#silverwing was just playing

[hauntingblue]

Army of bastards akdhaksjsks YEAAAAAHHH

[mxwhore]

this one i think is my second favorite eppysode of the season

[novaursa]

The Cold Embrace (1/2)

Requests are closed!

- Summary: When your older brother, Jacaerys, promised you to the Warden of the North as an alliance offering, your world crashed. Because you knew one thing: dragons die in the North - and not even honorable Lord Stark could change that fact.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: The reader is an only daughter of Rhaenyra and has a striking resemblance to her. The reader is also bonded with Silverwing. This series will be on my second list, which has the link on my first one that is pinned to the top. @missisjoker I hope this is what you had in mind. Let me know if I'm on the right track. 🙂

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 7 500+

- Next part: 2/2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @jellybeanstacey0519 @ohhdearmargot @vastseamind @strengthandstay @anne-mary-1d @lovelyteenagebeard

- A/N: Yeah, this came way earlier then expected. But you guys liked the idea so much more than I anticipated. So, I've decided to spend last night working on this for you guys. The second part should be out tomorrow. Let me know what you think. I love all of you. ❤️

You stand in the brisk morning air, the cold wind biting at your cheeks as you prepare to mount Silverwing. Her massive form shifts beside you, her silver scales gleaming like molten moonlight against the grey clouds above. You can feel her anticipation under your skin, the bond between you and your dragon humming with unspoken energy. She longs for the sky, to fly north where the winds grow colder and the world harsher.

But you are not ready to take flight—not yet. Not with the anger burning inside you.

"You're being unreasonable," Jacaerys snaps, his voice sharp as he paces before you. He’s dressed for the journey north, his cloak billowing in the wind, but there’s something frantic in his movements, something desperate.

"Unreasonable?" You scoff, your hands tightening into fists at your sides. The sting of betrayal simmers beneath your skin. "You promised me to a man I've never met, Jace! A Northern brute! Without even asking me—"

Jacaerys whirls around, his dark eyes flashing with frustration. "He's not a brute, Y/N. Cregan Stark is an honorable man, more honorable than most in the South. The North would follow him into the very mouth of the abyss if he asked. And he’s given his word to support our mother’s claim. We need his alliance. We need him."

Your lips curl into a sneer, the heat rising in your chest, fueling the fire of your indignation. "If you like him so much, perhaps you should marry him!"

He blinks at you, stunned for a heartbeat, before his jaw clenches, the muscle ticking as he struggles for control. "Don’t be absurd. This isn’t about me. It’s about what’s best for our family, for the realm. You’re Rhaenyra’s daughter—your marriage isn’t a matter of love. It’s a duty."

You feel the words like a slap, the weight of expectation heavy and suffocating, like the iron chains they would use to hold down a dragon. You look at him, your older brother, the one who has always been steadfast, always so sure of himself, and for a moment, you don’t recognize him.

"Is that what you think?" Your voice is cold, but beneath it, there’s a tremor of hurt you can’t quite suppress. "That I’m just a pawn? A piece to be traded for an alliance?"

Jacaerys steps closer, lowering his voice, softening, as though he believes that will calm the storm brewing inside you. "You are not a pawn, Y/N. But you are the blood of the dragon. We all have our roles to play in this war."

"You had no right," you hiss, stepping away from him, your boots crunching in the frost-laden grass. "You had no right to promise me to him. To anyone."

"And what would you have me do?" he counters, his patience fraying. "Our enemies surround us. The Lannisters, the Baratheons, the Hightowers—everyone is closing in. The North is our only hope for a strong ally, someone who can challenge them. Cregan Stark is not some savage; he’s a lord with a sense of duty, of honor. He will treat you with respect."

Your laughter is sharp, bitter, and it echoes off the stones of Dragonstone. "Respect? Is that what you call it? Being shipped off like a prize mare to bear the North's sons?"

Jacaerys' face tightens. "I would never do this if I didn’t believe it was necessary. Cregan is a man of his word. He is strong and kind, not like the men you fear. He lost his wife, Arra, and he’s raising their son alone. He needs a partner, someone who will stand beside him—"

"Then send yourself!" you shout, your voice rising with your fury. "If he’s so wonderful, if he’s the great honorable man you say, then you marry him!"

Jacaerys’ face turns red, his frustration boiling over, but for a moment he says nothing. He looks at you as if he’s trying to find the right words, but you see it—the tension in his shoulders, the anger tightening his mouth. "This isn’t a game, Y/N."

"No, it’s not," you say quietly, your voice suddenly cool. "This is my life. My future. And you’ve sold it without even asking me."

Silence hangs heavy between you, the sound of Silverwing’s wings shifting behind you the only break in the air. The dragon’s molten eyes flick toward Jacaerys, sensing the tension, the mounting storm between siblings.

Jacaerys runs a hand through his hair, exasperation written in every line of his face. "I didn’t do this to hurt you. I did it to protect us. To protect our family. You may not see it now, but Cregan will be good to you. The North respects strength, and you are stronger than any woman I know."

Your throat tightens. You want to scream, to rail against him, but a part of you knows Jace is sincere. He isn’t cruel, but he is blind—blind to what he’s asking of you.

"Do you even hear yourself, Jace?" Your voice trembles with the effort to hold back tears. "You’re asking me to leave everything I’ve ever known, to live in a land of snow and ice with a man I’ve never met, all because you think it will save our family? Do you really believe that’s what mother would want?"

He flinches at the mention of your mother, the memory of her fierce love for her children, for her legacy. But he doesn’t back down. "Mother would want us to win."

You stare at him, your heart pounding, torn between the duty that’s been drilled into you since birth and the yearning for freedom, for control over your own fate. You think of your mother, Rhaenyra, and how she fought for her own place, how she refused to let men dictate her life. And yet here you stand, your fate in the hands of another.

Silverwing lets out a low rumble, her massive form shifting impatiently. She is ready, but you are not.

You turn from Jace, your chest tight with too many emotions to name. "I’m flying north because I have no choice. But know this—I will not be a tool, not for you, not for anyone."

Jace says nothing, watching as you pull yourself onto Silverwing’s back, the cold wind whipping through your hair. You do not look back as you urge her into the sky, the powerful beats of her wings carrying you away from Dragonstone, toward the North and the unknown future that awaits you.

But as you soar higher, the air growing colder with every passing mile, one thought burns in your mind: you will forge your own path, no matter what it costs.

The chill of winter’s breath clung to the stones of Winterfell, seeping into the bones of man and beast alike. Cregan Stark stood before the gates, his dark cloak billowing in the biting wind. Beside him were his bannermen and retainers, a stoic, silent line of Northern strength, faces weathered by years of enduring harsh winters. They had gathered to greet the prince from the South and the bride he had promised—a woman whose name had begun to spread in whispers as far as the Dreadfort and beyond the Last Hearth.

Cregan’s jaw was set, his grey eyes scanning the sky. He’d heard the tales—stories of Rhaenyra Targaryen’s daughter, a woman as wild as the lands beyond the Wall, as fierce as her dragon. He imagined what she might be like. Some said she was a reflection of her mother, Rhaenyra—beautiful, with the blood of Old Valyria running hot in her veins. Others said she was untamable, a dragon in human form.

A woman of fire, sent to a land of ice.

"She’ll be a challenge," Cregan’s cousin, Lord Roderick, muttered beside him, his breath visible in the frigid air. "If the tales are true, she won’t be easy to tame."

Cregan didn’t respond immediately. He wasn’t one for gossip, nor did he concern himself with idle rumors. But something about this arrangement unsettled him. When Prince Jacaerys had promised him a wife in exchange for the North’s support, Cregan had not expected the princess herself, a daughter of Rhaenyra. A dragon for a wolf.

A low rumble echoed across the valley then, drawing the attention of every man present. The horses whinnied in distress, stamping their hooves, eyes wide with fear. The air seemed to vibrate with power, an unseen force growing stronger, louder.

“They’re here,” Cregan said quietly, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

Two figures appeared in the sky, massive and dark against the pale, snow-laden clouds. The dragons soared over the towering pines of the Wolfswood, their leathery wings beating rhythmically as they approached Winterfell. Cregan felt a rush of awe despite himself. It was not often that dragons graced these cold lands.

The first dragon—Vermax—descended gracefully, his wings cutting through the air like a blade. Prince Jacaerys sat tall upon his mount, his dark hair whipping in the wind. He was the picture of regal authority, his presence commanding respect even from a distance.

But it was the second dragon that drew Cregan’s gaze. Silverwing, an ancient beast whose silver scales glinted in the weak northern sunlight, landed with a thunderous crash. The earth trembled under her weight, sending the horses into a frenzy. Men struggled to calm the beasts, their hands gripping reins tightly.

Upon her back sat the princess.

Even from afar, Cregan could feel her presence, as sharp as a blade drawn from its scabbard. Her silver hair, so much like her dragon’s, fluttered around her face, but it was her eyes that caught his attention. There was fire there—burning, unyielding. And behind that fire, anger. Deep, simmering anger.

She didn’t want to be here.

Cregan’s chest tightened as he watched her dismount with the fluid grace of someone born to command dragons. There was nothing meek or timid in her stance. Her eyes met his, and for a brief moment, he saw the ire that burned within her. She resented this, resented him, and the weight of the bargain struck between Jacaerys and himself.

Jacaerys approached first, a polite smile tugging at his lips as he offered a short bow. "Lord Stark," he greeted, his voice smooth but firm. "I bring greetings from my mother, Queen Rhaenyra. We are honored by your hospitality."

Cregan inclined his head in return, his gaze flicking to the princess before returning to Jacaerys. "Winterfell welcomes you both. The North stands ready, as promised."

Jacaerys’ smile widened, but it was the princess who drew closer, her expression cold and distant. She remained silent, her eyes locking onto Cregan’s, challenging him with her defiance. There was no warmth in her, no courtesy of courtly manners. Her posture was rigid, tense, as though she would sooner mount her dragon and fly away than speak a word to him.

"So," Cregan said after a pause, his voice steady, his gaze unwavering, "you are the princess."

She lifted her chin slightly, her lips curling into the faintest hint of a sneer. "It seems I am." Her voice was sharp, each word laced with irritation. She glanced at Jacaerys briefly, her eyes narrowing before returning to Cregan. "Though I wasn’t given much choice in the matter."

Cregan’s brow lifted slightly, but he held his ground. He had expected resistance, had prepared himself for the fire she would bring. But seeing it now, face-to-face, was something else entirely.

"You will find that the North values honor," Cregan replied, his tone measured. "And in the North, we do not force our women into anything against their will. If you find yourself unwilling, you may leave at any time."

Her eyes flashed, the fire behind them flaring. "And yet here I stand, promised to a man I’ve never met, in a land I did not choose to come to. You’ll forgive me if I don’t take kindly to your words of freedom."

Jacaerys stepped forward then, placing a calming hand on his sister’s arm, his expression tight. "Y/N, we’ve spoken of this. Lord Stark—"

"Spare me the speeches, Jace," she snapped, pulling her arm free. "You may speak of duty and honor, but that doesn’t change the fact that I was sold for an alliance."

The words hung heavy in the cold air, and for a moment, no one spoke. The bannermen exchanged uneasy glances, shifting on their feet. Cregan, however, stood firm, his eyes locked onto hers.

"You are not in chains, Princess," he said quietly. "And I do not need a wife who resents her place here. But I will not force your hand. If you stay, it will be your choice."

For the first time, her expression faltered, a flicker of surprise passing through her eyes. She hadn’t expected that, hadn’t expected to be given an option. For a long moment, she stared at him, her lips pressed into a thin line as though weighing his words.

"Choice," she muttered, her voice low and bitter. "Do we truly have any?"

Cregan said nothing, meeting her gaze evenly. He could see the war within her, the battle between duty and desire, between the freedom she craved and the chains of obligation. He had known from the start that this arrangement would be no simple matter, and now, standing before her, he understood the full extent of the challenge ahead.

Jacaerys cleared his throat, glancing between them. "Perhaps we should retire inside. The journey was long, and Winterfell’s hearths will offer warmth."

Cregan nodded. "Of course. You are both welcome here."

As they made their way toward the gates, Cregan cast one last glance at the princess. She was fire, fierce and wild. But there was more to her than the fury in her eyes. He could see it, even now—beneath the anger and resentment, there was a strength, a will unbroken. The North would test her, but in time, perhaps she would see that the North was not her enemy.

And neither was he.

The godswood was silent, save for the low rustle of wind through the ancient weirwood branches. The red leaves, stark against the snow-dusted ground, seemed to watch the ceremony unfolding below with a solemn, silent approval. The godswood, ancient and sacred, was a strange contrast to the fiery presence of the dragon lurking at its edge. Silverwing's silver scales shimmered faintly in the dappled light, her massive form curled among the trees like a sleeping predator, but her eyes never left you.

You stood at the heart of the godswood, dressed in a gown of deep silver, embroidered with fine, intricate patterns of the sea and sky—waves crashing into clouds, dragons rising from the ocean. The fabric hugged your frame like a second skin, and the heavy velvet of your cloak, the deep blue of House Velaryon, hung from your shoulders, fastened at your neck by a clasp shaped like a dragon in flight. It was regal, commanding, but it felt like a cage. Every stitch, every seam, was a reminder of the duty that had brought you here, bound by your brother’s word and the fragile alliance it promised.

The northern air was cold, biting against your skin, but you barely felt it. The fire in your chest, the resentment bubbling beneath your surface, kept you warm enough. Jacaerys stood to your right, his dark crimson and black cloak billowing softly in the breeze. He was every inch the prince, with his head held high, his Valyrian features stern, but you knew him better than anyone. His eyes flickered with the same determination that had led him to make this match in the first place, but also with a faint shadow of regret—regret for what he’d asked of you, for what he’d forced upon you.

Cregan Stark stood across from you, tall and unflinching, dressed in the black and grey of his house. His broad shoulders bore the weight of a heavy direwolf-fur cloak, and his expression was as cold and impenetrable as the North itself. Yet, as his steel-grey eyes met yours, there was something there, something you hadn’t expected—a quiet respect, an acknowledgment of the fire that burned in you. He wasn’t the brute you’d imagined, but that didn’t change the fact that you were here against your will.

The ceremony proceeded with the familiar words of the old gods, the vows spoken in quiet, reverent tones. You barely heard them, your mind drifting to Silverwing, to the open sky that called to you. This place—Winterfell—was as far from home as you could be. The walls closed in, the cold seeped deeper, and even the dragons were stilled by the weight of it.

“Do you, Y/N of House Velaryon, take Cregan of House Stark as your lord and husband, to honor and serve, in ice and in fire, in winter and in spring?”

The words felt heavy, the weight of them pressing against your chest. You hesitated, your jaw tightening. This wasn’t what you wanted. The fire inside you rebelled against the thought of being tethered to a man you hardly knew, a man from a world of ice and stone.

But duty called. Your mother’s voice echoed in your mind, and Jacaerys’ quiet plea for understanding lingered.

“I do,” you finally said, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

Cregan’s eyes remained on yours as he stepped forward, his hands strong but gentle as he draped the Stark cloak over your shoulders. It was heavy, lined with direwolf fur, the symbol of the North. The weight of it settled on you like a mantle of cold responsibility, pulling you further from the warmth of the sea, further from the freedom you longed for.

As the vows concluded, and the few gathered bannermen murmured their approval, the procession back to the castle began. You moved stiffly at Cregan’s side, your thoughts miles away, swirling with memories of home and the life you’d left behind.

Suddenly, a massive shadow loomed beside you. Silverwing, her long neck lowering, her molten eyes narrowing as she regarded Cregan curiously. She moved with the grace of an ancient predator, her silver-scaled head nudging closer, as though she were studying him.

Cregan stiffened, his eyes flicking toward the dragon, but he didn’t step back. His hand tightened at his side, his muscles coiled beneath his cloak. You could see the way his jaw clenched, his stoicism an iron mask. Though his expression remained impassive, you knew the truth—he was wary, perhaps even afraid. A dragon, no matter how docile, was still a dragon.

Silverwing’s nose brushed against his shoulder, nudging him with surprising gentleness. Her hot breath steamed in the cold air as she let out a low rumble, something that almost sounded like approval, or…affection?

You narrowed your eyes, your lips tightening in annoyance. Of all the times for Silverwing to show her favor, she chose now, and with him?

“Shoo, beast,” Cregan muttered under his breath, his voice steady, though his hand remained close to the hilt of his sword, just in case. He raised his arm, pushing gently against Silverwing’s massive head, but the dragon didn’t budge at first, her molten eyes fixated on him as though she were weighing his worth.

For a long, tense moment, you watched as Cregan squared off with your dragon. His face betrayed nothing, but the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes. He knew as well as you did that if Silverwing felt the urge, she could reduce him to nothing more than a memory in a matter of moments. Yet, he stood his ground, as unyielding as the land he ruled.

Finally, with a reluctant huff, Silverwing backed off, her tail sweeping through the snow as she turned her gaze toward you. But not before letting out a sound—something disturbingly close to a soft whine.

You blinked, incredulous. Was Silverwing fond of him?

You turned toward your dragon, sharp words slipping from your lips in Valyrian, biting and full of frustration. "Traitor," you whispered fiercely, barely loud enough for anyone but Silverwing to hear.

The dragon's molten eyes flicked toward you, her expression almost indignant as she rumbled softly in response. It was as if she could sense your displeasure, but instead of reacting with the loyalty you expected, Silverwing let out another low, almost affectionate sound, her head turning once more toward Cregan.

Your blood boiled. She had always been loyal to you, reflecting the fire in your heart. Yet here she was, nuzzling up to the man who had become the symbol of everything you resented about this forced marriage. You clenched your fists inside the thick fur cloak Cregan had placed over your shoulders, the weight of it pressing down on you as heavily as the expectations that had led you here.

Cregan, still standing firm though you could tell the encounter unsettled him, raised an eyebrow in your direction. His voice was calm, with a hint of dry humor, as though addressing a curious wolf pup. "She seems to have taken a liking to me, though I doubt that sits well with you."

You glared at him, your lips tightening into a thin line. "Silverwing has poor taste," you snapped, brushing past him, the fabric of your gown sweeping the snow as you walked. "She's never been one for judging character."

Cregan said nothing for a moment, his heavy boots crunching in the snow as he fell into step beside you. His silence was maddening, his cool composure only heightening the frustration gnawing at your insides. You had expected him to show more than just wariness toward your dragon, perhaps even fear, but he hadn’t given in to it. And now, with Silverwing showing him something bordering on favor, it made your already bitter resentment burn even hotter.

"I see the truth behind your eyes, Princess," Cregan finally said, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "You’re angry, and rightfully so. This isn’t what you wanted. But the North respects strength, and whether you believe it or not, I am not your enemy."

You stopped in your tracks, your eyes narrowing as you turned to face him. The cold wind whipped through the godswood, sending the red leaves fluttering around you like bloodstained feathers. "Do you think that because you’ve shown some kindness, or because you’ve made no demands of me yet, that I should suddenly be grateful? This is a prison, Lord Stark. A cold, bleak prison where I’ve been sent because of my brother’s decree."

Cregan’s gaze remained steady, his grey eyes holding yours with quiet intensity. "Winterfell is no prison, Princess. You may see it as one now, but I think in time, you’ll find it to be otherwise. You are free to leave if you wish—I've said it before, and I meant it. But should you stay, you’ll be treated with the honor you deserve."

You scoffed, crossing your arms under the weight of the cloak. "Honor. You speak of honor, yet you are content to marry a woman who does not want you, because it benefits you politically."

Cregan’s jaw tightened, but his expression remained calm, unwavering. "And you? Would you refuse to marry because you do not want to fulfill your family’s duty? You and I are alike in that way. We both know what it means to be bound by responsibility."

The words struck a chord in you, though you hated to admit it. You had been raised to understand duty, to know that sacrifices were often necessary for the sake of family and the realm. But this was different. This was your life, your future. And yet, there was a part of you that recognized the truth in Cregan’s words. He had not chosen this either, but he had accepted it with grace that you could not muster.

"Perhaps we are alike," you said slowly, your voice dropping. "But that doesn’t mean I have to like it."

Cregan’s lips quirked, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I would expect nothing less."

The exchange, though still tense, seemed to cool some of the burning rage in your chest. There was a steadiness to Cregan, a quiet strength that you found infuriatingly difficult to hate. But that did not mean you were ready to forgive your brother, or accept your new life with ease. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface.

As you resumed walking toward the castle, Silverwing let out a soft, almost mournful sound from the godswood. You glanced back at her, your heart twisting with conflicting emotions. She had been your constant companion, your source of freedom, and yet here she was, nudging the man you were supposed to despise.

"Traitor," you muttered again, shaking your head as you continued forward, Cregan by your side.

The gates of Winterfell loomed ahead, dark and imposing, the firelight from within flickering against the cold stone walls. The North may not have been your choice, but now, standing on the threshold of your new life, you realized you would have to navigate this frozen world with all the cunning and strength that the blood of the dragon afforded you.

And perhaps, just perhaps, you would find your own way to bend it to your will.

The great hall of Winterfell was warm, its hearths roaring with fire to push back the northern chill. The scent of roasting meat filled the air, mingling with the bitter tang of strong ale and the rich aroma of spiced wine. The long tables were packed with northern lords and their ladies, all toasting and cheering in celebration of the union between the Princess of House Velaryon and Lord Cregan Stark. The sound of their voices blended with the clatter of plates and goblets, rising in a cacophony that should have felt joyous but grated on your nerves.

You sat beside Cregan at the high table, stiff in your seat, the fur-lined Stark cloak still draped around your shoulders. It felt heavy and wrong. Across from you, Cregan’s son, Rickon, was seated, his bright grey eyes wide with awe as he watched the revelry around him. The boy couldn’t have been older than six, with dark hair like his father’s and a mischievous smile that peeked out from behind his solemn expression.

Rickon had been quiet for most of the evening, but now he looked at you with curious eyes, clearly fascinated by the idea of a dragonrider in his home. "My lady," he said, his voice soft and hesitant, "do you really fly on a dragon?"

You turned to him, your irritation melting for a moment at the boy’s innocent curiosity. "I do," you replied, offering a small smile. "Her name is Silverwing. She’s resting in the godswood now."

Rickon’s eyes lit up with wonder, his small hand gripping the edge of the table. "Will I be able to see her? Father says dragons are fearsome, but I’d like to meet one."

You leaned closer, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "If you ask nicely, perhaps Silverwing will let you get close. She’s not so fearsome when she likes someone."

The boy grinned, his earlier shyness dissolving, and for a moment, the tension in your chest eased. But the reprieve was short-lived, as Cregan spoke up beside you, his deep voice cutting through the air.

"Rickon will have plenty of time to meet your dragon," Cregan said, his tone even but his eyes flicking toward you, unreadable. "Though he’ll need to understand that dragons are dangerous creatures, not pets."

You straightened in your chair, bristling at the implication. "Silverwing is no pet, Lord Stark. She’s my companion, and she is only dangerous when she has cause to be."

Cregan raised an eyebrow, his mouth quirking into a faint smirk, but there was something colder behind his gaze. "I’ll take your word for it, Princess. Though I suspect the people of Winterfell would appreciate not being roasted in their own hall."

You narrowed your eyes at him, your fingers tightening around the stem of your goblet. "I doubt your halls are warm enough for that to happen," you snapped back, your voice laced with sarcasm. "Perhaps that’s why you need the fire of dragons to melt all this ice."

The tension between you and Cregan was palpable, even amid the noise and laughter of the feast. He met your challenge without flinching, his expression hardening. "Perhaps," he said evenly, "but here in the North, we don’t rely on fire to keep us alive. We endure the cold as we’ve always done."

You leaned closer, your voice dropping so only he could hear, though there was no warmth in your tone. "I didn’t come here to endure. And I certainly didn’t come here to freeze."

Cregan’s gaze was steady, unyielding, but he said nothing in response. For a moment, the two of you simply stared at each other, neither willing to back down. The flickering firelight cast shadows on his face, making him look more like a wolf in the dim glow. You felt your frustration bubbling up once more, the weight of everything pressing down on you—the forced marriage, the cold, this unfamiliar life.

But then, a voice from the tables interrupted your silent standoff. "The bedding!" one of the bannermen shouted, his voice slurred with drink. Others quickly joined in, their cheers rising in volume as they pounded their fists on the tables. "To the bedding ceremony!"

The call spread through the hall like wildfire, and suddenly all eyes were on you and Cregan. You felt the color drain from your face as the implications of the chant washed over you. The idea of being paraded to bed with Cregan, in front of all these men, made your stomach turn.

Cregan, too, seemed to stiffen at the noise, his face tightening as he glanced around at his bannermen, their enthusiasm for tradition clear. But you saw something else in his expression—something that surprised you. He wasn’t pleased, nor did he seem to relish the idea of the bedding ceremony. If anything, he looked just as displeased as you felt.

"No," Cregan said firmly, standing from his seat, his voice cutting through the din like a blade. The hall fell quiet, the lords and ladies turning to him in confusion. "There will be no bedding ceremony tonight."

A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd, but Cregan’s gaze remained fixed, unyielding. "The princess and I will retire when we choose. I will not have her paraded through the halls like some prize for you to gawk at. This is a union of honor, not spectacle."

His words were met with a mixture of disappointment and begrudging respect. The lords who had been calling for the bedding ceremony fell silent, though a few still exchanged glances, their faces flushed with drink and unspoken protests. Cregan turned to you, his expression softer now, though still guarded.

You were surprised, though you tried to hide it. Of all the things you had expected from him, this was not one of them. He had spared you the humiliation, something you hadn’t thought he would do.

"Thank you," you muttered under your breath, barely audible above the crackling fire and the low murmur of conversation. It wasn’t a warm thanks, nor was it filled with any sense of relief—just a begrudging acknowledgment of what he had done.

Cregan nodded once, his eyes flicking briefly to Rickon, who had been watching the exchange with wide, curious eyes. Then, turning back to you, he offered a hand. "Come. We should retire. The hall will quiet soon enough."

You hesitated, staring at his offered hand, before reluctantly taking it. His grip was firm, but not harsh, and you allowed him to lead you through the throng of lords and ladies. As you walked, you felt the eyes of the room on you, but there was no jeering, no laughter. Only silence and the crackling of the fire.

Rickon followed closely, his small feet shuffling against the stone floor, and though the evening had been tense, you felt a small warmth for the boy. As the three of you left the hall, the sound of the feast faded behind you, replaced by the quiet, muffled howling of the wind outside Winterfell’s walls.

The corridors of Winterfell were dimly lit, the torches casting flickering shadows along the stone walls as Cregan led you through the cold, winding passageways. The air felt heavy, thick with the weight of the evening, but the noise of the great hall had finally faded, leaving only the echo of your footsteps. Cregan’s hand was still at your elbow, his touch gentle but firm as he guided you deeper into the castle.

You were tense, your body rigid, every muscle taut with the emotions you had been holding back since the ceremony. The weight of the Stark cloak hung around your shoulders, but it was more than that��the weight of duty, of expectations, of a life you hadn’t chosen, bore down on you with every step.

At last, he stopped in front of a heavy oak door. The thick wood was carved with simple designs, its iron handle cold to the touch. Cregan released your arm, stepping back slightly as if giving you space. His expression was unreadable, but you could sense the unspoken understanding between you.

"These are your chambers," he said quietly, his deep voice low in the silence. "I thought it best for you to have your own space. You’ll need time to adjust... to everything." He glanced at you briefly before turning his gaze back to the door. "I won’t impose myself upon you, not tonight, nor any night until you wish it."

The relief that swept over you was unexpected, but it was there nonetheless. The tension in your shoulders loosened, though only slightly. You didn’t want to be here. You didn’t want to be bound to this man, to this place. But at least, for now, you had this small mercy.

You looked at him, your lips pressed into a thin line, searching for the right words. It took a moment before you could speak. "Thank you," you muttered, the words awkward on your tongue. You didn’t mean to be ungrateful, but the bitterness in your heart tainted even this gesture of kindness. "For this."

Cregan’s eyes softened, though his expression remained stoic. "I know this isn’t what you wanted. But I hope, in time, you’ll find it less burdensome." He paused, his gaze meeting yours with a strange mixture of patience and understanding. "Goodnight, Princess."

With that, he stepped away with his son in tow, leaving you alone in the flickering torchlight. You watched him retreat down the hallway with Rickon, his tall figure and boy's smaller one, both disappearing into the shadows before turning toward the door.

You pushed it open, stepping into your new chambers. The room was dim, lit only by a few candles set on a wooden table near the hearth, and a small fire crackled quietly in the grate. The furnishings were simple but finely made—a large bed with thick furs draped across it, a sturdy chair by the fire, and a small window that looked out over the courtyard below. The cold draft slipped in through the cracks in the stone, but the warmth of the fire did little to chase away the chill that had settled deep inside you.

With a heavy sigh, you closed the door behind you, the latch clicking softly into place. Alone at last, the tension you had been holding onto all evening began to unravel, bit by bit. The firelight danced across the stone walls, but it did nothing to lift the weight that had settled in your chest.

You moved slowly to the bed, shrugging off the Stark cloak and tossing it onto the chair. It felt too heavy, too suffocating. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you stared into the flames, the soft crackling of the fire the only sound in the room.

And then it came—the overwhelming, crushing wave of emotion you had been fighting back all night.

You had been strong. You had kept your composure, had held your head high even when everything inside you screamed for freedom. But now, in the quiet of your chambers, with no one watching, the dam broke.

Silent tears began to fall, hot and bitter as they streaked down your cheeks. You hadn’t cried in front of your brother, nor in front of Cregan, but now, alone, you allowed yourself to grieve. For what you had lost. For what had been taken from you.

You thought of Dragonstone, of the sea crashing against its black shores, the salty wind that had always carried a sense of freedom with it. You thought of your mother, Rhaenyra, her fierce love and unyielding spirit. She had fought so hard for everything she had—her throne, her children—and yet here you were, far from her, bound to a place you did not belong. Would she have wanted this for you?

And then you thought of your brothers. Jacaerys, with his sense of duty and stubbornness, always trying to do what was right, even when it hurt. You knew he thought he was helping you, securing your future, protecting the family. But it felt like a betrayal. You had followed him into the North, trusting him, only to find yourself trapped in a cage of ice and stone.

Your thoughts drifted to Lucerys and Joffrey, their youthful energy and the laughter that had once filled the halls of Dragonstone. Would you ever see them again? Or would they be mere memories, fading like the warmth of the fire as you sat in this cold, unfamiliar place?

A soft sob escaped your lips, and you buried your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking as you silently mourned the life you had left behind.

In the quiet of the room, with only the crackling of the fire to keep you company, you allowed yourself to feel every ounce of sorrow, every pang of regret. The tears came faster, and for a long time, you sat there, letting the grief pour out of you.

Eventually, when the tears had slowed and your chest ached with the effort of crying, you wiped your eyes, drawing in a shaky breath. You were still here. Still trapped in this fate you didn’t want.

But for tonight, at least, you were alone. And for now, that was the only solace you could cling to.

The cold wind bit at your face as you raced across the snowy courtyard, your heart pounding with desperation. The distant silhouette of Vermax, Jacaerys’ dragon, loomed against the grey sky, his wings shifting in anticipation as Jace made his final preparations to depart. You could see him there, standing tall and resolute, his back to you as he adjusted his saddle. Each step you took felt like a battle, your feet sinking into the snow, but you pushed forward, the icy air burning in your lungs.

"Jace!" you called out, your voice cracking as you approached. He didn't turn, and panic surged in your chest. "Jacaerys!"

This time he heard you, his head turning slightly, but he didn’t stop what he was doing. He kept his focus on Vermax, brushing off your distress like it was a mild inconvenience.

You finally caught up to him, grabbing his arm, your fingers curling into the fabric of his cloak with a desperation that you couldn't hide. "You can’t just leave me here," you pleaded, your voice breaking as the words tumbled out in a rush. "Jace, please. I’ll die here. The dragons… they die in the North. I can’t stay."

Jacaerys finally looked at you, his brows furrowed in frustration. "Y/N, stop this." His voice was stern, but there was a weariness in his tone, as if he had expected this but hoped it wouldn’t come. "You’re being dramatic. You won’t die here. You’ll adapt, just like you always do. You’re strong, stronger than you think."

You shook your head vehemently, tears already welling up in your eyes. The cold air stung your cheeks, mixing with the warmth of your tears, but you didn’t care. "You don’t understand," you whispered, your grip on his arm tightening as if holding onto him would somehow change everything. "I don’t belong here. I’m not built for this place, for this cold, for these people. And Silverwing—she’ll suffer here. Dragons don’t thrive in the North. They wither. And so will I."

Jacaerys’ face softened, but only slightly. He let out a long sigh, shaking his head. "You’re stronger than this. You’ve always done your duty, Y/N. You’ve faced worse than cold. You’ll survive this, too." His tone was matter-of-fact, as if it was that simple, as if this place hadn’t already started to crush you.

His words cut through you, and you pulled back slightly, your hands falling to your sides. He didn’t understand—he couldn’t. The North was foreign, hostile in ways that went beyond its cold. It was a land of ice, of silence, where the warmth and fire of home felt like a distant memory.

"Do you even care?" The question slipped out before you could stop it, and you regretted it as soon as you saw the flash of hurt cross his face.

Jace took a step closer, his hand resting gently on your shoulder now, his expression softening as he realized just how much this was breaking you. "Of course I care," he said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle. "But this is what’s best for us, for the family. Cregan will protect you, and in time, you’ll find your place here. I know it’s hard, but you’re not alone."

The tears spilled over then, no longer restrained. You hated this, hated that you were crumbling in front of him, hated that you felt so weak. "You’re leaving me here," you choked out, barely able to speak around the lump in your throat. "You’re abandoning me."

Jacaerys frowned, pulling you into a hug despite your resistance. You felt his arms wrap around you, strong and warm, and for a moment, you wanted to push him away, to scream at him. But you didn’t. Instead, you buried your face in his chest, your body shaking with silent sobs.

"I’m not abandoning you," he murmured into your hair, his voice rough with emotion. "I’m giving you a chance to do something great, something important. You’re more than just our sister. You’re part of the realm’s future. I’m sorry you feel this way, but this is bigger than either of us."

You sniffled, pulling back just enough to look up at him. His eyes, those familiar brown eyes, were filled with both sadness and resolve. He wasn’t going to change his mind, no matter how much you begged. "What about Mother?" you whispered. "What would she say if she knew you were leaving me like this?"

His expression faltered, the mention of your mother clearly cutting him deep, but he held firm. "She would want you to do your duty, just as she’s always done hers. You’re more like her than you realize."

You shook your head, wiping at your tears, but it was no use. They kept coming. "I don’t feel like her. I feel... lost."

Jace sighed, his hand cupping the side of your face, brushing away a tear with his thumb. "You’ll find your way. You always do." He kissed your forehead, his touch tender but brief. "I have to go."

You watched in silence as he turned away, walking toward Vermax with a steady, determined stride. The dragon’s massive head lifted, its green eyes gleaming as it sensed its rider’s approach. Jacaerys mounted with practiced ease, settling into the saddle, his gaze fixed ahead as if the weight of leaving you behind was already something he had accepted.

"Jace!" you called out one last time, your voice breaking. But he didn’t look back.

The great wings of Vermax unfurled, casting a long shadow over the snow-covered ground as the dragon prepared to take flight. You stood frozen, your tears falling faster now, watching helplessly as your brother, the last tie to home, prepared to leave you in this strange, unwelcoming place.

With a powerful beat of his wings, Vermax lifted into the sky, the gust of wind from his takeoff sending snow swirling around you. You watched, numb, as the dragon rose higher and higher, carrying Jacaerys back to the place you longed to return to—Dragonstone.

The sound of his wings beating faded into the distance, and soon, they were nothing more than a dark speck against the pale sky. You stood there in the middle of the open field, the cold seeping deeper into your bones, your tears freezing on your cheeks as you watched him disappear.

Alone, you fell to your knees in the snow, the icy ground biting at your skin, but you didn’t care. You were alone now, truly alone. And the weight of that realization crushed you in a way you hadn’t expected.

Jacaerys was gone.

And you were left behind.

[idkyetxoxo]

Cregan Stark - An Alliance of Seduction

Summary - A cunning princess uses her allure to seduce Lord Stark, blending political ambition with primal desire. Her bold seduction turns their fiery union into a high-stakes dance of control, pleasure, and conquest, securing an alliance that tilts the balance of power in her favour.

Pairing - Cregan Stark x Targaryen reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!!)

Word count - 2368

Masterlist for Cregan • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

If there's one thing I knew how to do well, it was getting what I wanted. My current ambition was clear, to secure the North for my brother.

I dismounted my dragon with ease, Silverwing's discomfort in the cold evident in her every mannerism. No one understood her better than I did.

"Lykirī," I murmured softly, my fingers gently tracing the delicate patterns on her scales. She relaxed slightly under my touch, her breath warm and steady. Calm.

After a final reassuring pat, I carefully removed my gloves, letting them drop beside Silverwing, then peeled off my large coat. 

I exhaled deeply, focusing on the task ahead with a calm, deliberate resolve. I had prepared myself for this moment, and now it was time to execute my plan.

It didn't take long to determine the location of Lord Stark, and, regrettably, that of my nephew as well. My pace was unhurried as I approached the chamber door. When I reached it, I paused for a moment, my hand resting on the cool wood, before pushing it open with a gentle, almost calculated force. 

The door creaked slightly, drawing the attention of both men inside, their gazes snapping toward me.

"Princess?" Cregan's voice held a note of surprise, but I offered him a warm, confident smile as I stepped further into the room.

"Nephew," I greeted Jace with a purposeful tone, noting the subtle tightening of his jaw as he clenched it. I watched as he set down the drink he'd been holding, his movements betraying a flicker of unease.

"I believe it is my turn to state my case," I announced, my voice carrying a sharp edge of determination.

Cregan's eyes darted between us, trying to gauge the situation. Jace, sensing the shift, let out a resigned sigh and rose to his feet with deliberate slowness.

"It's only fair that both sides are given an equal chance," I continued, my gaze never wavering from Jace's. "We should play fair, nephew."

Jace offered a curt nod, his displeasure evident in his posture. Without another word, he turned and made his way out of the room, his exit marked by a glance that conveyed just how little he enjoyed leaving me alone with Cregan.

As Jace's figure disappeared beyond the door, I shifted my attention back to Cregan, who sat observing the exchange with a blend of intrigue and cautious interest. 

"Lord Stark," I finally acknowledged him, inclining my head slightly in a gesture of respect.

He moved to stand, but I quickly interjected, my voice firm yet polite. "Please, stay seated." I crossed the room toward him with a purposeful stride, my movements fluid and intentional.

"It's rather cold here," I remarked, my tone almost conversational as I began to untie the laces of my dress. 

His eyes followed my every movement with a mixture of fascination and disbelief, and a quiet sense of satisfaction stirred within me.

"Princess, what are you doing?" His voice wavered slightly, betraying his internal conflict as he watched the fabric of my dress slip from my shoulders, pooling at my feet and leaving me bare before him.

I took the seat opposite him, reclining with an air of nonchalance as I crossed my legs, my posture both inviting and commanding. 

"Perhaps you have a solution to warm me up," I suggested, my voice laced with a sultry undertone that left little to the imagination.

"Losing your clothes is certainly not the solution," he replied, though his gaze continued to roam over my body, betraying the wariness in his words.

"Are you saying you would prefer me dressed?" I leaned forward slightly, my voice dropping to a hushed, intimate tone as my eyes locked onto his.

"I am not a fool," he stated, his tone firm but lacking the conviction it had held moments before. A knowing smirk tugged at the corners of my lips.

"Good," I whispered, rising from my seat with a feline grace and closing the distance between us. I could feel the tension radiating from him, his resolve faltering.

Reaching out, I traced a finger along the line of his jaw, reveling in the shiver that ran through him at my touch. 

"The North can be so cold, Lord Stark. Don't you think it deserves a little warmth?" My words were soft, almost a purr, as I leaned in closer.

His breath hitched, the moment stretching between us. I knew then, without a shadow of doubt, that I had him.

I pushed him back gently, guiding him until his back met the chair. With careful precision, I lifted myself onto his lap, straddling him. One hand rested on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath, while the other threaded through his hair.

"I can offer you something my nephew cannot," I murmured into his ear, my breath warm against his skin. My lips hovered close, brushing against his ear as I whispered the words that would change everything. "My hand in marriage."

I leaned back slightly, ensuring that our eyes met, I wanted him to fully grasp the weight of my offer, to feel the gravity of what I was proposing.

"A powerful alliance," I continued, my voice silky and assured. I could see the thoughts racing behind his eyes, his mind working to process the implications of my words. 

His gaze flickered across my face, as though searching for any sign of deception, but there were none.

A small, satisfied smile played on my lips. I had him.

"Pledge your support for my brother," I purred, leaning in closer, my voice dripping with promise, "and you can have me." His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "Do it, and I'm yours forever."

My hand traced a slow path down his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through the fabric of his clothes. Reaching his hand, I guided it upward, bringing it to rest on my chest. I cupped his hand around my breast, savoring the thrill that ran through me at his touch.

I could feel him unraveling under my influence and it was immensely satisfying.

"All yours," I whispered, letting my hand drop away, leaving his to linger. As I expected, his fingers tightened slightly, squeezing, and a soft, involuntary moan escaped my lips.

"What do you say, Lord Stark?" I asked, my voice a low, seductive drawl as I removed his hand from me, pinning it to the armrest of the chair.

"It sounds like a wonderful plan to me, Princess," he replied, his voice barely more than a whisper, laced with desire. I chuckled quietly, the sound rich with triumph.

"Then, Lord Stark," I said, my voice commanding yet teasing, "I believe it is your duty to keep this dragon warm." I shifted slightly, giving him the space to remove his pants, the fabric rustling in the silence of the room.

As he did, the heat of his desire became tangible, matching my own. I moved closer, pressing myself against him, feeling the raw, potent power of our connection.

"Let's seal our alliance," I whispered, my lips brushing his ear with a featherlight touch. "Right here, right now." 

The words were both an invitation and a command, the final step in binding him to me in every way.

I reached down and wrapped my hand around his throbbing cock, eliciting a deep groan of pleasure from his lips. 

Slowly, I began to stroke his length, savoring the way he responded to my touch. Each stroke was deliberate, my fingers curling around his shaft, exploring every inch of him. The thrill of his pleasure sent a shiver down my spine.

His breathing grew ragged, his body trembling beneath my hand. I could feel the tension building within him, his need for me becoming more urgent with each passing moment. His eyes met mine, filled with a burning desire that mirrored my own.

"You feel so good," I murmured, my voice low and sultry.

I increased the pace of my strokes, watching his face contort with pleasure. His hands gripped the armrests of the chair, knuckles white, as he struggled to maintain control.

With a wicked smile, I leaned in closer, my breasts brushing against his chest. 

"Imagine how it will feel when I'm wrapped around you," I whispered, my breath hot against his ear. His cock twitched in my hand, a clear sign of his arousal reaching its peak.

Unable to wait any longer, I lifted myself slightly and guided him to my entrance. His eyes widened in anticipation, and I could feel his heartbeat quicken beneath my touch. 

Slowly, I lowered myself onto him, the sensation of him filling me sending waves of pleasure through my body. The heat and hardness of him against my core was intoxicating. 

My breath caught in my throat as I took him deeper, the stretch and fullness creating a delicious tension that made my entire body tingle with anticipation.

I paused for a moment, savouring the fullness, the way his length filled every inch of me. My hips instinctively rolled in slow, deliberate movements, each move designed to drive us both closer to the edge.

His hands gripped my hips tightly, his touch both firm and sensual as he matched my rhythm. The friction between us built steadily, creating a delicious tension that seemed to electrify the air.

His eyes never left mine, the intensity of his gaze deepening the connection between us. The way he looked at me, with such raw desire, made me feel like the only person in the world. 

"You're mine now," I whispered fiercely, my voice thick with possessive hunger. 

I quickened my pace, riding him with an unrestrained fervour that left him gasping for breath. I leaned back, supporting myself on his thighs, giving him a full view of my body as I took him deeper and deeper inside me. 

The sight of his eyes locked on mine, the way he looked at me with sheer amazement, only spurred me on.

His hands roamed my body, exploring every curve, every inch of skin. His fingers traced the lines of my ribs, skated over my waist, and cupped my breasts, his touch igniting a fire within me. 

"You're incredible," he groaned, his voice thick with desire. "I can't resist you."

I smirked, knowing I had completely enchanted him. The way he responded to every movement, and every touch, made me feel powerful and desired. 

"Good," I replied breathlessly. "Don't resist. Give in to me."

I leaned forward, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. Our mouths moved together with a hunger that matched the raw, primal need in our bodies. His tongue danced against mine, exploring, claiming, as I continued to move on top of him. 

"More," he begged against my lips, his voice strained. "I need more."

I grinned wickedly, breaking the kiss and shifting our positions. I pushed him down onto the floor, straddling him with a commanding presence. I pinned his wrists above his head, my fingers pressing down firmly yet gently. 

"Watch me," I commanded, my voice a husky growl. "Watch me take you."

I rode him hard and fast, my movements wild and unrestrained. His eyes were locked onto mine, filled with a mixture of awe and desire that only fueled my movements. Each thrust brought us closer to the edge, our bodies moving together in a frenzied dance of passion.

"You're a true dragon," he panted, his eyes glazing over with pleasure as he struggled to maintain control. "I can't... I can't hold on much longer."

"Then don't," I whispered fiercely, my voice a seductive command.

With a final, powerful thrust, he cried out, his release crashing over him like a tidal wave. The intensity of his orgasm triggered my own, sending me into a blissful shattering of sensation. Waves of pleasure radiated through my body, my cries mingling with his as we both reached the peak of our passion.

But Cregan wasn't done. With a surge of strength and determination, he flipped us over, pinning me beneath him. The look in his eyes was feral, reflecting the primal hunger that consumed us both. 

"My turn," he growled, his voice rough with desire.

Before I could respond, he was moving inside me again, his pace relentless and demanding. He pinned my wrists above my head, his grip firm yet tender, and leaned down to claim my lips in a bruising kiss. His tongue explored my mouth with a newfound urgency as if he couldn't get enough of me.

The change in position drove him deeper, and I cried out in pleasure, arching my back to meet his thrusts. "Yes, Cregan," I moaned, my voice barely a whisper. "Take me. Claim me."

His eyes burned with intensity as he pounded into me. "You're mine," he growled, his breath hot against my ear. "All mine."

He released my wrists, his hands roaming over my body, his touch was both rough and tender, a perfect blend.

I tangled my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. The sensation was overwhelming, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level. "Cregan," I gasped, my voice trembling with need. "I need you."

He lifted his head, his eyes locking onto mine. "You have me," he said, his voice a low, husky growl. "All of me."

His hands gripped my hips, holding me steady as he drove into me with renewed intensity. The force of his thrusts sent me spiralling towards another climax, the tension coiling tighter within me. 

"Let go, my dragon." he commanded, his voice rough with need. 

With a final, powerful thrust, we both reached the peak of our pleasure once more. Our cries echoed through the room, a symphony of passion and release. I felt myself shatter around him, the waves of pleasure more intense than before. 

He followed me over the edge, his release flooding inside me, filling me completely.

Breathing heavily, he collapsed against me, our bodies slick with sweat. His arms wrapped around me, holding me close as we came down from our high. I could feel his heartbeat against my chest, a steady reminder of the bond we had forged.

In that moment, I knew I had achieved my ambition. 

If there was one thing I knew how to do well, it was getting what I wanted, and tonight, I had secured the North for my brother in a way that no one else could.

A/n - Wrote 'The Art of Persuasion' and immediately knew I wanted to do a Cregan version as well even though we know full well he's team black for life xx

[myladysapphire]

The Dragon and the Wolf (II)

You had been betrothed to Cregan stark at the start of the war. He was the noble and honourable stark that he was he supported your mother claim without restraint. So much so your mother saw it fit to betroth the two of you. So when disaster strikes and you and your younger brother are the only two survivors, you a shipped of north in your grief, leaving only Cregan to heal your wounds.

word count: 3,384

CW: MDI, 18+, SMUT, loss of viriginity, p in v, oral (f reciving), fluff, slight angst, depression, dependancy. not proofread!

Cregan Strak x Veleryon(strong)!reader

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

(smut between the dividers by @zaldritzosrose)

“I have to go to kings landing” you started as you walked into Cregan’s’ solar. It had been a week since the letter announcing your younger brother Viserys return, and you had not stopped asking to go.

“And you shall” Cregan spoke, looking up from his papers, “but after we are wed”

You were set to marry in a matter of days. You understood the need to be wed before leaving and yet waiting to see your brother after believing he was dead was pure torture.

You were desperate to see him, all you wanted was to hug him once more and tell him how sorry you were.

But duty came first.

The lords of the north were growing angsty with how long it was taking for you and Cregan to marry.

The alliance between your houses was sure to benefit the north, and until you were married, said agreements and benefits had yet to happen. And with the winter approaching the lords were growing antsy.

“of course,” you looked down, nervously playing with your fingers. “I am just eager to see my brothers and with the journey set to take a month-“

“I understand, I do, but my hands are tied” he interrupted, looking at you with understanding, “I promise, the day after our wedding we will leave”

“perhaps we could take Silverwing?” you asked hopeful, the journey would take around a day, if they rode fast, at the most three days.

“i- im not-“

“I promise its safe, and you have ridden Silverwing before.” He had, on your first visit to Winterfell. He had been hesitant then too, but you had somehow manged to drag him onto Silverwing and flown around the north for hours.

“aye, but this would be different” he said rubbing the back of his neck, “your brother has sent a letter…requesting me to become hand of the king”

you smiled “so we would be staying?”

“yes…this also means I will be having to take a large number of my household, and… though Sara shall act as the lady of Winterfell in my stead, once you are with child you will…have to return…without me, and take over the ruling of Winterfell until I am released as hand”

you were at a loss for words, this past moon you had felt lighter, the days of rotting in your bed, finding no reason to get up, having no energy to eat.

The empty hollowness you had felt for months on end has been filled, all with the help of Cregan. And now to find out that the second you got pregnant you would be shipped of and most likely never be able to return to your brothers.

You knew that there should always be a stark in Winterfell, and that their children would rule it one day, but you did not want to live in Winterfell without him.

You relied on him, in a near unhealthy way. You were often with him, in the library, or in his solar. You had already taken on the duties as Lady of Winterfell. You had liked having responsibilities, found you were good at it. But the main part of it that you liked, was that it was all with him. The friendship you once had had returned, though with trepidation as you had a first still felt empty.

You still felt the loss of your twin. Your other half. Without him you feared you would always feel incomplete, and yet Cregan had somehow manged to fill the void the death of your twin, of Luke and Joffrey.

You felt like you could so easily love him, but now.  Now a part of you resented putting this off for so long, only to know discover that you time with Cregan may be a few months or stolen moments every year.

Your mind went back to last week.

You had spent the day in each other’s company, sat in his solar as he answered letters, and you had read.

The comfort you had found with him was like no other, sitting in each other’s company. Not talking for hours and yet you felt content.

And now to learn that you may not feel the presence of him for moons on end, perhaps even years.

“I would like to stay with you, stay in kings landing” you spoke in determination, “I will not become the wife of an absent husband”

“I would not be-“

“you would sent me a thousand leagues away! So yes that makes you an absent husband!” you shook your head “I-I understand how important being hand is, how much Egg looks up to you, and I will not ask you to refuse the offer but…but I need you.” you said tearily, “without you I will…I will only find that hollowness I felt for moons, the sadness will return without you to…to comfort me, to hold me and cherish me. I cannot be alone, I may rely on you a little too much, but I cannot bear to…” you were crying now, you knew in some sense it was manipulating, but everything you had said was true. The sadness would return, he offered you the perfect reasons for you to find a purpose, a reason to wake up in the morning.

A part of you hated that you relied on another for a purpose, but all the things that once filled you with joy, with purpose, now filled you with sadness and hate.

And now, Cregan had been the thing you found some sense of joy in, and you were excited to marry him, but now part of you dreaded it, not wanting to part from him.

He stood up from his desk moving around to you and pulling you into a hug.

Cregan was a very affection person, always holding your hand or pulling you into a hug away from prying eyes.

“Cregan” you mumbled into his chest, as he stroked your hair.

“i will not send you away if you truly do not want to, but…I know the pain kings landing gives you and I do not want to ask you to spend years in the place of your torment” he said, pulling back from you slight to hold your face, “but… the babe must be born and raised here”

“I know, and I love that you do not wish for me to live in the place of such pain for me, but before… before the-the war…I loved the red keep and…I love my brothers enough to stay there” you mumbled, “If you promise not to stay the hand forever then I shall go to Winterfell if I fall pregnant during your time as hand, but i- I do not wish to be apart form you for too long”

He smiled as you said that, “how about we talk about this when the times comes, hmm?” you smiled, reaching up to place a small kiss on his cheek.

You nodded your head, stepping back from him. “i-I hope you know that I do…that I” you were stumbling over your words unsure of what to say to him. You had somehow over the course of the past moon, returned to your shy nervous self, blushing in his presence, and stumbling over your words.

“yes?” he asked smiling curiously.

“I… I feel a lot better lately, and it is thanks to you…I truly care for you and I think that I might…” you looked down nervously, unsure of if you should tell him your feelings.

“I can tell” he said before you could finish your sentence “you seem to much happier, the light in your eyes has returned and i…I want you to know that I feel the same” he blushed, “I look forward to marry you, and I hope you do also”

You nodded smiling, as you stepped back and you both continued going about your own duties, enjoying the solace of each others company.

The day of the wedding had finally come. The lords of the north had all gathered at Winterfell. The halls now full of bustling bodies, the maids running about nonstop to fulfil all their duties.

You and Cregan had been forced to spend the last day and night apart, with the north believing it to be bad luck for the bride and groom to see each other the day before the wedding.

You had instead spent the day with Sara.

“I had hoped my sisters would make it” you said sadly as she laced up your dress.

“we still have time, they may yet arrive” she said, trying to build your spirits.

Your grandsire Corlys had arrived the day before, fulfilling his long-term promise to walk you down the aisle.

You had always been close to your grandsire, with him always saying how similar to his wife you had looked.

“granddaughter” you heard him say as he had entered the room, smiling as he saw the sea horses embroidered on your dress.

“grandsire” you smiled in greeting, moving over to kiss his cheek. “do you have any news on Balea or Rhaena?” you asked hopeful.

He smiled slyly, before moving aside and allowing Balea and Rhaena to walk into the room.

“you’re here!” you had said in disbelief..

“of course, we wouldn’t miss your wedding” Baele spoke pulling you into a hug.

They had both been married themselves recently, Baela to Alyn, Corlys newly appointed heir, and Rhaena to Corwyn Corbray.

“are your husbands here?”

“yes, there both with Cregan I believe,” Rhaena said, moving to take over from Sara as she finished lacing up your dress.

“you look beautiful, sister” Balea said, smiling kindly. “Are you nervous?”

“should I be?” you asked nervously.

“do you care for him?”

You looked over at sara, as she gave you a teasing smile. She knew of your feelings for Cregan, and it seemed from that look alone your sisters to know knew.

“yes”

“then you have nothing to worry about”

“what of the…”you looked over at Corlys to see his looking slightly uncomfortable, “the night” you whispered.

“you have been betrothed for years and you have never…?”

“no!” the question shocked you, your mother had always been insistent on you waiting for marriage, saying she didn’t want you to make the same choice she had.

“never even kissed?” Sara asked shocked.

You shook you head.

“no! I’ve only ever kissed….” You wouldn’t say his name, it hurt to much. The betrayal you had felt, how you had almost given him everything. Though you were glad you never had with Aemond, for you loved Cregan. At least you think you do. “ahh” Balea almost flinched.

“it hurts the first time, but after…it can be very nice” Sara spoke, whispering.

“and Cregan is a good man, he likes you…perhaps even loves you. He will be gentle” she said, though grimacing slightly at talking about her brother in such a way.

Corlys coughed awkwardly, moving to interrupt their whispered conversation.  “it is almost time” he said, softly moving towards you.

“we better hurry up then” you said, motioning for Sara to start your hair.

Balea, Rhaena and sara had all left once you were fully ready. Leaving you and Corlsys alone.

“you are a vision” he said, as you took his arm. You started to walk through the halls of Winterfell.

you wore a dress as white as snow. With a full skirt and long flowy sleeves covered in a lace pattern.

You wore you hair down, bar tow braids at the top your head that joined at the back. Though your hair was hidden behind a lace veil, lace that matched your sleeves. Your face was covered, though it wouldn’t be for long, as you soon approached the gods woods.

“who comes before the old gods this day?” asked the northern lord officiating the wedding, as you entered the gods woods.

“y/n, of house Veleryon, She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?”

“Creagan, of house stark, lord of Winterfell and Warden of the north. Who gives her?”

“Corlsy, of house Veleryon, lord of the tides and of Driftmark, her grandsire.”

“princess Y/n, do you take this man?”

“I take this man”

“lord Cregan, do you take this woman”

“I take this woman”

“Then I pronounce you man and wife, before the old gods and the new”

You smiled at him, before reaching up and taking his lips in yours. The kiss was short and short, but caused you both to blush as cheers resounded throughout the wedding guests.

“I believe it is time for a feast!” Cregan announced as the lords and ladies cheered in response.

The feast was grand, though much different from the ones you had grown up with. It was loud and bawdy, with the lords all drunk and even singing northern tunes.

You and Cregan had kept to yourself, eating your food and talking between one another.

You had been enjoying yourself, enjoying the first few hours of marital bliss.

And then the bedding was called.

You had forgotten about the tradition.

The bride and groom escorted to their chamber. The groom by the woman, there clothes pulled of them, the bride escorted by the men, often groped and fully naked by the time they reached their chambers.

Feared courses through you as lord Bolton declared it time for a bedding.

“there will be no bedding!” Cregan boomed, as the men started to approach you.

The room seemed to flinch as the anger in his tone, “my wife will be touched by no one bar me! Anyone who lays a hand on her against her will, will have it cut off!”

You looked at him with shock, it was, grateful he was doing the right thing and saving you from a night of groping.

He reached his hand out to you as he guided you to your now shared chambers alone.

She had never been in Cregan’s chambers before, they were large. Though not as big as her chambers had been on Dragonstone. The room was mostly bare, having been mostly packed up for their journey tomorrow. It was warm, much warmer than her room in the tower had been. With a blazing fire, and dozens of blankets. The walls were filled with tapestries and the floor with rugs. Not a single wall or part of the floor was bare, allowing the room to be encased in more warmth.

“wife” Cregan spoke, capturing your attention. He moved towards you, his eyes heated as he gazed at you.

“Husband” you breathed back as he now stood before you.

He reached up to caress your face, his lips nearing yours. You shared a breath, before you both pounced.

Your lips modelled together in a heated, passionate kiss. He pushed you on the bed, your body bouncing from impact, he quickly moved over you, connecting your lips once more as he started to take of his and your clothes, never once breaking the kiss.

“gods” he moaned at the sight of your bare tits. He kissed your lips quickly before moving down to your breasts and roughly taking them into his mouth.

You moaned as he licked and sucked at your tits. He alternated between the two, savouring in your moans and whimpers.

Your gripped his hair, tugging softly at each flick of his tongue.

“you lick that?” he asked teasingly, as he let go of your nipple with a pop.

You nodded your head, whimpering slightly at him stopping.

He chuckled, “good” he said before, moving off the bed and resting on his knees “then you’ll love this” he said, as he slid the rest of your dress of you, and buried himself between your thighs.

He teasingly licked your folds, causing you to whimper.

Your gripped his hair, grinding your thighs into his face, trying to get him to lick you more.

He chuckled at your actions, before moving to grip your thighs and pull them towards his face. He buried his tongue inside of you, savouring your taste as he moved to lick your clit.

“Cregan!” you moaned as you pulled on his hair. 

The pleasure was nothing like you had experienced before. It was overwhelming, filling your senses as he continued to lick at your clit, and slowly bring his fingers to your entrance.

He groaned as his fingers entered your, relishing in the tightness of your cunt. Gods” he moaned against your clit.

He continued to lap at your slit, tasting you as if you were his last meal.

You felt your peak fast approaching, your hands gripping and tugging his hair harder, your legs wrapping around his head in away you were sure would choke him.

“Cregan!” you screamed as your peak finally hit you.

He continued his actions, riding out your peak before finally moving himself from between your thighs.

He wiped his mouth on the bed before diving back in to kiss you.

He slowly moved you to the centre of the bed, his cock positioning itself between your thigs.

“can i?” he breathed against your lips.

“yes.” You moaned as he entered you.

You felt a wave of discomfort as he stretched you out, a slight burn at the sheer size of his cock.

He slowly rocked his hips into yours, allowing you time to adjust, before you reached up and pulled him into another kiss, motioning him to speed up.

He started thrusting into you at a faster pace. Your legs wrapping around his hips and his pace became faster and faster.

He groaned into your neck, as your cunt tightened around him.

Your second peak fast approaching.

“I’m going to cum” he moaned into you, as your cunt fluttered around his cock, your second peak taking.

Your hands scratched his back as you peaked, before collapsing backwards, as he started building up to his own peak.

His thrusts became hard and fast as he finally reached his own peak, his seed filling you as he rode out his orgasm.

“gods” he moaned, collapsing on the bed, pulling you in and holding you to him.

he kissed your shoulder, stroking your hair as you both slipped off into sleep, though you both got little sleep that night.

The next day you were awoken to maids barging in and readying the remained of Cregan’s belongings. It was dawn, and you were both tired from the nights events.

 The maids had dressed you both quickly, pushing your breakfast on the table and urging you both to eat.

Cregan laughed at your bewildered face as they all rushed you both.

“we were meant to leave a dawn” he chuckled, as your maid tugged your hair, attempting to braid it, as you ate.

“then why weren’t we woken earlier?”

He sent you a look, showing exactly why they hadn’t.

“oh…must we leave so soon?” you said as you food was taken of the table before you had even finished.

“you insisted we did.”

“I-“ you looked at his smug face as your tea was taken out of your hand mid sip. “I take it back, I miss the bed!”

“you can rest in carriage” he said, as he reached for your hand.

You made your way to the courtyard, the household lined up to say their farewells, though most were accompanying you.

Balea, Rhaena, stood by the carriage, both looking as tired as you felt.

“it is far too early for this” Rhaena groaned as you approached the carriage.

Balea laughed “I cant imagine how you feel” she said, talking at you, “how much sleep did you get last night?” she teased.

You laughed “shut up!”

Sara approached you, her eyes teary, “I’ll miss you” she said pulling you into a hug.

“and I, you” you kissed her check, pulling back.

“we are leaving Winterfell in capable hands” she heard Cregan say, announcing Sara as his regent.

“don’t be gone for too long” she whispered “I was not made to rule the north” she joked, pulling away from you as you were all motioned to enter the carriage.  

Cregan walked up to the carriage window, pulling you into a kiss.

“I shall join you soon” he promised, before mounting his horse and leading the procession to kings landing.

next part

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[peachysunrize]

𝑾𝑬𝑳𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑶 𝑴𝒀 𝑪𝑶𝑹𝑵𝑬𝑹 𝑶𝑭 𝑭𝑰𝑳𝑻𝑯 ⬎

❥ Rue • 19 • fanfic author • gif maker (my creations -> #ruegifs) • tracking #tuserrue • team Aemond & Aemond apologist • I only write for Aemond & Aegon ii and maybe Gwayne Hightower • NOT SPOILER FREE!

Ao3 -> peachysunrize

Smut ❥ / fluff ❦ / angst ఌ / dark content 𓂀

-> personal blog @dreamphyrs

-> library blog @peachysunrizefics

-> my gif blog @waystarco

Anons list✨

RECENT WORKS -> Empty Promises | Tryst | Tangerine Dreams | Owned

Full masterlist under the cut⬎

DRABBLES

• Nerd!Aemond eating reader out [890]

• face sitting with Prince Regent!Aemond [921]

ONE SHOTS

• Lemon Tart -> p.1 [5.2k] ❥ ఌ/ p.2 (coming soon)

after six years of searching for his lover, Aemond comes across her bakery in Flea Bottom with his betrothed.

• Devil’s Doll [3.5] ❥ 𓂀

no one can do anything when Aemond Targaryen sets his eye on a sweet girl and comes to the party with her on his arms, and those who dare to say an ill word will face his wrath with a bullet in their head.

• Labyrinth [11.5k] ❥ ఌ ❦

falling in love is easy for most people, but not for Aemond Targaryen. How can a broken cold-hearted man be able to love the most gentle human Westeros has ever seen?

• The Ballad of a Dragon [3.1k] ❥ ఌ ❦

after an argument with your husband, you find him playing his frustration away and eventually apologizes to you on top of his piano.

• MAMMAMIA [3.08k] ❥ ft Aegon

Baela finds out about your crush on his cousins, who just happen to be the new rising star in music industry. And with the promise of meeting them, she forces you to go with her to one of their concerts. (Listen to MAMMAMIA by Maneskin)

• The Other Woman [8.58k] ❥ ఌ❦

you were supposed to be a secret, his temptation in the dark not his scandal after the taste of heaven you experienced together.

• The King’s retribution [3.6k] ❥

when he walks back to the Keep, Aemond finds his brother’s wife in distress while her youngest child keeps her awake. Maybe it’s time to show the King that no one can humiliate the one-eyed prince.

• Victory [1.9k] ❥

after his match, you find him in the locker room and decide to tend to him yourself. Rest assured, the rush of adrenaline in his blood leads to you rewarding him for winning the game.

• Corrupted by God [2.5k] ❥ 𓂀

after the battle of Rook’s Rest, Aemond comes back to King’s Landing as the heir to the throne with a newfound determination to make the Queen of the Seven kingdoms his queen as well.

• Insolent wench [3.07k] ❥ 𓂀

he finds the master of whispers’ daughter in the council room in the dead of the night playing with the marble ball he gave to Aegon earlier, the dragon in him is ready to burn or succumb to her.

• Owned [1.5k] ❥ 𓂀

After nearly following Silverwing to Dragonstone mindlessly, Aemond comes back to the keep to posses you, his Queen once more.

• Tryst [2.7k] ❥

Aemond walks in on his newly wedded wife changing, surely she is not as temperate as her father when she catches him eyeing her, is she?

• Empty Promises [4.6k] ❥ 𓂀

the closeness between you and your twin brother doesn’t go unnoticed by your uncle, but your bond will shatter when he is betrothed to your cousin, lightening a new path for Aemond to get his revenge.

• Hide & Seek [4.6] ❥ 𓂀

the nightly mysterious deaths make you wonder, but your grandma’s disappearance pulls the last straw. You go to see it for yourself if the myth about the creature of the dark is true and find your granny to take her home.

SERIES

• Tangerine Dreams (completed)

being stood up on his wedding day, Aemond’s life takes a turn for the worse. Heartbroken and humiliated, he finds unexpected help in Helaena’s childhood friend, who helps him move back into his family mansion. Summer cocktail parties and a long stay at the Targaryen residency, Aemond might let the girl who’s always been in his life make a home in his heart.

One Shots

• MAMMAMIA [3.08k] ❥ ft Aemond

Baela finds out about your crush on her cousins, who just happen to be the new rising star in music industry. And with the promise of meeting them, she forces you to go with her to one of their concerts. (Listen to MAMMAMIA by Maneskin)

@peachysunrize / all rights reserved. Do not plagiarize, copy, translate and share on other platforms or here without permission. Mind you reblog ≠ share

[drgnmnts]

knuckles bruised (like violets) │ jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!OC

Title: knuckles bruised (like violets)

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen!OC (Daenys Targaryen, daughter of Viserys I Targaryen and Alicent Hightower)

Summary: There is no war so hateful to the gods as a war between kin, especially for those caught in between, longing only for peace as they're met with fire and blood.

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Chapter 1 - Child's Play

Word count: 1.7K

Born during a warm summer storm, Daenys Targaryen came into the world only one year after her brother Aemond, unaware that her arrival would be met with her father’s painful indifference and an ever-present frown on her mother’s brow. Daenys spent the first years of her life wondering what it could be that made her parents treat her so. The possibility of being an unwanted child quickly dissipated after Daeron was welcomed with warm caresses and kind smiles. She considered that her gender might be the reason for such treatment, but her mother doted on Helaena, and every one of her peculiarities was watched endearingly by the rest. Daenys even proved herself extraordinary when, at the age of nine, she claimed Silverwing, one of the largest dragons in the history of Westeros. This achievement earned her the praise of her uncle Daemon and the jealousy of Aemond, but to her mother, it was just another source of worry rather than a remarkable feat.

The answer came to her one morning as the maids made her and Helaena’s beds, unaware that she was still in the room, looking for a book: she resembled Rhaenyra too closely in her youth. Unfortunately, there was nothing Daenys could do to fix the issue her parents saw in her, for it was intrinsic to her very being. To her father, she was a disappointment, a feeble attempt at replacing the realm’s former delight; to her mother, a constant reminder of the girl she grew up with, a friend turned adversary she both despised and deeply missed in equal measure.

It was oddly liberating for Daenys to realize that it wasn’t something she had caused or could change, making any blame directed towards her utterly senseless. With time, Daenys learned to ignore their judgmental gazes, cutting remarks, and outright indifference. It hurt, yes, but Daenys was a dragon, and dragons had thick skin—thicker even than the armor of Aegon the Conqueror. 

She was now eleven, still a girl, but one who carried herself with regal composure and a dignity beyond her years. Daenys had long lost interest in her sibling’s squabbles or her nephew’s frolics: she only found true enjoyment in riding Silverwing. Her dragon was a magnificent beast, doing justice to her name with her silver scales that covered the entirety of her body, surpassed in size only by the old and mighty Vhagar. Unlike Laena Velaryon’s dragon, Silverwing was an affable and docile creature, considered friendly by the Dragonkeepers, which made sense given that her previous rider had been Good Queen Alysanne. Claiming Silverwing had given her a sense of belonging she had yearned for in her early childhood, reminding her that it did not matter what others saw in her: she was a Targaryen princess in her own right, a unique dragonrider with her own life and her own story. She might resemble her half-sister, but she was not her. 

Despite her obvious inability to treat Daenys as she deserved, Queen Alicent found comfort in her daughter’s disregard for the Velaryon boys.  This indifference was, of course, a result of the poison Alicent had been dripping into Daenys’ ear all her life, perhaps in an attempt to draw her girl away from Rhaenyra as much as possible. The Queen was fearful that her daughter would discover she had more in common with the King’s firstborn than just appearance, and her sons were the first tie she made sure to cut before it could bind them together. Thus, while Helaena played with little Lucerys and Aegon bickered with Jacaerys, Daenys simply ignored them, regarding the bastard boys as unworthy of her attention.

As Silverwing landed in the Dragonpit, her song alerting the Dragonkeepers that the Princess had returned from her morning ride, Daenys was met with her brother Aemond already there, watching. The egg placed in his cradle at birth had never hatched, and the boy still hadn’t found the courage in him to claim one of the wild ones. Daenys often thought about how unfair it was, since Aemond was more than eager to be a dragonrider, yet he might never know what it feels like to bond with one.

“Mother is cross with you,” he informed his sister as she patted Silverwing’s head, the dragon answering with a contented murmur. 

“I wonder why,” Daenys replied, showing no sign of concern over her brother’s words.

“You didn’t break your fast with us. You know she does not like it.”

“Ah, yes… I didn’t want to listen to them fighting about Rhaenyra’s baby,” she said, “has she had it yet?”

Aemond nodded and walked with his sister through the dark corridors connecting the Dragonpit to the Red Keep, his back straight, always trying to make himself look taller than he actually was.

“Yes. Another boy. Healthy and strong.”

At her brother’s comment, Daenys snorted. It was an ongoing joke between her and her brothers how Rahenyra’s offspring looked nothing like Laenor Velaryon and way too much like Ser Harwin Strong, the Commander of the City Watch. It was an insult to the realm, something Daenys condemned greatly, often using her mother’s words when discussing the issue with her siblings.

“I’ll apologize to mother, then. She must be upset enough as it is,” the girl stated, stopping at the door to her chambers. She was in urgent need of a bath, especially if she was planning to visit her mother. “I’ll be studying with Helaena in the afternoon, if you’d like to join.”

Aemond shook his head, his eyes kind when he looked at his sister. 

“Aegon’s asked me to accompany him to see how they feed Vermax. I don’t want to, but…”

“It’s alright, Aemond. Your moment will come, I’m sure of it,” she comforted him. “I wish mother would let us sail to Dragonstone… you could try to claim Vermithor. He coils with Silverwing when we fly to the Dragonmont, but never lets me get close.”

The idea had crossed Aemond’s mind more times than he cared to admit: their great-grandfather, Jahaerys I, had ridden Vermithor, just as his sister-wife Alysanne had ridden Silverwing. Their reign had been a peaceful and prosperous one, and the pair had loved each other dearly. It was a nice thought, one that Aemond indulged in whenever he pictured himself as a man: riding one of the largest dragons in the world, with his sister by his side.

A beautiful dream, but a childish one.

The door opened suddenly, a maid letting the Princess know that her bath was ready. With a squeeze on his arm, Daenys said goodbye to her brother and disappeared behind the heavy wooden doors.

_______________________________________________

Queen Alicent was too busy feeling outraged by Princess Rhaenyra’s indecency, so Daenys avoided her mother’s scolding without much effort. Daenys was sitting next to Helaena, who was lost in her thoughts, explaining the various facts she knew about the bug she was examining. It was obvious that Alicent found her daughter’s explanations odd and perhaps a bit disturbing, but Daenys appreciated that at least her mother was making an effort to understand her, something that most people chose not to do. Listening to her sister’s voice, Daenys paid little attention to the book resting on her legs, a story about Valyrian customs. Helaena was a good sister, despite her distant mind and how little they had in common: where Daenys was daring and audacious, Helaena was calmer and gentler, both in speech and action. Sometimes, Daenys wished she could be a bit more like her sister; perhaps that way her mother would love her a little more.

“It has eyes, though… I don’t believe it can see,” Helaena explained, the centipede walking freely through her hands.

“And why do you think that is?” their mother asked.

“It is beyond our understanding,” she replied.

“Perhaps to cry for its own ugliness,” Daenys joked, and she could have sworn she saw the ghost of a laugh cross her mother’s features.

The door burst open, and a guard stepped inside the room, carrying Aemond by the arm. He was crying and covered in ash.

“After how many times you’ve been warned, must I confine you to your chambers?!” their mother scolded him, grabbing him by the arms to ensure he was unharmed.

“I just-,” he tried, but was quickly cut off by Alicent.

“What were you doing down there alone?”

Aemond’s eyes darted towards Daenys, which was enough for Alicent to draw her own conclusions.

“Again?!” she roared, letting go of Aemond and speeding toward Daenys. She grabbed her arm and pulled her up by the sleeve of her dress. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop filling your brother’s head with fantasies about those beasts?!”

“I didn’t! I just told him he would claim a dragon someday, it’s not-”

“As if he needed more encouragement!”

The grip Alicent had on her daughter’s arm started to hurt, and tears began to prickle at the corners of Daenys’ eyes.

“Mother, it wasn’t Daenys,” Aemond tried to defend his sister. “She encouraged me to claim a dragon, yes, but I wouldn’t have gone down to the Dragonpit had it not been for their teasing…”

“Whose?” the Queen inquired.

“Aegon,” Helaena chimed in, her eyes still observing her bugs, but somehow able to pinpoint the culprit right away.

“Yes, and… those bastards…” Aemond added, his voice barely a whisper when he pronounced the word. “They made fun of me, tricked me into believing they had found me a dragon and it… it was a pig,” he explained, visibly embarrassed.

It was only after realizing that it had been the boys who had pushed Aemond to act so recklessly that Alicent became aware of the strength she was using to hold her daughter’s arm. She immediately let go. Daenys’ face was red and her eyes watery, but the girl hadn’t uttered a word of protest to her mother’s abuse.

Alicent sighed, and for a moment she looked older than she was. 

“Go wash, Aemond,” the Queen commanded her son, who turned on his heel immediately, making his way to his quarters. “We shall finish later, yes?” she proposed to Helaena, who had been a mere witness to the whole spectacle. She bent down to kiss her eldest daughter’s head and, without sparing Daenys a single look, left the girls’ chambers. It was only in Helaena’s solitary company that Daenys allowed herself to cry. Her arm hurt, but what hurt the most was that not a single day went by without her mother scolding her for something she had done or said. 

“Don’t cry, Daenys,” she heard Helaena say after some time, her gentle fingers combing through her little sister's hair. “None of this will matter soon.”

_______________________________________________

No Jace in this chapter, but he's coming! I just wanted to set the tone a bit and introduce our lovely Daenys.

If you liked this, let me know in any way! :)

[witchywomanrunningupthathill]

The Keep

Summary: A bout of banter with a certain knight leads to the promise of something more.

Pairing: Gwayne Hightower x Targaryen!Reader

Warnings: idk incest?

You soared over the palatial Great Sept on the back of Silverwing. Above the markets, the inns, the taverns and brothels, and the many smallfolk who now stood in the shadow of the dragon. The wind raced through your hair and made your squinted eyes water. You gripped the handles on your saddle, veering in the direction of the Red Keep across the way, but eager to indulge your dragon.

“Sovēs!” you commanded as Silverwing flew higher into the clouds, twisting and flipping through the air. 

Alas, you arrived at the castle.

“Gēltīkun…” the dragon tamer said, stepping slowly in front of the dragon. “Lykirī!” Silverwing let out a screech, not wanting her rider to leave her. “Dohaerās!”

The she-dragon mellowed out after the series of commands, lowering her head. You ran your hand affectionately along the great beast a final time before she followed the tamer back to the dragon pit. Soon you’d be flying to Rook’s Rest. But that was in two days’ time.

You’d decided to stay around the grounds of the castle entrance, watching servants and squires mill around.  

“Enjoyed your time in the sky, princess?” Gwayne said, tending to his horse.

You walked up to the man, removing your gloves as you did so. “It’s not too late. My saddle seats two, uncle,” you replied, smiling.

“I’m afraid my responsibilities are more of the terrestrial sort.” He left his horse to his squire. “You smell of dragon.”

You smirked, enjoying the banter as his eyes raked over you. You’d had a new set of dragonriding leathers made. The pants clung to your thighs and backside flatteringly. Gwayne had lost count of how many times he’d thought of those thighs wrapped around his legs as you rode him. You took a daring step closer to him, looking him in the eyes. “I thought you might like that.”

He cocked an eyebrow, a quizzical but amused expression playing on his face.

You hummed affirmatively. “Oh, come on. Having me in the highest tower of the Red Keep, fresh from dragonriding and you just having finished sword fighting with Aemond? Don’t tell me you haven’t imagined it before. On those long journeys, late at night all alone in your tent.”

“Don’t be daft, I have no time for such things when leading my men.” He licked his lips.

“Do you want to find out, Ser?”

“What do you take me for, some common animal?”

You chuckled, nodding in understanding. “Alright, uncle, I shall away to bathe then.” You caught a glimpse of the bulge in his breeches, now becoming hard to hide. You bit your lip as your eyes flitted back up to his. You moved close, whispering in his ear, “shall we say an hour’s time? You know where to meet me.”

Part 2

[hyperfixatedimagines]

The Queen’s Ward (Alicent x f!reader)

Summary: Alicent and the lady (y/n) Velaryon had never seen eye to eye but as Lady (y/n) is forced to be a ward underneath the Queen’s icy gaze she finds that Alicent is not all that she seems, and that while her gaze is icy her touch is quite hot.

A/N: This is my take on book canon Alicent. Very much not canon compliant. It’s a little smutty but nothing crazy. As always, let me know what you think!

From a young age (y/n) had been the very image of elegance and grace. Her manners were impeccable and her beauty immeasurable. Princess Rhaenys had weathered a lifetime of compliments about (y/n) by the time (y/n) was ten years of age.

The dragon egg placed in her bed never hatched but (y/n) claimed Silverwing at the age of seven. The she-dragon had been spotted resting in the sand dunes of Driftmark one summer and (y/n) was determined to claim her birthright.

And claimed it she did. Silverwing bonded to her instantly.

To the world, especially to lady Alicent Hightower, it seemed as though Lady (y/n) had no flaws. She was perfect. 

While Princess Rhaenyra was dubbed the realm’s delight, young lady (y/n) was dubbed the realm’s beauty.

As (y/n) grew, so did the pressure for her to marry. Lord Corlys had been approached by many, many, suitors by the time (y/n) had her first moon blood but Rhaenys had always fought against it.

Princess Rhaenys had realized that two of her children were different. Laenor did not care for girls and (y/n) did not care for boys. (y/n) was much more skilled in disguising such a fact but Rhaenys saw through it.

Unfortunately, Rhaenys would not always be able to protect her eldest daughter from the politics of their station.

-

(y/n)’s favorite summers were the ones she spent out at sea with her father, where court graces were not expected and it mattered more that she could successfully steer a ship than if her needlework was precise. Out at sea with her father and his crew she could breathe a little easier.

But her second favorite summers were those spent with her cousin, Rhaenyra, in King’s Landing.

Princess Rhaenyra was, in many ways, what (y/n) always wished to be. Princess Rhaenyra could do as she pleased. She had no care for propriety or what others would say. She was free.

(y/n) envied that in many ways. She was always painfully aware of how she had to behave to be the very image of perfection. It was the only armor she had in a world that would see her dead if she ever revealed who she truly was.

But when (y/n) was with Rhaenyra she could be a little freer.

The only downside to spending time with her cousin was the fact that Rhaenyra was good friends with Alicent Hightower.

Alicent was four years their senior but Rhaenyra had become quite taken with her.

Rhaenyra saw Alicent much the way Laena saw (y/n). So Rhaenyra never believed (y/n) when (y/n) expressed her distrust of Alicent.

(y/n) never had proof of Alicent’s duplicitous nature but she never felt at ease near the Hightower girl. She could never name why, but eventually she would know the reason all too well.

-

All Alicent’s girlhood she had heard the many praises of (y/n) Velaryon.

(y/n) Velaryon was graceful. (y/n) Velaryon was beautiful. (y/n) Velaryon was perfect.

Alicent hated (y/n) Velaryon.

And then she actually met (y/n) Velaryon.

She met (y/n) one summer early on in her time at the Red Keep. Alicent watched (y/n) and Rhaenyra play in the gardens from afar. 

She couldn’t help but admit that (y/n) Velaryon really was beautiful.

Alicent’s stomach filled with butterflies the first time (y/n) had spoken to her.

(y/n)’s smile was bright like the sun, and just as warm.

The two girls had been friends at first. But that friendship didn’t last long.

Alicent became ambitious. Just as ambitious as her father, Otto Hightower. With that ambition came the realization that she felt something sinful towards (y/n).

Alicent felt desire. Desire for a girl.

And she would not let that desire be her ruin. She was going to be queen one day.

-

Alicent had just turned eight and ten. (y/n) was four and ten, as was Rhaenyra.

The Queen had died, and the King needed to remarry.

Many young women had been brought forth as eligible brides, including Alicent and (y/n).

Lord Corlys had never pressured his daughter or his wife on the idea of (y/n)’s marrying, until the King needed a new wife. Corlys desired nothing more than his blood on the iron throne. This was his shot.

“(y/n), it is time for you to do your duty as a lady of House Velaryon and wed,” Lord Corlys had declared.

(y/n)’s protests fell on deaf ears. Her father would not be moved, and her mother could not help her.

So (y/n) sought refuge in the many empty halls of the Red Keep. She sat behind one of the hall’s large stone pillars and cried.

She knew that Rhaenyra and Laena would be in her chambers waiting for her and she could not bear to be near them in her state.

So (y/n) brought her knees to her chest and buried her face in her legs.

“I did not think you were capable of such cries of sorrow,” a cold but alluring voice said beside her.

(y/n) lifted her face and found Alicent standing against the wall opposite her.

Lady (y/n) wiped away the remaining tears with the sleeve of her dress.

“Lady Alicent. I apologize you had to hear that.”

Alicent shrugged. “Your tears matter not to me.” She approached (y/n) and lowered her face to (y/n)’s. “Although, seeing the realm’s beauty driven to tears is a pretty sight to see,” Alicent said with a smirk.

(y/n) stood and dusted herself off. She would not let Alicent get to her.

So she smiled a tight smile. “I must be on my way. Good day Lady Alicent.”

But just as (y/n) went to walk away Alicent reached out and grabbed (y/n) by the arm.

Alicent pulled (y/n) back. “We have not seen one another in quite some time (y/n). It would be rude not to dine and catch up as old friends do.”

(y/n) clenched her jaw. Dining with Alicent was the last thing she wanted to do. Then she sighed. She would probably be queen and as such she had to embody the best of the realm’s manners.

“Perhaps we can meet for tea later this evening, but I must take my leave now. Excuse me.”

(y/n) tried to pull away but Alicent would not let go. (y/n) looked down at her arm then up at Alicent. 

This was most impolite. (y/n) couldn’t imagine what had possessed Alicent to be so rude with her.

“You’re not excused (y/n).” 

(y/n) met Alicent’s gaze. She found nothing but determination, and anger, in Alicent’s gaze. It frightened (y/n), but it also made her feel alive. 

“Lady Alicent, I ask that you please-”

Alicent stepped closer toward (y/n), their noses just a breath apart.

“I know your father wants the King to marry you, but you will never be Queen.”

(y/n) furrowed her brows. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Because I will  be Queen,” Alicent spat in response.

“I care not for the crown. I will pray the Gods grant it to you,” (y/n) replied.

Alicent’s gaze flickered down to (y/n)’s lips then back to meet (y/n)’s gaze. 

“You are a fool not to take the crown for yourself.”

(y/n) pulled out of Alicent’s grasp. She stepped away from the older girl and shrugged.

“Then I am a fool, Lady Alicent.”

Alicent watched (y/n) walk away, the daughter of the sea snake had some bite in her after all.

-

Just as Alicent had declared, the crown was hers. Everyone but Lord Corlys Velaryon was in high spirits during the King’s wedding.

But no one was more gay than Lady (y/n). She had been saved by the girl she liked the least.

(y/n) made it a point to thank the new Queen.

The young Velaryon girl watched as Queen Alicent walked out of the great hall. 

She followed her.

Once they were out in the courtyard (y/n) called out to the Queen.

“Your Grace.”

Alicent smiled at the sound of (y/n)’s voice. She quickly schooled her features into feigned annoyance as she whipped around to face (y/n).

“What is it?”

(y/n) bowed and smiled at Alicent. “I wanted to thank you.”

Alicent almost didn’t register what (y/n) had said, the sight of the realm’s beauty bowing to her occupied her sole focus. After a moment Alicent looked away from (y/n). “Thank me?”

“I am safe from being married off once again. So I wanted to thank you.”

Alicent’s gaze snapped back towards (y/n). She furrowed her brows. 

“You truly are a fool (y/n). I am the Queen of the seven kingdoms. You can’t imagine the power I have now.”

(y/n) let out a small laugh. “I don’t wish for power, your Grace. But I’m glad you have what you have always wanted.”

Alicent stared at (y/n), confused. “If you don’t wish for power, what do you wish for?”

“I don’t know,” (y/n) replied, avoiding Alicent’s gaze.

Alicent stepped towards (y/n)

“Your Queen orders you to speak the truth.”

(y/n) looked up and swallowed hard. “I want to never marry.”

(y/n) sighed loudly. She had never actually said that out loud, to anyone.

Alicent’s stomach filled with butterflies. It made her very happy to hear (y/n) had no desire for marriage. Butterflies still filled her stomach whenever (y/n) was near, and the thought of (y/n) marrying filled Alicent with dread.

“Why,” Alicent asked.

(y/n) looked taken aback by Alicent’s question. She looked away from the Queen.

“That does not matter.”

Alicent furrowed her brows once more.  “If I ask you a question lady (y/n) you answer it.”

(y/n) clenched her jaw. Only Alicent would take (y/n)’s thanks as an opportunity to debase her.

“I do not wish to leave my family to bear children for some lord and be a slave to his every whim.”

Alicent stepped closer to (y/n) once more. “A woman’s highest honor is to wed and birth a man’s children.”

(y/n) held Alicent’s gaze. “I don’t agree, your Grace.”

Alicent tilted her head slightly, appraising (y/n) in the faint moonlight of the hall. “What if you loved  him, and he loved you?”

“I don’t believe in love,” (y/n) replied.

Alicent brows raised. “The realm’s beauty doesn’t believe in love?”

“Do you?” (y/n) countered, though she knew the truth.

(y/n) knew Alicent loved power. She didn’t think the new Queen was capable of loving anyone or anything else.

Alicent’s gaze flickered to (y/n)’s lips, then (y/n)’s bosom, then back up to (y/n)’s eyes. 

“Maybe I do,” Alicent whispered. 

No one had ever looked at her that way Alicent was looking at her.

(y/n)’s heart started to race. “You do?”

Alicent raised her hand and cupped (y/n)’s face. She ran her thumb across (y/n)’s cheek.

“Of course.”

(y/n)’s skin burned under Alicent’s touch, but (y/n) liked the heat. 

She had never felt that way before. (y/n) looked down at Alicent’s lips. 

She had kissed girls before. Silly games girls played, practice for their husbands they would say as they giggled and twirled their hair in between their fingers.

(y/n) wondered if Alicent had ever played such games.

(y/n) stepped towards Alicent, their faces just a breath apart. 

Alicent smiled. 

(y/n) detected no malice in her smile. She smiled back.

“I-,” (y/n) stammered. 

The magic of the pair’s private moment burst when Princess Rhaenyra ran out of the great hall and into the corridor, screaming (y/n)’s name.

Alicent pulled away from (y/n) and cleared her throat. She started down the hall, not once looking back at (y/n).

The night’s cold breeze replaced Alicent’s hot touch and a shiver ran along (y/n)’s back.

Princess Rhaenyra reached the pair and tugged on (y/n)’s arm. “Cousin, they brought out more lemon cakes.”

(y/n) watched Alicent walk away. Rhaenyra’s pleas barely registered in (y/n)’s ears.

All she could feel was the ghost of Alicent’s thumb on her cheek.

-

Many moons passed and with them came the dawn of war. Corlys Velaryon took his son and his men and set out for war alongside Prince Daemon Targaryen. They warred to secure the islands known as the Stepstones.

While Lord Corlys warred, his wife Princess Rhaenys ruled Driftmark. At her side was her eldest daughter, Lady (y/n).

Lady (y/n) had taken to helping her mother rule Driftmark. She had even been granted the final word on a few local disputes. Her mother beamed with pride at the sight of (y/n) taking her new role seriously. (y/n) studied every book of laws in the keep’s library.

The longer the war went on the more (y/n) worried about her father and brother. Laenor had become quite the sailor and dragonrider but he was still just a boy. Lord Coryls was fierce and a brilliant strategist but (y/n) could only imagine the worst.

She tried to put on a brave face for her mother. She worried just as much, if not more, than Lady (y/n) did.

So when a messenger arrived in Driftmark with the declaration that Lady (y/n) had to be taken to King’s Landing to be ward of the King, Princess Rhaenys cried a river of tears.

Upon hearing the message (y/n) knew that Alicent was behind it. The King would never make such a declaration of his own accord. Making lady (y/n) a ward of the King would further divide their houses, not mend the rift between them that occurred when the King chose Alicent Hightower over Lady (y/n).

Still, (y/n) packed her belongings and said goodbye to her mother and sister. She made the journey to King’s Landing atop her dragon. Both she and her mother agreed she could not leave her dragon behind.

Lady (y/n)’s arrival in King’s Landing was a quiet one.

Princess Rhaenyra had met (y/n) at the dragonpit to say hello. Her cousin was eager to see her and was overjoyed that (y/n) would be staying with her. The Princess confided in (y/n) that she had been right about Alicent. She was not Rhaenyra’s true friend.

The Queen had bore a babe, a boy, for the King.

Ever since then Alicent had been nothing but cruel to Rhaenyra.

(y/n) empathized with her cousin, and promised they would be a united front against the Queen’s cruelty.

When the two returned to the Red Keep no one was there to greet (y/n). Rhaenyra led (y/n) to her chambers then excused herself as she had the duty of being her father’s cupbearer and was already late.

Once alone (y/n) let out a deep sigh. The chambers that had once felt like a second home now felt like a gilded cage. 

(y/n) wondered why the Queen would call her to King’s Landing, after so many years apart. Her last memory of her was the ghost of her thumb on (y/n)’s cheek. Her stomach knotted, with excitement and nerves at seeing her again.

-

The Queen stormed into lady (y/n)’s chambers. 

 Lady (y/n) stood from the desk where she had sat, writing her family a letter on her arrival. “Your Grace.”

The Queen froze as she laid eyes on Lady (y/n) for the first time since their almost kiss outside the great hall. 

Lady (y/n) was even more beautiful than she remembered. 

Alicent hated her even more for it. She folded her arms across her chest as she looked around the room. 

“Lady (y/n), a shame to see you have not settled in just yet.” 

(y/n)’s head turned to the stack of unpacked trunks in the corner of her room. She had told the maids to only unpack one of them.

“I won’t be here long. There is no need to unpack everything, your Grace,” (y/n) replied with a strained smile.

The Queen pursed her lips as she tilted her head, examining lady (y/n).

“Your optimism is refreshing, Lady (y/n).”

(y/n) stood tall. She was no longer a young girl, she was a lady grown. 

“It is not optimism your Grace, but the assurance that once I have spoken with the King he will see there is no need for me to remain in King’s Landing.”

The Queen let out a huff. She walked to the table towards the far side of the room and took a seat facing (y/n).

“If that is the case then I must admit it is startling to see you have not grown any less foolish in your time away, Lady (y/n)”

(y/n) turned to look at the Queen.  “It is the truth, your Grace.”

The Queen looked over at the fruit on the table. She grabbed a few grapes and slowly brought them to her mouth. 

“Your father started a war without the King’s permission.” the Queen said in between bites of fruit. “We cannot allow for the realm to think such actions are allowed,” she finished with a small smirk. 

“Then why not impose taxes upon our lands? Why keep me as a ward while the war still rages.” (y/n) furrowed her brows. 

She did not believe Alicent’s motives were purely political. It simply didn’t make sense.

The Queen stood from her seat and walked towards lady (y/n). “That does not send a strong enough message to the other houses.”

(y/n) instinctively stepped back as the Queen continued to approach her. 

The Queen closed the gap between them and reached up to cup (y/n)’s cheek.

“Such behavior must be punished,” the Queen whispered.

(y/n)’s face flushed with pink. She looked away from the Queen’s heavy gaze but did not move away from the Queen’s grasp.

The Queen smiled. “The gossips of court spoke about how beautiful you had become in recent moons... .perhaps I brought you here to see if there was truth in their words.”

Lady (y/n)’s heart beat rang in her ears. She stepped away from Alicent and turned away from her.

The Queen watched in delight.

“I-,” (y/n) stuttered as she struggled to compose herself.

The Queen took a deep breath, schooling her features into polite indifference. 

“Or perhaps I brought you here to reveal that the realm’s beauty is nothing but a sick deviant.”

Lady (y/n) whipped around to face the Queen. “I am not a deviant.”

The Queen smirked. “Come, we must not keep the King waiting for dinner,” she said as she made her way towards the door.

Lady (y/n) clenched her jaw and followed the Queen out of her chambers.

-

The first few moons at the Red Keep were dreadful for lady (y/n). 

With no choice but to obey the Queen’s endless requests for (y/n) to wait on her every whim. 

Lady (y/n) had not yet been able to get a moment alone with the King. At the dinner welcoming her to the Keep the King made little comment to (y/n) being a ward of his or the reason why. (y/n) had not seen the king since. 

But everything would soon change for lady (y/n) and the Queen.

-

It was a night like any other.

Lady (y/n) had been called into the Queen’s chambers to prepare the Queen for sleep. 

She had helped Talia ready the Queen for bed before but this time (y/n) noticed she was alone. 

The Queen stood in front of the mirror, she stared at (y/n). 

“Well, what are you waiting for,” Alicent asked. 

Lady (y/n) stepped forward and unlaced the Queen’s dress. 

(y/n) made sure to focus only on the bodice in front of her. She could not let her mind wander, lest it go to carnal places.

Alicent watched (y/n) through the mirror. She could feel (y/n)’s fingertips leave goose pimples in their wake as (y/n) unlaced the bodice. It took all her strength not to close her eyes and savor the younger woman’s touch. 

Once the bodice was undone lady (y/n) walked around to face the Queen. Lady (y/n) avoided the Queen’s gaze as she tugged at the dress. 

Alicent’s voice caught in her throat as Lady (y/n) lowered herself to help her out of the dress. 

“You can step out of the dress now, your grace,” (y/n) said as she looked up at the Queen. 

Alicent looked down at Lady (y/n) and felt her heart thump faster in her chest. 

The realm’s beauty on her knees for me, Alicent thought. She bit her cheek. She knew better than to think like that. 

Alicent looked away from Lady (y/n) and stepped out of the dress that pooled at her feet. 

Lady (y/n) took the dress and placed it in a nearby trunk. She grabbed the Queen’s nightgown and returned to Alicent’s side. 

Alicent stepped into the nightshirt and avoided (y/n)’s gaze as the Velaryon girl fastened the buttons at the front of the shirt. 

Lady (y/n) fastened the buttons of the Queen’s nightshirt as fast as she could. She felt an overwhelming heat spread throughout her with every second she passed so close to the Queen. 

The final buttons were along the Queen’s throat. 

Lady (y/n)’s eyes briefly met the Queen’s. 

Her hands stopped. 

Alicent noticed. She swallowed hard. 

“Why did you stop,” she whispered. 

Lady (y/n) stared into the Queen’s eyes. 

Alicent hadn’t always been cruel to her, (y/n) recalled. They were friends for a time. They were closer to each other than either was to Rhaenyra. 

“You stopped first,” (y/n) replied mindlessly.

Alicent’s brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“You stopped being my friend first…your grace,” (y/n) said then looked away from the Queen. 

She quickly finished the last of the buttons on the nightgown then stepped away. 

Alicent turned and watched (y/n) walk across the room. 

“Why bring that up now?”

(y/n) made it to the window on the far side of the Queen’s chambers. The fresh air hit her face, a welcome respite to the blazing heat that bloomed inside her. 

The Queen stepped towards Lady (y/n). “I asked you a question lady (y/n).”

(y/n) sighed. “It was a thoughtless statement, your grace.”

Alicent frowned, she wanted to press (y/n) for the truth but she knew it would be fruitless. 

“Do not let it happen again lady (y/n),” the Queen replied. 

Lady (y/n) took a deep breath of night air then turned around. 

“If that is all your grace, I will take my leave.” Lady (y/n) curtsied and turned to leave. 

Alicent put a hand up to stop (y/n). “I have a final request for tonight lady (y/n).”

Lady (y/n) faced the Queen. “How can I be of service to your grace.”

(Alicent lays down in her bed and brings a cup of wine to her lips, watching the reader over the rim)

“I want you to read to me,” the Queen declared as she poured herself a cup of wine from the nearby table. 

“Read to you,” Lady (y/n) mused.

The Queen nodded. “Yes, now help me into my bed.”

Lady (y/n) approached the Queen’s bed and pulled back the furs and quilts so that the Queen could lay down. 

Once she was comfortable, the Queen looked up at (y/n) expectantly. 

lf a cup of wine from the nearby table then got into bed. 

“You may begin.”

Lady (y/n) furrowed her brow. “I don’t have a book, your grace.”

The Queen shrugged. “Then you can tell me a tale.”

Lady (y/n) swallowed the urge to roll her eyes. All she wanted was to retire to her own bed.

But alas, that was not an option. 

So lady (y/n) plastered on a saccharine smile and said, “As you wish your grace” as she walked to the chair by the mantle. 

“Not there,” the Queen barked. 

“Where do you wish for me to sit, your grace?” Lady (y/n) asked with a strained smile.

The Queen pointed a finger to the foot of her bed. “There.”

Lady (y/n)’s stomach dropped. But she did as she was ordered to. She walked to the foot of the Queen’s bed and sat down, her back to the Queen.

“Face me,” Alicent commanded. “I want you on your knees.”

Lady (y/n) turned to meet Alicent’s gaze. “On my knees?”

Alicent took a long drink from her goblet. “Was I not clear lady (y/n)?”

“As you wish, your grace,” (y/n) replied through gritted teeth.

(y/n) grabbed her skirts and lifted them as she knelt down on the bed. She could now hear the thrumming of her heart as it pounded in her ears. 

“What tale will you tell me tonight lady (y/n)?” The Queen asked, a devious smile on her lips. 

So pretty on her knees, Alicent thought. 

“Whatever tale you wish to hear your grace,” (y/n) replied lifelessly. 

“Tell me of your travels lady (y/n). I was told you traveled to Dorne with your father.”

“I did indeed, your grace.” (y/n) began. “Well the trip itself was quite long but we sailed and I enjoy the salt air.”

(y/n) felt herself relax as she recalled that summer she traveled with her father. She was quite young but had insisted on going. 

“Sunspear was beautiful, with water gardens and trees filled with various sweet fruits.The markets outside of the keep were lively and there was an aroma of spices that filled the air.”

(y/n) closed her eyes and almost felt the heat of the Dornish sun. 

Alicent watched with a small smile as (y/n) relaxed. The smile faded as she remembered that was the summer after she and (y/n) stopped being friends. 

“When my father took me to the market I found this emerald ring with a dove carved into the gold band.” (y/n) opened her eyes and met the Queen’s gaze. “It reminded me of you.”

Alicent’s voice caught in her throat again. 

“That was the summer after our big fight. Do you remember?” Lady (y/n) asked. Though she doubted the Queen remembered. 

Alicent looked away from (y/n). 

“You’re excused lady (y/n),” the Queen commanded. 

Lady (y/n) looked down at her hands as she got off the Queen’s bed. She turned and made her way towards the door. 

“I didn’t have a choice (y/n). I couldn’t be your friend anymore,” Alicent said as (y/n)’s hand reached for the door.

Lady (y/n) turned her head back towards the Queen but Alicent had already pulled the quilts and furs over her.

(y/n) opened the door and left for her quarters. 

-

A few weeks later Lady (y/n) entered the Queen’s chambers and walked to the bed. She knelt on the foot of the bed just as she had countless nights before. 

She had brought with her a book on the maester’s moon charts with her. She wanted to tell the Queen about how sailors used the moon charts when out on the ocean.

“What have you brought to read to me tonight lady (y/n),” the Queen asked as she emerged from the partition next to the bed. 

Lady (y/n) looked up from the charts and swallowed hard when she saw the Queen in her nightgown. It was cut quite provocatively at the chest and it was so thin (y/n) could see the outline of Alicent’s curves. 

Alicent smirked when she realized lady (y/n) was staring.  “Already kneeling at the foot of my bed, ready for me. Such a good girl.”

Lady (y/n)’s face went pink and she quickly looked down at the moon charts. 

The Queen got into her bed and settled in. “You may begin, Lady (y/n).”

(y/n) began to tell the Queen about moon charts but she was cut off my a loud knock at the Queen’s door. 

The Queen rolled her eyes. “Who calls?”

“It’s Talya, your grace,” Ser Criston’s voice boomed. 

“Let her in,” the Queen replied. 

Talya entered the Queen’s chambers and bowed. 

“The King has requested your company for the night, your grace.”

The Queen sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Alright, tell the King I am on my way.”

Talya nodded and bowed once more before leaving. 

The Queen kept her eyes closed for another moment before she got out of her bed and reached for a robe to wrap herself in.

Lady (y/n) gathered her charts and got off the bed. 

“What are you doing?” The Queen asked.

“Talya said-,” Lady (y/n) began.

The Queen cut her off. “I did not grant you leave.”

“But the King-,” Lady (y/n) argued.

The Queen cut her off once more. “Called for me, not you. You will stay put, on your knees, until I return.” Alicent bridged the gap between her and lady (y/n). “Is that understood?” She asked, their faces inches apart.

Lady (y/n) nodded. “Yes, your grace.”

A heat bloomed between (y/n)’s legs at the sound of Alicent’s commanding voice. She got back on the bed and knelt facing the bed. 

The Queen stepped closer towards lady (y/n). 

“Good girl,” she whispered in (y/n)’s ear. 

A chill ran down (y/n)’s back. She bit the inside of her cheek and closed her eyes. 

The Queen started for the door and slowly her footsteps started to fade. 

Once the Queen was gone lady (y/n) debated getting off the bed and going back to her chambers. 

She knew that Alicent would make her pay for not obeying her orders…a part of lady (y/n) wondered what that punishment would be, and a smaller part of her felt a rush of excitement at the thought of being punished by Alicent. 

Like the good girl she was, (y/n) stayed. She continued to knee at the foot of the bed. She poured over the moon charts as she waited for Alicent to return. 

Sometime after the hour of ghosts (y/n) ended up falling asleep. 

Alicent returned during the hour of the wolf, weary and spent from her time with the King.

She entered her chambers and smiled when she saw (y/n) asleep on her bed. Alicent walked over to where (y/n) lay. She reached out and slowly ran her finger across (y/n)’s cheek.

Lady (y/n) startled and quickly sat up when she realized the Queen had returned. 

“Your Grace, my apologies. I must have fallen asleep. I am so sorry your grace I-,” lady (y/n) rambled.

Alicent’s languid smile remained. She placed her finger on (y/n)’s lips. 

“Your Queen grants you leave,” she whispered. 

Then Alicent dropped her finger from (y/n)’s lips and made her way to her side of the bed. She pulled back the furs and quilts and got in. 

Too stunned to react, the lady (y/n) took a few moments to collect herself. Then she got off the Queen’s bed and made her way to the chamber door. 

Once at the door (y/n) turned back towards the Queen. 

The Queen laid in her bed, facing the window at the far end of the room and picking her nails absentmindedly. 

“I hope you sleep well, Alicent,” (y/n) said. 

Alicent snapped out of her thoughts and turned towards (y/n). She smiled softly. 

“Thank you (y/n). Sweet dreams.”

(y/n) returned Alicent’s smile then turned and left the room.

-

More moons passed.

 Lady (y/n)’s nightly visit to the Queen was now a welcome event as things had softened between them.

(y/n) entered the Queen’s chambers as she did every night. 

This night Talya was helping the Queen into her nightgown and (y/n) had walked in while the Queen was in her thin shift. 

Lady (y/n) quickly averted her gaze. “Apologies your grace. I did not see Ser Criston outside but I should have knocked.” 

Talya placed the nightgown on the Queen. The Queen smiled at lady (y/n). 

“It’s alright (y/n). We won’t be able to have our nightly reading.” Alicent stepped towards (y/n) and sighed. “The King wishes for me to stay in his chambers tonight.”

(y/n) shrugged. “I can stay if you wish. That way I can read to you when you return.”

Alicent’s smile returned. “That’s kind of you lady (y/n).” Then she let out another sigh as Talya left the room. “I won’t return until the morrow.”

“Oh,” (y/n) replied, a small frown tugged at the edge of her mouth.

“You look as though this upsets you lady (y/n),” Alicent replied with a small smirk. “I imagined you would be giddy at the news.”

(y/n)’s face warmed. She had been caught frowning. She looked away from the Queen.

Alicent stepped closer to (y/n). “Could it be that you don’t hate my presence as much as you used to?” She whispered.

“I appreciate routine, your grace,” (y/n) replied, a small smirk of her own on her face.

Alicent laughed and placed a hand on (y/n)’s arm.

“I needed something to lighten my mood. Thank you (y/n),” Alicent said and gave (y/n)’s arm a gentle squeeze.

Blush returned to (y/n)’s cheeks at the Queen’s touch. She was glad Alicent was already headed towards the door and wouldn’t notice.

The Queen walked out of her room and left (y/n) alone. (y/n) knew she could not linger so she turned to follow the Queen out the door but she stopped when she noticed the open bottle of perfume oil on the table next to the door. 

(y/n) reached for the handkerchief in her dress pocket and before she could think twice about it she dabbed a bit of oil on her cloth. She inhaled the sweet perfume of lavender and honeysuckle.

(y/n) smiled to herself and hid the handkerchief back in her pocket. Then she left the Queen’s bedchamber.

-

It was a night like any other. 

Lady (y/n) knelt in front of the Queen, reading a passage out of a book of history from Essos. 

But on this night the Queen had drunk a bit more wine than usual. And her gaze lingered on (y/n)’s lips longer than it usually did.

“Put the book down,” Alicent commanded. 

Lady (y/n) did as the Queen told her to. 

“Is there something-”

(y/n)’s words died in her throat. 

The Queen got out of her bed and crossed the room to pour herself more wine. She downed it in one gulp then turned to (y/n).

“Lay down.”

Lady (y/n) furrowed her brow. “Why?”

“You don’t need to know why. I am your Queen and I commanded you to lay down on my bed,” Alicent replied sternly. 

(y/n) was not sure where Alicent’s anger had come from. Alicent had been far more cordial to (y/n) in recent days. She wondered why the sudden change in demeanor. 

But Alicent would not give her time to wonder. 

“Now,” Alicent barked. 

(y/n) did as she was commanded to and laid down. Her heart started beating faster. 

She could not see Alicent but (y/n) could hear Alicent cross the room. 

Alicent sat in a chair opposite her bed. She had brought the pitched of wine with her and she poured herself another cup. 

“I want you to take your nightgown off.”

Lady (y/n) sat up. “Absolutely not,” she objected.

Alicent stood. “Are you defying an order from the Queen?”

(y/n) stared at Alicent, mouth agape. “No I simply don’t understand w-”

“It does not matter if you understand or not. I am the Queen,” Alicent replied. 

(y/n) swallowed hard. Her heart beat loud in her ears. She could not do what had been asked of her. 

“Fine, I’ll do it for you,” Alicent spat. 

The Queen approached lady (y/n) and reached for (y/n)’s nightgown. Lady (y/n) grabbed the Queen’s hands. 

Alicent met (y/n)’s gaze. 

“How dare you,” Alicent roared. 

“Just tell me why,” (y/n) replied. 

Alicent stared into (y/n)’s eyes. (y/n)’s eyes begged for any reason. 

(y/n) noticed how tired Alicent’s eyes looked. Then she recalled that the King had called for her many times the past couple nights.

Alicent swallowed hard. “I need it.”

(y/n) nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Alicent stepped back and watched as (y/n) stood and undressed herself. 

The nightgown pooled at (y/n)’s feet. She bent down and picked it up. (y/n) laid it down on the bed then laid back down.

“Now what,” (y/n) asked. 

The night air drove a chill down (y/n)’s body.

Alicent sat back down in the chair facing the bed. 

“Spread your legs.”

(y/n) did as she was told. She spread her legs open.

This is wrong, (y/n) thought to herself. We can’t do this. 

But desire started to pool below (y/n)’s stomach. So (y/n) quieted the voice inside her that told her to grab her nightgown and run out of the Queen’s room.

Alicent took a long drink from her goblet. 

“Have you done this before,” Alicent asked. 

(y/n) let out a laugh. “Have I ever been naked on the Queen’s bed before?”

Alicent bit her cheek to stop herself from laughing. “Have you ever touched yourself,” she reiterated. 

The smile left (y/n)’s face. She felt her face get hot. “I uhm- I,” she stammered. 

Alicent let out a chuckle. “I’ll take that as a no.”

(y/n) took a steadying breath. “I actually have,” she confessed. 

Alicent raised her brows. “Oh.”

“Do you want me to..uhm,” (y/n) started but couldn’t quite find the strength to say the words. 

Thankfully Alicent could.

“Yes, touch yourself,” Alicent commanded. 

(y/n) closed her eyes and let out a breath. She let her hands travel down her body, slowly working their way down between her legs. 

Alicent watch, rapt. She gripped the goblet of wine so hard her knuckles turned white. 

Soon (y/n)’s fingers slipped inside her. She started off slow, just like she used to back home in the comfort of her chamber. 

After a few strokes the pace of (y/n)’s fingers quickened. (y/n)’s chest heaved as her pleasure started to build.

Alicent bit her lip as (y/n) pleasured herself. The heat between her own thighs had built to an uncomfortable throbbing. 

“Say my name,” Alicent said, voice thick with want.

(y/n)’s pace quickened again, her chest heaved harder, her breaths quickened. 

“Alicent,” (y/n) breathed as she entered herself again and again. 

“Harder,” Alicent commanded. 

(y/n) slipped another finger inside herself and pushed her fingers deeper inside her. 

“Alicent,” (y/n) moaned. 

Alicent watched as the wave of (y/n)’s pleasure reached its crest. She watched as (y/n) came undone. 

“Alicent,” (y/n) moaned as she reached the peak of her pleasure. 

Alicent stood from her seat and swallowed hard as (y/n) came down from the pleasure flowing through her. 

There (y/n) lay, open and warm with a placid smile on her face. 

(y/n) looked over at Alicent. “What now Ali.”

At the sound of her childhood nickname a swell of guilt and shame washed over Alicent. She turned around and downed the last of her wine. 

“Get out,” she said. 

(y/n) sat up, confused. “But I..why?”

The Queen turned back around to face lady (y/n). 

“Leave, before I choose against mercy and drag you out of my room to expose what a filthy whore the realm’s beauty really is,” Alicent spat. 

Tears welled in (y/n)’s eyes but she would not let them fall in the Queen’s presence.

Of course it had been a trick. Everything with Alicent always revealed itself to be a trick.

(y/n) had been foolish enough to fall for one yet again. 

Lady (y/n) grabbed her nightgown and dressed herself as she made her way to the door. She left the room without another glance at the Queen. 

(y/n) wished to never see the Queen ever again.

-

Lord Corlys’ war ended with a victory for the crown but lady (y/n) remained a ward of the Queen.

(y/n) no longer read to the Queen. In fact the Queen had unknowingly granted (y/n)’s wish to never see her again. 

But in a bitter twist life not in the Queen’s gaze was cold and unforgiving. 

Lady (y/n) was practically confined to her room. She could leave to visit the Keep’s library or to see the other ladies of court for a few hours a day but the guards had been ordered to follow (y/n)’s every move and make her dine in her room alone every day. 

(y/n) was miserable, and she was sure it was exactly what Alicent had wanted. 

Lady (y/n) finally did get an audience with the King but all he did was confirm that the only way she would leave the Keep is if Alicent let her go, or if she married. 

Thankfully a celebration was upon the Keep. The King had betrothed Rhaenyra to (y/n)’s brother, Laenor. 

A tourney would be held for their nuptials. 

The King told (y/n) she would be allowed to attend the tourney if she wished to. (y/n) jumped at the chance to be among her family once again.

-

The day of the tourney came and (y/n) raced to her mother’s arms.

Her mother asked if all was well with the King and Queen. 

(y/n) lied and said all was going well. She did not wish to worry her mother with the truth. 

Laena and Laenor rushed to give (y/n) hugs of their own. 

Love and hope swelled inside (y/n). 

-

(y/n) sat between her sister and her brother at the tourney. 

It was Prince Daemon’s turn to joust a member of House Baratheon. 

He asked for Lady (y/n)’s favor. 

“Your favor would all but ensure my win, lady (y/n). You’ve grown more beautiful with age,” Prince Daemon said as he held his lance up for (y/n)’s favor. 

Lady (y/n) smiled politely and stood to grab her favor from the nearby table. 

As she grabbed the wreath of flowers with her house colors she noticed the look on the Queen’s face. 

Alicent was not pleased. 

(y/n) figured it was due to Prince Daemon’s presence. 

If there was someone Alicent hated more than (y/n) it was Prince Daemon. 

Lady (y/n) placed her favor on Prince Daemon’s lance. “I wish you luck, your grace.”

Prince Daemon winked at her as he galloped away. 

Lady (y/n) turned to her family. Her father wore a pleasure smirk on his face. 

Gods, (y/n) thought, he wishes to wed two of his children off. 

Lady (y/n) excused herself and exited the stands. 

She made it past a nearby tent before she felt a pair of hands pull her inside it.

It was the Queen. She was furious.

Lady (y/n) furrowed her brow.“Your grace, what is the matter.”

The Queen tightened her grip on lady (y/n)’s arms. 

“How dare you,” Alicent spat.

Lady (y/n) tried to free herself from the Queen but her grasp was firm.

“I don’t understand, your grace.”

The Queen scoffed. “You practically threw yourself at Prince Daemon like a commonborn whore.”

“I merely gave him my favor, as he asked of me.” Lady (y/n) bristled against the Queen’s grasp once more. 

But the Queen would not let go. 

She forced lady (y/n) to look at her. 

“Do you care for him? Do you wish to wed him,” the Queen asked, a slight tremble in her voice. 

Lady (y/n) looked into Alicent’s eyes. Alicent was angry, that much was clear, but (y/n) also saw a bit of fear in the Queen’s eyes. 

“I do not wish to wed anyone.” (y/n) sighed. “You know that, your grace,” (y/n) whispered.

The Queen let go of lady (y/n). She smoothed down the skirts of her dress and looked away from lady (y/n).

“I do not want to see you near Prince Daemon for the rest of the festivities,” the Queen commanded.

Lady (y/n) frowned. “That is not something I can promise your grace. He is the Prince,” (y/n) replied, defeated.

The Queen began to speak but lady (y/n) cut her off. 

“Why do you even care? It’s not as though it is of consequence to you if the Prince seeks my company,” (y/n) countered.

Alicent avoided (y/n)’s gaze. 

“I don’t have to answer to you, I am the queen.”

Lady (y/n) let out a small scoff. “You do as you please as you always have.”

The Queen met (y/n)’s gaze with narrowed eyes. “I did not grant you permission to speak so freely to me lady (y/n).”

Lady (y/n) crossed her arms against her chest. “Perhaps I’ve grown tired of this game you play with me, your grace. I am not a doll you can cast aside when you’re done toying with her.”

The Queen took a menacing step towards lady (y/n).

“You are done being mine when I command it,” the Queen declared.

Lady (y/n) would not back down this time. She remained firm.

“I will never be yours.”

The Queen pursed her lips. She stared at (y/n) for a few moments, searching for something though (y/n) was not sure what.

“You are a fool (y/n).”

And with that the Queen turned and walked out of the tent. 

Tears welled in lady (y/n)’s eyes. She blinked them away. She would not shed another tear for Alicent Hightower.

-

Lady (y/n) managed to stay away from Prince Daemon for the rest of the tourney. 

Not because the Queen told her to but because she had a real worry that the Prince meant to make her his wife.

The only thing worse than being ward of Alicent would be marrying the Prince.

But at the wedding feast she could not avoid the Prince. 

He sat to the right of her father and she had no choice but to be near him.

As the musicians started a lively tune Prince Daemon turned to lady (y/n) and asked for a dance. 

Lady (y/n) could not say no. 

She followed the Prince onto the dance floor.

Lady (y/n) didn’t need to look at the Queen to know the Queen was not pleased. 

Alicent stared at (y/n) and the Prince.

She downed another goblet of wine.

-

The song ended and lady (y/n) tried to leave but Prince Daemon pulled her close to him.

“How about another one?” 

Lady (y/n) smiled politely. “Of course, my Prince.”

She turned towards the table at the top of the stairs and sure enough, Alicent was staring daggers at her. 

Lady (y/n) turned away from the Queen and continued another dance with the Prince.

After a second dance the Prince and lady (y/n) returned to the great table. 

Lord Corlys joked they made a lovely couple. 

Prince Daemon remarked any man that could have lady (y/n)’s hand in marriage would be lucky indeed. 

“What do you say, your grace, shall we make this wedding celebration two fold?” Lord Corlys asked and raised a cup towards the King.

The King laughed and raised his cup to Lord Corlys. “A drink for the newly wed and another for the newly betrothed.”

The men laughed and drank while lady (y/n)’s polite smile faltered. 

Lady (y/n) looked to her mother for reassurance. Surely the men were not serious.

Her mother avoided her gaze. 

A lump formed in lady (y/n)’s throat. 

The Queen stood from her seat and declared she would retire for the night. 

She called for lady (y/n)’s assistance. 

Lady (y/n) sprang from her seat. “Of course your grace.”

Lady (y/n) followed the Queen out of the great hall. 

They did not speak until they were safely inside the Queen’s bedchamber. 

Lady (y/n) entered the room and immediately felt the Queen’s hands on her. 

Alicent pinned (y/n) to the wall.

“You will reject the Prince’s proposal.”

(y/n) struggled against Alicent’s grasp. “Why should I? I would wed and leave this wretched Keep.”

Alicent grabbed (y/n)’s chin with her free hand and forced (y/n) to meet her gaze.

“I will not allow such a betrothal.”

(y/n) scoffed. “It does not matter. The king approves.”

Alicent huffed. “I care not what the King approves.” She brought her face closer to (y/n)’s. “You will not leave my keep.”

(y/n) could feel Alicent’s breath on her lips. A heat bloomed inside her. Her eyes darted to Alicent’s lips then back up to her eyes.

“Why do you insist on keeping me prisoner?”

Alicent could feel (y/n)’s heart beat faster. She let go of (y/n) and walked away. “I do not need to explain myself to you.”

“Because you are the Queen,” (y/n) argued.

Alicent did not reply. She walked across the room to the pitcher of wine. She poured herself a cup.

“How long will you keep me here? Until I am old and gray?” 

(y/n) stepped closer to Alicent, demanding an answer.

“You said you never wanted to marry. I am merely fulfilling your girlhood wish,” Alicent replied as she downed the wine.

“What a gracious queen you are,” (y/n) said with a hollow laugh.

Alicent finished the last of her wine. “Lady (y/n) is beautiful, lady (y/n) is gracious, lady (y/n) is talented beyond measure.” Alicent mocked as she turned to face (y/n).  “All my girlhood I heard court sing you praises. I hated you so much.”

Alicent scoffed then started towards (y/n). “And then one summer you came to visit Rhaenyra, and I was determined to hate you…but you were so disgustingly kind.” 

She stopped when she reached (y/n). (y/n) eyed Alicent cautiously. 

Alicent tilted her head to the side and reached out to touch a lock of (y/n)’s hair.  “And you were so damn beautiful, just like they had all said.”

(y/n) turned away from Alicent’s touch. “So you hate me because I was kind to you?”

Alicent let out another hollow laugh. “You will never understand.”

(y/n) met Alicent’s gaze. “I understand that we were friends. I understand that you were kind until you became like your father, hungry for power.”

Silence lingered between them as Alicent gazed into (y/n)’s eyes. 

“I wanted you,” Alicent whispered. “I wanted you,” she repeated, a little louder.

(y/n) blinked hard. “I don’t-,” she started but Alicent interrupted her.

“My father wanted power, and he knew I wanted you,” Alicent confessed.  “He told me if I had power I could have you.”

(y/n) swallowed hard. Alicent’s voice rang in her ears, I wanted you.

At the sigh of (y/n)’s continued silence the side of Alicent’s mouth turned upwards in a sad kind of smile. “I got power, but I never got you.”

“You did that night,” (y/n) replied mindlessly.

They had never spoken of that night in Alicent’s bed.

Silence enveloped the pair, both rendered speechless by the weight of their confessions.

Alicent looked down and reached for (y/n)’s hand. 

(y/n) let her take her hand.

Alicent laced their fingers together. 

“Don’t accept Prince Daemon’s proposal.”

(y/n) sighed loudly.  “ If it’s what my father wills, I have no choice.”

Alicent looked back up and met (y/n)’s gaze, a playful smirk on her face.

“I could betroth you to Aegon.”

A small smile spread across (y/n)’s lips. “Would that please the King?”

Alicent shrugged, her thumb caressing (y/n)’s palm. 

“It would please me.”

(y/n) let out a small laugh. Alicent returned it and together they enjoyed their brief armistice. 

-

Talya walked into the Queen’s bedchambers with another pitcher full of wine. She poured the queen another cup full. 

The Queen was in a foul mood, even for her. 

Talya excused herself and took the old empty pitcher with her. 

That morning when she broke fast with the King he informed her that Daemon’s betrothal to the lady (y/n) was all but final. 

Alicent remained in her chambers the rest of the day, drinking goblet after goblet of wine. 

Her father had tried to chastise her for acting like a petulant spoiled child but Alicent didn’t care anymore. 

It was over.

(y/n) would marry the Prince, have his children, and be his. Forever.

Alicent pulled the furs above her and buried her head in the many pillows on her bed. 

The door opened. 

“I do not wish to see anyone,” she barked. 

“Lady (y/n) is here your grace,” Ser Criston called. 

Alicent sat up, and sure enough (y/n) stood at the entrance of the room, book in hand. 

“Leave us Ser Criston,” the Queen ordered. 

Ser Criston bowed his head and left the two women alone. 

“What are you doing here,” Alicent asked. 

(y/n) smiled softly.  “I’ve come to read to you, your grace.”

Alicent scoffed then grabbed the goblet from the nightstand and downed the rest of her wine. 

“Don't you have a betrothed to read to now?” She asked bitterly.

(y/n) walked to the foot of Alicent’s bed then climbed on and knelt in front of the Queen as she had done so many nights before. 

Alicent watched her, her brows furrowed. 

(y/n) set down the book in front of her then looked back up at Alicent. 

“I spoke with my father. I informed him I wish to become a septa.”

“You wish to be a septa?” Alicent asked slowly.

(y/n) nodded. “The keep is always in need of septas is it not?”

Alicent’s brow slowly unfurrowed as she understood (y/n)’s true meaning.

“You’re staying?” She asked, tears welling in her eyes.

(y/n) had never seen Alicent cry. She gazed into Alicent’s eyes.

“Does the Queen command me to stay?” (y/n) asked.

“Only if you wish to,” Alicent replied with a tremor in her voice.

(y/n) crawled across the bed and wiped the tears from Alicent’s eyes. 

“I wish to,” she whispered. 

Alicent returned (y/n)’s smile. 

(y/n) turned to the book she brought. “I also brought the moon charts. I did not get to tell you about them the last time I read to you.”

When (y/n) turned back to face Alicent their faces were inches apart. 

Alicent took a steadying breath. 

(y/n) looked at her expectantly. 

Alicent reached up and cupped (y/n)’s face. “Don’t move,” Alicent commanded. 

(y/n) waited with bated breath as Alicent slowly closed the gap between them. 

Lady (y/n)’s eyes fluttered closed as she felt the Queen’s lip against her own. 

The moon charts next to the couple would go unexplored for the rest of the night as the Queen finally claimed what was hers and lady (y/n) realized she did believe in love after all.

[undertheorangetree]

The Last of the Dragons

Chapter Five- The Agreement

Summary- Even days have culminated to this moment.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female Reader. Incest. Pregnancy (we all knew this was coming). Treason. Mention of murder/poisoning. OOC Aemond cuz he’s experiencing joy. Titty sucking. Soft smut.

Author’s Note- and that’s that on that! I genuinely cannot believe how well received this was, I honestly thought I was gonna be writing this entirely for me and didn’t think people would respond to it the way they did. I’m so so glad you all loved it and hopefully that love continues with the final chapter. Full chapter linked below🥰

Morning lets out a curious sound as she follows the reflection of the compact. Her head tilts, the scratch of her claws echoing through the room as she turns them in before she's pouncing on the sunspot, attempting to trap it underfoot. Baela laughs as she shifts her hand, sending the light further into the room, Morning skittering across the flagstones in order to chase it and pulling a laugh from her as well.

Rhaena does not share in their glee, letting out a heavy sigh as she makes her way across the room. "You're so mean to her, you shouldn't tease."

"We're playing," Baela defends, but Rhaena picks Morning up all the same, the young dragon settling into her arms almost immediately. She curls into the warmth of Rhaena's chest, stretching out long where she is cradled, tail falling limp over her arm.

"You'll be lucky if she doesn't bite you," she laughs, making her way over to Rhaena and running her fingers across the pink scales on Morning’s snout.

The little dragon makes a purring noise, pushing up against her fingers and she can't contain her smile. She had never seen Silverwing as a hatchling, claiming her on Dragonstone soon after her family arrived, but she can't deny how sweet Morning is, more akin to a cat than a dragon. Vermax had never been that way, Arrax kinder but capable of the same prickly nature. Tyraxes and Stormcloud seemed closer to Morning than the latter two were but none seemed sweeter than her. Though sweet as she may be, she is still a dragon, capable of violence at any given moment. Particularly if Baela continued to goad her.

Baela looks at her in mock offense, closing the compact pointedly before making her way toward them. "She would never. Far too sweet for such cruelty, aren't you, my love?"

She puts her face far too close to Morning's and though she braces herself to watch her sister lose a chunk of her nose, Baela pulls away before anything can happen, simply rubbing the tip of her nose against Morning’s. There is a degree of longing in her eyes as she backs away and immediately she knows Baela is missing Moondancer. Their bond had been special and the loss had hit her hard, especially when coupled with all the horror that followed, the chains Aegon forced her into, and she feels her heart break for her sister.

"Perhaps we can go riding soon," she offers, coming up to take hold of Baela's elbow. "Silverwing is big enough for two. We can ride however you'd like."

Baela smiles, the corners tinged with sadness, and brings up her hand to take her own, squeezing once. "I would like that."

"And perhaps Morning will join us as well once she's big enough to saddle," she adds, turning back to Rhaena.

Her second sister grins brightly, a laugh escaping her as Morning scrambles up her arm to lounge across her shoulders like a mink fur. She nearly blends into Rhaena's gown, the two pinks far too similar a colour to be pure coincidence, and Baela reaches out a hand to pull their sister closer.

It is moments like this that she has missed the most, moments where the three of them are alone, where they can act as they did as children. There was a brief period, the two years they spent together on Dragonstone before Baela was sent to Driftmark to ward, where they had days just like this. The three of them, joined together at the hip solely because they were girls of the same age. The same septa, the same maester, together always. On occasion, she had found herself missing Helaena, wishing that the four of them had been given the chance to be girls together, wishing that this familial rivalry did not exist. But the night on Driftmark had sealed that fate behind a metal grate forever and Helaena's marriage to Aegon had confirmed it further.

There was to be no shared girlhood for them. Not in this lifetime.

The door to her chambers opens then, pulling her from her thoughts and revealing their grandsire. He stands in the threshold for a moment to take them in, all three chained together by clasped hands, and smiles widely. It makes her stomach drop. "Are we to spend the morning together then?"

"Unfortunately not," she says, face scrunched in sympathy before turning to her sisters. "Would you both give us a moment alone? Council matter, I'm afraid."

"Of course, lovely," Baela assures her. Though there is a clear suspicion there, she still presses a kiss to her cheek all the same.

Rhaena is nodding as well, raising Morning in her arms. "We should find something for this beast to eat before she attempts to devour a few ravens in the rookery."

They say their goodbyes, each pressing a kiss to Corlys's cheek, and she feels her heart clench the moment the door closes behind them, leaving her alone with their grandsire. Corlys looks over at her and smiles, enough to make her guilt feel all consuming before she gestures to her dining table. He takes a seat while she begins rifling through her letter chest, searching for the right seal before pulling it out and joining him at the table.

Read the rest here :)

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[bookishcarmela]

Dark Desires

pairings: jacaerys velaryon x targ!reader, aemond targaryen x targ!reader

synopsis: Princess Y/n, the eldest daughter of Daemon and Laena Targaryen, faces a tumultuous life after her mother's death. Her father marries Rhaenyra Targaryen, and Y/n is betrothed to Rhaenyra's eldest son, Jacaerys. Over time, Y/n and Jacaerys grow to love each other deeply. However, their lives are thrown into turmoil when Y/n unexpectedly reunites with her cousin, Aemond igniting new emotions. As the threat of war looms, Y/n grapples with her feelings and the competing demands of love, duty to her family, and her betrothal to Jacaerys. She must navigate this emotional and political minefield to find her true path amidst the chaos.

Previous chapter

Chapter 2: Kings landing

The morning was crisp and clear as Y/n, Baela, and Rhaenys mounted their dragons and took to the skies, flying towards King's Landing. The flight was swift, the city’s walls appearing on the horizon faster than Y/n anticipated. They descended towards the Dragonpit, the familiar sprawl of the Red Keep coming into view.

Upon landing, they were greeted by the dragon keepers and a knight of the Kingsguard. The dragon keepers moved swiftly, tending to Meleys, who went without issue or fuss. However, Silverwing growled and snapped at the keepers, causing Y/n to let out an amused huff. As they turned away, she heard the dragon keeper’s commanding voice, "Arlī, Silverwing!" The dragon begrudgingly followed the command.

The white-cloaked knight stepped forward and addressed Rhaenys. “The queen will greet you in the small council, my lady. A servant will show the princesses to their rooms.”

Rhaenys nodded, and with a final glance at her granddaughters, she followed the knight towards the Keep. Arya and Baela separated from their grandmother, led by a servant through the hallways of the Red Keep.

As they walked, Y/n noted the changes. The art on the walls had been altered to reflect Queen Alicent's tastes, replacing lively Targaryen imagery with bland colors and the seven-pointed star of the Faith of the Seven.

"Seven hells, are we in the Keep or the Sept?" Baela whispered, disgust evident on her face.

Arya let out a chuckle. "I guess the queen prefers her art as dull as her personality."

The walk to their chambers was quick. They reached Y/n's room first, with Baela’s room only a few doors down the hall. Y/n told the servant, “Summon the maids to run a bath,” and then entered her chamber.

The room was just as she remembered, mostly unchanged since her childhood visits. It had been unused since her last visit three years ago. They rarely came to the capital, especially after the incident with Aemond. The last time she was here was right after the birth of her youngest brother, Viserys. It was a short visit, no longer than a fortnight.

The capital always felt odd to Y/n. She never had friends here; it was such an unfamiliar place. Jace and Luke were there, of course, but they were either in their studies or practicing with her father. Baela was with their grandmother back on Driftmark, and Rhaena preferred dancing and playing the harp to running around exploring with Arya.

Her cousins weren't any better company. Aegon was always drunk and bothering serving girls. Helaena was kind but shy, keeping mostly to herself. Y/n had fond memories of sitting in the gardens with Helaena, who showed her various bugs and plants. Daeron, closer to Y/n’s age by just a year, was sweet and liked exploring. Then there was Aemond.

Aemond was always strange to Y/n, but she supposed she would be strange too if she had lost her eye at ten. They met on the day of her mother’s funeral. Y/n remembered sitting alone, watching the waves when he came to her. They sat in silence, not needing to speak.

When Vhagar’s large shadow flew over them, she saw the entranced look on his face. He watched Vhagar fly until she disappeared into the clouds. Y/n had asked if he had a dragon, and he had shot her a distrusting look, grumbling, “No,” his face turning red with embarrassment. As he got up to leave, Y/n spoke softly, “If you want her, that's okay.”

He looked back at her, puzzled. “Vhagar will not take you as her rider if you're not worthy. You can't take her by force. Vhagar was my mother’s dragon, and she was one of the best dragon riders to live.”

He kept looking at her with that odd expression before saying, “When I claim Vhagar, then maybe we can fly together one day.”

She smiled at him, cheeks dusted with pink, and said, “That would be nice.” He left, and for the first time in weeks, Y/n thought about something other than her mother.

That night, she woke to the sound of screaming and rushed out of her room. She would never forget that night. When she rushed into the throne room of High Tide, the first face she saw was Aemond’s, the maester stitching up his eye, blood everywhere. Their eyes met, and she froze, seeing the fear and hurt in his remaining eye.

Nothing was quite the same after that. During their visits, Aemond made himself scarce, always training with Ser Criston or riding Vhagar. When they did interact, it was unpleasant. He taunted her with Aegon or pulled her hair when it was in a braid. In the library, he would never speak to her, only stare before stomping off somewhere else.

Lost in her thoughts, Y/n was brought back by a knock on her chamber door. She bid the maids to enter. They carried large metal buckets, steam rising from them. The maids placed them against the far wall, more arriving with additional buckets of water and a large metal tub, which they positioned next to the fireplace and began to fill.

Once they were done, Y/n got into the bath, noticing too late that they had added rose oil to the water, a scent she detested. She missed her lady-in-waiting, Eliana, who always knew her preferences and dislikes. The maids finished quickly, and Y/n sent them away, saying she would dress herself.

From the small bag of clothes she had brought from Driftmark, she pulled out a deep blue velvet gown with a V-neckline and silver embroidery at the waist. The long, billowing sleeves were made of lighter blue sheer fabric, and the skirt flowed gracefully into a train, with a layer of sheer fabric cascading over it.

After changing, Yn decided to explore the Keep. She made her way out of her room, heading towards the familiar yet foreign halls of the Red Keep.

Y/n made her way to the library first, seeking a moment of solitude. As she wandered through the aisles, her eyes caught sight of a familiar book: "A Caution for Young Girls." The sight of it made her giggle, remembering how scandalous she felt when she first came across the book at three-and-ten. Her cheeks had turned a bright red back then, a color she could still recall vividly.

Grabbing the book, she settled into one of the cushioned seats and opened it, the pages as intriguing as she remembered. She was lost in the words, a small smile playing on her lips, when she heard the sound of footsteps approaching.

Aemond appeared, his presence imposing and cold. He had matured since the last time she had seen him, his features sharpened, his frame more robust. He had become handsome in a severe way, the loss of his eye only adding to his intimidating allure.

“cousin,” he said, his voice smooth yet tinged with someting she couldn't place. “What a pleasant surprise to find you here, hidden away with such... literature.”

Y/n looked up, her face instantly guarded. “Aemond,” she replied coolly, trying to mask the sudden flutter in her chest. “I'm not surprised to see you lurking in the shadows.”

“Lurking? No, I was simply seeking some peace. Imagine my surprise to find you engrossed in such filth.” He smirked, stepping closer, his gaze flicking to the book in her hands. “What would the Lord Strong think of his betrothed indulging in such scandal?”

Y/n felt her cheeks flush, but she refused to be cowed. “Jace would hardly mind,” she said, a mischievous glint in her eye. “He’s quite... accommodating to my interests.”

Aemond’s face darkened, jealousy flashing in his eye. He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “Is that so? It seems your interests are rather... varied. Perhaps you should be careful, lest you ruin your reputation.”

Yn’s heart raced, a strange heat spreading through her body at his closeness. She fought to keep her voice steady. “And what of you, cousin? Lurking in libraries, tormenting ladies... it seems you haven’t changed at all.”

“Oh, I’ve changed,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “Perhaps you’ve just not been paying attention.” He was so close now, his closeness making her skin tingle.

Their heated exchange was interrupted by the sound of the library doors opening. Voices echoed through the hall, but they were too far back to be seen. Aemond’s gaze never left Y/n’s, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.

“You should be more careful, Y/n,” he whispered, his voice dripping with menace and something else she couldn’t quite place. “It would be a shame if you were caught in a compromising position.”

With that, he turned and left, his departure leaving Y/n feeling both furious and unsettled. She watched him go, her heart pounding and her body feeling as if it were on fire. The encounter left her with a mix of anger and confusion, emotions she couldn’t quite understand. She closed the book, her mind racing, the words within it now forgotten.

next chapter

[irmawrites]

Night encounter

Summary: Living in Dragonstone, claiming a dragon, it all seemed surreal to Ulf. Having a Targaryen princess in his bed all to himself even more so.

Rating: Explicit [18+], MDNI.

Pairing: Ulf the White x Targaryen!Reader (appearance isn’t specified, she's his niece but she could be Rhaenyra's daughter or Alicent's daughter, it’s all up to you)

TW: smut with a tiny bit of plot, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), p in v sex, slight degradation, corruption kink, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, dom/sub undertones, afab reader, not proofread.

Word count: 2017

Author’s note: hi everyone! Not too long ago I received the following request: "I was wondering if you would do one where Ulf is infatuated with the daughter of Rhaenyra and Harwin after meeting her after he claims Silverwing and could it possibly progress into smut?". To say that I was delighted to receive a request for Ulf would be an understatement. I am literally obsessed with this character and I really wanted to write something for him <3 HOWEVER I am incredibly sorry it's filthy, it's inappropriate, honestly I'm almost ashamed I wrote it ahaha

I should probably mention that English is not my mother tongue, so please excuse my grammar mistakes!

From the first moment he saw you, Ulf knew he had to have you. Such a sweet little thing, all soft smiles and happy giggles. A real ray of sunshine. He and you may have been related, but you couldn't have been more different. Uncle and niece like the moon and the sun. Where he was rude and boorish, you were polite and gentle. Where his lack of manners and unkempt appearance worked against him, your tact and polished looks made you stand out among all the inhabitants of Dragonstone.

But while he appreciated your sensitivity and gentleness, he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like when he finally robbed you of your innocence.

And a little voice in the back of his mind kept telling him that it was just a facade, a role you only played in public. You weren't the perfect princess you pretended to be, of that he was almost certain. After all, hadn't he noticed your eyes wandering to his fingers several times while he licked off the meat juices that stained them? And then there was that one evening, during a meal, when your hand had wandered to his thigh. You had gently brushed his crotch, where a bulge was already stretching the linen of his breeches, without even looking at him, too busy laughing with Jacaerys. The older man remembered clearly how he had had to excuse himself in a hurry, feigning sudden fatigue and retreating to the chambers assigned to him. That night he had imagined your lips wrapped around his impossibly hard member, your silver curls between his fingers and your eyes locked with his as he pressed your nose against his pelvis, forcing you to take more, always more. He had come with a loud grunt, painting his palm white, and then swore he would have you. It was almost a matter of life and death for him at that point.

Perhaps the Seven had heard his plight, if they existed, for they soon offered him everything he wanted on a silver platter.

Claiming Silverwing was the achievement of a lifetime, and yet it seemed like a dull moment when he opened the door to his bedroom and found himself face to face with the woman he had been lusting after for weeks. Dressed in an almost transparent silk nightgown, you looked like one of his heated dreams. Instinctively, he even pinched the skin at the crook of his elbow to make sure it was all real and you weren't a figment of his wild imagination. "I couldn't sleep," he heard you say, your voice almost shy, "with this storm." Oh, but he knew that your nocturnal visit had nothing to do with the lightning that tore across the sky, or the thunder that shook the walls of the fortress. If you were there, it was simply because you too were unable to resist the tension between the two of you for a single minute longer. "Come in," his hand automatically came to rest on your waist to guide you inside, "I wouldn't want to keep a princess waiting".

If asked, Ulf wouldn't have been able to explain how he ended up in bed with your body pressed against his. Maybe it was you who had taken his hand and made him lie down beside you. Or maybe it was he who had persuaded you to slip into his arms, into his sheets, to find some welcome comfort. Everything seemed a blur now, especially as your buttocks pressed against his crotch.

You wiggled your hips. Maybe accidentally, maybe consciously, he didn't know, but the effect was the same. He could feel the warmth of your body under the layers of fabric, and he was desperate to show you what happened to women like you in the arms of men like him. It felt like a punishment, forcing himself to remain chaste and not give in to his desires in such a situation. Not to touch you when you were so close to him and his length was already so painfully hard.

He moved his lips to your ear, his breath caressing your skin. His hands slid down your chest and he let his thumbs lightly caress the two small, hardened buds. "Tell me to stop," he whispered as his fingers slid lower and lower, grazing the hem of your underwear in the hollow where your thigh met your hip, "tell me to stop if that's not what you want". "That's exactly what I want," your voice sounded like a breathless moan as your hand rested on his, as if to encourage him to give you more, " and I want you to continue."

The idea that he could take what he wanted, do what he wanted, made his head spin.

Between your legs, his fingers found your wet folds. "You're soaking wet," he breathed as he traced your slit from your entrance to that sensitive spot that sent shivers down your entire body, "we've barely started and you're already soaking wet." It was almost inconceivable that a beautiful, delicate princess like you would agree to give herself to a gruff old man like him. "How does it feel, here?", he asked as he kissed your neck, your back still pressed against his torso as his index finger circled your little pearl beneath the fabric of your underwear. "It's... It feels good", your voice was choked, a broken moan, "warm". Ulf gave an approving grunt. "And here?", his tone became more authoritative, and soon two of his fingers were inside you, stretching you just right. Tired of waiting, he barely gave you time to get used to the new sensation before he started moving back and forth, leaving you breathless. "Answer me". He could already feel you clenching around him, the friction against your inner walls something you'd never felt before. "I can feel your fingers inside me," you finally managed to answer, and to reward you he pressed a little harder against that sensitive spot that made you see stars, "I feel... full." He couldn't help smiling against the soft skin of your neck. "Don't worry, sweetheart," as if to back up his words, he pressed his fingers impossibly deeper, burying them in your wet warmth, "you'll feel even fuller soon."

He withdrew them almost immediately with an obscene noise. That would leave you empty, he knew, but he also knew that he wanted you to come around another part of his body for the first time, and not just on his fingers.

"Undress," the older man ordered, pointing vaguely with his chin at the little bit of clothing you were wearing. A satisfied smile appeared on his lips as you stood completely naked before him, kneeling between his thighs. "Such a pretty body," his voice sounded almost distracted, his fingers busy sliding down your sides as if to show you were to his liking, "a pretty mouth too, I wonder what it would look like around my cock." He saw you bite your lower lip before finally answering, emboldened: "Perhaps I could show you." Your hands rested first on his chest, brushing against the linen of the tunic he wore for the night. Then they slid lower, much lower, replaying a scene Ulf had seen a hundred times in his dreams. Your fingers undid the drawstring that held his breeches together and he had to remind himself not to make you pick up the pace, to give him what he wanted right then and there.

A curse escaped him as your hand finally wrapped around his manhood. It looked so big, massive, between your forefinger and thumb, which couldn't quite touch. And when your lips finally brushed the head, where he was already weeping for you, he threw his head back on the heavy silk pillows. It took all his strength and resilience not to close his eyes from the pleasure he felt from your back and forth movements and the wet warmth of your mouth. "You're doing so well," he growled as his hand made its way to the back of your head, finding refuge in your silver locks, "sucking my cock so well, like the perfect little whore you are." Around his member he could feel the vibrations of your audible moan. It seemed you liked it when people didn't really treat you like the princess you were supposed to be, but more like a cheap slut from a seedy pillow house. A discovery that couldn't have made him happier.

The vision was royal, the sensation divine. He felt like a king, he felt like a god, with a dragon under his feet and a Targaryen princess pleasuring him with her mouth. He had everything that he had ever wished for and yet he wanted more, needed more.

Bloody greed.

His grip on the back of your head tightened, forcing you back a few inches. His gaze fell on your red, swollen lips, glistening with spit and something else that testified to your sinful actions. You smiled at him, obviously proud of yourself, and he couldn't help but kiss you, tasting himself on your tongue. "On all fours," he ordered, right against the skin of your neck, his voice hoarse with desire. The order may have been short, the tone a little awkward, hurried, but you understood immediately what he was trying to tell you. With your face now pressed into the pillows and your hips raised, Ulf could hardly believe that this was your first time, and yet. One of his hands cupped his still aching manhood while the other gripped the flesh at your waist. Captivated by the sight of his member disappearing into your wet heat, his eyes couldn't leave the spot where the two of you were joined for a single second. "Fuck," he groaned as he gave you time to adjust to his presence, "such a tight cunt." Despite his vast experience, he had never tasted, never felt anything like this in his dull life of Flea Bottom brothel escapades and quick embraces with nameless prostitutes. Perhaps it was because he was now living with real royalty, or perhaps it was because your exchange was different, more intimate, almost affectionate.

He withdrew almost completely, the friction against your inner walls agonisingly delicious. Your juices had left his member soaked and glistening, a sight that drove him deeper into you this time, the headboard hitting the wall with a thud. "M... more," you begged as he pulled out again, your voice like a broken moan that made his head spin with desire and possessiveness. The older man was more than happy to comply, quickening the pace of his thrusts. Soon the pleasure became too strong, too great to articulate anything coherent. He wanted to tell you how good you felt, how perfect you really were around him, but the words remained stuck in his throat and only grunts managed to break through the barrier of his half-open lips. But you weren't any better. Beneath him you were a mess of moans and gasps, your fingers gripping the sheets tightly. You were close, he could tell, you had grown impossibly tight around him, and he was tired of making you wait. So, in an act of mercy, he let his own fingers slip between your thighs to briefly rub your pearl and finally, finally, push you over the edge. He joined you almost immediately, his approaching climax accelerated by the rhythmic clenching of your walls around him.

It was probably foolish to pour into you with white ropes, to fill you in a different way this time. But when exactly had Ulf ever been responsible? The sight was simply mesmerising, the mingled evidence of your release flowing from your still clenching hole as he withdrew. So divine that he could hardly tear his eyes away. And as you pressed against him, seeking the warmth of his arms, your noses brushing together in an achingly tender touch, he mused that he was prepared to do many more foolish things to keep a thing as sweet as you by his side.

[novaursa]

The Dragon's Right (2)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: 3

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The noise of the crowd was a constant, thunderous hum that filled the air as you prepared yourself for the joust. The tourney grounds were alive with color and movement, the banners of noble houses snapping in the wind, the smell of churned earth mixing with the scents of roasted meats and sweet wines. It was a spectacle that King’s Landing had not seen in years, and today, it was all in your honor.

Your squire, a young Tyrell boy with a mop of curly brown hair and a nervous energy about him, was busy readying your horse. The beast was a magnificent stallion, bred from the finest stock in the Reach. His coat was a deep chestnut, almost black, with a mane that shimmered like polished mahogany. Muscles rippled beneath his glossy coat as he pawed at the ground, eager for the upcoming challenge. His eyes, intelligent and bright, reflected the excitement of the day, mirroring your own anticipation.

"Steady, Stormwind," you murmured, running a hand down the stallion’s neck. The horse snorted, tossing its head as if in agreement, and you couldn’t help but smile. Stormwind was not only powerful but also fiercely loyal—a trait you valued deeply in your mount. 

The young Tyrell squire handed you your helmet, his hands trembling slightly as he did so. "Good luck, my prince," he stammered, eyes wide with awe as he looked up at you.

You gave him an encouraging nod, slipping the helmet under your arm for the moment. "Thank you, Ser Trystan," you said, using the title you knew the boy aspired to one day earn. "You’ve done well. Stormwind looks ready for anything."

The boy beamed at the praise, the nervousness in his eyes giving way to a spark of pride. "I’m glad to be of service, my prince."

Before you could respond, a familiar voice called out from behind you. "Nephew!"

You turned to see your uncle, Daemon Targaryen, striding towards you. He was already clad in his own armor, the dark, polished metal reflecting the sun, the Targaryen dragon emblazoned boldly on his chest. His presence, as always, commanded attention—his confident gait, the slight smirk playing on his lips, the gleam in his eyes that spoke of both mischief and a thirst for glory.

"Uncle Daemon," you greeted him with a respectful nod, a smile tugging at your lips. "It’s good to see you."

Daemon clapped you on the shoulder, his grip firm. "Happy nameday, Y/N. The years have treated you well, it seems. I hear you’ve become quite the capable dragonrider in your time away. Even the Dornish trembled at the sight of Silverwing."

You chuckled, shaking your head modestly. "Silverwing did most of the work. I just held on."

Daemon laughed, a rich, genuine sound. "Don’t be so humble, nephew. I’ve heard the stories. You’ve made quite a name for yourself. Today, the court will see for themselves what you’re made of." He paused, his gaze sweeping over you, assessing. "I expect you’ll give them a show they won’t soon forget."

You met his gaze, the challenge in his eyes clear. "I’ll do my best, Uncle. But I’m sure you’ll make your own impression out there."

Daemon’s smirk widened. "That, I can promise. But remember, it’s your nameday. I’m content to let you have the glory today." He gave you a final pat on the shoulder before turning to leave. "Good luck, Y/N. I’ll see you on the field."

With that, Daemon strode off towards his own preparations, leaving you to focus on the task ahead. You turned back to Stormwind, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline as you mounted the stallion. The weight of your armor settled comfortably on your shoulders, the reins firm in your grasp as you guided the horse towards the starting line.

The cheers of the crowd grew louder as you approached, the anticipation in the air palpable. You could see the royal box from where you sat, your father standing at the forefront, his face lit with pride. Beside him, Rhaenyra and Alicent were already in their seats, their gazes fixed on you. Rhaenyra’s smile was bright, filled with a mixture of pride and affection, while Alicent’s expression held a softer, almost admiring quality. 

You raised your lance in salute, first to your father, then to the rest of the crowd. King Viserys waved back enthusiastically, his voice booming over the cheers. "Ride well, my son! Show them the strength of House Targaryen!"

Your heart swelled with determination at his words. This was your moment, a chance to show the realm that the Targaryens were as strong as ever, and that their future king was more than ready to lead.

As you took your position at the end of the lists, your opponent appeared on the other side—a knight clad in the colors of House Bracken. The red horse gleamed on his shield, his visor down, obscuring his face. He was a formidable opponent, well-known for his strength and skill, but today, you were confident in your abilities. 

The horn sounded, sharp and clear, signaling the start of the tilt. You spurred Stormwind forward, the stallion leaping into action with powerful strides that ate up the ground beneath you. The world seemed to narrow, focusing only on the target ahead—the oncoming knight, his lance lowered, his intent clear.

You felt the familiar rush of the joust, the thunder of hooves, the wind whipping past your ears. Time seemed to slow as you lined up your lance, your aim precise, your focus unwavering. The distance closed rapidly, and just as the two of you met in the center of the field, you leaned into the strike.

Your lance struck true, slamming into your opponent’s shield with a resounding crack. The impact jolted through your arm, but you held firm, watching as the Barcken knight wavered. For a moment, it seemed he might recover, but the force of your blow was too strong. He was thrown from his horse, landing heavily in the dirt, his lance shattering into splinters beside him.

The crowd erupted into cheers, the roar of approval washing over you as you circled back to the starting line, victorious in your first tilt. Stormwind pranced beneath you, his energy undimmed, as if reveling in the glory alongside you.

In the royal box, King Viserys cheered loudly, his face beaming with pride. "That’s my boy!" he shouted, his voice carrying above the din. "Well done, Y/N! Well done!"

Beside him, Rhaenyra’s smile was radiant, her hands clapping enthusiastically as she shared in your triumph. Alicent, too, was applauding, her cheeks flushed with excitement, her eyes shining as she watched you.

Further down the box, Lord Otto Hightower nodded approvingly, his expression calm but his eyes reflecting satisfaction. He leaned slightly towards Viserys, speaking just loud enough to be heard. "The prince has truly grown into his own, Your Grace. He will make a fine king one day."

Viserys nodded, his smile not fading for a moment. "Indeed, Otto. He’s everything I hoped he would be and more."

In another section of the stands, Rhaenys Targaryen and Corlys Velaryon exchanged a glance, their expressions more reserved. Rhaenys, known as the Queen Who Never Was, watched you with a mixture of pride and something more complex—a recognition of the weight of the crown that would one day rest on your head.

"He’s impressive," Corlys commented, his voice low, but with an edge of admiration. "The boy has the makings of a true Targaryen king."

Rhaenys nodded, though her eyes remained thoughtful. "Yes, he does. But I wonder if he truly understands what it means to carry the weight of that legacy."

Corlys glanced at her, his brow furrowing slightly. "He’ll have to, in time. But for now, let’s hope he enjoys his moment. The realm is watching."

As you completed your victory lap, acknowledging the cheers of the crowd, you felt a surge of exhilaration and pride. The first tilt was yours, a testament to the skill and strength you had honed over the years. But more than that, it was a reminder to everyone watching that House Targaryen was still the mightiest in the realm.

You returned to the starting line, your gaze lifting once more to the royal box, where your father stood, his eyes full of love and pride. The next round awaited, but in that moment, you felt invincible. Today was your day, and nothing could diminish the glory of the Targaryen name.

As the next knight prepared to face you, you readied yourself for the challenge, determination burning bright within you. This was only the beginning, and you intended to make it a day to remember—for yourself, for your family, and for the realm.

The tourney grounds were abuzz with excitement as the next round of jousts was set to begin. The energy in the air crackled with anticipation, and the stands were filled with spectators eagerly watching every move of the knights and their steeds.

The knight who had just won, a Baratheon, called out to the stands, his voice strong and carrying easily over the crowd. "Lady Rhaenys Targaryen, Queen Who Never Was, I ask for your favor!"

A murmur spread through the audience as all eyes turned to the royal box where Rhaenys sat beside her husband, Corlys Velaryon. The Baratheon knight’s choice was a deliberate one—by choosing Rhaenys, he paid homage to her strength and legacy, but the title he used carried a certain sting, a reminder of the Iron Throne she had been denied.

Rhaenys, ever composed, allowed a small, knowing smile to grace her lips as she rose, acknowledging the knight with a nod. She lifted her hand and let a favor, a ribbon of deep blue, flutter down to him. The crowd erupted into applause, though there were those who caught the subtle tension in the exchange.

Beside her, Corlys shifted in his seat, a frown darkening his features. He leaned closer to his wife, his voice low but edged with irritation. "You shouldn’t allow him to call you that, Rhaenys. It’s a slight, a reminder of what was unjustly taken from you."

Rhaenys glanced at her husband, her expression calm, almost dismissive. "It’s just a title, Corlys," she replied, her tone measured. "Let them call me what they will. It doesn’t change who I am or what we’ve built together."

Corlys huffed quietly, clearly displeased but respecting his wife’s decision. "Still, I don’t like it. You deserve more than to be reminded of old wounds."

Rhaenys placed a hand over his, her gaze softening. "You’re a good husband, Corlys, but you mustn’t let such things bother you. We know our worth, and that’s what truly matters."

Before Corlys could respond, the attention of the crowd shifted as Daemon Targaryen prepared for his next tilt. He had chosen his opponent carefully, with a calculated intent that Rhaenyra recognized immediately. As she watched her uncle raise his lance and point it at Ser Gwayne Hightower, her brow furrowed in disapproval. This was not a random choice; it was a deliberate act of provocation aimed directly at the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower.

Rhaenyra leaned closer to Alicent, who sat beside her, nervously picking at the skin around her fingers, her anxiety apparent. "He’s doing this to spite your father," Rhaenyra murmured, her tone edged with concern. "He knows exactly what he’s doing."

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes flickering with worry as she watched her brother, Ser Gwayne, prepare for the tilt. "I know," she whispered back, her voice barely audible. "I wish he wouldn’t."

The signal was given, and Daemon and Gwayne charged at each other, their horses thundering down the lists. The crowd leaned forward in their seats, the tension palpable. In a flash, Daemon’s lance struck Gwayne with such force that it shattered upon impact, the blow violently dismounting Gwayne and sending him crashing to the ground in a cloud of dust.

A collective gasp rippled through the audience, followed by a murmur of mixed reactions. Some cheered for Daemon’s prowess, while others whispered in concern for the fallen knight. Otto Hightower’s face drained of color, horror etched in his features as he watched his son struggle to rise, dazed and bruised.

Daemon, ever the showman, circled his horse back around with a triumphant air. But instead of immediately acknowledging his victory or his opponent, he rode directly toward the royal box where Alicent sat. The tension in the air thickened as Daemon approached, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Lady Alicent," Daemon called out, his voice loud enough for all to hear, "would you grant me your favor?"

Alicent froze, her breath catching in her throat. This was not what she had expected. She had hoped, in the quiet recesses of her heart, that if anyone were to ask for her favor today, it would be you. But now, with all eyes on her, she felt trapped.

Rhaenyra watched the scene unfold with a frown, understanding Daemon’s intent all too well. He was not only rubbing salt in the wound by asking for Alicent’s favor but was also making a pointed statement to Otto and the entire court.

Alicent hesitated, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached for the favor she had prepared. With a deep breath, she dropped the ribbon—a delicate piece of green silk—down to Daemon, who caught it with a flourish. The crowd erupted into applause, though the undercurrent of tension was undeniable.

Rhaenyra leaned toward her uncle as he passed by their box on his way back to the field. "Congratulations, Uncle," she said, her voice carrying both genuine admiration and a hint of reproach.

Daemon smirked, inclining his head slightly. "Thank you, dear niece. Let’s see if your brother can match me," he teased, his eyes gleaming with that familiar, dangerous light.

Rhaenyra forced a smile, but her eyes followed Daemon warily as he returned to the field. She knew her uncle well enough to recognize that his actions today were more than just about winning a tourney—they were about making a statement, and that statement had clearly unsettled more than a few members of the court.

As Daemon moved off, the focus of the tourney returned to you. The crowd, still buzzing from the previous tilt, quieted with anticipation as you prepared for your next round. You could feel the weight of their expectations, but you were undaunted. The lance in your hand felt like an extension of your own body, and Stormwind beneath you was eager for the challenge ahead.

The signal was given, and with a powerful kick, you spurred Stormwind forward. The earth trembled beneath his hooves as he charged down the lists, your focus narrowing on your opponent. You felt the wind whip past your face, the cheers of the crowd fading into the background as the world narrowed to this single, decisive moment.

As you and your opponent closed the distance, your lance lowered and your aim true. The impact, when it came, was a bone-jarring collision of wood and steel, but you held firm. Your lance struck your opponent’s shield squarely, and with a mighty effort, you felt the resistance give way.

Your opponent was sent flying from his horse, landing hard on the ground with a thud. The crowd erupted into wild cheers, the sound of your victory echoing through the tourney grounds. Your father, King Viserys, stood from his seat, clapping enthusiastically, his face a mixture of pride and joy.

Rhaenyra and Alicent joined the applause, though each had different emotions swirling within them. Rhaenyra was filled with pride, but also a renewed sense of possessiveness. Alicent, on the other hand, clapped politely, though her earlier anxiety had not entirely dissipated.

In the stands, Rhaenys watched you with a measured gaze, while Corlys, clearly impressed, leaned toward his wife. "The boy is exceptional," he murmured. "There’s no doubt about it. He’s everything a Targaryen prince should be."

Rhaenys nodded, though her expression remained contemplative. "Yes, but let’s hope he navigates the politics as deftly as he does the tourney field. Strength is one thing—wisdom is another."

As you circled back to the starting line, the crowd continued to cheer, and you raised your lance in acknowledgment. The day was far from over, and more challenges awaited, but for now, the Targaryen name had been upheld with honor and glory.

You prepared for the next tilt, your heart steady, your focus unwavering. The cheers of the crowd, the pride in your father’s eyes, and the knowledge that Rhaenyra and Alicent were watching—all of it spurred you on. This was your day, and you intended to make it one that would be remembered for years to come.

The opponent before you now was one of the Florent brothers, a knight known for his skill and speed on the field. His armor, decorated with the sun and fox emblem of House Florent, gleamed in the sunlight, and his stance on his horse was confident, almost cocky.

But you were not to be underestimated. The adrenaline of the previous tilts still coursed through your veins, and the roar of the crowd only fueled your determination. You glanced briefly towards the royal box, catching the eager gazes of Rhaenyra and Alicent, their eyes fixed on you. The sight of them watching spurred you on, a reminder of why you fought today—not just for glory, but for the pride of your house and the love of your family.

The horn sounded, sharp and clear, and with a powerful kick, you urged Stormwind into action. The stallion surged forward, his powerful hooves pounding the earth as you charged down the lists. Your lance was steady in your grip, your eyes locked on the Florent knight, who mirrored your movements on the opposite side.

The gap between you closed rapidly, the wind rushing past your ears as time seemed to slow. You could see the dare in your opponent’s eyes, but you did not waver. With a precise flick of your wrist, you adjusted your aim, your lance striking the Florent knight’s shield with a thunderous crack.

The impact was immediate and decisive. The force of your blow shattered your opponent’s defenses, and before he could recover, he was sent flying from his horse, crashing heavily to the ground. The crowd erupted into cheers, the victory swift and clear.

You circled back to the starting line, but instead of preparing for another tilt, you guided Stormwind towards the royal box. The cheers of the crowd grew louder as they realized where you were heading, the anticipation palpable in the air. Ladies in the stands leaned forward, their breaths held, hoping that you might stop before them, hoping that today they might catch the eye of the prince.

As you approached, the excitement among the ladies was almost tangible. You could see the hope in their eyes, the way they straightened their backs and smoothed their dresses as you passed. But your gaze was fixed ahead, your mind made up.

Instead of stopping before any of the noble ladies vying for your attention, you brought Stormwind to a halt directly below the royal box, where your sister Rhaenyra sat. The crowd’s murmurs grew louder, surprised and intrigued by your choice, while Rhaenyra’s heart skipped a beat as she realized what you intended.

You looked up at her, a soft smile playing on your lips as you raised your lance in salute. "Princess Rhaenyra," you called out, your voice clear and strong, "would you do me the honor of granting your favor?"

Rhaenyra’s eyes sparkled with delight, a brilliant smile lighting up her face. This was more than just a simple gesture—it was a public declaration of the bond you shared, a victory that she relished deeply. The attention of all the other ladies in the court paled in comparison to this moment, a reminder that she still held a special place in your heart.

With a graceful movement, Rhaenyra untied a ribbon from her sleeve, a delicate piece of Targaryen red silk, and leaned over the edge of the box to drop it into your waiting hand. "With all my heart, dear brother," she said, her voice filled with affection and pride.

You caught the ribbon with ease, tying it carefully around the tip of your lance before raising it high for all to see. The crowd erupted into applause, the gesture admired by all. It was not just a victory in the joust, but a victory in the hearts of the people—a symbol of the unity and strength of House Targaryen.

Rhaenyra’s eyes followed you as you rode back to the field, her heart swelling with pride and a sense of triumph. This was her victory, too—a small but meaningful reminder that, despite the attention you garnered from others, the bond between brother and sister was unbreakable.

Beside her, Alicent watched the exchange with a soft smile, though a flicker of something unreadable passed through her eyes. It was clear that your relationship was something special, and Alicent was content to see her friend so happy.

As you returned to the field, ready to face your next opponent, the favor of Rhaenyra tied proudly to your lance, you felt a renewed sense of purpose. Today was a day to be remembered—not just for the victories won on the field, but for the connections reaffirmed in the heart of your family.

The cheers of the crowd filled your ears as you took your position, the anticipation of the next tilt mounting. With the ribbon of your sister’s favor fluttering in the wind, you felt invincible, ready to face whatever challenge came at you.

The next knight approached, the crowd’s excitement building once more. As you prepared to charge, the weight of the day’s events settled comfortably on your shoulders. This was your day, your moment, and you intended to seize it with all the fire and fury of your house.

With a final glance at the royal box, where Rhaenyra’s smile still shone brightly, you lowered your lance and spurred Stormwind forward.

The sun hung high in the sky, casting its light over the tourney grounds as the final tilt of the day approached. The crowd was loud with excitement, their voices blending into a chorus of eager anticipation. This was the moment they had all been waiting for—the final showdown between the two most formidable competitors: Prince Daemon Targaryen and Prince Y/N Targaryen.

You sat atop Stormwind, the powerful stallion beneath you steady and poised, sensing the importance of the moment. Your heart pounded with a mix of adrenaline and resolve. The previous tilts had been challenging, but this was different. This was Daemon, your uncle, a man known for his skill, cunning, and unpredictability. The tension in the air was palpable as you both prepared for what would undoubtedly be a clash to remember.

Across the field, Daemon adjusted his helmet, his expression hidden but his demeanor unmistakably confident. His dark armor gleamed in the sunlight, the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen emblazoned boldly on his chest. He was already mounted on his dragon-black stallion, Caraxes, named after his own fearsome dragon. The horse, like its rider, was a creature of raw power and grace, snorting and pawing at the ground in anticipation.

The horn sounded, signaling the start of the final tilt, and the crowd fell into a hushed silence, their eyes glued to the two dragon princes facing off in the lists.

You took a deep breath, your focus narrowing to the task at hand. With a firm grip on your lance, you spurred Stormwind into a gallop. The stallion surged forward with powerful strides, his hooves pounding the earth in a rhythmic thunder. Across the field, Daemon did the same, his own mount racing towards you, the two of you closing the distance with alarming speed.

Time seemed to slow as you lined up your lance, aiming for the center of Daemon’s shield. The world around you faded, leaving only the blur of your uncle’s form charging towards you, the glint of his armor catching the sun, and the rush of wind in your ears. You tightened your grip, bracing for impact.

The collision, when it came, was fierce. Your lance struck Daemon’s shield with a resounding crack, but he met your blow with equal force. The impact jarred through your arm, but you held firm, refusing to yield. For a moment, it seemed like the strike had been a draw, both of you remaining in your saddles, but then Daemon leaned into his strike, his skill and experience showing as he directed the force of his lance just right.

Before you could fully adjust, you felt the world tilt beneath you. The force of Daemon’s strike, combined with the precise angle, knocked you off balance. Time seemed to stretch as you felt yourself falling, the ground rushing up to meet you. The impact was hard, the breath knocked from your lungs as you hit the dirt.

The crowd gasped collectively, the sound of your fall echoing in the stunned silence that followed. From the royal box, Viserys had already risen to his feet, his heart leaping into his throat as he saw you go down. "Gods, no!" he breathed, his voice tight with fear. But as you quickly pushed yourself up, shaking off the disorientation from the fall, he let out a long sigh of relief, his body sagging back into his seat.

Rhaenyra, who had been on the edge of her seat, her knuckles white from gripping the railing, exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her eyes were wide with worry, but as she saw you stand, a rush of relief and pride filled her. She could see you were unharmed, but the sight of you on the ground had shaken her deeply.

You rose to your feet, brushing the dirt from your armor, your pride bruised but your spirit unbroken. You could feel the sting of defeat, but it was tempered by the knowledge that you had given everything in that tilt. Stormwind stood nearby, having stopped shortly after your fall, the loyal stallion snorting anxiously as if to say he was ready to try again.

Before you could fully gather your bearings, Daemon was there, dismounting with the fluid grace that came naturally to him. He approached you with a look that was half smirk, half respect. "Not bad, nephew," he said, his tone carrying both praise and a hint of playful mockery. "You almost had me there."

He extended a hand, offering to help you up. There was no malice in his gaze, just the familiar gleam of challenge that always seemed to light his eyes.

You took his hand, accepting the gesture, and he pulled you to your feet with a firm grip. "Almost," you replied, your voice steady, though there was a spark of competitiveness in your tone. "But you got me in the end."

Daemon patted you on the back, his smirk widening into a grin. "Today, perhaps. But don’t let it weigh too heavily on you. We’re both dragons, after all, and you fought well. The court will remember this day, not just for my victory, but for your strength and skill."

You nodded, appreciating the words, though the sting of defeat still lingered. "Thank you, Uncle. But next time, I won’t be so easy to dismount."

Daemon chuckled, clearly pleased by your response. "I wouldn’t expect anything less." He gave you a final nod of approval before turning to face the roaring crowd, raising his lance in acknowledgment of his victory. The people cheered loudly, celebrating the spectacle they had witnessed.

From the royal box, Viserys beamed with pride, his worry from moments before forgotten. "That was a fine match!" he declared, his voice booming over the noise of the crowd. "Both of you did House Targaryen proud today!"

Rhaenyra, still shaken by the sight of you on the ground, managed a smile, though her concern for you was evident in her eyes. She watched as you walked off the field with Daemon, your head held high despite the outcome. Alicent, sitting beside her, glanced at Rhaenyra and saw the worry that lingered beneath her composed exterior.

"Are you all right?" Alicent asked softly, her voice filled with genuine concern.

Rhaenyra nodded, though her eyes didn’t leave you. "I’m fine. It’s just… seeing him fall like that…"

Alicent placed a reassuring hand on Rhaenyra’s arm. "He’s strong, Rhaenyra. He’s always been strong. And you saw how he got back up. That’s what matters."

Rhaenyra finally tore her gaze away from the field to look at Alicent, offering her a grateful smile. "You’re right. He’s strong." But even as she said it, the image of you lying in the dirt lingered in her mind, a reminder of how much she cared for you, and how much she feared losing you.

As you and Daemon made your way off the field, the crowd continued to cheer, the happenings of the day’s events leaving everyone in high spirits. You may not have won the final tilt, but the respect you had earned was clear in the cheers and the admiring glances from the crowd.

Daemon, ever the warrior, clapped you on the back once more as you both approached the edge of the field. "Come, let’s find a drink and enjoy the rest of the day. You’ve earned it, and so have I."

You nodded, the tension of the tilt finally starting to ease as the prospect of celebrating with your uncle and the rest of your family took hold. "Lead the way, Uncle."

As the two of you walked off the field, the weight of the day’s events still fresh in your mind, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. Though the final victory had eluded you, you had proven yourself today, not just to the court, but to your family. And in the end, that was worth more than any trophy or title.

Jugglers, dancers, and bards filled the air with music and laughter, while the smell of roasted meats and sweet treats wafted through the air. The day had been filled with adrenaline, and now, as evening approached, the court gathered for the grand feast that would conclude the festivities.

Inside the Great Hall of the Red Keep, long tables were laden with platters of food, and goblets of wine flowed freely. The room was alive with chatter and the clinking of silverware, the high vaulted ceilings amplifying the sounds of celebration. The lords and ladies of the realm, dressed in their finest, mingled and conversed, their faces flushed with the warmth of the firelight and the effects of the wine.

You found yourself seated at a table near the head of the hall, surrounded by some of the most powerful figures in the realm. To your right was Lord Tayland Lannister, his golden hair and fine clothes a clear testament to the wealth and influence of his house. Across from you sat Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, his eyes sharp and calculating as he sipped from his goblet, his mind clearly at work even amidst the festivities.

"Your accomplishments in Dorne have become the talk of the realm, my prince," Tayland said, his tone filled with admiration. "It's no small feat to have secured our borders against the Dornish. Your leadership has brought peace to lands that have known only strife for too long."

You inclined your head in thanks, though you remained humble in your response. "The credit belongs to the men who fought beside me, and to Silverwing. She was the true force that kept the Dornish at bay."

Lord Corlys leaned forward slightly, his gaze intent. "Don't sell yourself short, my prince. It takes more than just a dragon to win a war; it takes a leader who can command respect and inspire loyalty. You've shown that you have the makings of a true king."

You nodded, acknowledging his words. "I appreciate the compliment, Lord Corlys. But the work is never done. The realm is vast, and there are always new challenges to face."

A flicker of something passed through Corlys's eyes—perhaps ambition or a calculated desire. He chose his next words carefully. "Speaking of challenges, the situation in the Stepstones remains unresolved. The Triarchy grows bolder with each passing day, and their presence in those waters threatens the safety of our trade routes. The realm cannot afford to ignore this any longer."

Tayland Lannister nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful. "The Sea Snake is right. The Stepstones are a vital passage for trade, and the Triarchy's control over them is a serious threat. The crown would do well to consider taking decisive action."

Corlys seized the moment, his tone subtle but insistent. "A leader of your experience and skill, my prince, could make all the difference in securing those waters for the realm. With your influence, perhaps the crown might be persuaded to take a more active role in the conflict."

It was clear what Corlys was suggesting—he wanted you to influence your father, King Viserys, to commit to a campaign in the Stepstones. The thought lingered in your mind, but you were well aware of the delicate nature of such matters. Viserys had been reluctant to engage in another conflict, especially after the long campaign in Dorne. He was a man who valued peace, and while he respected the needs of the realm, he was not easily swayed into war.

Before you could respond, the conversation was interrupted by a different sort of commotion. A group of lords, eager to ingratiate themselves with the crown, approached your father, each of them accompanied by their daughters, who were of marriageable age. They vied for Viserys's attention, each one eager to present their daughter as a potential bride for you.

"My daughter, Lady Elinor, is as wise as she is beautiful, Your Grace," one lord said, his voice oozing with pride. "She would make a fine match for the prince."

"Lady Alisanne is skilled in all the noble arts, Your Grace. She is well-versed in history, languages, and music," another lord chimed in, his daughter standing demurely beside him.

Viserys smiled politely, listening to their propositions, but it was clear that his mind was elsewhere. He had waited years for this moment, to have his son by his side once more, and he was determined to enjoy the evening without being burdened by matters of marriage and alliances. He responded with a noncommittal nod, offering a few kind words but making no promises.

As the lords continued their attempts to press the matter, Otto Hightower, ever the strategist, nudged his daughter Alicent, who was seated beside him. He leaned in close, his voice low but firm. "Alicent, you should seize this moment. The prince is listening to all these offers, and if you wish to catch his attention, now is the time."

Alicent hesitated, her gaze flickering to where you were seated, engaged in conversation with Tayland and Corlys. She knew what her father was suggesting—she had seen the way the other ladies had looked at you during the tourney, the way they whispered among themselves, hoping to catch your eye. But before she could muster the courage to act, someone else stepped forward.

Rhaenyra, who had been watching the proceedings from a distance, sensed the moment and made her move. She approached you with a confident stride, her presence commanding immediate attention. The lords and ladies around you parted, making way for the princess as she reached your side.

"Brother," Rhaenyra said, her voice warm and filled with affection, "I've been looking for you. Surely you don't intend to spend the entire evening in conversation with the lords?"

You turned to her, a smile spreading across your face at the sight of your sister. "Of course not, Rhaenyra. I wouldn't miss the chance to spend time with you on a day like this."

Rhaenyra's eyes sparkled with mischief as she glanced at the lords who had been vying for your attention. "I thought you might be in need of rescue," she teased, her voice carrying just enough playful humor to defuse the tension.

The lords who had been pressing their daughters as potential brides exchanged glances, recognizing that the moment had passed. With polite bows and murmured excuses, they withdrew, leaving you and Rhaenyra standing together. Viserys watched the exchange with a smile, pleased to see his children together, the connection between them as strong as ever.

Alicent, who had been about to rise from her seat, hesitated and then sat back down, her expression unreadable. Otto frowned slightly, but said nothing, his mind already working on another approach.

[idkyetxoxo]

Criston Cole - The Princess and the Protector

Summary - Embarking on a daring flight, only to suffer a painful injury with her dragon, she grapples with her wound and the threat of her father's wrath, her loyal knight, Ser Criston, steps in to help, igniting a simmering tension between responsibility and yearning.

Pairing - Criston Cole x Targaryen reader

Warnings - Violence (injury?)

Word count - 2312

Masterlist for Criston • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"Princess, I feel honoured that you have chosen me to defend your honour and serve at your pleasure," Criston said, his voice filled with reverence. 

I hummed in response, a sweet smile playing on my lips as he gazed up at me like an eager pup seeking its owner's approval.

"The honour is mine, Ser Criston," I replied, shooting him a playful wink before stepping off my seat and heading toward my chambers. 

The soft rustle of silk followed me, the air tinged with anticipation.

As I walked away, my friend Lyanna, ever curious, followed me with a question. "Why have you chosen him?"

"He seemed the most noble," I replied, noting her sceptical expression. "And he's easy on the eyes," I added with a nonchalant shrug, earning a disapproving glance from her. 

I rolled my eyes in response, unbothered by her judgment.

Entering my chambers, I began changing into my dragon-riding attire with the help of my handmaidens. The delicate fabric glimmered as I slipped into it, each stitch infused with the essence of adventure. 

Lyanna watched me with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"I do not understand how you enjoy riding those beasts so high in the sky," she remarked, helping me with one of my gloves, her fingers nimble but hesitant.

"You won't know until you try it," I said with a grin. The mere thought seemed to unsettle her, she shuddered visibly, shaking her head as if to dispel the idea from her mind.

"You're far too reckless for your own good," she muttered, brushing a stray hair behind my ear.

I chuckled and leaned closer, my eyes twinkling. "Ah, but it's my recklessness that makes me so loveable, don't you think?"

"The Realm's Siren, indeed," she mused, her voice affectionate.

I swatted her arm, a gesture meant to convey that her teasing was received in good spirit. I knew well that her mockery was not harsh but a form of endearment. 

Lyanna was the one person who dared to strip away the gilded layers of royalty, speaking to me with the raw honesty that only true friendship could afford.

Shortly after, she left the room, leaving me to my preparations. I took a few moments to compose myself, inhaling deeply to steady the flutter of excitement in my chest before stepping out.

As expected, Criston was stationed outside, ever dutiful. He turned to walk in step with me as I made my way down to the dragon pits.

"Already put to work, Ser Criston?" I asked, a hint of amusement dancing in my tone.

"Of course, Princess," he replied, clearing his throat, his posture rigid with formality.

"I'm going for a ride on my dragon," I announced as we entered the dragon pit. The sky was growing dim, the sun beginning its descent, painting the horizon in hues of orange and purple.

"It's nearing nightfall," Criston observed, concern evident in his tone, his brow furrowing slightly.

"Already worrying, are we, Ser Criston?" I teased, a smile curling my lips, the thrill of the impending flight sparking mischief in my eyes.

He cleared his throat again, clearly uncomfortable. "I just mean, is this the safest option, Princess?" he asked, his voice tinged with genuine care.

"Safety is not always the most exciting choice, Ser Criston," I replied, a playful glint in my eye.

"And what of your safety?" he pressed, his voice lowering, revealing the protectiveness he felt.

I shrugged, unfazed. "Silverwing is the best girl, I trust her with my life," I declared confidently as I approached my majestic, silvery dragon. Her scales shimmered in the fading light, casting an ethereal glow around her. 

She looked regal and fierce, her wings folded elegantly against her sides.

With practised ease, I mounted her, feeling the familiar strength and grace beneath me. As we ascended into the twilight, the sky darkened slowly, stars piercing through the inky blackness one by one.

Criston watched from below, his eyes wide with awe and a hint of concern, his figure dwindling against the sprawling landscape.

The wind whipped around us as we soared higher, leaving the ground far below, shrouded in the fading light. The twilight deepened, and a thick fog began to roll in, swirling and obscuring our vision.

I squinted, trying to see through the growing gloom, but the landscape below was quickly becoming a blurred tapestry of shadows. Urging Silverwing to descend slightly, I hoped to find clearer skies lower down.

As we descended, the fog thickened ominously, cloaking even the once-familiar terrain in an eerie haze. I steered Silverwing cautiously, my heart pounding with unease as my judgment was clouded by the lack of visibility.

Suddenly, without warning, we flew too low and found ourselves upon a dense thicket of trees. Their gnarled branches reached out like dark, skeletal hands, threatening to ensnare us.

Before I could react, Silverwing reacted instinctively, her massive wingspan tilting to avoid a particularly large branch. We veered sharply, but a smaller branch lashed out, striking my side with a searing pain that stole my breath.

I gasped, the agony radiating through me as I instinctively clutched at the wound, feeling warm blood seeping between my fingers. Silverwing roared in surprise and fear, her flight becoming erratic as she sought to regain stability.

Struggling to stay focused through the haze of pain, I whispered through gritted teeth, "Lykirī." Calm.

"Sōvēs, hepās, vēzot!" Silverwing responded to my voice, her instincts kicking in as she navigated us through the dense forest, flying with renewed determination. Fly, climb, upward!

The journey back was slow and arduous, each movement sending waves of pain through my side. Yet I clung to Silverwing, trusting her instincts as she guided us through the labyrinth of branches and foliage and headed towards the safety of our haven.

When we landed, Ser Criston was there to greet us. His expression turned from relief to alarm as he saw the blood staining my side. Without a word, he sprang into action, helping me dismount and steadying me as my legs wobbled beneath me.

"What happened, Princess?" Criston's voice cracked with barely contained panic. His eyes darted from the bloodstained side of my riding attire to my face,

"I steered us into the trees, I couldn't see," I admitted, wincing as the pain flared again, sharp and biting. "A branch punctured my side."

"We need to call for a maester," Criston insisted, his voice thick with worry. "You need proper treatment, Princess."

"No," I said quickly, shaking my head with resolve. "If we call for a maester, my father will discover what has happened. The king must not know."

Criston frowned, torn between his duty to protect me and my desperate plea. "But you're hurt..."

"I'll be fine," I insisted, though my voice wavered slightly, betraying the pain coursing through me. "Just assist me to my chambers."

With a reluctant nod, Criston supported me as we made our way to my chambers. Each step sent a jolt of pain through my side, but I focused on his presence beside me and his steadying grip.

I sat on the edge of my bed, pulling my gloves off with my mouth, my breath coming in shallow gasps. Criston stood opposite me, unsure of what to do with himself, his worry evident in the furrow of his brow.

"Can you fetch me water and a cloth? I do not think it is too deep," I said, trying to project confidence despite the throbbing ache. 

I unbuttoned my outer dress to lift my tunic, revealing the wound beneath. The gash on my side was angry and red, blood still trickling from it, an unwelcome reminder of my recklessness.

Criston moved quickly, bringing a basin of water and a clean cloth. He knelt beside me, dipping the cloth into the water and wringing it out. His hands were steady, but his eyes betrayed his anxiety, darting between the wound and my face.

"This might sting," he warned softly, his tone gentle as if he were afraid of causing me more pain.

I nodded, bracing myself as he gently dabbed at the wound. The cool water sent a shiver through me, contrasting sharply with the warmth of blood still oozing from the cut. Criston's touch was careful and tender, a soothing balm amidst the turmoil of my injury.

Despite the pain, I found an unexpected comfort in his presence. His focus was intense, his every movement deliberate as he cleaned the wound and pressed the cloth against it to stem the bleeding.

"You're doing well, Princess," he murmured, glancing up at me with a reassuring smile that felt like a warm embrace. "Just a little longer."

His calm demeanor helped to soothe my frayed nerves. As he worked, I watched him, noticing the strength in his hands and the concern etched deeply into his features. For a moment, the pain seemed to fade into the background, overshadowed by the growing warmth in my chest.

"Thank you, Ser Criston," I whispered, my voice barely audible, tinged with gratitude.

He looked up, our eyes locking in an unspoken understanding. For a brief moment, the world outside seemed to disappear; the chaos, the fog, the looming threat of discovery faded into the background. 

The air between us felt charged, electric, as if the space was woven with threads of something deeper.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, a sudden knock on my chamber door shattered the moment. I was pulled from my trance, reality rushing back in like a cold wave.

"Princess! Is everything alright?" The voice belonged to Lyanna, my trusted friend, her tone laced with concern and curiosity.

As Lyanna's concerned voice echoed through the room, Criston's eyes widened in alarm, a fleeting glance of urgency passing between us. With practised swiftness, I moved to conceal my injury beneath my clothes.

Taking a deep breath, I summoned a composed facade, my voice steady as I gestured for Lyanna to enter. "Come in," I called, masking the turmoil that churned within.

The door swung open, revealing Lyanna, her gaze sweeping over Criston and me with a mixture of worry and curiosity. "I heard a commotion—is everything—"

"It's nothing," I interjected quickly, my words laced with forced cheerfulness. "Just a minor mishap while riding. I'm fine."

Lyanna's keen eyes narrowed slightly, her intuition honed by years of friendship. "You look pale, Princess. Perhaps you should rest?"

"No need for concern," I insisted, though the persistent ache in my side contradicted my reassurance. "I just need a moment to collect myself."

Criston stepped forward, his demeanour protective as he added, "I'll stay with her if that's alright."

Lyanna hesitated, clearly torn. "Very well," she finally conceded, her gaze lingering on us with unspoken questions before she retreated, closing the door softly behind her.

Alone again, the tension in the room was palpable, thick with unspoken words and the weight of shared secrets. I exhaled slowly, feeling the rush of adrenaline begin to ebb, leaving behind a deep weariness that matched the dull throb in my side.

"That was close," I murmured, meeting Criston's gaze with a mixture of relief and apprehension.

He nodded solemnly, his expression serious. "You should have let me fetch the maester. This isn't just a scratch."

"And risk my father's wrath?" I countered, my voice edged with frustration and fear. "I'd rather endure this pain than face his anger."

Criston sighed heavily, a hand running through his hair in a gesture of frustration. "You're as stubborn as ever, Princess."

A faint smile tugged at my lips, despite the discomfort pulsing through my side. "And you're as protective as any knight ought to be."

I paused, the weight of the moment settling between us, before continuing with a pained but genuine smile. "I chose well, didn't I? To have someone like you by my side... I'm quite fortunate."

Criston's expression softened, his frustration melting away as he looked at me with a sincerity that was as comforting as it was disarming. 

"No, Princess," he said quietly, his voice steady and filled with warmth. "It is I who am lucky. Serving you is an honour I hold above all else."

His smile was gentle, devoid of any pretence, and it reached his eyes in a way that made the room feel a little less cold, the pain a little more bearable.

Though concern still etched lines on his face. "Just promise me you'll take better care of yourself."

"I promise," I replied softly, my voice carrying the weight of our unspoken connection.

As the moment stretched between us, the air seemed charged with an undercurrent of tension and desire, emotions swirling beneath the surface like hidden currents in a deep sea. 

Criston's gaze held mine, the unspoken words hanging between us like a fragile thread, taut with unfulfilled longing.

Just as the silence threatened to stretch into something more profound, Criston spoke up, breaking the spell that had enveloped us. 

"Perhaps I should return to my post outside," he suggested reluctantly, his voice tinged with regret.

I nodded, though disappointment flickered in my eyes. I knew there was more to be said, more to explore in the depths of this shared moment.

"Yes, perhaps you should," I replied softly, my voice betraying a hint of longing that I couldn't quite suppress.

Criston hesitated, his gaze lingering on mine, a silent acknowledgement passing between us. He turned to leave, the weight of unspoken words heavy in the air.

As the door closed behind him, the room felt suddenly emptier, the warmth of his presence lingering like an echo. I sank back onto the bed, fingers absently tracing the edge of the cloth covering my wound, thoughts swirling with the intensity of the emotions stirred by our brief exchange.

Despite the pain in my side, my thoughts were consumed not by the injury, but by the complex tapestry of feelings that had begun to weave itself between Criston and me. 

The protective concern in his eyes, the unspoken tension that hung between us—these were threads that pulled at something deep within me, something I couldn't yet name but knew instinctively was significant.

A/n -  And that, is how you accidentally seduce your knight while trying not to bleed out.

[myladysapphire]

The Dragon and the Wolf (III)

You had been betrothed to Cregan stark at the start of the war. He was the noble and honourable stark that he was he supported your mother claim without restraint. So much so your mother saw it fit to betroth the two of you. So when disaster strikes and you and your younger brother are the only two survivors, you a shipped of north in your grief, leaving only Cregan to heal your wounds.

word count: 2,291

CW: MDI, 18+, smut, p in v, depression, mentions of miscarriages, stillbriths, love confessions, family reunion, marital difficulties, angst, not proofread!

Cregan Strak x Veleryon(strong)!reader

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

dividers by @zaldritzosrose

authors note: the timeline does not follow the book so don't come for me for changing things. sorry if this seemed rush honesltyi dont like it but i think it works well and makes a good chapter to lead into the epilouge.

In the year of 134AC, 3 years after the end of the dance of dragons, and three moons into your marriage with Cregan stark you finally made your way to kings landing after years apart from your beloved brothers.

Viserys and Aegon were no men almost grown, with Viserys a wife and child on the way and Aegon, now married to Daenaera Velaryon, though their marriage remained unconsummated.

The reunion had been a sad one, with many tears shed as you finally saw your brothers after years apart.

“Aegon! Viserys” you cried out as you ran out of the carriage to greet your brothers, your arms wrapping tightly around them, scared to let them go. Tears filled your eyes as you kissed their cheeks.

“I have missed you so dearly” you said to Aegon before looking over at Viserys, your mouth stuttering as you tried to find the right words “Vizzy, I have…oh gods-“ you cried out pulling him in for a hug once more “your all grown up!” you said, “a man grown” shaking your head as you hugged him closer.

He cried on your shoulder as you did, his arms never leaving you even as you introduced him to Cregan.

“This is Cregan…my husband, and the new lord hand.”  

“An honour to see you again” Aegon greeted, moving away from slightly from you to shake Cregan’s hand.

“As it is for me, my king” Cregan replied to Aegon head bowed.

And though Kings Landing had changed much, filled with new faces and on the rare occasions a familiar one, you still hated it.

You had thought seeing your brothers here, your sisters, it would feel like a home again,

But no.

You despised the viper pit.

There was more scheming and ploys than before and you were now at the centre of it.

with Cregan as hand and the death of your grandsire as regent, new faces took the role of councillors you had only just grown to trust.

Many of your mothers’ own advisers, advisers you had made Aegon promise to keep on his council had died in the winter fever the year before.

And perhaps that was why you hated Kingslanding, though a fifth of their population was taken, and 90% of that being the smallfolk, so many you had known, trusted and cared for had died and you never even knew.

The halls seemed more haunted now.

Not just haunted of by the faces of your family, of your uncles and brothers.

Of your mother.

But of them also.

You regretted coming with Cregan, and you hated yourself for it.

You had though and thought to stay here, arguing with him before the wedding for just this, to stay.

You know whished to take Silverwing and ride her to Winterfell and never return.

It was only the love you had for your brothers and Cregan that made you stay.

The memory of when first admitted your love for each other playing over and over again, as if it would somehow make you love this place once more.

“Cregan” you had sighed, now alone in your shred tent after a hard long day of ridding, the bath water doing little too sooth your joints.

He sighed your name in return, turning to face you as he undressed for bed.

“Do you love me?” you asked, trying to keep a casual tone to your voice, though you couldn’t hide the hope in your voice.

He smiled softly, moving towards you, taking your hand in his, “I have loved you since I first met you, and I do not think I ever will”.

You smiled, kissing his lips softly, “I love you, I have for so long, even when I hid behind my grief.”

“Really? I did not think you liked me much, after the war.”

“I did! And I hated it, I wanted to through myself into my grief and yet a part of me felt pained that I loved you and you did not know. I hated ignoring you, there always seemed to be a tether tying me to you.” You said shyly. “I hated that you were the reason I was pulled from my grief, I didn’t want my happiness to depend on you, but now…I am glad it is”.

She was glad to have him, he filled the whole left by her family’s deaths, though it was a different kind of love and wholeness she was glad for it.

But it did nought, not as you became and aunt, you fell back into the slow misery you felt before.

Feeling lost and haunted. Surrounded by ghosts talking to you day after day, ghosts you could not hear but faces haunted your dreams.

You didn’t tell anyone though.

Your family was happy, despite the death of Corlys or Baleas husband.

They all seemed happy here, laughing and enjoying the feasts.

The only person who could see your misery was Aegon, but even then, he didn’t understand.

It was clear he was haunted by your mother, of her death. But his was misery was he could push aside, and when with his family all he had was joy.

And yet you still felt that death followed you even more.

More as you felt the death of your child, spending hours, days on the birthing bed only to be greeted with a still born child.

More so as you felt the blood trickle down your legs time after time as you tried and tried to carry another pregnancy to term.

Your heart continued to break and Cregan could see your misery and so he insisted on you retuning to Winterfell, and you agreed.

Being back in Winterfell made you lose the feelings you had in Kingslanding, made you feel safer.

Made you feel at home.

And you felt lighter here.

Then Cregan was called back to Kings Landing and the emptiness found you again.

But you forced it to the side, hoping if you ignored it long enough it would go away.

And gods were you wrong.

You had plunged yourself into work, trying to help the north recover, from its weakened state following the famine caused during the winter fever.

 A year passed, now 136AC, a year away from your husband, from your brothers.

You became a ghost once more; all healing had vanished and the person you said you would become if Cregan sent you here alone had come.

 “Without you I will…I will only find that hollowness I felt for moons, the sadness will return without you to…to comfort me, to hold me and cherish me. I cannot be alone, I may rely on you a little too much, but I cannot bear to…”

And it had, you were hollow, and you were sad. But instead of letting it spill out of you as it had before, you kept it hidden.

Putting on a strong front, you wanted to be the fierce lady of Winterfell no matter how much you were breaking inside, no matter how much you wished for Cregan to see through your flowered words on paper and to come back to you.

And though he did come back to you, it was not because of you, but of Sylas the Grim.

A wilding chieftain who led a large force of 3,000 south of the wall and was plundering the lands of the gift.

Cregan arrived soon after you sent news of Sylas attacks. You yourself had tried to scare them off, using Silverwing to burn their trail. But they continued their plundering.

And so Cregan led the rallied forces of the north and attacked the wildings, leading yet another victory.

You had watched from the sidelines, sat atop Silverwing awaiting Cregan’s signal. But he never gave it, never looked over to where you waited. Only greeting you as you made your way into the festivity’s hours later. Having taken Silverwing over the wall and burning down all trees beyond the wall, within a 100-mile radius.

He had been surprised but grateful for your actions. But his gratefulness was soon overlooked as the drunken men of the north started to sing.

And you once again sat in your seat and let the hollowness within you start to show.

Later that night, after going to bed hours before Cregan, you and him finally spoke.

“Cregan?” you muttered, lifting your head from the pillow as he tumbled into the room.

“Wife!” he replied, his tone joyful, “I have missed you” he sang, “you’re going to come back with me to kings landing!” he spoke, looking at you expectantly, as if expecting you to dance in joy.

“no” you said, sitting up.

“No?” he said, suddenly sobering up. “Why not? Do you not miss your brother? Or me?”

“Every second of everyday”

“Then come to kings landing”.

“no”

“Why not?” he said, his tone almost aggravated.

“It is haunted” you spoke, your voice in hushed whispers as if the ghosts would somehow appear in your chambers.

“Everywhere haunted, even Winterfell” he said, looking at you, truly looking at you.

He took note of your sunken eyes, your dead eyes.

You looked just as you had those first few years here, and he hated how what you had said would happen had come true.

“no” he muttered, moving towards you “no…my love my sweet wife…what has happened?”

You broke down in tears, telling him what you felt, a years’ worth of emotions spilling out of you and the tears never stopped.

You must have spent the night crying in his arms, begging him to stay and never leave you again.

“please” you begged, “I can’t…I can’t go back there, and I can’t be without you”.

“okay” he said, thinking hard, “I will give up my place as hand”.

“I can’t ask that of you- “

“You can, and I must” he shook his head, cradling you in his arms “I have neglected you for too long and I am so sorry, I love you, I hope you know that” he said, hand caressing your cheek.

“you’ll stay”.

“Yes…always”

Giving up the position of hand of the king had been like a wight had lifted of his shoulders.

But seeing the state of his with had placed a heavier weight on him.

Feeling his heart break and his own betrayal fill him as you cried in his arms he felt he was a disappointment.

He had seen your loss, her grief and in his own he had pushed you away.

And though he had recovered, he should have known that you couldn’t, not by yourself, not when you still had so much grief left from the war still.

you had always been soft and gentle, always so Intune with your emotions that they overwhelmed you, and he had somehow overlooked that fact and sent you away.

And unlike last time he didn’t have the wedding or retuning to kings landing to look forward to. There was nothing really to look forward too, other than the one thing the gods had deprived you off.

A babe.

You had tried and tried, but three miscarriages and one still birth had wrecked you.

In truth had he not had the lords breathing down his neck once more for an heir then he would never have made you try in the first place and yet it was what you craved, despite the duty you wanted a babe.

And now as his cock filled you and hit all the right spots, this moment were their was no grief, no death no duty to fulfil, just you and Cregan.

“Cregan” you moaned, your face falling into the pillows as he pounded into you “please” you begged into the pillow, you felt your peak approaching as he entered you out, hitting your sweet spot again and again.

He held onto your hips, his cock focusing on that spot as his finger moved down to your clit, bringing you to your second peak of the night, as he filled you with his seed.

You collapsed on the bed, as he pulled you into his arms, holding you tight.

You relaxed into a comfortable silence, a silence you both often found yourself in.

‘I love you” he whispered, kissing your forehead.

And for the first time in a year you said it back, “I love you, too”

You fell into your roles as lord and lady of Winterfell easily. Finding you rather enjoyed your duties even more when they were not used as a distraction.

And even though there was some tension between you and Cregan still, you found the love you felt for one another made everything easier, especially when you had spent nights crying in grief and regret at refusing your brothers request to return to Kingslanding even if only for a few days.

You hated saying no, but they seemed to understand. Your duty was to Winterfell now, and they understood.

Egg had understood your need to leave before, himself feeling the same as he told you he considered moving to Dragonstone but fearing hell find more hurt in those halls than that of the red keep.

And now with news of Aegon’s tour around Westeros you were excited to see him once more, too show him your home.

A home you did not regret him having no place in, and as the years passed with a few visits here and there form your brothers you found you rather liked the distance.

Finding that perhaps your grief weas in the guilt of only them and you surviving and not Jace, Luke or Joffrey. The boys who were truly your brothers before they were ever kings or princes.

authors note: next part is the epilouge!

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[madamealys]

Imagine you are Aegon’s redemption.

(+21)

***

Another night comes by and you are there, sitting by the fire. You hear the steps, familiar with their owner. What’s worst, though, is that you are uneasy by another sound that follows his.

He’s not alone.

Ignored like usual, you sit there, occupying your fingers nervously with the needle. It’s when the sounds suddenly die.

To your dismay, Aegon notices you. The daughter of his uncle, his charming cousin, rider of Silverwing. He stops whatever he’s doing to watch your heart shaped face, the red lips that form a pout as you furrow your eyebrows, frowning at the embroidery you are working with.

Aegon cannot help his gaze, noticing your heavy breathing. Your pink gown reinforces your curves and his hunger eyes are staring at the swell of your breasts. The sight of you makes him warm on the inside.

Feeling the weight of his gaze, you look up at him and both of you look startled by this unexpected meeting, where neither thought possible to happen.

Aegon knows your feelings for him, of what nature these are—but the silver haired king to be is hopeless about it. Flawed as he is, he feels unworthy of the purity of your affection for him.

“Princess Y/N”, and just like that he ignores his companion and dismisses her with a wave of his hand. “What are you doing up to this wolf hour?”

“Nothing”, you lie, perhaps more to yourself; you know his doings and yet somehow they draw you to him. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Aegon isn’t drunk enough to escape the lines of your features that indicate you are not speaking the truth. Deliberately taking a seat next to you, the prince takes away the embroidery work you e been working on and says:

“Lying is only amusing when it’s used to those who are unfamiliar with habits one might judge to be indolent.” He smiles that kind of smile you know so well. “It doesn’t work with me, Y/N. Quit trying.”

You detest how accurate is his reading of you. Aegon knows you well, just as well as you know him.

“You are drunk”, you use the obvious to conceal your lack of reasonable points.

He sees it. He laughs of it. And yet he is holding your hand, playing with your fingers.

“Aren’t I frequently in this state?”

“Why have you dismissed your whore?”

Aegon knees before you, a way he finds to protest against your sudden cold. A dragon like him needs another who understands him. You are the only one to fill such arduous task.

But what do you know?

“Y/N…”

“You should be with her.”

Ah, there it is. The jealousy that he’s been looking for. Aegon holds your thighs as if to prevent you to stomp off.

“No. I should be with you.” And sobriety comes out behind his usual carefree eyes. “I am not the most dutiful of men, I’m afraid.”

Fearful of losing control, you try to regain your composure, but it’s too late. Aegon has had the glimpse of the reflection of his own longing.

“Which is why you should stay away”, you say.

“Come here.”

He stands and pulls you against him. You’d refuse him, but he is taller and stronger than you.

“I failed you, didn’t I?” Aegon cups your heart-shaped face and you realize you are not as strong willed as you have judged. “How can I be redeemed of my wrongs?”

“Aegon, you are out of your senses”, you protest rather weakly. His breath is close enough to mix with yours, you fear that his tight grip around your face might be the end of you. Your body is already warm, your chest is full and your womanhood aches. “Preserve ourselves of this if you may.”

“I am nothing without you, Y/N.” He barely breathes out your name, and this is when he removes his shield. “I may be moved by wine, the sweet flavor does let go of protocols, but this is me trying to reach you.”

“I am not your whore, Aegon”, your voice betrays you. Aegon knows he’s won, but it doesn’t sound like victory.

He rests his forehead against yours.

“No. You are my wife.”

You sigh. But finally getting to your senses, you take his hands and lead the way. Aegon follows, unsure what to interpret of your comportment. He senses your distrust, though, which leaves his uncomfortable.

“You can stay… if you behave.”

You nod at the door of your chambers. Aegon smiles, but nothing on him punctuates other than innocence itself. He aims to be loved, and you are ready to love him.

*

These casual encounters start forbidden-like but they have nothing other than mutual comfort, friendly silences followed by the forge of a bond so deep that becomes sacred to you.

Eventually though, this doesn’t suffice to either of you. One of these nights Aegon comes at your bed, needy, but sober.

“Y/N”, his voice sounds even too eager for his ears, but it’s too late to step back. “Y/Nickname.”

You are barely sleep when his voice awakes you—and it’s not only that, but your line nightgown is suddenly a burden your body wishes to remove. Somehow under these poor candlelights Aegon spots, when you remove the heavy blankets out of your body, pink hardened nipples escaping your nightgown.

Indeed, an indecent view that makes him burning inside. Astonished by how innocence evokes the rather opposite in him, Aegon struggles to hold back the long termed desires he’s been nurturing, even though it’s nothing to be mistaken to his sincere affection he feels for you.

His eyes scan your messy curls, your red-ish lips, your sleepy face that makes him smile. And then moving down to your chest, your legs, he feels tempted again.

His evident desire does not go unnoticed by you. You should not surrender to it, but since the day he and you were betrothed, the struggle to remain cast and pure escalates to another difficulty you find impossible to bare.

Casting sinful thoughts aside, even though you do nothing to pull back your breasts back to the nightgown nor to conceal your shaped legs, you say:

“What is the reason you awake me this hour? My love, are you having nightmares again?”

Aegon is now back at that state which you can perceive his fragility, but it’s shielded with a pride that his mother has long planted on him. You soften and pull him against your chest, playing with his hair, intertwining his locks with your fingers.

“You know these are only bad dreams, nothing more.”

Aegon is quiet at first, but you are acutely aware of his discreet moves. His head is now on your right shoulder, which makes his breath too close to your neck—and that in turn makes you… uncomfortable somewhat.

To defy your reason, he wraps his arms around your waist, placing one of his hands close to your left breast.

And he knows it. He can tell your body is tensed, rigid, but warm. He takes his time, though.

“How can you be sure these horrid dreams are just that?”

When your eyes meet, you say:

“Because dreams did not make us kings. Dragons did.”

And suddenly it is as if the dragon blood boils. As a result his lips look for yours and to his delight, you welcome his mouth, perfectly moulded with yours.

You finally quit the fight against your long desires. You want more, you want all of him. Aegon too thinks the same. His tongue pairs in a very intense, warming rhythm, muffling the sounds coming out of your throat.

And if he parts the kiss, you find yourself groaning in protest. You hate not to know what comes next, but Aegon is more than willing to teach you.

“Oh my flower, do not look too eager to flourish”, he chuckles, leaning his lips against your neck, before getting his left hand to play with your left nipple.

It feels electrifying, it feels so close to be burnt by dragon fire. What words can do justice to the moment you discover the pleasure he gives you? You ache for more, and under your hardened nipple, Aegon knows how to get to you.

He’s already rigid in pants, but he takes his time. He wants to take a taste of you, he needs that. To get to his redemption, he must put some effort to achieve such ambitious goal.

And the sounds you make lead the divine path he’s taking.

“Mm”, Aegon sighs and takes a moment to contemplate the mess you are now. “How far we’ve gone, eh?”

You answer his rhetoric question with a kiss when you pull him against your lips not minding to surrender to his will at last, less so to be his whore , his only one.

Your morals die the moment you let him push your nightgown above your head and allow him to contemplate your nudity.

“We should wait for our first night”, you smirk at the lascivious look he gives you; you bite his earlobe and help him remove his own robes. “But I’m afraid I am not as righteous as I should be.”

“Fuck morality. You are my wife”, Aegon growls under his breath possessively.

Lips are clashed, tongues dance relentlessly before his hands begin to work out with your breasts. Aegon’s rigid manhood aches as a result. His touch, his grip, his softness in rubbing your nipples with his thumb all of which make you lay your head back at the pillow and experiment a new sensation. One of the kind you hope to linger…

“Aegon…”

You call out his name, begging for him to proceed with whatever he intends to do with you. The prince smirks victoriously before dropping his mouth on your breast.

And the moans echo throughout the chambers, much to his delight. When looking up at you, Aegon knows he cannot take longer—thus a hand slides automatically to his manhood, stroking it, releasing the pressure that has become unbearable.

“Gods!”

He bites and twirls his tongue around each nipple, sucking it like the famine boy he is. Now seeing what’s he’s doing, you are moved by a strange instinct in taking his manhood with your palm and replace his hand with yours.

“Y/N…”, he throws his back in bed. “You…should not…”

You feign confidence in what you are doing. In truth, there is something powerful in subduing him, in being the very reason why he’s groaning in pleasure.

“You do it so… well! How can it be…”, he gasps in small breaks. “Oh Lords! So good, so natural!”

You sit on your knees, aroused at the view of his well built muscles, some scars in his abs and his silver pubic hair. His pink-ish manhood throbbing against your palm, pumping it hard, gives you precum right to your fingers.

“Come to me, my prince”, you order him softly, in your sweet voice.

You delight at the view of his spread legs, his aroused cock finally releasing a white liquid that comes to your hand, your arm, getting everywhere messy. His arching back, his heavy chest makes you wetter in your legs if possible.

“Good grief, woman”, he takes some time to catch his breath. “What a mess we made.”

You’d think this means the fun is over and you are ready to clean your sheets when you are surprised to find him behind you.

His arms around your waist, his hands purposely resting below your belly and right on top of your pubic hair, playing with it as he whispers in your ear:

“Where do you think you are going, my lady?”

You freeze… like a victim to his prey, right under his trap. And yet you ache, longing for him, but your inexperience is quite evident in this matter.

“I was meant to change the sheets since my lord looked… tired.”

Aegon can tell the devil is playing in your lips, but he knows this is all to mask your lack of… proper knowledge if he’s to put in words.

“Not done with you yet, princess”, he bites down your earlobe, parting your legs as he presses his body against your back.

“Aegon…”, but your head drops back to his shoulder, willingly spreading your thighs as his hand finds way down below in what’s between.

“Shush”, and now he’s the one to overpower you, a sensation that arouses him…and you can feel his manhood get erect. “Mine you are, I possess you.”

Your eyes are barely open when his index dives into your core, slowly, gently. Despite his words, Aegon is careful with you. He presses soft kisses over your head, watching your reactions as his finger is discovering where it is being placed.

Indeed it feels like this is his first time too. He wants to make it perfect for you—and here’s why it’s different than former occasions where he bedded other women. Unlike his former paramours, you hold something far more sacred: his heart.

And though he claims you, he’s the one who has been claimed.

“This is good”, you moan lightly, already gripping the sheets. You are more than pleased when his lips are going to your cheek and his left hand is back to your breast. “So good!”

“Is this what you’ve been looking for?” , somehow Aegon looks for your approval; somehow he needs you to confirm it.

His thumb is encircling your clit by the time you open your eyes and let a cry out. Holding gazes, you touch his face and say:

“It is much… b-better than I’ve hoped for.”

To feel the juices within these walls makes it difficult to hold back his impulses. As one eyes the other in these recent disclosures, all Aegon can do is to smirk upon you, victoriously.

And when you gasp louder, you know it’s your loss.

*

Indeed it is an arduous task to play pretend at a court where it is indecorous to engage in activities that are only lawfully and religiously associated to blessed unions.

But you and Aegon somehow enjoy this mutual teasing. Indeed your betrothal has been surprisingly welcomed by the king and his wife, and whilst a date has been stipulated to celebrate this union of House Targaryen, the two of you are too occupied with secretive, coy games of your own.

“You have been too naughty for your own good”, says he.

It’s early today and to your surprise, Aegon has managed to follow you up to the library. You pretend not to notice him whilst you read a rather indecent tale of a queen who falls for her knight—but regrettably your smirk betrays your countenance carefully posed.

“Have I now?”, you ask in a nonchalant posture, eyes focusing in the lines of the story you are reading—precisely the one about secret lovers (how convenient, isn’t it?). “Please, would you care to enlighten me, dear cousin?”

Captivated by your alluring presence, Aegon is amazed by your effortless beauty, how stunning you look just by reading. He starts stroking your long locks, which are tied in one braid; then his cold fingertips move to your back, carefully rising to your shoulders, almost if he fears to break his fragile thing—you.

“Oh don’t play coy with me, princess Y/N”, his voice is husky and too warm to your sensitive ears. It does not go unnoticed by the prince how you react to him.

He can tell your chest goes full, and the mere remembrance of your hard nipples in his mouth makes him erect already. To disguise his discomfort, Aegon takes a proper seat next to you. Resting a hand over your knee, much to your dismay he slowly starts to lift the skirts of your gown.

“What do you think you are doing?”, you hiss under your breath at him. “We are at a very public space, my dear husband to be.”

As much as he appreciates this title you give him under some hint of sarcasm, Aegon doesn’t quake in embarrassment. His smirk gives you the victory he has over you.

“Oh come now, we are alone in this old library.”

His hand on your thigh defies your attention in the lines your eyes begin to struggle to focus. Aegon’s lilac gaze is fixed on your features, carefully studying any changes in them.

And here he parts your legs with no resistance on your part. It’s when his thumb begins to trace circles around your womanhood entrance that you are finally showing some discomfort.

“Mm-hm. Where is your pride now, dear Y/N?”, Aegon whispers in your ear, very aware how much he affects you.

“Aegon, you should not… you wouldn’t dare”, you shoot him a glance, but in truth you don’t want him to stop, do you?

“Just say the word”, his thumb pressing against you, about to entry into your womanhood makes you sinful. Much to your own horror. “Just say it and I’ll stop. I assure you I will not be hurt.”

His voice is sweet as honey and his touch, gentle and respectful. Aegon knows he’s victorious when you cast your book aside. Interpreting it as a silent form to express your consent, the prince is found welcomed by how you close your thighs around his hand.

“Well?”, with his free hand he strokes your cheek, placing a loose curl behind your ear. Aegon likes to watch you experiment this bliss, to give you pleasure, and he smiles as you struggle not to make any sound. “Is it good?”

“Aegon”, you discreetly turn, enjoying the movement of his thumb around your clit, soon joined by another finger. It is difficult to keep yourself composed. “We may get caught.”

He brushes his lips against yours, aroused by the air of lust that involves you both. Moving his head to your neck, every decency is forgotten when he pumps his fingers against you.

“I care not about it”, he mumbles against your skin, soft and smooth. “You are mine, mine alone, Princess Y/N. For you, I left my wayward manners only to be yours, a slave devoted to his mistress.”

You try not to close your eyes, fearful of being interrupted by the presence of Aegon or Helaena, both of whom love going to the library. But it is so good, to be this treated is like a safe passage to Heavens.

And then his lips going to your chest, Aegon slides to his knees make your mind going blank.

“Do not”, he commands you, suddenly breaking this lustful silence. “Do not come undone yet.”

“What d-d…. Aegon…”

Your voice, shaken, mirrors your state. A mess you are, and there is a part of you which fears for the consequences if you let this go further.

Whatever fear is troubling your conscience, however, no longer does so when suddenly Aegon’s lips are felt on your skin. Tickling softly in touch with your pubic hair, his kisses makes you smile.

“Aegon…”, but you dare not to voice out your morals. None seems to matter when his tongue is inside you. “Oh!”

He gives you a long glance, as if he’s defying you going louder. A smirk on his lips, well read in his eyes, oh a sight to behold indeed! You try tomorrow swallow your moans, indecent as they are, but as he pulls your hips against his face… what certainty is there that you are able to hold back yourself?

You roll your eyes, putting a hand on the chair you are sitting on whilst you use the other to stroke his silver locks.

“Gods!”, you whimper as lowly as you can, shivering as his tongue pursues your inner walls, twirling around your clit before sucking it so gently that it hurts. “Aegon!”

You may hear steps somewhere, but these seem so far and you want more of him. Aegon likes the view of you—once so delicate, now wild and corrupted, riding his face with such a taste no whore can be compared to.

It gives him satisfaction that he’s the one to give you that, this immeasurable pleasure, indecently and sinfully so. He who seeks redemption is the one to corrupt.

Fuck.

And yet he gladly drinks every juice you provide him, eyeing you going insane, feeling the wave of pleasure drowning you to his lips further if possible.

What a view to behold indeed. Aegon is besotted. The woman he desires, the object of his affections, the one he aims to please… this is not gold nor lust.

For when your eyes meet him, something alights. What is it?

A great delight that does not torment souls nor bodies, above all else that is mundane. And he licks his lips afterwards.

*

Later that day, you still have energy to ride Silverwing. And Aegon is already flying Sunfyre when he meets you.

“Restless now, aren’t we?”, you let a cry out over your shoulder the moment you spot him.

Aegon looks handsome with his beautiful golden dragon, the warm breeze of summer blowing his hair as he smiles widely towards you. Here he is in his natural state, not under court demeanors or play pretends. Not a broken boy nor a tormented man. But a joyful prince, who, with light and shadow, you love the same.

When Aegon sees you, there is no more the rivalry that once were—if yet can be claimed it has always been so—; when he looks at you, memories spent at every house of pleasure are unsuitable and unfit, overshadowed by the glee you provide him.

When he looks at this damsel riding her dragon so vividly, so freely, the prince is provided with a hope he never nurtured before.

“It could not be otherwise”, he answers you at last. “We are above men and gods.”

You smile at him, warmly so. Silverwing, feeling the state of your heart, cries out a beautiful sound, one of the joyful kind. And Sunfyre does the same.

Soon, both dragons meet. And they dance.

***

All eyes are set on Prince Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra’s oldest daughter. Princess Y/N, the Bold is how poets describe the beautiful, vivid and blunt spirit of yours.

You, who, against all odds, have successfully tamed the rogue prince. And now there you are, dressed magnificently in an elegant mix of vibrant red and discreet green; emerald jewelry embellish your ears, neck and fingers. A light make up reinforces the delicate traces you inherited from your mother, whose youth beauty reminds most men of. And your silver locks are tied in a long loose well elaborated braid.

Aegon cannot look away as he dances with you.

“What are you, Y/N?”

“Mm?”, you play coy as you hold his gaze. Melody may be slow, failing to quiet the riots of your heart. “What do you mean by it, dear? I am a woman.”

“That I know”, Aegon rolls his eyes. “But you are too handsome made for being a mere mundane creature. Nay. Me thinks you are a goddess in flesh and bones.”

A fainted crimson colours your cheeks, obliging you part the gaze even though Aegon spots a small smile on his lips.

“We are expected to be lawfully married within days. Mother told me about it.”

As you turn and switch partners, following the dancing tradition, you finally respond him when your hands barely touch his.

“This will be the happiest day of my life.”

In turn, Aegon blushes. It feels as if there is just the two of you in this ball room.

“No gold could make you say that…”

“I am not common as you said yourself. No ordinary, nothing to be mistaken to your… former paramours”, you smirk. “Only a dragon can love another, Aegon. For a Targaryen alone in this world is a dreadful thing to see…”

One more exchange of words. For the first time in a long while, the prince experimented bliss. A genuine bliss.

So this is what it feels like. To be genuine loved and accepted in spite of all flaws and vices.

***

A night so warm and feisty hardly keeps you restful. You are aware that this is not the time to play deadly games—where your reputation is concerned anyway—with Aegon, but can you help yourself? Can you content easily to wait for the great night? Can your inexperienced hands do the work?

But this is not about lust. You’ve grown used to him. More than that, more than what defines affection. You’ve always wanted him, this is not to say that you aimed high like your mother-in-law once teased you about.

It is neither to conceive that he is broken and unloved, like Aemond pointed out. (“What is that he can offer you, dear Y/N, besides a rich inheritance and a cold bed?”)

You wiped away his tears since you could remember, you fought off his demons countless times. His smile, his dirty jokes he saved for you.

No. Certainly you are not in the mood to dream about him only. You cannot conceive to be far from his presence—and you also pray that he has not found solace elsewhere for this evening he didnt come for you.

You throw green robes over your shoulders, dressing a line nightgown; your curly silver hair hangs loose behind your back and you hold a candle carefully as you move barefoot. Corridors are empty and silence and the guards seem to pretend not to see you.

You praise the Gods for their discretion. Finally you stop by his chambers. The door is closed and here your confidence dies.

What if he does not love me? What if his desires have died? What if…?

You hesitate. But after all this way, courage is back again. You knock at the door. To your surprise, he quickly opens it.

Aegon stands on the other side, holding a candle too. He’s dressing the usual robes when he slips under blankets with you. His startled look doesn’t take too long to be dissolved in a genuine bliss.

“Y/N. You came.”

“I did. I…”, you blush.

“You feared I’d have gone somewhere else because I took some time to get to you?”

Your blush deepens for you realize your jealousy hasn’t been tamed nor reasoned as you had expected. But Aegon does not laugh away such sentiment. In fact he appreciates your concern for him.

As he leads you inside, you are told what he’s been up to. Viserys in fact took his time to tell Aegon about his duties as a husband to you, which, in your opinion, took a while for the king to dote on his son.

Better late than never, uh?

“But I told you that I would… settle for you. Not because I was asked, but due to my affection for you and…”

Suddenly his voice dies because Aegon is surprised when you steal him a kiss. This is when he understands that it’s how you tell him that you’ve missed him.

His heart mewls inside at it so he makes sure to reward your efforts. Aegon takes your heart-shaped face with both hands, kissing you slowly, letting your tongue slide softly beside his, pairing together in one same rhythm.

He moves his hands over your face, never ceased to be amazed at the cascade of your heavy hair as his fingers play with your curls only then to rest at your waist.

It’s a passionate kiss, filled with tons of emotions. Only then you part it to caress his face and rest your hand over his shoulders, slowly untying his shirt.

“I want you as who you really are”, and saying so you kiss him again, letting your tongue slide to his neck and get him a few goosebumps.

“Y/N.”

He takes a seat, you light the way. Leading it with a newly found confidence, you help him undress first before Aegon’s eyes set on you.

You let the nightgown slip of your body. You want his eyes over your breasts, your nipples, your hips and thighs. You want to see unthinkable thoughts dancing behind his lascivious gaze.

Thus you go on your knees, hands on his thighs. Aegon barely breathes before the view. He’s mesmerized, he’s petrified at what’s about to be done. Bursting through the limits of what’s morally acceptable—even if it’s only by appearances since it’s known how many ladies and lords copulate, frequently not with their lawful espouses—, he cannot respond for himself when his bone becomes painfully visible.

What arouses him further is the way you glance at his manhood, the hesitant touch, experimenting touching it with a genuine lust. Nothing feigned, nothing to be just part of the game.

The idea he’s your object of affection and desires is new even now. No whores, no lowborn woman to follow his lead, to take his gold, but his equal, his partner in life and business of the realm, his soon to be wife… the lover of his lifetime.

“Fuck!”, Aegon throws his head back the moment you start to touch him, to play with the tip… until your thirst makes you engulf it with your pink mouth.

This night you know is not about you. It is not about your disclosures, nor detecting how much you are as concupiscent as him. It’s about giving him what he needs, to be satiated with him.

And you love taking it all, don’t you? Going as deep as you can, hearing his sensual and loud moans, feeling him play with your curls… to be under his power.

Aegon doesn’t intend to waste his seed but when your gaze meets him in the peek of the moment, it’s too much.

He lets go. And with a lascivious smirk, you drink all that he gives you.

*

You and Aegon contemplate the state both of you are now. Smiles here, smiles there; sensual kisses that do not content to these teasings.

“We should best wait”, Aegon purrs as you start kissing his neck. You are already rubbing your womanhood against his manhood, perhaps acutely aware that this is not the most prudent behavior. “For… for our… Ugh, Y/N!”

You giggle at his struggle as you give small bites around his neck, sensing his erection as you leave him bruises.

“I must mark my man”, and here you hold his face, pulling his hair gently.

“What have I turned you into?” Aegon smiles warmly, and he is indeed aroused upon seeing how you react at every word, every thing he does.

“My love, what do you know?”

This night you make your call. Your lips glue against his and your tongue snakes to his mouth, pairing perfectly with his. It is slow at first, but it deepens the more it seems unfit to what happens next.

It grows fervent. It grows impossibly feverish. Soon positions are swapped and you are under his strong body and your eyes are closed, enjoying this intimacy when his lips are all over your neck and chest.

His hands do not content with your nipples and they slide to your waist before settling at your hips. Only as you spread your legs and lift each to let him fit in between is that Aegon looks at you.

You are playing with his messy hair when your gaze meets his.

“I love you, Y/N”, says the prince. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes. Yes, it is”, you say breathless. “Will you be mine and mine alone from this day on?”

“Aye”, and to ensure he vows it, he takes your hand and kisses your knuckle. “May the Gods be our witnesses. That you are my wife from this day on, mother of my children.”

One kiss. One promise. Hearts beat as one; bodies blend and souls amend what’s been finally bent.

Aegon Targaryen has been cleansed of his sins.