did not wish for you to see them. Jon struggled with that you knew, you were allowed to know of the pain but he hated you seeing the pain. He had told you that once you were done checking in on Olly after the previous night’s events, that he wished for you to join him.

The poor boy did not mention what was told, more spat at him. The threat of making him watch, but it was a rare moment between you. You had sat him down in his chambers, and let him stutter in breaths trying to get out the truth of how scared it had made him. Almost taller then you on two feet, but sat down as you pulled him into your arms, Olly still was little more then the boy you met in Castle Black. Interrupting to ask if you were alright and what he could do while trying to collect himself, you simply assured him that you had survived the morning without his service, and you could last another day as well.

Giving him the day and the next a break from your command, Olly almost had stood confused for a moment. “What should I do?” You nearly had not answered, or given a non committal one in it’s place but then it came to you with a smirk and a raise of an eyebrow playfully.

“Gendry worked late into the night, most likely needs much sleep to catch up on. Would be a rather shame if someone were to interrupt that.”

Olly had matched your smirk, a small bow with a held back amused tone. “Your Grace.” A nudge of his arm as you both had gone to leave the room. It was near a ritual by now. Either you and Gendry spent time together with a barrage of snide insults and snarking banter, most of which was far more enjoyable then others of your blood you knew. Gendry being lowborn meant he did not have a single care if he was being mean. He would hurl insults towards you and follow it with a formal title as if that hand waved the behaviour.

Those working in the armoury and with the blacksmith were familiar with their Queens odd dynamic with the southern lad who had shown up with you after Moat Cailin. None had put it together despite you both looking more and more like twins the longer Gendry was in the North. It was nearly a laugh, that no one figured out your secret. You would look in a mirror and see Gendrys reflection, and he in reverse of you. You spoke alike, your banter was alike, your tempers were alike and you let him get away with far more that no one else did.

Gendry had once while making a blade, had suddenly turned in response to a comment you had made, the pointed end a few inches from your face as he hadn’t even thought about what it looked like. All fell silent in watching as Gendry realized, but you had nonchalantly pressed a finger to the flat edge and tossed the blade in his grip away from your person with a bemused but judging look as if to be condescending. “Careful where you point that thing.”

You could already see the flat, unamused expression in his face when he realizes you had all but sent Olly to him to keep him company for the day, knowing that it would look disrespectful to not accept the orders of a Queen. Perhaps the only time such a status amused you, knowing you could annoy Gendry endlessly and he had to come up with far more creative ways to get back at you.

But you knew that sort of feeling was not to last long. But a small reprieve in such a chaotic short few hours, which was going to get no better. There was much to do, and yet now you also could add an attempt on your life to the list. Some women famous in the history books were spoken of such beauty that men from all over would seek them out asking for their hand in marriage.

You appeared to attract the opposite effect. In all walks of life, did many and all look at you an enemy, whose only conclusion to get out of their way is death. Descending the steps down to the crypts, death was all which was around. Starks and their dutiful direwolves and yet the closer you came the less the direwolves were. Strange it seemed, three hundred years ago was when such wolves became less and less common until another hundred years from then did they stop being scene south of the Wall entirely. As if the direwolves left the Starks to stay in the North and they travelled far away.

Six then appeared from nowhere and what that meant you did not know. Other plans the gods had which you were not to be part of, but as you passed the now wolf lacking Starks, did signs of life begin to appear once more. But in the form of sounds. The muffle of words and as you turned the corner to the next corridor you knew rather well did you see just that.

Holding his son in his arms, Jon stood in front of the statue of Lyanna still. He had wanted to confront that alone, and you let him but how long had he not been able to bring himself to move away from her, or more accurately, how long had he been afraid to see his father now that he too was one. You knew Jon could hear you, and the fact that he made no move to shy away from which Stark he was in front of meant he too knew it was you for a fact. Any else and he would have made it less obvious which he was so tense and vulnerable in front of.

Neither of you ever rushed the other, slowly making your way more behind him could you hear his mumblings to the baby snuggling closer to his fathers warm torso. “It’s starting to feel like you’re looking for excuses to take time away from me being alone with her, you know.” So natural he looked, and yet you could flash your mind back six years.

Two scared people who did not feel ready to share that degree of love with one another so physically, and yet after all you went through apart here Jon stood with a son in his arms, murmuring gently like he most certainly had been doing so for quite a while. Not saying a word yet, the strain in his rasp giving away that he was smothering much emotion he had been displaying so raw before your arrival.

Instead one hand grasped at his waist. Circling around to his back, you had to stand up somewhat on your toes to properly get into a more comfortable position, your other arm rising up to rest against his bicep as you grasped somewhat at the top edge of his tunic. Your front pressing close as your head tried to find more of the dip between his neck and shoulders to rest against.

Both of you stood there for quite a while, never rushing him to speak. Allowing him to hold his son while you clung onto Jons from the back, attracted to his warmth. Even down here much closer to the hot spring, it still ran cold. The chill from outside would rush through the corridors with no mercy and yet Jon did not feel anything but warm, your eye fluttering closed before rushing them back open to keep your mind from settling too much into a relaxation. Much like little Eddard, Jons warmth made it easy to fall asleep just about anywhere as long as he was touching you in some way.

By the time any words were spoken, they were little more then a mutter. Low and thick in his manner of speaking, just as a great sigh was left out. You could imagine his eyes had closed as he had exhaled to pull his thoughts to the forefront. “When I watched my Uncle Benjen meet him,” There was no need to elaborate on the he in question. “I was afraid of what he’d say. Not what he would say in front of you, he’s always liked you. But to me, when no one else was awake to hear it.”

“Jon,”

Gentle and soft and without judgment or impatience you said his name with, but Jon cut it off. “It’s not the same for you, darling.” Your brows furrowed in question, but your hand up around his arm and shoulder grasped more tightly so you could almost nuzzle the back of his neck as his curls remained up and back. “You’ve seen me, you know the things I’ve done. What it took to get here. But he doesn’t. He last saw me about to swear my vows, and then he saw me years later. A King, a husband, a father..I was afraid all he’d do is look at me and see an oathbreaker.”

Tone light, Jon caught onto the attempt at humour to keep him from slipping. Even if he did not return the jest, he appreciated it all the same. “Those same vows do say, it shall not end until my death.”

Thumb running over the side of his sons face, you felt a twitch in his arm, the one by where you grasped at his waist as if wishing he had the spare hand to grab yours, and wrap it more around his front where he could keep hold of you. “I fought, and I lost.”

Lips barley able to reach the skin at the back of his neck, you lingered as you kept up on your toes to murmur against the now phantom kiss. “We both did. And now we’re here.” Affirming the same, an unsure exhale on his breath now you both were here. Your hand left his waist reaching up to run along the hair at the back of his head, not able to run through his curls but almost a sort of petting motion, as if you could to Ghost. “Having honour only means something if you can protect the ones you love with it.”

Rough his voice ran, but clearly you heard it through the mumbles all the same. “My father gave up his honour to protect my sisters, he died being called a traitor to protect them.”

You knew right where that was going, and you pressed a longer more lingering kiss to his neck before nuzzling against him once more. “And you gave up your honour to protect your family and your people, and you also died for it. You have much more in common with your father then I have mine at the least.”

Jons chuckle was low, but vibrated against you. “I think you have more in common with King Robert then you do Stannis.” You took a pause with an intrigue in your eyes, asking that you assumed he would be put off by that, but Jon only breathed another laugh. “You get used to it. And you’re prettier.”

Your laugh and Jons joined together in a quiet harmony, his only increasing to something much more free and bright in his expression when you said rather dryly, “And far, far less fat.” Readjusting your hold in his arm and shoulder once more, you spoke much more with something loving behind it that time. “We’ve all broken oaths and vows and promises by now, Jon. What matters is what we do after that. That’s all that matters now. You broke your vows to the Nights Watch, but you’ve also taken back your home, protected your people, protected your brother and sisters, and more then once, you’ve saved my life. I’d say that alone is much worth not following a few mere words you spoke once when you thought you had nothing else for you.”

Finally, it seemed you had cut to the core of what was on his mind. “It worries me. That I’ll see him, and see nothing but disappointment.” Murmuring with a softness that he won’t, you too heard a small sound from the baby as if to confirm your own point of view. Your breath was heard as it’s laugh, Jon letting a small smile out looking down to the bundle. “Do you ever worry? That he looks at you and is ashamed?”

Your nod against him said all that needed to be said. Letting out another sigh, Jon suddenly pulled from you, turning in place as you found his grey eyes. Wide and bright and as much sadness glossed deep within them did an affection overtake it’s most prominent beauty. Your hands at his waist to simply stand close with your son now squirming a bit between you both for the enclosed warm space he desired.

Leaning forward, Jon gently let his nose brush against yours, murmuring down to you. “He’s had enough of me for now.” Shaking your head with a grin, you didn’t bother arguing against what was such a foolish notion, but little Eddard transferred into your arms. Turning almost instantly to try and hide his face in the fabric of your dress, he no doubt did not feel fussed being passed back and forth as long as it was between father and mother.

A hand pressed to your lower back, Jon guided you to his final destination. Both looking to the tomb and statue of Ned Stark, it was the first time you suspected that Jon allowed himself to feel what he needed to feel looking at him. The sensation of Jons arm worming its way around to your waist, he pulled you close to his side, your head resting against his shoulder as he leaned somewhat the same manner to feel you as well.

Running through his head, dare he broach that subject? But yes, Jon would. Wife and mother of his child there was no use in hiding from his name in front of you, whats done was done and there was no taking it back. “I was jealous of Robb my whole life.” There was a strain in your heart, but it never would go away now. Thus you lived with it, and listened passed it’s ache. “The way my father looked at him? I wanted that. I always wanted to hate him, and I could never bring myself to. From the moment we met, it was Robb and me. And all that time I wanted to hate him for how much I wished I had with my father what he had. He was the oldest, he was the heir, he was a true Stark. He could give our father everything I never even dreamed of. What would he like about me more when Robb was right there?”

You wanted to say something, and Jon too knew it. But your silence said more to heal that strain in his heart then any meaningless words of comfort you could’ve attempted to flower his torment with. Instead he pulled you closer if possible.

“But it’s different now. Robb was born before me. He was Lady Catelyn’s firstborn son, but in my own way, I was my fathers first child. He took me as his son, maybe even before he knew Robb existed. He kept me by his side, taught me everything he taught Robb even though I wasn’t going to inherit anything to use it. And we spent more then enough nights in his study to know we had more in common then Lady Catelyn ever wanted to admit.” Your smile was small and subtle, but you knew without having to see it, Jon felt it.

Those nights were Jons favourites with his father. The two of them as the moon came over the dark sky, some wine between them and much more free jokes and laughs shared then either of them felt the entire day. It was those nights Jon had felt like a true son. Just a father bonding with his son, and Jon never had reason to doubt it in those nights. It was why he never doubted Ned Stark was his father at all, it was obvious in those moments. It was so obvious that hearing those words come out of your mouth that night felt like you had torn down that memory as if it was nothing but an illusion Jon had made up in his grief.

It was right in that very spot you both stood too that it happened. Facing one another, Jons hands cupping your cheeks as something gutted inside of you to force the words out only to have him tear away as if you burned him through his skin down to his bones, not realizing the force which he pulled away from you had nearly pushed you back physically. Those tears started right away that night, and the panic and terror that you no longer held a place in his life for saying the truth he deserved to know.

Remembering it, wishing that if only the truth did not need to come with the pain to tell him of his mother. But both came hand in hand, and yet now, months had passed and both of you stood in front of Ned Stark and yet now a son was there too. Both your eyes gazing down to the baby, your voice was mostly a whisper, but with undertones Jon knew all too well. “He should arrive early tomorrow.”

Jon didn’t need clarification, you had been dreading it. In his own way, Jon wasn’t looking forward to it either. He held much respect for Stannis Baratheon in many ways, but with you here once more and everything in between what you’d been through, it left more then a bitter taste in his mouth. The way you interacted with his family had brought it out into the light so much more. How you were practically the only thing keeping the peace between Sansa and himself, or even Sansa and Arya. He had no doubt Arya was more on edge around her because of the truth she knew.

Jon wanted to tell her, she was his sister too. He had a strange feeling Bran knew, but he truthfully didn’t know how to ask and he sensed Bran didn’t know how to bring it up either. But Sansa? It was hard to tell how she would react and he knew Arya was worried about it. If it were only up to her, Jon should never tell her, but he wanted too. He just knew there was no good time to broach that now, let alone with tension between them still unresolved. But you kept peace, you got along with all his family. His Uncle Benjen even had spent more and more time with you now that you were truly part of the family.

But it made your relationship with Stannis stick out. How cold and unloving it was. It was not as if you’re relationship with Selyse was simple, but she had been here and trying to right that. She played grandmother to little Eddard with a happiness seldom found on the woman otherwise. But, a month had passed since you all arrived back and until now, there was no word of Stannis coming to see his daughter or grandson. Something within you always reverted back to quiet and stubborn and troubled when your father came around and Jon struggled to sit that aside anymore.

You left with him to the far north, you returned over six moons passed with a newborn and he did not think until now to come see either of you. He knew much would be discussed between the two men, but he hoped that coming to see you and the baby was the main priority of the visit. If Stannis spent more time with Jon then his daughter or grandson once arriving, Jon would have quite a large problem with that.

Both of you making your way back, it was a guard taking you both by surprise, the night already growing dark as overtop of you, it was the last thing you both expected when being told there was a visitor for you specifically in the main hall. Your eyes flickered to Jon, almost a question in them only to have your answer found simple. His head nodding for you to move forward, him close beside you.

It seemed he was not taking any chances, despite anything occurring within the main hall where there was the most likely chance of getting caught or captured. Before you both could even walk in however, Jon murmured towards you, turning you to face him as you could see instantly a tenseness within him. Reaching carefully up, you cupped his cheek, letting a thumb run over his facial hair. “Jon what’s the likelihood someone will try anything in here?”

Grasping your hand, Jon turned to press a kiss to the skin on the back before letting it return to the baby, currently teetering in falling asleep in your arms it was so late for him. “What’s the chance someone attacking you in our own bedchambers?”

Your head tilted a bit to the side, as if attempting to convey that he was worried about nothing, but his resolve did not waver. He remained firm as he pulled you with him by a hand at your lower back, entering first into the large and now mostly empty hall.

He stood tall in the middle of the room. Arms crossed over his chest as he looked up and around, the night not the best to take in Winterfell but it was lovely all the same, to you at least. He still looked the same, yet different. Hair still thick and lush, the way you remembered just as much as recalling his father joking that he’d be balding in no time and loose it, only that had yet to come close to coming to fruition, even now. Last you’d seen he was clean shaven, fitting better into Kings Landing even though they could almost sense the lowborn on him, not that he cared much to hide it. Only now he had a thick beard covering his face with what you could see where plenty of greys within it that matched the greys in his brown hair.

Even now you could see the bright blue in his eyes. Lucky his mother and father both had them and it had been joked no wonder with his looks he had many, so called girlfriends all over the known world waiting for him. You had little doubt the five or six years apart had done much to drastically change that, nor did the lines growing around his face in age feel as if women would not still be charmed by it.

But you you, it was not that manner which his appearance felt. It was something warm in your heart, something that had your own eyes lighten up right away. Jon glancing between you both right away noticing no doubt how much more happy you looked without a second thought, like you had so many years ago.

The hall was silent until he spoke first, the accent so familiar to both of you know. Quick and unrefined, as lowborn sounding as his fathers and it was easy you suspected for Jon to start putting it together just by that alone. A bow to both of you, he started more formal then he would’ve years ago in front of you. “My King, my Queen.”

You watched him for a moment, trying to summon any words to express how seeing him again felt, but it was truly like no years had passed. A cleverness left you in the form of a breathy insult in place of what most would speak as gratitude to see them again. “Seven hells, have the years not been kind to you.”

A grin came over him, still attempting to keep a formality for likely Jons sake but you knew you looked as you had when you reunited with another not quite blood in front of Jon. A relief filled with a pain on both sides much like when you had reunited with Maege Mormont. The man spoke once more, raising a brow as he nodded towards you. “I don’t imagine you’re ready to start that game.”

Jon only interrupted as long as it took to gently mumble in your ear to let him take the baby, transferring him gently to his arms, you looked up. Almost wondering if you needed permission, but Jon’s eyes only gazed down softly at you. A promise no such thing was needed for you to even ask as he pulled back, a very tender rocking to ensure little Eddards eyes thus far stayed closed.

You and he took no time in moving towards the other. His large height pulling you into his front as you held him back tightly. Almost a girl again in how your heart felt so tight. A hand ran down the back of your hair as he muttered only for you to hear, “I missed you too, tiny doe.”

Your eyes closed for a moment, desperate not to let any tears fall. He wouldn’t have ever let you live it down, but you stayed there for a good long seconds as he held the same back. It had been many years for you not knowing if he’d see you again, but you also knew that he had once thought you dead. Pulling back he ran his hands down your upper arms with a sort of snark on his tongue to cover up what you felt was something relieved, being able to see for himself that you truly were alive beyond whatever he knew from stories alone. “I knew leaving you alone in that city was a mistake, look how much trouble you’ve gotten into since I left.”

A smile left you, with a huff of a laugh. “You’re right. I could’ve kept you by my side, ensure you were arrested too, or worse.” The worse was the more likely choice, any of the household not named Stark had been slaughtered that day, and you knew Allard would’ve just been another casualty of that. Turning around, you found something a bit more collected within you, trying to put up more of a proper front you should’ve despite the two men in the room being the last ones to ever judge you for your emotions in that moment. “Allard, this is my husband, and my King. Jon Snow.”

He gave a small bow, with a bit of something shining in his eyes you knew he was trying to keep back. They had scarcely interacted in the times Allard would accompany to escorting you from Kings Landing to here, but they had seen each other many times over those years regardless. “It’s an honour, your grace.”

Allard followed your lead, as you walked back over to Jon who was mostly still trying to keep the baby from waking up. You both knew if the little one awoke now, it would take hours before he’d settle again at this hour. Jon didn’t need to fake anything, not that he would but perhaps you suspected Allard assumed he as a King meeting a near stranger from his wife’s past would be met with more animosity, but after everything that happened since coming home, all Jon could ask for was the gods giving you just one more thing to bring a bit of brevity to your heart again. Holding a hand out, Allard and he shook firmly.

Part of you could only hope Allard at least had manners enough not to do what he liked to do when shaking mens hands for the first time. In Kings Landing, countless times when he would meet a new lord or knight that clearly looked down on such a lowborn being your own sworn shield, he would return their gesture of a handshake usually with a grip that took many of the more feeble men off guard. Once twice did you ever encounter men who caught on in amusement.

Jon seemed content to keep holding the baby, a sight no doubt not usual. The King being the one to let his Queen stand there and chat as he cared for the child without any negativity towards the matter as their grips let go. Still polite as he always was, “I’ve heard a lot about you from her.” It was common to say as a positive sort of joke, but your eyes peeled over to Allard as soon as Jon said it. “All good of course.”

Any other man might’ve responded like a normal person, but you knew Allard far too well. Raising a brow he let his head flicker between you and Jon before landing back on the later. “Then I know she’s been lying through her teeth to you about me.” Saying his name in a flat warning, Allard only grinned before looking much more genuine to Jon. “And I’ve heard more then a few interesting stories about you over these past few years. Not often I meet nobility that I’m fairly certain isn’t about to turn their nose up at breaking bread with the lowborn likes of me.”

Your expression was flat as you looked at him, it had taken little to no time for him to become as comfortable as he always was. “You do recall you have been in nobility for more then a few decades now.”

He only gave you an expression you knew far too well. One that spoke that you were as a child needing to be explained the world. “Aye, and yet I was a smuggler before I came into your fathers service. And my family before that were crabbers. You think it’s common I meet another lord or king that is going to understand my position the way a bastard would?”

There was no hesitation in the way your hand came up to rest against your face as you wished to shake it with a sigh. Jon only reassured you by way of reassuring Allard, “I spent time in the Nights Watch, if being a bastard didn’t teach me not to judge another man for his place in life, working along side mostly criminals and farmhands certainly did.” Allard as if only noticing then, glanced down to the baby and back, asking if that was the little prince, as he called him. Jon nodded, only answering with his name instead, the only thing he considered of import. “Eddard.”

You and Jon both were grateful Allard was not the man to offer his sympathies for Ned Stark’s passing just because his name was brought up. At this point, he experienced enough of loss in his own family and life that he knew other men did not need reminders at every opportunity. Coming up close, Allard looked at the sleeping baby. An honesty on his lips as he shook his head in a bit of disbelief, “And I thought my mother giving birth to half her sons in that tiny shack we called a home wasn’t easy. You really gave birth out there?” Looking towards you, as you only let your eyes find Jons for a moment. Yet it was enough to say to Allard unconsciously, that it was not quite a memory either of you looked back on willingly at that point. You really had scarcely spoken about it since coming home at all.

You read his silent language as he did you, that he was perfectly fine with a change of subject to get you off of whatever track that thought would’ve gotten you on. “What are you doing here, Allard?” You did not in fact, react to his joking ask that you weren’t happy to see him. Only tiling your head as your arms crossed your front.

Nodding, he gestured out to where you all knew the outside winter snows were falling for emphasis, “Your father and mine are both making their way here. Fast as King Stannis can travel, it’s still a longer ride with the guard then I can do on my own. Besides, I figured you could do with seeing someone more comforting before he gets here.”

Your mind didn’t go there, but it did for Jon. That Allard might be someone else who could possibly understand his position about the way Stannis had raised you, and the ill content about the results on your behalf. But, you only nodded, an anxiety flaring up within you at what your father would say but you nodded regardless. Looking back up at him shaking the concerns off, none too well. “How long are you staying? Only until my father comes and leaves again?”

His answer took you off guard, and yet Allard said it as if you were slow for not thinking of it already. “Now tell me, how does one act as a Queen’s sworn shield if I’m off...wherever it will be your father sends me to next time?” You only looked up at him, that warmth growing again. Just one small thing to remind you of a life that was once not solely filled with grief and pain. Only, it never would last completely, with your luck considering what words he said next to dash that feeling of joy. “And for your reference, your father should arrive bright and early in the morning.”

Your entire face fell, as Allard looked up to share a knowing expression with Jon that you did not see. Only hearing Jons voice, “We’ll find a room for you.” Assuring the details of everything else could be handled when it wasn’t so late, he gave you enough space to share one more hug with Allard before parting ways.

He held you tight once more, like the little sister he had so long treated you as, again a mutter only for you to hear. “I had my father promise to force Stannis to go easy on you. Don’t worry so much.” You nodded, inhaling deeply away the anxiety both men could see clearly before parting ways. Telling him that at the least, getting used to his new duties here would only require learning his way around. Though, you knew your guard was about to get far less quiet if it had Theon and Allard both in it’s rotation, but that was thought for another night.

Counting yourself lucky, little Eddard had stayed asleep up to and including as you put him properly into his cradle. As soon as you pulled the warmer wolf blanket over top of him, he wormed around a little as he always did when asleep and you tucked him in. As if sensing you were there and wanting to ask you to stay and cuddle with him, but being too asleep to be able to convey it. Leaning down to press your lips to the top of his head in a gentle kiss, you only were able to stand up enough before Jon appeared at your back.

Pulling you somewhat into his chest with his hands by your hips, and one slinking around to wrap around your front. Your hands naturally grasped at his forearm while he rested the side of his head against yours. Both your eyes just on the baby until he found his voice rasping gently first. “Do you want to be alone when first seeing him in the morning? Or do you want me there with you?”

You didn’t need to ask what he meant. Holding at his forearm tighter. A soft whisper, insecure unlike what you wished to sound like. “Would it seem childish to want you there?” Jon only smiled against you, muttering that of course it wasn’t. Kissing your cheek, Jon only moved away enough to position himself behind you.

Pushing your hair in front of your shoulders, he begun to undo the laces at the back of your dress. A foolish thought in his opinion that some still thought you could do with more maids or a Lady in Waiting to do this for you. In Jons mind, thats what you had him for. Of course, you felt the same towards him and some more domestic duties attributed to a steward or squire.

Strange as it was, it was all you knew. Out in war, you and Robb so much had to rely on one another and you had never thought about doing it any different with Jon. You never questioned anything with Robb, out there it was nearly all instincts you both had to work off of when not pure strategy. Yet now, even here in his arms, you felt that burning nag in your stomach to ask him. As if Jon of all people, would suddenly become the husband unhappy when you made choices for your own agency. “Are you sure you’re alright with it?” A questioning hum left Jon, forcing you to elaborate. Your words spoken a bit slower, showing off more of the insecurity and hesitancy within them. “Allard. Are you certain it’s alright for him to be here..”

Jon murmured your name, leaning down to kiss a path along your neck back up to your ear before holding you back against him more tenderly. “Darling.” You could feel his hand winding up and around to undo the belt around your waist before the hefty weight of the dress fell loose and pooled around your feet, left in a longer, dark shift as Jon ran a hand up and down your hip. “You’re here, surrounded by my family, my people.” Pausing as you felt him look up before directing his gaze back to you. “Even my things. You still barley have anything of your own in comparison, and the only person you have from your life here is Selyse. I’d never tell you he couldn’t be here, I know how much he means to you.” You felt him nuzzle the side of your head, right away turning a little to return the gesture as his voice grew somehow softer. “I want you to be happy, that’s all. I just didn’t think it would take getting you something as little as a new guard to do it.”

He laughed gently as you breathed out a laugh. Leaning more back into him for support as you felt that unease swim through you. “I don’t think we should tell him. My father, about the assassins.” Only asking a short why, you swallowed roughly. “I know word will get out eventually, but, I only..I don’t..”

Shaking your head, Jon picked up where he knew your thoughts had dropped off as you felt overwhelmed so easily. “On top of everything else, you don’t want to worry him.” Nodding yes, Jon sighed deeply, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “I can’t promise I won’t be honest with him if he brings the issue up to be himself, but, I won’t go out of my way to tell him.”

It didn’t feel good, making him promise to keep such a large secret for you from your father, but you didn’t feel good about what was already to come. You didn’t need this on top of it, you didn’t want this to be any more awkward then it already was going to be.

Morning came before you knew it. Always starting early with little Eddard being awake first and wanting to be fed. Sleeping in for a comfortable time never quite was consistent with him now, often waking yourself and Jon up both absurdly early before you’d feed the baby. Taking time to rest back in bed then just together before getting up for the day. But, after the baby finished feeding, you felt those nerves return and Jon could tell you were not going to be amicable to just resting back in his arms.

From the moment you had laid little Eddard back in his cradle, you seemed on edge. Your fingers dancing across the top of it in a mindless pattern, the gesture unbecoming of you unless nervous. Jon had to come up behind you. Grasping at your hands and pulling them back, gracefully turning you to face him in the process before letting him cup your cheeks.

His curls still loose around him as his voice rough from sleep still, you wanted to just climb back into bed and reveal in enjoying him as such without anything else. But Jon knew you wouldn’t do that, nor did either of you think it would be a good idea to not be prepared. Muttering your name, Jon ran his thumb over your cheek. “As far as you know, he’s just here to meet his grandson. It doesn’t have to be a problem.” You held at his waist, pushing your hands inside the open shirt he had throw on once little Eddard had woken first, and finding his skin warmer further under the softer material. Only pointing out that he would want to know about what happened, all of it. Jon exhaled deeply, turning your head downwards to press a kiss to your forehead before making you look up to meet his eyes again. “Then he’s going to have to take it one step at a time. Just like everyone else.” You didn’t say anything, just a wide eyed look up at him trusting that it was going to be alright, even though your mind disagreed.

Turning you in his arms, Jon guided you to stand at the vanity in front of the mirror. Reaching for your brush, Jon didn’t even hesitate to start running it through your hair, yourself noting how long it took for him to reach the ends of each strand as you begun a small smile. “Are you purposely taking longer to brush my hair now as an excuse, or are you just rather slow at doing it?”

You could barley see his smirk from the reflection. “I never got to enjoy it the way I wanted before, then you cut it by the time I was allowed anywhere near your hair in private.” Not a laugh, but a smile tinted in fondness came over you with a playful roll of your eyes. Jon so careful each time, never once when it was him brushing, washing, or braiding your hair did you ever feel any sting or pain if he hit a tangle. He was more gentle then your own hand maidens even had been in the early days you weren’t strong enough to say no to them fussing overt your hair.

It was only until one of the elder ones suggested doing your hair up similar to Cersei’s did you put your foot down. Still twelve at the time, they had been taken back by your tone and strictness. You delegated them to simple styles forcing them to leave your hair mostly around your shoulders until you were so fed up with them. You had pulled a blade hiding in the chest in your chambers out in the evening when they were all gone.

You had moved to stand out on the balcony your bedchambers led out to, grabbing a thick handful of your hair as you felt it blow in the wind before slicing a significant amount off. Letting the dark strands flow through the air and never knowing where the landed or what anyone would’ve thought at seeing hair appear from the sky.

You had gotten ready and dressed without them very early, and left to the main dining area by the time food would’ve begun being brought out. You had sat without more then a greeting to your father, knowing he was staring at you for some time. Likely attempting to figure out what was different until he only asked why. You had shrugged, stating that it was hot in Kings Landing when really he knew you didn’t want to be fussed over.

Yet now, you stood there, letting Jon fuss over your hair. Knowing with little question what style you’d want and having the patience do do it. Too the added benefit that Jon thus had the freedom to style your hair in the ways he thought you looked the most beautiful and would indulge himself as such. “I told the guards to bring your father here when he arrives. So you and the baby can be comfortable together before he gets here.” Nodding, he didn’t pressure you to say more.

Finishing you, then taking turns to dress one another before you were the one standing behind him, gathering his curls up to tie back behind him. The baby had woken since then, happily laying about in his cradle as long as he could see or hear yourself and Jon, not making a fuss. Just as you both finished readying for the day, you spun on the spot to lean down to the baby. A smile across your face as a bright one came over his, arms reaching up to try and grab at you already. “Good morning, sweet boy.” Picking him up, you held him carefully with narrowing eyes, glancing to Jon. Who had not moved, only leaning back against the cabinet with his arms crossed, nothing but an adoration across his face as you looked inquisitively towards him. “Is he holding his head up more lately?”

Jons smile grew wider, “Aye.” Coming to close the gap, he ran his hand over the top of his head as little Eddard made a content sound leaning into his fathers warm touch, meeting too his bright eyes. “I asked Maester Wolkan about it. He said in a few weeks, maybe another month or so and he should start being able to hold his head up more with out constant help.” Smiling back down at him too, you rocked him gently as Jon kept a hand running over, thumb trailing along his tiny cheek. “And your mother was worried you wouldn’t catch up.”

Little Eddard made a louder sound, something playful that pulled a grin from Jon right away. The hand by his cheek drifting toward to his torso. A giggle filled the air right away as Jon gently ticked the baby’s stomach, who now wormed away from his fathers cruel actions closer to you. Leaning down to whisper at him in a mocking way, pretending Jon couldn’t hear your clandestine meeting from a foot away. “I know, he’s so cruel.” Another giggling sound left the baby, even as Jon eased up.

Hand leaving the baby to cup your cheek, you both gazed at one another for a moment before finally a knock was heard. The guard didn’t need to even introduce whom was here to see you both, you knew right away as you stiffened up. Little Eddard noticing the shift in the air, and especially you right away. Jon let his hand slip behind your neck, pulling you close to press a kiss to your forehead. Lingering longer then normal as if sensing you might be needing him here more then you were even willing to barley admit the night before.

Jons voice was a firm command, turning to give you a respectable amount of space, not to look so possessive right off hand if you were to guess. How long Jon could keep that up, you did not think long. “Send him in.”

Not enough time had passed for anything to change, you nor Jon looked substantially different, and neither did your father, but as he walked inside the room, there was a silence as you both took one another in as if looking for differences anyways. You’d say possibly he looked more stressed, but he always looked as such. Saying your name, your voice was as quiet as his but more tight and on edge. “Father.”

Part of you knew Jon must feel uncomfortable, being in between such tense people but you knew without him you may just lash out and you didn’t want to start off that way. The two of them shook hands, starting with more formalities, though that was not unexpected. Your father instead of the usual small talk, normally worked his way through a formal list of more unimportant matters before dropping to the subject at hand when in a more social situation this tense. “I would ask how the journey went, but I presume that’s a far more complicated answer then for right now.”

Jon exhaled a little more heavily, but with a single nod as he let go of his hand. “You’d be right. But, judging by your raven, you didn’t come here for that.” Muttering a no, your father once again looked at you. A small sound coming from the bundle in your arms, him covered up enough from the angle you stood at that the baby couldn’t be seen right away.

You didn’t say a word, but moved a little forward for his sake. Pulling the blanket a little more off his head, the baby’s eyes blinked at the brighter amount of light now with wide curious eyes. Looking up at you, he made a small babbling sound once more almost confused. The awkward tension radiated off of you and he was clearly picking up on it, and with only one new person in the room he would be able to sense who was the source of it.

Jon stood close, but a respectable amount of feet back as you and your father approached the other. His hand gently pulling the blanket at the side a bit back, looking down at the baby. Both looked at one another, before an uncomfortable sound came from the baby. One almost as if he needed to be cleaned, but you knew that was not the issue now. He was uncomfortable just as you were. Your voice barley a gentle murmur, trying to put up enough of a facade that would calm him down before he got upset. “This is my father, Stannis. Your grandfather.”

Wide green eyes looked up to ones whose colour matched his like yours, but without the same warmth. There was an apprehension. You wondered if he only knew you had a child, not that you had a boy. It made things so much worse, and too, something else in the air that you knew Jon wouldn’t be able to pick up on the way you did. Your father didn’t yet look away from him, but there wasn’t quite the warm welcome that your mother had with him. “What’s his name?”

Jon answered for you, knowing it would come off better if he said the name which at least came from his own side of the family. “Eddard.” Stannis looked over to Jon for a moment with a difficult to read curiosity before nodding, looking back between you then the baby.

His voice was low and collected, but something with more questions brewing silently behind his eyes. “A fitting name for a Northern child.” You almost pleaded with him not to say anything here, not in front of Jon when it was his father whose name was being honoured. You’d have that discussion in private, but he was sensible enough not to throw salt on that wound. Instead, he stood back.

It didn’t really register to yourself, but it certainly did to Jon that Stannis did not ask to hold his grandson, nor did you even think to offer to let him.

“You told no one you were pregnant. I presume you knew when you left, if not both of you.” That time you took the brunt of it, Jon blamed himself and so did others and you wouldn’t let it happen again.

Your voice firm, holding the baby a little closer to your chest as your face twisted into something harsh. “Yes, I knew. And I made the choice to go anyways, I thought we would have the time to get there and back before I went into labour.” Only pointing out that you didn’t, you blinked heavily trying to push away the worst of the memory. Jon stood beside you both, his eyes much more trapped on you, trying to push out the echoing memory of the deafening sounds of screaming inside that cave as you spoke now. “I went into labour a full month early. We didn’t expect it, it just happened. We were almost a week from Castle Black, it wasn’t Jons fault.”

Stannis was mostly silent, watching you now very carefully. Your eyes glanced to the door where your mother was perched by the frame watching. Both with eyes on you matching, something full of a pain that wasn’t self soothing but as if feeling an ache they previously never knew they’d feel again. “I didn’t say it was his fault. As you said, you made your choice.” But he moved on, working better if he made his way once more through a list of questions. “Is he healthy?”

Nodding, you looked back down. A smaller smile came over you as you ran a thumb over his cheek. Were he not swaddled, little Eddard would’ve tried to grab at your hand to keep it there. Instead he stayed calm, but watching you intently as if he wished for this situation to end himself. “Maester Wolkan assured me he is.”

Selyse added, stepping closer into the room around to your side. A much more motherly dynamic even between you both then Stannis had last saw of either of you together. A hand around your back and against your other arm while the other ran along the top of his head herself, a more calm look on his face towards her then his grandfather as all no doubt could tell. “He was tiny when they brought him home, but he’s grown significantly. If I would take a guess, he will be at full size in a fortnight if not sooner at the rate hes growing.”

You changed the subject, unable to withhold the same urge your father had. To keep jumping back to the main points at hand. “How long will you be staying?” Saying he was not yet sure, Jon only jumped in to assure he’d find a suitable room for he and his men as well. You knew some would find it odd, how Stannis had arrived and had no intent on sleeping in the same bed as his own wife.

Personally, you were certain that had not been the case since Shireen was conceived. You were long since used to how little affection spread through the eldest members of your family. Before he could even think to turn and leave, any of them you stopped them. “There’s one more thing.”

The look you shared with your mother said enough, only moving as far away to close the door away from the ears of any of the guards outside. Turning back, she started it. “We need to discuss something, or, rather someone now that you are here.”

Taking all three of you off guard, Stannis said it calmly and knowingly as he looked at you specifically. “You mean Roberts bastard that you have been hiding here for months?” Your eyes grew wide, looking to your mother only to have those questions stomped out. “No one told me. He has the misfortune of being outside by the gates when I arrived. He did a rather good job at pretending he hadn’t.”

“I wonder why.” You only stared at him, holding the baby firmer as if a crutch to keep you from losing your temper. “His name is Gendry, father. Your nephew. Possibly the only one you have left.” Inhaling deeply, you looked down at the baby before finding the right words. “I don’t want to hear any explanation, what you did. Or rather, what you were going to allow the Lady Melisandre to do to him. None of that is justified. And you won’t do anything like it again.” He raised his eyebrows at you, likely a command being given to your own father for the first time. “Gendry is under my protection now, and you let that woman hurt enough of this family for her goals. If you didn’t agree with that you would’ve protested long ago when I sent her away, but you didn’t. So I don’t want to hear a single word about anything you had planned or thought you might do about him being here. He’s your blood, if you like it or not.”

It was hard to explain for Jon, exactly why he felt so immensely proud of you for standing up for Gendry. Even when you both knew when you saw him later today, no doubt an argument would break out about Stannis being here in the first place. Jon knew not to intrude on your private discussions with him, but part of him was so amused by the way you both could argue, banter, and insult back and forth that he knew it would be highly entertaining to watch.

Stannis was taken back. Only looking at you with narrowed eyes before relenting just as calm. “This is your home, I am only your guest. As you wish.” A stern but hesitant nod came from you, as if expecting push back. But, maybe you only were imagining an argument you’d have shared countless times with Robert, not Stannis. Two very different kinds of confrontation, and your father was not the one who encouraged yelling, as cathartic as you and Robert yelling at one another could feel after for your tempers. At least Gendry inherited that trait, and was far more amusing to argue with then your King.

Once more you had too much on your mind, stepping forward before he could leave the room again. “Father, about Allard-”

That was a look of bemusement on his face no doubt, only half turned around towards you. “You can thank Ser Davos when you see him for that. Consider it his gift, a congratulations for your sons birth. I’m sure he is lurking around the castle somewhere. The two of them certainly know how to do that.” For the first time a look was more jesting between you both.

Two Seaworths, both former smugglers alone in the castle. You knew they could find every secret hidden in these walls within hours if left to their own devices long enough.

Sensing Jon coming up behind you, his hands ran up and down your arms before letting one go to run along little Eddards head. Much more settled now that you three were alone, his awkward tension leaving the moment Stannis left his view. “That went better then I thought.”

Leaning back into his chest, Jon stood more firmly to stand as comforting support for you, his hand still on your arm firmly running up and down. “There was a lot he wouldn’t say in front of you.” Asking like what, you shook your head. “Questions I know he has that aren’t appropriate to ask when you’re there.” That didn’t answer the question, but you knew the subject of the baby’s name was not over.

It was still hard for Jon to let go of. How much more on edge, how much more closed off you seemed when Stannis was around. He could especially now look back to how carefree he had gotten you when it was only you both out north. How much he brought you out of your shell, and how much you crawled back into that shell as soon as your father appeared. You had stood up against him, but not for yourself. You defended that it wasn’t Jons fault you went out there, and you had stood up in defence of Gendry. But nothing about you or how you felt or anything.

You still didn’t want to disappoint him, even though at this point Jon knew that you had nothing to gain from trying to navigate around just being honest. You were still a bit of that little girl not wanting her father to look down on you, but at the cost of your own well being. He didn’t like seeing you tense, and unsure, and self doubting and closed off. He didn’t like seeing you regress just because you still as if you needed to fit an image long broken by him.

He was no longer the father you thought he was, and you were no longer the daughter he thought you were. The war had severed that image forever, and yet you still regressed trying to put the pieces of the facade back together to try and gain his approval.

Night and day it was. Interacting with Stannis man to man, one King to another. But as the man who loves you, watching you and your father just felt angering. It made Jon feel as if it might be a bit harder to push that aside when speaking to him on official matters. Possibly, it was encouraged now that he brought his son down to the tomb of Ned Stark.

Jons own father was loving and caring towards you in a way everyone in Winterfell knew that Stannis was not. But Stannis was the father remaining to you, and Jon hated that you didn’t feel as warm and comfortable with him as you did even in front of the memory of his own father. Jon didn’t want it to make him angry, but it truly did.

He just wished Stannis loved you as his daughter, the way Ned Stark did long before you ever married into his family. You didn’t deserve to be so held back by a man Jon respected so much. You didn’t deserve to be so conflicted and playing nice for Jons sake when he was the one who needed to stand his ground for you against him. It would depend on how anything went in the future, but Jon knew he needed to be your voice against your own father instead of letting the man walk all over the progress Jon had spent months, even years, fixing with you.

Hopefully he thought, Sam would help calm him down a little. If anyone Jon knew would understand having such deep issues with their father, it was him of all people. And possibly too, if they were at least alone, Jon might just bring up the issue with Gilly.

Of all times Jon knew now that you could do with her friendship again, and as much as Jon wanted to be there to fix everything, he knew being friends with her had been important to you. He knew you’d tell him not to, but Jon was too painfully aware that you would not go out of your way to fix things with people, not wanting to intrude on their lives when they were making yours worse with being so distant.

Besides, little Sam being a toddler now was proving to be great practice to handle when Jons own son got to be that age. And however many more he could hopefully convince you to have in the future if the most needing parts of Jons heart could have a say it in. But not even that could drown it out, what he was brought back to in that room, your father asking you about giving birth out there.

Jon didn’t want you to know whatsoever how much he was still haunted by that night in the cave.

#jon snow x reader #robb stark x reader #jon snow #robb stark #jon snow x you #robb stark x you #jon snow imagine #robb stark imagine #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf

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syndrossi · 3 months ago

Text

Restoration AU: Ned I

Previous part, Bran I, here.

NED 1

Ned was embroiled in discussions with Vayon regarding the additional food stores that would need to be procured to feast the king’s party in accordance with his expectations—and Robert’s expectations certainly tended toward the lavish—when Jory burst into his solar, looking so rattled that Ned rose in alarm, convinced that something had happened to one of the children.

“My lord,” he said. “There are—that is, your son, Bran—”

Before Ned could fear the worst, he caught motion beyond the door frame, and his gaze fell upon the auburn hair of his second-youngest as he poked his head in the door. Robb and Jon had also accompanied Jory, trailing just behind, and they looked as perturbed as his captain of the guard. Robb’s mouth was a hard, harsh line that recalled Cat when she was in full fury, and Jon looked as pale as the direwolf pup he’d named Ghost.

His nerves settled on mild apprehension. “What is it, Jory?”

Jory cast a hesitant look at Vayon. “It is a matter that my lord may wish to discuss in private.”

Ned frowned. Jory and Vayon had known one another for several years now. Enough for his captain and steward to know that he held both of them in high esteem. He was unsure what it meant that Jory should be wary of the man now, but it could be nothing good.

“We can finish attending to the feast preparations later, Vayon,” Ned said. “It seems my sons have found themselves a spot of mischief.”

Robb’s eyes narrowed, further mystifying Ned. His steward inclined his head, then took his leave, and the children crowded into his solar. But rather than just the three he had expected, two more entered behind Robb and Jon, furs wrapped around either of them, and Jory’s own cloak atop that.

Ned’s mouth, which had opened to demand answers of his captain and his son, snapped shut as his gaze fell upon the two strange children, his wits abandoning him for several blank seconds. One, with hair but a shade or two lighter than his own, returned his stare with a wariness that wavered as it went on, taking on the faint sheen of tears. His face was as familiar as his own, as alike to Jon’s as a brother’s would be.

It cannot be.

It was the other child’s appearance, however, that lanced through his shock, turning it icy with dread. Rhaegar Targaryen was fourteen years dead, but Ned had known the prince’s face well, for it had haunted more than a few nightmares since, he and Lyanna both. This child could be the prince’s son—a comparison driven home as Ned glanced from one to the other, finding as many similarities between them as they shared with Jon.

Brothers. They must be, of nearly identical height and build. Twins, perhaps, except that one could be his son, while the other—

How? The children looked to be of an age with his daughters, meaning Rhaegar would have been four or five years dead by the time they were born. Ned himself had seen the mangled skull of his infant son, Aegon, and had the boy lived, he would have been Jon’s age.

And yet that is what they look like. Rhaegar’s sons, four years too young. The son whose death Robert celebrated, and the son whose death he would seek, if he only knew.

As he studied the dark-haired child more closely, subtle differences presented themselves between him and Jon. His eyes were a lighter grey that took on a tinge of purple the longer Ned stared into them, recalling the terror of the first few months of Jon’s life, before his own had darkened to a deep grey. His hair was a shade lighter, its dark brown slightly warmer.

And yet none of that mattered. The Valyrian coloring that House Targaryen had been known for was not uncommon in the Free Cities, but anyone who had ever seen the mad king or his wife and son would recognize their blood in these children. The other child’s coloring would all but invite such comparisons, and there was no greater danger. They could easily be siblings, the three of them.

It cannot be Aerys, nor can it be Rhaegar. Could Rhaella have lived after all to follow her children into hiding? Her remains had been cremated in accordance with Targaryen tradition by the time Dragonstone had been taken. Died in childbed, they had been told. Any whispers of the exiled queen’s survival surely would have made it to their shores.

Yet it was the only possible explanation. Any child of Rhaella’s would look like her slain son. But why would they be here? Why now, as Robert openly travels to Winterfell?

“We found them on the outskirts of the wolfswood, half frozen,” Jory said, breaking the tense silence. “Young Bran spotted them.”

The children were both shivering, Ned realized at last. He managed a smile at his youngest. “Bran, lad, go see if Gage has any soup on—something hot for our guests.”

Disappointment flashed across his son’s face, his curiosity readily apparent, but he cast the two boys a sympathetic look and swallowed his protest. “Yes, Father. I shall bring it myself!”

Once he had gone, Ned turned back to the children. “I am Lord Stark,” he said, keeping his voice low and gentle. “And you are in Castle Winterfell. Who might you be?”

“Is it not plain, Father?” Robb snapped, tensed as though for a fight. “There is no need to make a farce of it, now that you’ve sent Bran away.”

Ned sucked in a breath, feeling a fool as comprehension struck. Jory’s obvious discomfort, Robb’s fury, Jon’s quiet shock—

They think that I…?

Ned stared into his son’s eyes, finding shock and betrayal beneath the anger. A mirthless chuckle rose in his chest and he forced it down. Why should they not, after all? He had soiled his honor once in claiming Jon as his son. The appearance of two children on the outskirts of Winterfell who looked to be his bastard son’s younger brothers offered one obvious explanation.

Denial followed his stalled laughter, smothered just as quickly in the wake of another realization. Deny their relation, and Jon’s apparent kinship to two children of Targaryen features would invite all the questions Ned had feared in the first few years of his son’s life. Why would a boy with no relation to House Targaryen look like one of their long-dead scions?

Suspicious minds would turn to his sister and the man who had kidnapped her. The timing of Jon’s appearance, the fact that Ned had been the one to find her in the Tower of Joy, it would all point to a deadly truth—a treason that Robert would never forgive.

Unless there was another explanation. One that Jory and both of his sons had clearly seized upon, one that would all but guarantee Jon’s safety.

If they were my own bastard sons, Jon’s brothers…

Then there was no possible relation between Jon and Rhaegar Targaryen. How could there be? His brothers would have been born years after the prince’s death, their mother some woman from Lys, perhaps, with the silver-blond hair and purple eyes of Valyria that were so prized in that city. No one would look for House Targaryen in them, if House Stark offered an excuse for their shared resemblance.

To protect Jon, his only option might be to stain his honor beyond recognition. To flaunt these children, as though he had nothing to hide.

“Leave us,” Ned said. “I would speak to these children alone.”

Robb’s face reddened, his son’s outrage whipped to a frenzy. “I will not—”

“That is your lord’s command,” Ned said, unable to keep the edge from his voice. “Go. I will speak to you later.”

His son’s fists clenched, the hurt swimming beneath his anger plain, but he gave a stiff nod. “Come, Snow,” he said to his brother.

Stark, Snow. Names that his sons had taken to calling one another in the past year as they neared manhood, the growing understanding of their differing circumstances wedging itself between them. The names were not spoken unkindly, but Ned caught the barest flinch on Jon’s face this time.

Jory was the last to leave, pausing by the door. “We returned through the Hunter’s Gate, my lord, but we ran across Theon on our way to the keep.”

Ned nodded tersely in understanding. His ward was loud of mouth and held no fondness for Jon. If he too had concluded that the boys were Jon’s bastard brothers, then word would spread quickly through Winterfell. It would reach Cat soon enough, if Robb had not gone to tell her himself, and Ned’s heart clenched. As keen as Robb’s pain and betrayal had been, his wife’s suffering would be far worse.

But the children in the room with him now were a more immediate concern. Ned approached them slowly, testing their reaction. Jon’s young twin had lost none of his earlier wariness, though he did not appear to be frightened of him. And the other child regarded him with a quiet curiosity that was entirely Jon’s.

They are so like him.

“I am Lord Eddard Stark,” he said again. “What are your names?”

“I am Jon,” said the dark-haired one, and it was all Ned could do not to react. “And this is my twin brother, Raymar.”

Jon and Raymar. Vale names, both, which was no less puzzling than anything else about them. Ned doubted that Rhaella Targaryen had been hiding herself or her sons in the Vale, which had practically served as the heart of the rebellion against her family’s rule.

“We thank you for your house’s kindness, Lord Stark,” Raymar said with a bow of his head.

Neither seemed uncomfortable in the presence of a lord, let alone the Warden of the North. Their composure spoke to an upbringing a highborn child would have.

“And to which house do you belong?” Ned asked, curious if they would answer plainly.

Young Jon shifted slightly to put himself between his brother and Ned, and the twins exchanged an uneasy look that as good as answered his question.

“I would know your true names,” Ned said, keeping his voice gentle. “No harm will come to you.”

Even the way this Jon bit at the inside of his lip was so reminiscent of his own Jon that Ned felt freshly unnerved. “I am Baelon,” he said finally. “And he is Aemon.”

It took him a moment to place the names. Sons of Jaehaerys I. Perhaps Rhaella had wanted to cling to a time in her family’s history when they had been at the height of their power, though these names in particular bore an ill omen. Two heirs to the Iron Throne, both of whom had died before they could claim it—not unlike her firstborn.

Good men, though. That had been their legacy, the princes who should have ruled, rather than the king whose reign had ultimately led to the Targaryens turning on one another, dooming their dragons.

“Why have you come here?”

That was the question upon which everything hinged. Were they a message to Ned? A threat? Had Rhaella learned of her grandson’s fate? But he could not imagine what madness could have taken her to send two young children here to deliver such a message, especially when it could so easily be interpreted as a threat.

“We did not come here by choice, my lord,” Aemon said. “We were taken from our father.”

Ned had been so focused upon their Targaryen heritage that he had not even considered who their father might be. “What is your father’s name?”

The children exchanged another glance, and it was Baelon who spoke. “Daemon.”

Ned could not hide his reaction this time. With Maelys the Monstrous’s death, the Blackfyre line had been thought to be ended at last. The male line, at least. Could there have been a descendent willing to tie himself to the exiled House Targaryen? The benefit for Rhaella Targaryen was plain: the Golden Company was said to be ten-thousand strong and of impeccable discipline—the closest to an army one could hope to hire, as sellswords went.

Rhaella Targaryen gives them the legitimacy they desire, and they offer her the start of an army. And yet—could such an alliance have been formed without whispers eventually reaching Robert’s ears?

And if someone had kidnapped her two sons, the joining of House Blackfyre and Targaryen, then that spoke to yet another plot. Someone who opposed their ambitions?

Someone who also knew, or had guessed, the true circumstances of Jon’s birth?

I am as much a pawn in this game as these children are, Ned thought grimly. As Jon now was.

“What can you tell me about your captors?” he asked.

“We were bound and blinded at first,” Aemon said. “And later made to drink a concoction that ushered us to sleep.”

Dreamwine, mostly like. Or even milk of the poppy. “You remember nothing at all?”

The child shook his head, distress creeping into his voice. “We were with our father and then we were here, alone in the cold and snow.”

“And your mother?” Ned asked, because he had to be sure.

Sorrow settled over them, keenest in Aemon, whose brother answered for them. “Dead.”

Ned watched them carefully. “Rhaella?”

Aemon’s gaze snapped to his, widening in surprise before the child could compose himself. His brother squeezed his hand and gave a silent nod.

Dead. That both simplified and complicated matters, though Ned was not certain precisely how. It made their kidnapping all the more mysterious in its purpose. A power struggle between the queen’s surviving children, perhaps? If her eldest, Viserys, feared that the Golden Company would support their claim over his, due to whatever Blackfyre blood might flow in their veins, then sending them away might have been his answer.

Sending them here could yet be a threat against Jon, or simple coincidence.

A rap at the door startled all three of them, and Ned gestured at them to remain still as he answered it. It was Jory once more, bearing a tray of stew and bread. Apparently Bran had insisted on bringing it himself, but the captain had intercepted the heavy load, judging it best that he take it up instead. Ned nodded his thanks, and brought the tray back into his solar.

“Here,” Ned said, setting it down on the table and beckoning the children over. “You must be hungry.”

Baelon broke off a piece of the bread, handing it to his brother first, then taking a bite of his own. He seemed to relax then. They have been raised to know our customs, at least, Ned thought. Though it pained him that the child had feared they might have been harmed.

Stolen away from their family and abandoned in the snow-covered fields outside the wolfswood, in the heart of a kingdom loyal to the man who had killed their kin, and would gladly see their house erased, down to the last child. That they had remained this composed in his presence was a sign of either great bravery or misunderstanding of the danger they were in.

And given how wary Baelon had been since their arrival, Ned suspected they both knew precisely how much danger they were in—to the point of fabricating names for themselves.

The stew put some color in their cheeks, and the fire had warmed them enough that they were no longer shivering. Ned, who had taken a seat opposite them, fought the urge to sag back against his chair as the throbbing pressure of a headache formed at his temples.

“You seem to understand that you cannot be Baelon and Aemon here,” Ned said once they’d finished their stew and sopped up the remnants with the last of the bread. Both children nodded. “I can protect you until I have found a way to return you home, but until then, I shall require your cooperation.”

They looked to one another once more, but seemed in agreement. “What do you require of us?” Aemon asked.

“You are Raymar,” Ned said. He glanced at Baelon, unnerved yet again at how like his son he looked as he studied Ned back. “You cannot be Jon, as I already have a son named Jon.”

The children blinked in twin surprise, seeming to immediately grasp his intention. “Willam,” Baelon said. “I can be Willam, my lord.”

Another name favored in the Vale, though not uncommon elsewhere. “That is acceptable,” Ned said. Then he took a deep breath. “And you must call me Father.”

x~x~x

Okay but my favorite thing is that Ned giving two more of his bastards Vale names is so very recognizably him, even though he didn't suggest either name to them!

Which POV to write next? Decisions, decisions...

#resonant 'verse restoration au #ned embracing the chaos because what other choice does he have #sometimes the best defense is a good offense #and what an offense...

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