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spicy30 · 21 hours ago

Text

Modernness of 1400s 009

Pairing: HOTD x Fem!Modern!Reader

(Repost with extra things added at the end)

Extra: The reader is noted to be bilingual (Spanish speaking) and is familiar with the majority of Latin-based languages, No use of Y/N

Rating: 18+ (Use of drugs)

Not proofread

Tags: @fan-goddess @meowmeowmothermeower @bunxia @your-favorite-god @coolalienstatesmansports @georgiatesulitsyeykite @qwerrtsworld @wegottastayfocus @dakota-rain666 @talilosha @the-deep-dark-abyss @101crows @agustdeeyaa @ggglich-exe @illjhhlisa @deepeststarlightmoon @cluelessteam @a-fruity-snack @i-zenin @justablondeeee @feyresqueen @yduimobsessed @pinkluv29 @xmenteria @itwaszzmoon

WC: 16k

1st day of the 6th moon of 129AC

Dear Prince Jacaerys of House Velaryon,

It has been a week since my departure from DragonStone and I was not able to bid you farewell properly, but most importantly—I was not able to apologize. I am sorry. I shouldn’t should not have said that. It was in crude taste, but I understand you shoulder a great weight and for me to add to that, I am sorry. Since I have arrived here, you have been one of my only friends and I value your friendship more than anything I have here. You are the only person who knows who I am, and I mean who I truly am. Not someone from Essos or wherever else other people think I’m from. You have seen things that I doubt I will ever show anyone ever again because I trust you as a friend and I am sorry that I have offended you and I am sorry for even speaking such things in the first place. I do not wish to lose you as a friend.

(P.S. I would’ve rewrote the letter but I ran out of paper.)

…

Three weeks left, it’s all you have before you have to present your grand ideas of a capitalist economy and yet you were here slaving away in the kitchen because your cannabis plant finally dried properly.

“What are you doing?” A voice sounded behind you and you jumped.

“Wha-” You turned around to see Aegon. “What are you doing here? This is a kitchen. Only servants enter.”

“Exactly servants. Have you been demoted?” Aegon laughed looking at you. Your dress is covered in smeared handprints of flour.

“No. If you must know, I'm doing something your father asked of me.” You turned around going back to mixing your concoction. Aegon peeked over your shoulder with a grin. “That looks like—” He pointed and you slapped his hand away.

“Yes I know, shut up.” You went back to mixing the white sticky substance.

“What is it?” You didn’t respond so Aegon looked around the kitchen seeing your mess. There were white squares and he touched them. It was soft, fluffy. “Can I eat this?”

That seemed to catched your attention because you turned around as soon as he asked. Aegon picked up the soft white square smelling it. It smelled light and like an airy vanilla. “No. Put that down, it's for your children.” After hearing that he tossed it in his mouth. It was soft and chewy, sweet, but not too sweet. He shook his head looking at you. “You can’t feed these to my children.” He spoke with his mouth full going to go eat another.

“Stop, do you know how hard it was to make that!?” You came to Aegon trying to take away the sweets.

“You are going to make my children fat. My daughter—Jaehaera—cannot get fat. No lord will want to marry her. Neither can my son…” He popped another in his mouth watching you and your expressions. “And Helaena is still my wife. My mother still expects more children and if I must…” He swallowed the sweet treat. “Well it's already hard enough fucking my own sister, don’t make it any harder.”

You were left speechless…well…at least he didn’t take any pleasure in having children with his sister.

Aegon ignored your pointed look, his gaze fixed on the platter. “What’s that?”

“Something for the King,” you replied briskly, moving toward the oven to check on your latest ‘experiment.’

“Can I try it?” he asked, already reaching for the platter.

“You won’t like it,” you warned, not bothering to turn around.

A moment later, you heard the unmistakable sound of gagging. Your eye twitched as a wave of irritation swept over you.

“You’re right, that was nasty,” Aegon groaned, smacking his lips. “The aftertaste is horrid.” He sauntered over to join you, peering curiously into the oven.

“You only took one bite, right?” you asked, casting him a sidelong glance.

“Why?” he asked with a crooked grin. “Are you about to commit regicide?”

You blinked, calculating the possible outcomes of his impulsiveness. Then, with a sigh, you straightened up and met his gaze. “...You’ll be fine,” you said finally, though your tone wasn’t exactly reassuring.

Aegon rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, grimacing. “Yeah… well, I don’t feel fine. I’m not floating in the clouds or anything, but I feel… funny.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, muttering under your breath as you turned back to the oven. “Maybe next time, listen when I tell you something.”

That was weird though, even on your first time trying edibles, they didn’t affect you that fast. Did you make them too strong? Maybe it’s best to cut them into smaller pieces then.

Still a high for the first time Aegon is not something you want to be in trouble for. “Why don’t you meet me in the library? After I deliver these to your father.”

Aegon flashed you a flirty smile. “Eager to see my dragon?”

“Begging your grace.” You spoke, rolling your eyes, turning away from him, making more of your make-shift rice-crispy edibles. Making marshmallows and cereal wasn’t as hard as you thought it was going to be.

Aegon let out a smile a little too loud than he normally would.

Seriously, it never acted this fast for you.

Hands wrapped around your waist as he murmured into your ear. “I’ll be waiting.” Before he kissed your cheek and left you. You were left standing there. It was clear his high was going to prompt a high sex drive. Wonderfull. As if you didn’t have enough with the younger brother.

A shame you did not see Aegon sneak another two or three as he left the room.

Finishing your last batch you turned to take out your homemade pizza out the oven. Pizza is as old as time. Italy isn’t the only place that's ever made it, but as far as this world is concerned, it’s going to come from you. Pizza is commoner food, easy to make with basic things anyone can get, bread, cheese, tomato, and other toppings if available. Your prediction is that it’s going to be a hit with the commoners. You’d just sell the ingredients or maybe just open the pizzeria. How hard could it be?

First however, you needed to be a charity project. Help out with the starving. Starving, unhygienic people. It made you shiver.

“Dyana!” You called and she came running. “Yes, take this to my ‘place of work,’ and have someone bring me my ‘refrigerator.’ That’s all, thank you.”

A while back you had come with the brilliant idea of how to store goods. Of course there was drying out the food using the sun or covering it in salt, but…a zeer pot works best for you. It's an ancient technique that relies on evaporative cooling to reduce the temperature inside the jar, making it suitable for storing perishables. Very simply actually, it was a wonder how they haven’t done this yet. (Well they still did believe in spontaneous generation) No matter, more money for you once you get this patent idea out.

Cutting your edibles into smaller pieces you plated them ready to take it to the King. It wasn’t long before another servant came with your jars. You smiled and opened your and carefully stored them.

Finally, plate in hand, you made your way to the King’s chambers. With any luck, Alicent wouldn’t be there. Ever since you’d ditched her at the sept... well, things hadn’t exactly been cordial. Otto was even worse. The man seemed determined to make you regret every breath you took. Helping them nearly commit treason probably didn’t win you any favors. Just wonderful.

You reached the grand oak door and knocked firmly. It opened moments later, and you stepped inside.

“Your Grace,” you greeted, offering a stiff curtsy. Even after all this time, the motion felt awkward, like your body resisted the formality. Maybe it was your knees, or your hips, or perhaps even your ribs—all of which never fully recovered from that accident. That car slamming into you had left its mark, both physically and mentally. It was a miracle you hadn’t suffered any internal bleeding or broken bones, though it sure had felt like it at the time.

The King looked up from his chair, his face lighting up at the sight of you. “Ah, there she is,” Viserys said warmly, gesturing for you to come closer. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten me.”

“Never, Your Grace,” you replied with a small smile, stepping forward to present the plate. “You asked for something to help you relax, and I’ve crafted just the thing. A treat that’s as delightful to the palate as it is to the mind.”

Viserys leaned forward, intrigued by the small, golden-edged squares. “What are these?”

“They’re called... crispy rice delights,” you said, deciding not to overcomplicate the name. “Sweetened with honey and bound together with butter. Light and chewy, and utterly harmless.” Your smile was sweet, almost innocent, though the last part was perhaps a touch generous.

Viserys picked one up, turning it over in his fingers with mild curiosity before taking a cautious bite. A soft crunch filled the room, followed by a quiet hum of approval.

“Remarkable,” he said after a moment, reaching for another piece. “And you’re certain this will help me unwind?”

“It should, Your Grace,” you assured him with an encouraging nod. “The ingredients are simple, but I’ve added a touch of my... expertise to make them particularly effective. A small indulgence to ease the mind.”

Viserys chuckled, his mood visibly lifting. “You always surprise me with your ingenuity. Perhaps I’ll save the rest for later tonight, after council business.”

You nodded, hiding the flicker of unease that stirred within you. “A wise choice, Your Grace. Though I might suggest savoring them slowly. Too much too quickly may result in… an unusually vivid state of relaxation.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What do you mean by vivid?”

“Well,” you began, choosing your words carefully, “the body may feel unusually light, as though untethered. Thoughts could take on a dreamlike quality, wandering freely, and the edges of the world may blur in a pleasant haze. It is soothing, but perhaps… a bit distracting if one isn’t expecting it.”

“Ah,” Viserys said, clearly not discouraged. “Then it’s good I’m not on the council floor.” He popped another piece into his mouth.

You curtsied, preparing to take your leave. “If there’s nothing else you require, Your Grace, I’ll leave you to enjoy your evening.”

He waved you off, his attention already fixated on the plate. “Yes, yes, go. You’ve done well as always.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” you said, retreating with measured steps. Once the door clicked shut behind you, you exhaled quietly, allowing the faint tension in your chest to ease.

If all went as planned, the King would find himself pleasantly unburdened by the time the effects set in. If not… well, the rest of your evening might prove unexpectedly eventful.

Now for the other part of your evening: Aegon.

He’d decided earlier to sneak a bite of one of your experiments, ignoring every warning you gave. And now, if the hurried whispering of the servants was to be believed, the prince was wandering around the library giggling like a fool and marveling at the candles. Typical.

Though he had only taken a bite, there was no way he should be feeling this high this hard. If anything a couple giggles and nothing more.

Making your way through the dimly lit halls, you kept your pace brisk but not rushed. You couldn’t exactly run—not with how stiff your body could get when you overdid it—but the urgency pressed on your shoulders nonetheless. If anyone important caught sight of Aegon in his current state, Otto would no doubt find a way to blame you for corrupting the prince. Again.

By the time you reached the library, it was quiet save for the faint flicker of candlelight and the occasional sound of rustling parchment. You scanned the aisles, listening for any telltale signs of chaos. A soft laugh, almost childlike, drifted from the far corner.

“Aegon,” you called softly, making your way toward the sound. Rounding the last row of shelves, you found him sprawled on the floor, staring up at the vaulted ceiling as though it were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

And oh my goodness, his eyes were pink. With one bite? No, they couldn’t have been that strong. God, how would the King react!? He had eaten one whole. You should’ve told him only one.

You were so dead.

“This place is amazing,” he said dreamily, waving a hand at nothing in particular. “All these books… why are there so many? Who’s read them all? Do you think they’ve read all of them?”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Aegon, what are you doing?”

“I’m thinking,” he said, sitting up slightly. His eyes were wide, pupils blown, and there was a faint flush on his cheeks. “I’ve never thought this much before. Did you know books smell different at night? Like... like they’re dreaming, too.”

You stared at him for a long moment. “Listen to me Aegon, you’re high.”

“Noooo,” he drawled, grinning lazily. “I’m enlightened.”

“Right,” you muttered, crouching down beside him. “Come on, you need to get up before someone sees you like this.”

“But why?” he whined, flopping back against the floor dramatically. “The floor is so cool. And these lights—look at them! They flicker like tiny dragons. Do you think they know they’re dragons?”

You suppressed another sigh, wondering if maybe the library wasn’t the best place. Maybe it wasn’t too late to smuggle him back to his chambers unnoticed. Grabbing his arm, you hauled him up with surprising effort. “You’re lucky Aegon,” you muttered.

“I am lucky,” he said, leaning heavily on you as you guided him toward the exit. “You’re amazing. Like… the best. You’re like a book, but alive. A live book.”

“Just keep walking,” you said, resisting the urge to laugh. The sooner you got him out of here, the better. He kept leaning into you, his body a dead weight against your side as you struggled to keep your balance.

And then you saw it—a flash of movement as his hand reached into his pocket and pulled something out. You froze for half a second, horrified.

“Aegon!” you snapped, glaring at the suspiciously familiar square in his hand. “How many did you eat?”

He blinked at you, as though trying to remember. “Two?” he said after a beat, holding up three fingers.

“Stop! Aegon, no!” You grabbed for the edible, but he stumbled back, clutching it to his chest like it was some sort of sacred treasure.

“They’re mine!” he slurred, grinning mischievously. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“I literally am right now,” you hissed, lunging for him again. He dodged with surprising agility—or maybe it was just your body’s stiffness slowing you down. Either way, he darted behind a shelf, giggling like a madman.

“Aegon, I swear—,” you muttered, chasing after him.

“Calm down,” he said, popping the edible into his mouth with theatrical defiance. “What’s the worst that could happen? I’ll just be… double enlightened!”

“You’re gonna green out Aegon! You’ve never done this before!” you shot back, your frustration mounting. “And then I’ll have to explain to the Queen why her son is drooling on himself in the middle of the library!”

He laughed, a sound that echoed far too loudly in the quiet space. “You worry too much,” he said, swaying as he tried to lean casually against the shelf. It didn’t work; he slid down to the floor in a heap, still grinning.

You crouched in front of him, your hands on your knees as you stared him down. “Alright, listen to me,” you said, your voice low and firm. “You cannot eat any more of these, understand? I don’t care if they taste like heaven itself—you’re done.”

He tilted his head, his eyes glassy but vaguely focused on you. “You’re so serious all the time,” he murmured, poking your arm with a lazy finger. “It’s cute.”

You groaned, standing back up and grabbing his arm. “Come on, Prince Enlightened. Let’s get you to bed before you start philosophizing about candle wax or something equally ridiculous.”

“Candle wax,” he mused as you hauled him to his feet. “Why does it melt? Is it sad? Do you think it misses being a candle when it’s just a puddle?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

“Let’s just focus on walking,” you said through gritted teeth, dragging him toward the exit. Aegon stumbled along beside you, still muttering half-formed thoughts about the existential plight of candles.

The library’s dim light and solemn silence made his absurdity even more unbearable as Aegon giggled uncontrollably.

“Quiet,” you hissed, glancing around. “Do you want people to see you like this?”

“See me?” he asked, slurring the words. “I’m a prince. They’re lucky to—hic—breathe the same air as me.”

“God help me,” you muttered under your breath. “Keep it together, Aegon. We’re almost there.”

As you rounded a corner, Aegon suddenly stopped, his arm jerking you to a halt. “Wait!” he said, his tone serious for the first time all evening.

“What now?” you asked, exasperated.

He squinted at a tapestry on the wall, his eyes wide with a kind of wonder you hadn’t expected. “Look at it,” he whispered, pointing dramatically.

You glanced at the tapestry—a perfectly ordinary depiction of dragons and knights. “It’s a tapestry,” you said flatly.

“No, it’s more than that,” he insisted, swaying as he stared at it. “The dragons… they’re like… us.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Aegon, we are not dragons.”

He turned to you, his expression solemn. “Not with that attitude.”

“Alright, that’s it.” You tightened your grip on his arm and started dragging him again. “We’re leaving before you start a lecture series.”

Aegon laughed as you pulled him along, his steps growing heavier with each passing moment. By the time you reached the hallway leading to his chambers, he was leaning on you entirely, his weight making your arms ache.

“Almost there,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Aegon sighed dramatically, his head lolling onto your shoulder. “You’re so nice,” he mumbled. “Why’re you so nice to me? Nobody else is this nice.”

You paused, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. His face was soft, vulnerable in a way that made your chest tighten.

“I’m not nice,” you said after a moment, your voice quieter. “I just…” I don’t want to be killed. Is what you wanted to say and what was true, but Aegon in this state…well why not humor him. “I don't want you to get hurt.”

He hummed, his eyes fluttering closed. “Still nice,” he murmured, his words slurring together.

You shook your head, hauling him the last few feet to his door. As you shoved open the door, you couldn’t help but think that this was the closest you’d ever seen to Aegon being truly at peace.

And it had only taken two edibles and a philosophical crisis about candle wax.

You pushed the door open with your shoulder, nearly tripping over Aegon as he slumped heavily against you.

“Just sit down,” you muttered, dragging him toward the nearest chaise. He stumbled, flopping onto the cushions with a dramatic sigh, his limbs sprawled in every direction.

“This is great,” he mumbled, running his hands over the fabric. “So soft. Is this new? Feels new.”

“It’s not new, Aegon,” you replied, brushing your hair out of your face as you straightened up. “You’ve been sitting on this chaise for years. Now stay here and don’t—”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out another edible with a sheepish grin.

“Aegon! How many of those do you have?” you snapped, snatching it out of his hand.

“Relax,” he drawled, waving you off. “It’s just one. Or maybe two? Wait… was it three?”

You stared at him, horrified. “Aegon, stop! No more! Do you have any idea what’s in these?”

“Deliciousness,” he replied, leaning back with a lazy grin. “Want one?”

“Yes Aegon, give me all the ones you have.” You watched him pat himself and a pout form on his lips.

“It’s gone.” He mumbled and you sighed. As long as he didn’t have anymore.

“Okay Aegon, go to sleep.”

“No, I’m okay. I’m…” He began giggling. “I swear, I don’t why” Aegon couldn’t finish his sentence as he began to laugh even more. You saw his legs go weak and he was on the floor laughing. You were left standing there in his chambers. “I don't know why I’m laughing. I’m okay!” You watched as Aegon kept trying to stand but he just couldn’t.

Ignoring his antics, you started pacing, glancing toward the door to make sure no one had followed you. “This is a disaster,” you muttered under your breath. “If anyone sees you like this…”

Finally after a while his laughter ceased and he crawled to his bed using it as a pillar to hold on to as he dragged himself up. “See me like what?” Aegon interrupted, throwing his arms wide. “I’m fine. Perfectly fine. The picture of princely grace.”

You turned on your heel, fixing him with a glare. “You’re high as a kite and acting like an overgrown child. That’s not fine.”

He blinked at you, then grinned. “You know, you’re cute when you’re mad. And in any case you came to the library to meet me and now we're in my room.” He began to unbuckle his pants. “My dragon is ready.”

“Aegon no.” You rushed to him holding his hands in place as you tried to keep his pants up. He bucked into your hands and tangled his hands in your hair pulling you closer to him.

“You always smell so good.” Aegon inhaled you as you tried to buckle his hands ignoring the obvious…issue he was having. “So good,” he mumbled into your neck, still smelling you. “I wanted to do this for so long, since the first night we danced. You smelled so good back then too. Sweetest thing I’ve ever smelt. You ruined whores f’me.” His words slurred together.

“Aegon, go to sleep.” You pushed him off of your and he landed on his bed.

“I like where this is going.” He smiled as he went to take off his shirt.

“Stay here.” You pointed at him raising a brow while walking away slowly. You can’t be caught in this man’s room while he’s trying to undress. It would be catastrophic for you.

Aegon propped himself up on his elbows, his half-lidded eyes watching you retreat. “You’ll come back?” he asked, his voice carrying a surprising hint of vulnerability.

“Yes, I will… later,” you assured him, forcing a smile. “Pretend to sleep. Count to two hundred, and then backward. That’s when I’ll come back, okay?”

He blinked at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he nodded lazily. “Two hundred… backwards. Got it.”

You pressed yourself against the cold stone of the secret door in his chamber, the familiar click sounding as it swung open. You slipped through, casting one last glance over your shoulder to make sure he wasn’t following.

The moment the door closed behind you, you exhaled a shaky breath. The dark corridors of Maegor’s secret passageways enveloped you in their eerie silence. No matter how many times you traversed these halls, they always felt like something out of a spy’s tale—clandestine and slightly dangerous.

Your steps echoed faintly as you navigated the maze-like tunnels. The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of dust and old stone, and your fingers grazed the rough walls to keep your bearings. The darkness didn’t faze you anymore; you’d memorized these paths well enough to find your way without hesitation.

As you walked, your thoughts drifted to Aegon’s words. “You’ll come back?” The way he had said it… it was almost childlike, a far cry from his usual bravado. You shook your head, dismissing the thought. There was no time to dwell on Aegon’s fleeting vulnerability when you had your own problems to worry about.

Finally, you reached the hidden entryway to your own chambers. Pressing your ear against the door to ensure no one was nearby, you slipped through the opening and into the safety of your room. With a sigh of relief, you leaned against the wall, closing your eyes for a moment.

Tomorrow would be another day of maneuvering through the precarious web you’d woven for yourself, but for now, you were content to have avoided yet another disaster.

…

9th day of the 6th moon of 129 AC

Your apology is well received. I must admit my reaction was excessive. I apologize for my outburst. This subject is as if one is probing at an open wound. For most of my life I have dealt with such claims. I thank you for your honest thoughts and like you, I value our friendship very much. You have shown me things that never in my life I would ever see, and for that I am grateful. Our time spent together in the Red Keep was most amusing and if you had been in better condition, I would’ve given you a proper show around Dragonstone. I have been told you prefer it to the Red Keep. There are many secrets within Dragonstone, and Luke told me you found the architecture most appealing. I was not aware you found such interest in architecture. Perhaps one day in the future when you come visit Dragonstone, I can show you more on the basis that you show another movie. I hope to hear from you soon.

(P.S. I do not know what that means.)

—Jacaerys Velaryon

…

“How many children do you reckon are in that orphanage?” you asked, cracking your knuckles as you leaned back in your chair.

“It’s the smallest one, m’lady. About twenty. I counted myself,” came the reply from a boy no older than ten. He stepped closer as you set down your quill.

“Atta boy. I’m glad you’ve taken to numbers so well.” You reached out to ruffle his hair with a smile, earning a shy grin in return.

“Are you almost finished with the story, m’lady?” He tilted his head, glancing at the parchment on your desk.

“Yes, just now,” you replied with a nod. “Has everyone bathed? And did your sister finish counting the coins?” Turning fully to face him, you withdrew your hand and gestured toward the other side of the room.

“I believe so, m’lady. Will you read us the story?” His eyes sparkled with curiosity, darting back to the writing. Recently, they’d all started learning to read, their progress slow but promising. Their handwriting was improving, too—a little shaky, but legible.

“I’ll read it to the orphans while you all distribute the food. You’ll hear it then,” you assured him before standing to let the ink dry. Your gaze shifted to a girl of about fifteen—the eldest of the group.

“How much?” you asked as you approached her.

“209 silver stags, 49 copper stars, and 56 copper pennies,” she replied promptly, holding out the coins in a small pouch.

“Good,” you said, inspecting the contents briefly. “Now, convert it into gold dragons for me.”

“1 gold dragon, 7 silver stags, and 0 copper pennies,” she calculated quickly.

You smiled, reaching into the pouch and pulling out a few coins. “Wonderful. Since you’re the eldest, here’s three silver stags. Use them to buy more sapwood smiles if needed and handle your groceries. Oh, and that old woman I pay rent to—I owe her one silver stag. Make sure she gets it.”

“Yes, m’lady.” She accepted the coins with a small nod.

“Alright then,” you said, turning your attention to the room. “Is everything packed?”

“Yes,” came a quick chorus of voices from the ten or so children bustling about.

“Good. Let’s get moving. One of you will lead the way,” you instructed, glancing at the youngest—a five-year-old clutching a small bundle tightly to his chest. The sight made your chest ache, but you pushed the feeling aside.

There was work to be done.

With everyone ready, you gave the signal, and the children lined up at the door. The eldest girl, clutching her share of coins, stepped forward to lead the group. You hung back for a moment, ensuring nothing had been forgotten. A single misstep—leaving behind even the smallest item—could unravel everything.

“All right, keep close to each other,” you said, your voice firm but gentle. “No wandering off.”

“Yes, m’lady,” they chorused, their voices a mix of excitement and nervousness.

The streets were quieter than usual, though the occasional drunkard or suspicious glance reminded you that it was always best to move quickly. The youngest ones clutched their bundles tightly, their wide eyes taking in the night’s shadows.

“Head down, keep moving,” you instructed softly as you walked behind them, your eyes scanning for any sign of trouble.

The orphanage wasn’t far, but every step felt heavier under the weight of responsibility. The coins jingling softly in the pouch at your side reminded you of the risk you were taking. Feeding and sheltering this many children wasn’t just a kindness—it was a gamble. One wrong move, one sharp-eyed noble or greedy merchant, and you could lose everything.

As the group approached the orphanage, a familiar figure stepped out of the shadows: the matron, a stout woman with a lined face and sharp eyes that softened only for the children.

“You’re late,” she grumbled, though her tone held no real bite.

“I had extra mouths to feed,” you replied, tilting your head toward the children behind you. “Everything’s ready.”

The matron nodded and waved the group inside. “Come on, then. Quickly now.”

You stepped aside, watching as the children filed in, their small forms disappearing into the dimly lit building. The eldest paused at the door, glancing back at you with a questioning look.

“Go on,” you said softly. “I’ll join you soon.”

She hesitated for a moment before nodding and slipping inside.

Once the door closed, you exhaled, allowing yourself a brief moment to relax. This was your second time here in this orphanage. The last time you donated a silver moon, this time you would distribute food. The experiment you had done earlier this week. Pizza. An easy thing to make.

You walked into the large hall watching your own children distribute the pizza. There should be enough for everyone to get, caretakers included. One of your children offered and you shook your head. It was for them.

Finally you took your seat at the head of the hall.

The matron raised an eyebrow as you unrolled the parchment, settling onto the low wooden bench where the children had gathered. “What’s the story this time?”

You smiled faintly, glancing at the eager faces illuminated by the flickering firelight. “A tale of bravery,” you said. “A favorite tale of mine.”

The children murmured excitedly, scooting closer. Even the older ones who often acted aloof leaned in, their curiosity getting the better of them. “In a land far from here. On the greatest the old world had ever seen. On the Great Wall of China…”

…

18th day of the 6th moon of 129 AC

Dear Jacaerys Velaryon,

Thank you for accepting my apology, but I still find myself feeling very guilty, had I known more of your past I would’ve treated you more carefully, however it is still no excuse. In anycase, I am glad you value me as deeply as I value you. Maybe, one day in the future when my standing here in King’s Landing is solidified and I have a chance to simply enjoy life, I can go back to Dragonstone. Though I must say, I will not be going by boat, I get very sick while I’m on the boat. If I may be so bold, I would ask for another ride on Vermax. He was my first dragon riding experience after all. I enjoyed it, as I enjoy many things. My interest in the architecture of Dragonstone is rooted in the similarities that it shares with many old civilizations that I am currently trying to replicate, though no one knows that yet, but you are my friend and I hold no secrets from my friends. As for your request for another movie. I would be most happy to oblige. It has been quite some time since I have been able to just sit down and enjoy a movie like we did. I hope that peaceful times come soon for me. I hope to hear from you as well, I find this very fun. I have never sent any real letters before. I only played it when I was a child and I would ‘send’ them to my parents who lived in that house, so I do not think it really counts. I also like putting it on the bird. Really solidifies the feeling of being ‘old school.’

(P.S. In a letter, "P.S." is an abbreviation for "postscript" or in other words "PS" is used to add a comment, thought, or piece of information after the main message of a letter.)

…

You hummed softly listening to the music in your airpods, which you must say are pleasantly surprised they still work. In any case you had spent a good two hours sitting down revising your proposals, it it was good to stretch your legs. The place was mostly empty, save for the occasional assistant of the Grand Maester shuffling in to retrieve a book. You were tucked away on the second floor, near the window where the light spilled across your desk. It was quiet, and while you appreciated the peace, it left you alone with the nagging frustration simmering in your chest.

Two weeks. That’s all the time you had left before presenting your proposal to the council. It was… fine. Just fine. Average, really, and that wasn’t going to be enough. You had underestimated how much effort this would take—the endless revisions, the careful balancing act. The legal system you needed to make it work didn’t exist, and the proposal couldn’t take shape without it. A maddening little circle you had no way to break.

And then there was the second part of the plan. Bold. Revolutionary. Problematic. The council wouldn’t like it—it was too much, too fast. Change wasn’t something they handled well, not when it challenged their traditions. But you needed this to work. This proposal was your foothold, your insurance for when Rhaenyra took the throne.

Of course, with Rhaenyra came the biggest thorn in your side.

Daemon Targaryen.

The thought of him set your teeth on edge. His smug face, his mocking grin, that damned sword always resting on his side—it was enough to make your blood boil. You stopped pacing, gripping the windowsill as you stared out into the courtyard. Daemon wouldn’t just be an annoyance when Rhaenyra ruled; he’d be a threat. The first thing he’d probably do as King Consort would be to find some creative way to remove you from the picture.

The thought of it made your stomach churn. You could still see him, lounging in court like he had all the time in the world, Dark Sister resting beside him as though it was an extension of his hand. He could take you apart with a look if he wanted to, and he knew it.

“Arrogant bastard,” you muttered under your breath, your grip tightening on the windowsill.

You shook your head, forcing yourself to focus. You couldn’t afford to waste time stewing over Daemon—not when you still hadn’t worked out the finer points of your plan. You pulled your chair closer to the table, shuffling through the stack of parchment filled with half-formed ideas and discarded revisions.

“Two weeks,” you murmured to yourself, like it was some sort of mantra. “Two weeks to figure it out.” You dipped your quill into the inkpot, trying to center your thoughts, but his shadow lingered in the back of your mind. Daemon was a storm waiting to strike, and you’d need more than a clever proposal to keep him at bay.

Your gaze drifted to the side, landing on the smoking pipe resting on the table. Redwood—sturdy and elegant, though a pain to carve. You still remembered the splinters, but it had been worth it. Naturally fire-resistant and perfect for the task. And, as luck would have it, you had some of your stash with you.

To be clear, you hadn’t planned on smoking today. Truly, you hadn’t. But Daemon Targaryen had a way of grating on your nerves like no one else. The man was a living, breathing annoyance, and right now, he was just too much to deal with.

So, like any rational person faced with such frustration, you reached for the pipe.

It had been months since you last indulged, but as the smoke hit the back of your throat, you felt a strange kind of relief. You held it there for a moment before crossing to the window, exhaling slowly into the cool air. The effects wouldn’t take long. They never did—especially not after this much time.

You leaned against the window frame, the redwood pipe resting loosely between your fingers. The breeze from outside carried the remnants of smoke away, dissipating into nothing. It wasn’t long before the familiar warmth began to spread—a slow unraveling of tension, the sharp edges of your irritation softening.

Daemon’s smug face, his insufferable quips, his incessant need to loom over every room he entered—it all seemed… smaller now. Manageable. Almost amusing, if you thought about it the right way. You allowed yourself a small laugh, low and self-deprecating. “Imagine that,” you murmured to no one, “Daemon Targaryen, reduced to a passing annoyance.”

You took another hit as you were inhaling a voice sounded from behind you. “What are you doing?” You began coughing trying to blow away the smoke. It didn’t work. Aegon looked at you with a confused face. Why he was in here, you couldn’t say. Maybe he still had a little thorn on his side when you never returned last week to his chambers. Oh well.

“What was that?” He raised a brow looking at you.

“Nothing.” You shook your head and shrugged playing dumb.

“I saw smoke come from your mouth.”

“No…” You looked around feigning innocence. “No I don’t think so.” You barely had time to compose yourself before Aegon stepped closer to you, his brow furrowed in confusion and mild amusement. His eyes darted between you and the faint wisp of smoke still lingering near the window.

“Definitely saw smoke,” he said, crossing his arms. “Are you… burning something?”

“Of course not,” you replied quickly, waving a hand to dismiss the notion. “Why would I be burning something in a library?”

He squinted, his lips twitching with the beginnings of a smirk. “You’re lying.”

You straightened, feigning indignation. “I am not lying, Aegon.”

“Then what’s in your hand?”

Your fingers instinctively tightened around the pipe, hidden just out of his view. “My hand is empty.”

“It’s definitely not.” He stepped closer, leaning in as if he could physically pry the truth from your demeanor. “And it doesn’t smell like nothing.”

You sighed, realizing you wouldn’t shake him off easily. “Fine. If you must know, I was testing… aromatics. For medicinal purposes.”

“Aromatics?” His grin spread wide now. “You mean you’re…. smoking something.”

“Not smoking,” you corrected with a pointed look. “Testing. Big difference.”

Aegon chuckled, leaning casually against the table as he tilted his head to scrutinize you. “You’ve been holding out on me, haven’t you? What is it? Something strong? Do I get to try? Is it like whatever I ate last week? Also… you never came back.”

“No,” you replied firmly. “Absolutely not. And for the record, I did come back. You just didn’t wake up.” You gave a nonchalant shrug, as if it wasn’t worth elaborating further.

“Well, first off, you tricked me,” he shot back, narrowing his eyes in mock accusation. “And second, why not? Don’t you trust me?”

“Not even a little,” you deadpanned, turning back toward the window, deliberately avoiding his gaze. “And I didn’t trick you. You just fell asleep like a babe.”

“Because you told me to count! Everyone knows counting puts people to sleep,” he argued, pushing off the table and stepping closer. “In any case, you should share with the First Prince. It’s only fair.”

“No. You’ll choke,” you said flatly, already regretting engaging with him.

“Then teach me,” he pressed, his voice edging on a whine as he reached toward your hand.

“You don’t even know what it does.”

“No, but I want to try it,” he said with a mischievous grin.

“Okay… fine.”

His face lit up. “Really?”

“No,” you said, voice dry as the desert.

Aegon blinked, realization dawning as he groaned. “You’re not funny.”

You smirked, glancing over your shoulder at him. “I think I’m hilarious. But seriously, Aegon, this isn’t for you.”

“Why not? I’m practically an expert after last week,” he said, gesturing dramatically. “I survived, didn’t I?”

“Barely,” you muttered under your breath, turning back to the window and taking another drag. The smoke curled lazily in the air as you exhaled, letting the faint buzz settle in. “And you weren’t smoking. You ate an edible. Different effects. Besides, that edible should’ve taken time but you absorbed it like it was nothing and you were trippin’, I don’t think you can handle smoking it.”

Aegon wasn’t giving up. He stepped closer, his voice dripping with curiosity. “What’s it even like? Is it… calming? Does it make your thoughts clearer? Or fuzzier? I want to know. Also what is…tripping?”

You raised an eyebrow, finally turning to face him. “Smoking is faster, depending on the person. It takes the edge off, which, frankly, you don’t need. You’re already as sharp as a butter knife.” You giggled. “Trippin is the feeling you get when you’re high.” Your smile was ear to ear, like the way it always was when you were high.

He gasped in mock offense, clutching his chest as if mortally wounded. “That is cruel, my lady.”

“Is it?” you teased, taking another hit and blowing the smoke lazily in his direction.

Aegon grinned, entirely undeterred. “It is. And who better to share your experiments with than me?”

You rolled your eyes, exhaling slowly. “It’s not an experiment, Aegon. It’s just something I use when things get stressful. You don’t need this. You’ve got wine.”

He clapped his hands together, leaning forward eagerly. “One, please.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “One?”

“One,” he repeated, hands still clasped like a pleading child.

“Just one?”

“Just once,” he said with an exaggerated nod, already reaching for the pipe.

“Okay,” you relented, handing it over with a smirk. He took it, examining it like it was some foreign artifact before glancing back at you.

“What do I do?”

“You don’t know how to smoke?”

“No, we don’t smoke.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Then how’d you know what it was called?”

“I saw it smoking, so I asked,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Oh.”

“So… what do I do?”

“Right. You inhale, hold it for a moment, then exhale. It’s something you’ll get the hang of.”

“Simple enough,” he said, bringing the pipe to his lips. He took a deep inhale, his face immediately turning red as he began to cough violently.

“What the—” he choked out, trying desperately to expel the smoke from his lungs. “Oh, gods—what is this?”

You couldn’t hold it in any longer. Laughter bubbled out of you, loud and uncontrollable as you leaned against a nearby table for support.

Aegon scowled through his coughing fit, shoving the pipe back into your hands. “This is vile,” he croaked, clearing his throat.

Still laughing, you waved him off, struggling to catch your breath. “You… you said you wanted to try it!”

“Not like that!” he snapped, shaking his head but unable to suppress a grin of his own.

You took the pipe back, wiping tears from your eyes. “Stick to wine, Aegon.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” he muttered, his voice still hoarse as he flopped into a nearby chair. “That’s the last time I trust you with anything.”

“Good choice,” you quipped, smirking as you leaned back toward the window, savoring your small victory.

Eventually, you settled into the chair beside him, your eyes drifting to the scattered papers in front of you. Taking another long draw from the pipe, you exhaled a steady plume of smoke, watching it curl toward the ceiling.

“It seriously doesn’t burn for you?” he asked, rubbing at his throat.

“You probably did it wrong,” you said, shrugging. “It shouldn’t burn that bad. I messed it up my first time too. After a while, you either get used to it… or figure out a better way.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning back and studying you skeptically. “And here I thought you were supposed to be a master of all things questionable.”

“Give it time,” you replied with a grin, tapping ash from the pipe. “You’ll be coughing less if you try again—maybe.”

“I’ll stick to wine,” he shot back, but the faintest trace of curiosity lingered in his voice. You shrugged before a silence overtook you both. You felt the effects coming in, your muscles relaxing and your eyes drooping slightly. The constant feel of gravity over your body. The music through your airpods felt magical. All you needed now was something to eat.

“So what is all this?” He gestured towards the table.

You gave a sigh putting down the pipe. “Just some proposal.” As you spoke, puffs of smoke left you.

“A proposal?” Aegon leaned forward, his curiosity momentarily outweighing his usual apathy. His fingers drummed against the edge of the table as he glanced over the scattered papers. “What kind of proposal needs that much writing?”

You glanced at Aegon out of the corner of your eye and reached up to pause your music. “Every proposal, Aegon,” you muttered, sinking further into your chair. “I don’t even want to do it. It’s too much work. And it’s due in, what, two weeks?” You let out a laugh, sharp and self-mocking. “Yeah, no. It’s not happening.”

With the music paused and anticipating that Aegon wasn’t going to let the conversation die, you pulled out your AirPods case, idly tucking the buds back inside.

“What are those? I saw them in your bag. They go in your ears?” Aegon asked, eyeing the small white case with curiosity.

“Oh, right. You don’t have these here.” You held up the case, turning it in your hands. “They’re called AirPods. Yeah, they go in your ears so you can listen to music.”

“Music?” he echoed, tilting his head. “How does music come out of that?”

“Well, it doesn’t come from these exactly—it comes from this.” You reached into your bag and pulled out your phone, waving it lightly.

“The box! I saw that too, but it looked different—the front wasn’t lighting up like that.” Aegon leaned closer, intrigued.

“It’s called a phone,” you corrected, smirking at his fascination. “Anyway, the music’s stored on here. It connects to the AirPods through Bluetooth, which basically lets devices communicate using short-range radio waves or... something like that.” You waved your hand vaguely, the effort to explain already feeling monumental in your current state. “It works. That’s all I care about.”

Aegon’s brows furrowed, clearly lost. “Right... and you’re not mad I went through your stuff?”

You shook your head, smiling faintly as you cleaned your AirPods case. “Honestly? I don’t feel anything right now.” You chuckled lazily. “But even if I did, I don’t think I’d care. As long as you didn’t break anything, it’s whatever.”

“I think I like you better like this,” Aegon said, grinning. You laughed, handing him the phone.

“What do I do with this... phone?”

“Swipe to the right.”

“Woah, what’s this?” He turned the phone over in his hands, staring at the screen like it might come alive.

“Here, let me see.” Your movements were slow, almost exaggerated as you reached over and took the phone back. “Say ‘cheese.’”

“Cheese?” he echoed, confused, just as you snapped a photo. You turned the phone to show him the image.

“Woah! It’s like a portrait, but... with the eye!”

“Yeah, it’s called a picture,” you explained, amused.

“What else can it do?”

“Well, before I ended up here? A lot of things.” You smiled softly, leaning back in your chair. “You remember that night we danced, and I said I’d show you the music from where I’m from?”

Aegon nodded eagerly. “You did. You said you’d teach me how to dance, too.”

Aegon grinned, settling comfortably into his chair. “Play something, then. Let’s see what your box can do.”

“Bet.” You smirked, scrolling through your library. “There’s a lot more, but this is all I managed to save before I ended up here, so... we’re working with limited options.” You handed him the phone. “Just press anything that looks interesting.”

A few moments later, a beat filled the air: “Siento aquí tu presencia. La noche de anoche. Y nos ponemos a llorar…” The music was loud. “Kendrick?” You laughed. “On your first song? You chose Kendrick?” You smiled standing up tapping his shoulder while ‘wacced out murals’ played. “I always knew you were something special.” You leaned back against the table.

Aegon raised an eyebrow, tilting his head as the music unfolded. “This is music?”

You nodded, leaning back against the table, arms crossed. “This is a different genre. Hip-Hop. Rap, specifically. Kendrick’s a lyricist—his whole deal is using music to tell stories, share experiences, or make a point. It’s not just something you vibe to; you listen to it.” You smiled faintly, letting the song’s rhythm carry the conversation. “He’s got a lot to say, and he’s real good at saying it.”

Aegon studied you, his expression somewhere between amused and intrigued. “And this... this is what you listen to when you’re stressed?”

“Sometimes,” you admitted, taking another draw from your pipe and exhaling slowly. “Depends on the vibe. But Kendrick? He’s a solid choice for any mood. Especially if you’re from California, his music just hits better.”

“California?” Aegon asked, listening to the beat.

You nodded. “He’s from the West Coast. It's the whole thing, East vs West. A whole story.” You took back your phone. “Y’know who else is from the West coast. This’ll give you a better idea of the rivalry.” You scrolled down smiling before pressing on it.

“That's why I fucked yo' bitch, you fat motherfucker. West side, Bad Boy killers.” You pointed at him as you spoke while Aegon’s eyes widened at the vulgar words. You let the song play as you took another hit from your pipe.“First off, fuck your bitch and the clique you claim. Westside when we ride, come equipped with game. You claim to be a player but I fucked your wife” You kept up with the lyrics while smiling watching Aegon’s face. You started laughing letting the song play.

Aegon leaned forward, his brows lifting in shock as the opening lyrics hit him like a slap. “What!?” he exclaimed, his expression teetering between horrified and amused. “They just... say that? Openly?”

You sat on the table moving your head to the beat. “Yup. It’s a diss track. Did numbers in the 90s.” You probably shouldn’t be telling him about all of these things, but at this point, you weren’t really thinking.

“Diss track? 90s?” he echoed, still staring at your phone like it was some kind of enchanted artifact.

“Yeah,” you said, amused by his wide-eyed curiosity. “Think of it like a verbal duel, but with rhythm and a beat. Tupac and Biggie—two legends, two coasts, locked in a rivalry that shook the world of music. This track? ‘Hit ‘Em Up.’ Was the best in my humble opinion.”

“And he fucked his wife?” Aegon smiled listening to the song.

“He fucked his wife.” You confirmed smiling. “Yeah so many things happened and then…well then he was killed.”

“For a song?” Aegon furrowed his brows.

You nodded. “There was more at play but the whole entertainment industry is dark. So many things happen behind the scenes and sometimes people get killed. Also they were involved with gangs and things like that, so…”

“Voilent place.”Aegon said leaning back as the diss track played.

“Real voilent.” You nodded to the beat.

“Fuck you and yo’ motherfucking mama!” Aegon looked over to the phone shaking his head with a disbelieving laugh.

“Fuck Mobb Deep, fuck Biggie. Fuck Bad Boy as a staff, record label and as a motherfuckin' crew. And if you want to be down with Bad Boy, then fuck you too. Chino XL, fuck you too. All you motherfuckers, fuck you too” You laughed as you followed the lyrics while Aegon shook his head as you spoke the lyrics. “My favorite part.”

“How vulgar. If only my mother heard you,” Aegon barked out a laugh, shaking his head.

“God, can you imagine? I’d be dead by tomorrow or something.” You chuckled, taking another hit before pausing, realizing you should probably stop. It’d been a while since your last session, and you didn’t want to risk greening out.

Aegon leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You want to hear something real vulgar?” you asked, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. “That was just talking shit. Female rappers these days? They go crazy. Sexxy Red, Ice Spice, Cardi B, Megan Thee Stallion. Though Nicki Minaj was the original—changed the whole game for female rappers back in the 2010s.”

Aegon squinted, incredulous. “What are these names? Ice Spice? What is that?” His laughter rang out, the disbelief plain on his face. “Sexxy Red? Seriously? Do people actually call themselves that?”

You nodded, grinning at his reaction. “Yup. Those are their stage names. It’s not their real names, obviously, but it’s what everyone knows them by. Think of it like... titles. Like how Aegon the Conqueror wasn’t really called that in day-to-day life—he was Aegon Targaryen. Same idea. It’s about building a persona, making a name that sticks.”

He tilted his head, considering it for a moment, a wry smile on his lips. “So you’re saying Ice Spice is their version of Aegon the Conqueror?”

You smirked. “Basically. You wanna hear one of her songs?”

Aegon glanced around, his eyes scanning the room before walking to the edge of the balcony, checking to make sure the door was closed. When he turned back to you, he gave a quick nod. You smiled, stood up, and made your way over to him. He peered over your shoulder as you scrolled through your phone.

“Hmmm... Deli? Oh! Look.” You tapped the screen, revealing “Gang Baby” by NLE Choppa. “It’s not Ice Spice, but the women aren’t the only ones speaking here. So, NLE or Ice? Which one do you want?”

Aegon raised an eyebrow, eyeing you. “Which one’s better?”

You shrugged. “Both are good, but NLE is a bit more…explicit. Ice has better beats, in my opinion.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Go with the girl, then.”

You tapped on the song, and the familiar beat started to thump in the background. Aegon furrowed his brows, looking at your phone. “Is that what she looks like?” he asked, eyes glued to the preview of the video that Spotify provided. There she was—Ice Spice, rocking her signature orange wig, booty shorts, and a white tank top.

“Why is her hair like that? And...where are her clothes? She looks good. Nice arse. Bigger than yours.”

You shot him an incredulous look. “The stray!?” you laughed, shaking your head. “Anyways, that's a wig. And that’s what we wear—or what we can wear. Short shorts and wife beaters.”

“Wife beaters!?”

“Yeah. It’s just the name they have. It's because that’s what men wear when they beat their wives,” You purse your lips nodding.

Aegon stared at you, wide-eyed while giving a disbelieving laugh.“Beat their wives!?”

“Well obviously it’s not accepted, but it’s another name those shirts have, because it falls in line with the stereotype, but yeah. It’s not funny but…it’s just a name they have. Tank tops or sometimes just undershirts, but I grew up with people calling them wife beaters.” You explained when the song came to an end. “Gang baby?”

Aegon nodded and you pressed play. “Just listen.” As the lyrics began Aegon looked over with another disbelieving smile on his face.

He turned to you, shaking his head with a crooked grin. “You’re mad for liking this.”

“Mad in a good way, though.”

He didn’t answer, letting the beat take over, though his face said enough: curious, entertained, and undeniably hooked. “She told you she celibate, but she told me I can nail her shit.” You mumbled along with the song.

“You’re celibate?” Aegon asked as he continued to listen. You looked up at him before nodding. “Yeah.” Were you? Not with his brother you weren’t.

…

30th day of the 6th moon of 129 AC

There is no reason to feel your guilt. I assure you, everything has been forgiven. I do find myself wondering about your statement, about your security in King’s Landing. I am aware that Prince Daemon does not hold favorable feelings towards you however to fear that you are not safe within the Red Keep is a different matter entirely. Are you well? I am more than happy to extend an invitation for your stay here in Dragonstone if you feel your life is in peril, regardless of Prince Daemon’s feelings on the matter. I’m sure my Grandsire will not object to me being your personal escort to Dragonstone on Vermax if you dislike traveling by ship. I also enjoyed the joy ride we took on Vermax and I am more than willing to oblige with your request. Your stay here in Dragonstone would allow your studies to progress and my Grandsire I’m sure approves of this as your knowledge has helped him like no other has been able to. Dragonstone’s architecture has much to offer and is only rivaled by the Wall in the North, and Winterfell both designed by the engineering genius Bran the Builder. There is also the Hightower in Old town or Casterly Rock which is a castle built into a cliff side. There are many places but if you have an interest in the old world more reminiscent of Essos and Valyria Strongholds, Dragonstone is best. I am glad you value me as a friend enough to inform me of your endeavors. If you wish to explore civilizations of old then Old Valyria is best. My grandsire has an intense intrigue with our Valyrian roots. As the name suggests it had been here for many millennia and more and at its peak had over a thousand dragons and held most of Essos and ruled as overlords.

I truly do hope to see you once more here in Dragonstone.

(P.S. For your first letters they are well written and I must say that you are the first person I have ever truly sent letters too. I enjoy watching the birds return knowing that I am receiving a letter from you.)

…

If someone were to ask Alicent what she thought of you, Alicent would say that you were a peculiar girl (prone to sin) and had much potential (Not totally doomed to the Seven hells). Queen Alicent Hightower does not know you. Queen Alicent Hightower sees a desperate girl. Queen Alicent Hightower is not completely opposed to helping you.

However, Queen Alicent Hightower loves her children. Despite her failure with Aegon, she prides herself in her daughter, Helaena Targeyen. Her only daughter. (Even if she too is peculiar, but not your peculiar. Helaena can do no wrong and if she does, Helaena is a mother, mothers are prone to do peculiar things for their children.)

So when Helaena came back muttering sayings with wide eyes after your trip, Queen Alicent Hightower saw you to be a bit more peculiar than she originally had thought.

“A savior, saint, prophet, messiah all names will bear no fruition.” Helaena muttered as she stitched. “History is set.” She continued as Alicent bounced Jaehaerys on her knee. Saints, prophets, saviors, and messiahs. Helaena had never spoken of religion before. For a brief moment it excited Alicent. Something to share with her daughter.

Her excitement would bear no fruition.

If someone asked Alicent Hightower what she thought about you, Alicent wouldn’t know what to say. You simply were, nothing really special, but now you feed the commons and frequent orphanages. She had first learned of this two weeks after you had delivered her the disappointing results that Rhaenrya’s plain featured children were indeed legitimate. (Alicent still had her doubts) Alicent does not know what you spend your time doing (Now she knows you spend your time doing charitable acts) In the first two months, there was never a word of what you did. You stay cooped up in your room working on what Alicent had told you to work on (Treason) and nothing else…or at least that's what you led Alicent to believe. You are a minx—that's what Alicent thinks of you. A minx who had corrupted her daughter and her son. (Maybe if you were around Aegon more, she’d be able to blame you for him too) Helaena seeks you out for ‘popped corn’ and ‘potatoes with salt.’ Her poor daughter had become slightly more plump since encountering you.

Her grandchildren (A part of Alicent mourns that she is a grandmother in her thirties) have also grown plumper and refuse to eat certain foods. All thanks to you of course. Your time in the kitchen has grown exponentially. Now her own husband consumes what you cook, with…well only the gods know the answer.

Lord Beesbury has reported that stops in King’s Landing have improved the local economy. You buy from small stores that seemingly arose from nothing and yet now produce a great amount of coin, as for where you got your coin, Alicent cannot say.

Alicent for the life of her, does not know how you do it, but you now stand in the small council. The very council she once controlled alongside her father before you came along. The very council she fought so hard (waited for so long) to be in, and only three months here, you now stand far too close to Alicent’s position. As a pretty mouth whispering in the King’s ear who now seems more receptive to you more than ever.

“First, I would like to thank each and every one of you for your time today and your willingness to listen to my propositions…”

Alicent’s teeth nearly ground together. The sound of your voice grated at her nerves. How sweetly you spoke, how poised you stood, and—most of all—the audacity of wearing that dress. The emerald green silk had once brought Alicent strength when she needed it most, a gift to herself in the early, lonely days of her queenship. She had offered it to you out of courtesy, a gesture of mentorship to a young woman finding her footing. Now, it felt like you had stolen a piece of her, standing there in her council chamber, in her dress, with her King leaning forward to listen to you.

“…These creators often face a grave injustice: their labor and ingenuity are stolen when others imitate their work without permission or recognition.”

Alicent wanted to scoff aloud. How innocent you made yourself appear. But Alicent knew better. The subtle glances exchanged with Aemond, the whispered laughter between you and Helaena—it wasn’t mere goodwill that brought you here. No, you were something sharper. Something more dangerous.

“To address this issue, I humbly propose the establishment of a patent system…”

Viserys leaned forward, his expression alight with curiosity, and Lord Beesbury murmured his agreement. Alicent gripped the armrest of her chair tightly. Of course they’re enraptured. How could they not be?

“My vision for the patents is a simple promise,” you continued, your voice steady, each word measured. “To the inventor, the patents offer protection for a limited time—during which no one may copy, use, or sell their creation without consent. To society, they offer a legacy. After this period, the invention becomes public knowledge, free for everyone to use and improve upon.”

Your gaze swept across the council, meeting the eyes of each member in turn. Lord Beesbury was nodding slowly, the corners of his mouth curling upward. Ser Otto Hightower, however, remained impassive, his calculating eyes fixed on you as if trying to pierce through to your true intentions.

“Thus, a patent ensures that inventors are rewarded for their efforts,” you pressed on, “while ultimately sharing their knowledge to benefit all.”

Grand Maester Orwyle shifted slightly in his seat, his expression neutral but not hostile—a promising sign, given the usual disdain the Citadel held for unconventional ideas. Across the table, Ser Tyland Lannister smirked, his fingers tapping lightly against the polished wood. Whether his amusement stemmed from skepticism or intrigue, you couldn’t yet tell.

And then there was Rhaenyra. The princess leaned back in her chair, a spark of curiosity alight in her violet eyes. You met her gaze briefly, offering a slight, deliberate smile before continuing.

Alicent, however, did not return your glance. Instead, her knuckles whitened against the armrest, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Imagine, if you will, a blacksmith who crafts an entirely new type of plow,” you continued, allowing a moment for the council to visualize. “This plow turns the earth more efficiently, saving farmers hours of labor. Under the current system, another blacksmith could simply copy the design and sell it as their own, reaping the rewards without any of the effort. Why, then, would the first blacksmith ever bother to innovate again?”

A few council members nodded, most notably Lord Beesbury, who leaned forward eagerly.

“With a patent system, however,” you explained, “the original blacksmith would register their invention. This registration would be overseen by a neutral party, perhaps a specialized office within the Citadel or under the King’s authority. Upon approval, the blacksmith would be granted exclusive rights to manufacture and sell their plow for a specified number of years—ten, perhaps, or twenty.”

Viserys stroked his beard thoughtfully. “And what happens after these years are over?”

“At the end of the patent term,” you said, your voice firm and clear, “the invention becomes public knowledge, available for anyone to replicate and build upon. By then, the original inventor would have had ample opportunity to profit from their creation, and society as a whole would benefit from its widespread use.”

“And the process of registering this…patent?” Ser Otto interjected, his tone carefully neutral but his sharp gaze unrelenting. “Would it not be ripe for corruption? Any system can be exploited.”

“Indeed, my lord,” you acknowledged with a slight nod. “That is why the process must be transparent. Inventors would submit detailed descriptions or schematics of their creations, which would be reviewed by a panel of experts—selected for their impartiality and knowledge. If the invention is deemed truly novel and beneficial, the patent would be granted.”

Ser Tyland Lannister smirked, crossing his arms. “And these experts—would they not demand their share of coin for their favorable decisions? Even the most noble men have a price.”

“A valid concern,” you replied, meeting his gaze steadily. “This is why I propose strict penalties for corruption within the system. Any found guilty of such acts would face severe consequences—stripped of rank, fined heavily, or even imprisoned. Fear of reprisal is a potent deterrent.”

A murmur rippled through the council.

“And what of disputes?” Lord Jasper Wylde asked, his deep voice cutting through the room. “What if two inventors claim to have conceived the same idea?”

“A panel would also serve as arbiters in such cases,” you answered. “Evidence would be presented—designs, prototypes, or witnesses to the invention process—and the panel would rule in favor of the one who can most conclusively prove their claim.”

The King nodded slowly, his expression contemplative. “A structured system, indeed. But this sounds…complicated. Would it not overwhelm our courts and treasury?”

“It would be an investment, Your Grace,” you said earnestly. “The initial costs of establishing the system would be repaid tenfold through the innovations it encourages. Trade would flourish, industries would thrive, and Westeros would become the envy of the world for its ingenuity.”

Rhaenyra’s lips twitched as if suppressing a smile. Whether it was mocking or not, you couldn’t say. “Ambitious,” she said, leaning forward. “You think the people would accept such a change?”

“I do, Princess,” you said confidently. “Because it benefits them directly. Farmers with better tools, seamstresses with finer needles, sailors with more durable ships—all of this would improve lives. Once they see the results, they will embrace the system.”

Viserys leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You think not only of the present but of the future. I find your ideas…intriguing. I would like a detailed proposal drawn up for the council’s further consideration.”

You inclined your head deeply. “It would be my honor, Your Grace.”

Alicent’s nails dug into the armrest, her expression inscrutable. Too close. You are far too close.

“And you have a second proposal, yes?” Viserys offered. You nodded and stood straighter, puffing out your chest ever so slightly. You needed to radiate confidence.

“Yes your grace,” you said with a gracious smile before continuing. “My proposal is cut from the same cloth—one that builds upon the foundation of innovation and rewards hard work but seeks to invigorate our economy more broadly.”

The council members exchanged curious glances.

“In Westeros, we have lands rich with resources, craftsmen skilled in their trades, and people eager for opportunities. Yet much of this potential lies dormant, untapped,” you began. “Imagine a system where individuals, no matter their birth, could invest in ventures—merchants funding ships, farmers pooling resources to build mills, or craftsmen working together to establish workshops. With structured investments and shared profits, we could ignite a flame of enterprise that benefits all.”

Lord Beesbury raised a brow. “Shared profits? Are you suggesting some form of communal ventures?”

“Not precisely,” you clarified. “Rather, I propose we encourage what I would call ‘partnership economies.’ Merchants or lords with coin to spare could invest in promising ventures run by skilled individuals who lack the resources to begin on their own. These investors would receive a portion of the profits, but the ventures themselves would remain under the control of the original creators or craftsmen.”

“And how would this differ from a lord simply collecting his taxes or rents?” Ser Tyland Lannister asked, his voice edged with skepticism.

“It differs, my lord, because it incentivizes collaboration,” you said. “Instead of taking from the people what is already theirs, this system allows lords and merchants to grow wealth alongside those they invest in. A baker with better ovens produces more bread; a blacksmith with finer tools forges better weapons. Everyone benefits—not just the few.”

Viserys nodded, his interest clearly piqued. “You mean to say that wealth could be multiplied, rather than merely redistributed?”

“Precisely, Your Grace,” you affirmed. “This approach would encourage cooperation between the classes, foster innovation, and create a thriving middle class—artisans, merchants, and skilled workers who could contribute even more to the kingdom's prosperity.”

“Would this not disrupt the established order?” Ser Otto interjected, his voice sharp. “If smallfolk begin amassing wealth and influence, what need would they have of their lords? Such a system could lead to rebellion, not progress.”

“I understand your concern, Lord Hand,” you replied evenly. “But this system does not undermine the authority of lords; it enhances it. By investing in their people, lords would see greater returns from their lands and more loyal subjects. A smith who prospers thanks to his lord’s patronage will be far more devoted than one who sees his talents squandered.”

Queen Alicent’s lips pursed, her knuckles whitening against the armrest.

“And what would regulate such investments?” Lord Jasper Wylde asked. “To prevent fraud or disputes?”

“Contracts, my lord,” you said. “Binding agreements overseen by the crown or local magistrates. These contracts would clearly define terms—how much is invested, how profits are shared, and for how long the agreement stands. Any disputes would be resolved through the courts, ensuring fairness and transparency.”

Ser Harrold Westerling, who had remained silent thus far, tilted his head. “And what of those who cannot repay their debts? Would this not lead to a rise in indentures or worse?”

“A valid concern, Ser Harrold,” you acknowledged. “This is why investments must be made with care. Only those ventures deemed viable by an impartial body—perhaps a council of merchants or scholars—would qualify. And as for those who fail, there would be no punitive measures that strip them of their dignity. Instead, they might work to repay their debts over time through service or labor.”

“You prepose slavery?” Otto spoke and your confidence cracked and Alicent was there to see it form. “Slavery is a thing of Essos, The Targaryens left their costumes in Essos, are you attempting to bring back such horrid acts?”

You took a deep breath. “No. Slavery is a thing of the past. A flawed system. It breeds resentment, resentment breeds revolts. I have seen first hand the after effects of slavery. I have lived through the after effects of slavery. It takes decades, a century even yet those who originated from slaves are never seen as truly human…there would obviously be a judicial system specifically allocated to deal with such issues.”

“To create these things, these systems…it would take years, decades even.” You knew Otto held back. To say that the realm will go through a big change soon. The death of the King and a possible war for the throne. But he was right, this would take decades to properly input. There are things one simply cannot account for. A trial and error system.

But Rome was not built in a day.

“Great empires were not built in a day.” You turned your attention to King Viserys. “Old Valyria was not built in a day.”

You scanned the council members, gauging their reactions. The room was not as receptive as it had been moments ago.

Lord Beesbury shifted in his seat, his expression troubled. “This… ‘partnership economy,’ as you call it, sounds dangerously unorthodox. Encouraging smallfolk to amass wealth and enter ventures—would this not blur the lines of station? The order of society has always rested on clear boundaries.”

“Indeed,” Lord Jasper Wylde added, his tone stiff. “Such a proposal risks emboldening the commons, giving them ideas above their station. If a blacksmith or merchant prospers too greatly, what stops them from questioning why they bow to their lords at all?”

Ser Tyland Lannister scoffed lightly, crossing his arms. “It seems to me that such a system would only create chaos. Smallfolk lack the discipline and foresight for enterprise. They would squander their investments or worse—turn to deceit to enrich themselves.”

You held your ground, your voice steady. “My lords, I hear your concerns, but this proposal does not seek to abolish the natural order. On the contrary, it strengthens it. A prosperous people serve their lords better, pay their taxes more readily, and maintain peace in the realm. Would you not prefer subjects who thrive under your guidance rather than languish in resentment?”

Ser Otto Hightower, who had been listening intently, finally spoke, his words cutting and precise. “A fair argument, but you ask us to overturn centuries of tradition, all based on theories from lands far removed from our own. This is Westeros, not Essos, or wherever it is you come from. Such radical ideas could unsettle the foundations of our society. If smallfolk become too powerful, where does it end? Will they sit among us at this table one day, as you do now?”

The jab was not subtle, and the room bristled with tension. Even Viserys, who had shown enthusiasm moments ago, looked uncertain.

You chose your words carefully, keeping your tone respectful yet firm. “I understand the weight of tradition, Lord Hand, but traditions must evolve to ensure the survival of the realm. This proposal does not hand power to the commons—it channels their efforts into something productive, something that benefits us all. Lords would remain the cornerstone of this system, guiding and overseeing its growth.”

Queen Alicent’s lips tightened, but she did not speak. Her silence felt heavier than any words.

Lord Beesbury frowned deeply. “But how do we ensure control? If these partnerships are mismanaged, or if the commons grow restless, it could lead to unrest. You speak of contracts and fairness, but who enforces this? Who ensures that the lords are not taken advantage of?”

“Precisely!” Lord Wylde snapped. “Who is to say these agreements will not be exploited to undermine noble authority? Contracts are words on parchment, easily manipulated by clever tongues.”

Rhaenyra’s voice cut through the murmurs, calm but commanding. “Is that not the purpose of law? To prevent manipulation and ensure fairness? Or are you suggesting that Westeros lacks the capacity for justice?”

The room stilled, and you glanced at her, grateful for the unexpected support.

“The Princess is correct,” you said, seizing the moment. “This system would be governed by the crown, with contracts overseen by magistrates or councils appointed by the King. Any disputes would be resolved under royal authority, ensuring fairness for all parties. This would not weaken noble power; it would enhance it, showing that lord's care for their people’s welfare and prosperity.”

Ser Tyland narrowed his eyes. “And what of women? Would this system encourage them to step beyond their roles as well? If you aim to give them the same opportunities as men, you will only invite more chaos.”

You met his gaze evenly, refusing to waver. “Women have always contributed to the prosperity of their families and lands, my lord, though their efforts are often overlooked. This system would allow their talents to flourish alongside men’s, to the benefit of all. Prosperity knows no gender.”

Alicent’s voice finally broke the silence. “And yet it is a woman who stands before us, proposing a system that upends the very order of Westeros. Forgive me, but I cannot help but wonder if this is truly for the good of the realm, or for your own ambitions.”

Her words stung, but you inclined your head gracefully. “I seek no personal gain, Your Grace. Only the betterment of this realm I now call home.”

Viserys raised a hand, silencing further objections. His voice was measured, though doubt lingered in his tone. “The proposal is bold, perhaps too bold for many to accept, but it is not without merit. I will consider it further, though I urge caution. Change, if it must come, should come slowly.”

You bowed your head. “Thank you, Your Grace. I am grateful for your consideration.”

As you stepped back, the tension in the room was palpable. The lords remained skeptical, their unease plain, but you could see the seeds of curiosity planted in a few of their minds. The road ahead would not be easy, but you had taken the first step. And that, you knew, was how all great changes began.

…

6th day of the 7th moon of 129 AC

Dear Jacaerys Velyarion

I must thank you for your kindness, truly. You need not worry yourself too much, for now at least. I am glad I have the King’s favor or my head would most likely be on spike. You see, other than serving the King, I have no purpose and because I am quite literally ahead of my time, I do not conform with such expectations of women today. Queen Alicent and Lord Otto don’t particularly seem to like that about me, and Prince Daemon doesn’t like me at all, I am unsure where your mother stands on an opinion of me. The only one I have who does favor me is the King and is the sole reason why my head is still atop my shoulders. You must forgive me and I know you are not a personal book of mine to write, but I find it easy to speak to you. It is easy to explain myself to you and my feelings about being here. I am scared. I don’t want to die again. It is a horrible feeling. There's nothing like fighting for something as simple as human breath. I don’t want to know how it feels to have my head cut off or burned alive or something like that.

That was grim. Sorry. In anycase, the King will not live forever and your mother will be Queen. I need to make myself valuable enough for her to decide she does want me around or at the very least not dead. I am very glad for your letters. I have been the library recently searching about the Hightower, Casterly Rock, The Wall, Dragonstone, Old ruins like Summerhall, High Heart (reminds me of Stonehenge), the Isle of Faces (This one is more so because of plain old curiosity and learning about these ‘Old Gods.’) But I think the one that captures my attention the most is Winterfell. Bran the Builder was some Builder. The concept of being built atop a spring is genius. I read that hot water travels through the walls. I want to know how that was done. I want to go to Winterfell. I will go to Winterfell once I get this patent thing off the ground and then I can go ahead with the water system.

(P.S. Thank you so much for the little tip that your Grandsire is obsessed with Old Valyria. Really helped me sell my idea. Also yes, I find it very exciting to wait for your letters. I check consistently, only because no one knows I’m sending letters to you, but if it wasn’t for that, I too would be very excited for your letter—I still am excited for them)

…

“Thank you, Disney,” you muttered, finishing yet another story—this time, Cinderella. It was always a good choice for the orphanages. The kids adored it, and when you ventured out into the city, some people even began to recognize you. Things were going smoothly. Gaining the love of the smallfolk turned out to be surprisingly easy. All it took was treating them like actual people. With your growing reputation, you were starting to build an impressive résumé—one that might even help you gain a foothold in the Faith.

But the Faith alone wasn’t enough. The Citadel had become a necessary stop in your plan. You’d thought it through: there was no way you could overhaul the water system by yourself. You lacked the technical knowledge and the support. You needed scholars—real scholars (hopefully not just philosophers). And you needed them now.

There was no ignoring the challenges ahead. The water system required precise engineering: the slope had to cut through a hill—a massive one. How to achieve a perfect straight line? You had no idea. As for the sewer system? That would practically require dismantling half of King’s Landing. The city’s urban planning—or lack thereof—was abysmal. Chaotic streets, haphazard layouts... Aegon the Conqueror clearly hadn’t been thinking about infrastructure.

You let out a frustrated sigh and leaned back in your chair. “Dyana!” you called, and moments later, she appeared.

“Here,” you handed her your finished story. “Take this to my workplace and have someone bring me fruit or food. I’m starving.”

As Dyana left, you turned back to your desk. The parchment before you read: Patent Act of 129 AC. It wasn’t just a set of rules; it was a strategy. This act would require a new position on the Small Council—a role you hoped to fill with someone you trusted, someone who would favor you. Preferably an older person who might conveniently vacate the seat by the time you were of age and had the accomplishments to take it yourself. Longevity—that was the goal. Not just surviving but truly living. Living a fulfilling life, as you would have in your own world.

The only downside? You had to live in King’s Landing. Hot, humid, sticky King’s Landing. You sighed again. Dry heat would’ve been better, or even better still—the North. Somewhere cool, where the air was crisp, and the summers didn’t feel like an oven.

Before you could indulge in your northern fantasies, a knock sounded at the door. A maid entered, carrying a tray with what looked like a meat pie, wine, and a small bowl of grapes. You offered a polite smile as she approached but quickly stopped her as she moved toward your papers.

“Not on top of the documents,” you said sharply, gesturing to the side. She corrected the course and placed the tray on an empty part of the table.

“That’ll be all. Thank you,” you added curtly.

Once the maid had left, you stared at the meat pie with open disgust. You’d managed to avoid eating meat for the past four months, but it was starting to take a toll. The weight loss was noticeable—too noticeable. Energy levels were plummeting, and without proper nutrition, you knew you’d face bigger problems down the line. If you wanted to strengthen your immune system and maintain your health, you couldn’t rely on simple carbs alone. You’d have to face facts: meat might be a necessary evil in this world, and your survival hinged on staying strong.

Grabbing a fork, you poked at the meat pie. The wafting scent of roasted meat invaded your senses, making your stomach churn. You closed your eyes, exhaled sharply, and dropped the fork with a dramatic sigh. For good measure, you mimed choking yourself. God, why? You weren’t even vegetarian, but the lack of cleanliness in this world was unsettling. The mere thought of consuming it made you reconsider your timeline for selling the idea of refrigeration—a plan you’d initially intended to push after passing the Patent Act for maximum profit.

It sucked, truly. You’d hoped to tie it all together: disproving spontaneous generation, advancing sanitation, and introducing better food storage. But if you wanted to maintain a healthy diet in the meantime, you might have to accelerate your plans.

Flexing your hands in irritation, you reluctantly picked up the fork again and sliced off a small piece. “Okay, okay, okay,” you murmured, trying to psych yourself up. On the bright side, if this went terribly and left you with another crippling migraine, at least you’d have an excuse to retreat to Dragonstone for a while.

Lifting the bite to your mouth, a voice cut through the room, stopping you.

“I would not recommend eating that.”

“Oh, thank god,” you muttered, dropping the fork as your eyes darted to the doorway. There, standing in the shadows, was Aemond. He had apparently figured out how to reach your chambers through Maegor’s secret passageways.

“My grandsire and mother were... displeased with your proposal,” he said, his tone measured, though his eye gleamed with curiosity. “And your growing favor with my father—the King—does not sit well with them. I would refrain from eating anything you did not prepare or see prepared yourself.”

His words hung in the air, cold and heavy.

You sighed, pushing the plate away and opting for the grapes instead. “You can’t do that,” you said, popping one into your mouth.

“Do what?” Aemond asked, settling into a nearby chair with the ease of someone who clearly didn’t care to be chastised.

“Just come in whenever you want. What if I was changing?” you shot back, gesturing vaguely toward yourself.

Aemond raised a brow, his lips curving into a faint smirk.

“Right...” you drawled, rolling your eyes. “And what if I was plotting or something?”

“I have the right to be informed,” he replied evenly, his tone suggesting he genuinely believed this.

You shook your head, leaning back in your chair. “I like my privacy. And my private plans, thank you very much.”

Aemond studied you, his sharp eye taking in every detail of your face and posture, as if trying to decode a cipher. “You’ve been amassing influence,” he said finally. “Among the smallfolk. Writing laws. Offering ideas that challenge long-held beliefs. You’re not as subtle as you think.”

“Subtlety is overrated,” you countered, flicking a grape into the air and catching it in your mouth. “I don’t care if people notice. In fact, I’d prefer it—they should see what I’m trying to do. But that doesn’t mean I want you barging in uninvited like you own the place.”

“First, I do own the place. The Red Keep is my home.” Aemond leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “Secondly, you’re ambitious. Too ambitious for someone with no name and no family ties.”

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze with a challenging look. “What do you suggest I do? Sit here looking pretty until some lord with decent standing finds me attractive enough to overlook my lack of name and origins? Marry him, then wait for years before I can even think about making my moves? Too much time wasted. Unless it’s some Northern lord or someone willing to give me Dragonstone, it’s not happening.”

Aemond’s lips twitched with faint amusement as he leaned back, his sharp gaze never leaving you. “When did you start fantasizing about Northern brutes?”

“First, that’s rude,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “Second, I prefer the cold. Ergo, a Northern lord. Though a friend of mine told me there’s more to the North than just freezing winters. Winterfell has caught my attention. I want to go there.”

“For?”

You shrugged, popping another grape into your mouth. “It doesn’t hurt to look at men I might potentially want to marry. As for Winterfell itself… Bran the Builder was an interesting man, intelligent beyond his time. I want to study the blueprints of their stronghold, maybe glean something from their methods. The wall alone is a feat that deserves more attention than it gets.”

Aemond studied you with that familiar intensity, the kind that made you feel like he was peeling back your layers, searching for secrets you hadn’t even admitted to yourself. “You’re bold. But you’d need more than boldness to survive the North. They respect tradition above all else, and you, well…” He let his words trail off, a faint smirk playing at his lips.

“And I?” you prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“You would disrupt their traditions just as easily as you disrupt the quiet here,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the room.

“I don’t see that as a bad thing,” you replied smoothly. “Times change. You can either let go of the past or be dragged. However, me personally…” You smile at him leaning back in your chair tossing him a grape which he caught. “I’d rather be the one steering the change than a passenger caught in the chaos.”

For a moment, Aemond said nothing, popping the grape in his mouth, his gaze piercing and calculating. Then, he gave a slow nod, as though acknowledging some unspoken truth. “You’re a risk-taker. That much is clear. But risks in this world come with consequences—more often fatal than not.”

“And yet,” you said with a faint smile, “here I am, very much alive.”

“For now,” Aemond countered, standing. He adjusted his tunic, his sharp features set in a contemplative expression. “If you do decide to go to Winterfell, let me know. I’d be curious to see how they handle someone like you.”

You smirked. “What, worried they’ll like me more than you?”

Aemond’s eye glittered with something between amusement and warning. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I’m simply curious to see if you’re as unshakable as you pretend to be. The North has a way of testing people, you know.”

“Good,” you replied, leaning back in your chair. “I like a challenge.”

Aemond didn’t respond, but the faint smirk on his lips lingered as he turned and left the room. You watched him go, your mind already spinning with plans and possibilities. If Winterfell truly held the knowledge and opportunities you sought, then perhaps the cold North was exactly where you needed to be.

…

14th day of the 7th moon of 129 AC

I was not aware of the dangers you faced in the Red Keep. Had I known I would’ve stressed to my mother to let me stay in King’s Landing. However, now that I am here, more now than ever I can offer you a place of solitude. Here I can assure you that your head will not be on a spike and you could simply live life as you deserve. We could watch movies or I can show you more of this world, as strange as it is to say. I’m sure my younger brothers would enjoy watching the movies you once showed me if it would please you. I do not mind if you express your thoughts to me, no matter how grim, I would much rather share your burdens than rather have you face them alone. You are in a strange land vastly different from what you are accustomed to, I would not blame you if you had such thoughts and do not oblige by traditions. Even so I do not doubt that my mother will resonate with you should you have the chance to speak to her.

To continue with your interest in the world of old, had I known you would’ve taken interest in Winterfell rather than Dragonstone, I would not have mentioned it. Of course that is only a jest. I am more than willing to help you in anything you should require. I am glad that my Grandsire has taken your side rather than the Queen. If you would not mind, I would much like to know what Stonehenge is. I have never heard of it. As for the Isle of Faces, it is a sacred island in the middle of the lake called the God's Eye, located in the southeastern riverlands. It is one of the few known locations of weirwoods in the south of Westeros, with most others having been cut down and burned. I do not know much of the religion, Prince Daemon favors the gods of Old Valyria and I know more about them than the Seven or the Old Gods. However, in my youth when I lived in the Red Keep there was a Weirwood tree in the Godswood. I remember the leaves being five-pointed and the sap of weirwoods are blood-red, while the smooth bark on their wide trunks and wood are bone white. They say most weirwoods have faces carved into their trunks and that it was done by the children of the forest in ancient days, and is now done by the free folk as well as other descendants of the First Men, such as followers of the old gods in the Seven Kingdoms praying to heart trees in godswoods. The one in the Red Keep has sap that has collected in the crevices of the carved faces, giving the trees red eyes which have been known to drip sap as if the trees were weeping. A weirwood will live forever if undisturbed—or so it is said.

(P.S. Northerns are very set in their ways. If you go, I would like to accompany you. I have never left the South and I long to explore Westeros. If I am to be King, a King must know his people.)

Note: How do we feel? Anyway after for like ever we have our first mention of Winterfell. Speical thanks to my Beta reader ❤️

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streamafterlaughter · 2 days ago

Text

Soundtrack to Disaster

Chapter X: The Destruction of Your Innocence

masterlist | playlist | pinboard | prev | diaries coming VERY soon

songs for this chapter: an ode by mat kerekes, the price of growing up by watsky

summary: an evening of fun with the party, and for once nothing feels too heavy... until it does.

chapter tags: none! Just a good wholesome dose of friendship on all counts… the calm before the storm, if you will. | fic tags: angst, hurt/(eventual) comfort, (eventual) smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC!Reader, Modern AU | This fic is rated 18+ MDNI each chapter will have its own content/trigger warnings

a/n: I would consider this the end of Act I.... meaning.... well. I'm sure you can figure that out. Happy new year everyone! 🎉

DISCLAIMER: I do not consent to having my work fed to AI engines, or reposted in any way, shape, or form on other websites. Unless otherwise stated, this is the only account that features and contains this work, and any replication was done without my consent. Please let me know if you see my work elsewhere. Reblog to support the author!

taglist @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @kellsck @faggotinie @xplrnowornever @taccobelle @micheledawn1975 @mewchiili @dreamerjj @losingmygrasponreality @munsonburn3r | comment/message me to be added!

“Good morning!” Robin answers the door to her apartment with far too much pep for eight am. Your ears are still ringing from last night, and you wince at her volume. “Oh, sorry. Forgot you’re so not a morning person. Come in!” She whispers the last part, and you chuckle lightly as you cross the threshold, only for your smile to fall from your lips. Eddie is splayed on the couch, a black coffee in his hand as Steve talks at him about how important reading the instructions is.

“Hi, Bee!” Steve greets you from the kitchen, and Eddie offers a brief wave.

“Mornin’. Sorry, I didn't know it was a party, I would’ve dressed nicer.” You’re suddenly embarrassed by your choice of outfit: A pair of bike shorts and a massive t-shirt draped over your body like a nightgown.

“Oh, shush, you look great. Especially for what we’re doing today.” Robin, clad in overalls, walks by you and into the living room, where differently sized planks of wood are spread out on the carpet, a pile of screws in a bag next to them, and the instructions booklet flattened to the first page.

“What exactly are we doing?” Eddie asks, sitting up. “I was just told I was needed, I was never told why.” He looks at you, as if asking for help. You shrug.

“We’re putting this thing together,” Robin toes the mess of boards. “Need all hands on deck, this ain’t no IKEA furniture.”

“Good thing, IKEA’s shit would fall apart in a week.” You kneel in front of the pieces, examining them closely. “Shouldn’t be too difficult, looks like everything we need came with it.”

“Okay, great! Steve, put on some jams. Bee, come with me for a second.” Robin offers her hand, and you stand up to follow her into her bedroom.

“What’s up?”

“Are you, like, good?”

“What?” The question confuses you.

“Like, with Eddie here. I know we didn’t tell you, it wasn’t really planned, Steve just texted him for extra help and I didn’t wanna argue because I don’t wanna be the one to have to help him move the thing when we inevitably have to.”

“Rob, it’s cool. I’m over the initial shock of Eddie being here every time I see you guys. I know it’s been awhile, but this was a normal occurrence once.”

“Yeah, I know, it just hasn’t been for a really long time. Wanna make sure you’re okay, that’s all.”

You kiss her cheek, smiling warmly. “It’s okay, Bob. Thank you.”

With that, she leads you back into the room, where Steve and Eddie stop speaking abruptly, as if they’d been conspiring something you aren’t allowed to know.

“Okay!” Steve claps his hands together, breaking the tension. “Let’s do it, we’re losing daylight.”

–

“Okay, this goes here–” “No, Rob, that goes there, this goes here–” “Bee, hand me the screwdriver–” “Would you move, Ed, you’re in my light–” The four of you talk over each other for hours, screwing and hammering pieces into place, groaning when you realize something is upside down.

“Wait, wait, shut up!” Robin eventually exclaims before standing up to admire the fruit of your labor. “We fuckin’ did it!” In front of you sits a complete, sturdy entertainment center, every piece where it belongs. You feel a burst of pride as you stand up next to your friends, resting your hands on your hips to take in the sight before you.

“Look at us! And in a miraculous turn of events, Bee and Eddie didn’t maim each other to death!” Steve adds, elbowing Eddie in the ribs and earning himself a shove. “You know, this might be cause for a gathering.” Eddie announces, earning groans from you, Steve, and Robin. To Eddie, a gathering didn’t mean the usual party with beer and weed, loud music and the likelihood of drama. For that, you were grateful. However, it did mean a very loud, passionate game of Dungeons & Dragons with four teenage boys. The cleanup is comparable, and you don’t count on Eddie helping out.

“Please, Rob? I promise, we’ll be out by ten. There’s just barely any room at my place, and you guys always have the good snacks.” You cock an eyebrow at Eddie, but he’s too busy pouting at Robin to notice.

“Ugh, fine! Out by ten, no exceptions.” He opens his mouth to thank her, but Robin quickly adds, “And only if Bee will come.” She crosses her arms over her chest triumphantly, like she’s found the secret way out of the deal.

“What? Why is this suddenly on me?” You look from her to Eddie, whose eyes are wide with his friend’s betrayal.

“Because I know you hated those things.” She grins. You remember, consistently left out of the games in high school because you were friends with a couple cheerleaders. Instead, being forced to watch from the corner, mumbling under your breath every time one of them did something stupid, and throwing popcorn into Eddie’s hair. “Y’know what, I might actually join you. If they let me play.” You glare up at Eddie, like you’ve passed the grenade. To make you show up, he has to let you play. If he doesn’t let you play, the gathering is off. The snake eats its own tail.

But he shrugs. “Okay, yeah.”

You and Robin share a look of exaggerated surprise, gasping in unison like he’d dropped to one knee. “What happened to the golden rule? No Darksiders!”

Eddie throws his head back with laughter, chest heaving as he tries to compose himself. “Guys, I’ve matured a little in the past few years, would you give me some credit?”

It shifts something in your chest, hearing him say it. You forget sometimes that Steve and Robin had also been together without Eddie for a while. When he’d finally graduated, Eddie skipped town without a word to any of his friends. You’d even gotten an influx of calls and texts, friends of Eddie’s you’d only met in passing asking you if he was out in New York with you, having no idea you already hadn’t spoken in two years.

“Okay,” You resign, remembering your brother’s plea from last night for you to be nicer to him. “Then a gathering we shall have.”

—

The apartment quickly becomes a playground, a mass of what you can’t exactly call children flooding through the front door, immediately taking up any available surface. The boys: Lucas, Will, Mike, and Dustin, are loud and excited, spreading out their game pieces on the kitchen table with intention. The girls, El and Max, make their way to the pantry for snacks and soda, opening every cabinet until they find what they’re looking for. You brace the tornado, still as possible until everyone is settled.

“So,” Max sits on the empty cushion beside you, crossing her legs to rest a bowl of popcorn in her lap. “Long time, no see!” You’d always been closest to Max, even closer than you’d gotten to Dustin just by being friends with Steve and, at the time, Eddie. Max, though, seemed drawn to you specifically. Your senior year, when she was in seventh grade, she’d started wearing her hair like yours, asking you where you bought your clothes, what kind of music you liked. It was cute, really. You’d always wanted a little sister, and Max was probably the coolest thing you could have imagined.

“Hey, Maxy.” You nudge her with your shoulder. “Look at you, all grown up.” She’s flourished since the last time you saw her, which would have to have been right before you’d left for New York. “Sorry I didn’t come visit more.”

She shrugs. “No biggie, I get it. Although, it is weird to see you two in the same room again.” You know she’s referring to Eddie, but she sends a less than subtle glance in his direction, and you follow it to find him conducting yet another Hellfire pre-campaign meeting. You indulge in watching the show for a minute, the way Eddie leans forward in his chair at the head of the table, face expressive as he alludes to the battles he’s written for his little goblins and you should probably be paying attention to what he’s saying. You hear Max giggling beside you.

“What’s so funny?”

“Well, despite all this time, you haven’t changed at all.”

“What are you talking about?” You raise an eyebrow at her.

“You still look at Eddie like a lovesick dog.” She rolls her eyes, and you dart yours to the floor. “Hey, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I kind of always knew you two wouldn’t be apart forever.”

“Okay, missy, you’re gettin’ a little too big for your britches. Eddie and I are barely friends. Acquaintances by circumstance.” Even to yourself, you sound unconvincing.

“Mhm, sure.” She teases as you turn back to watch the theatrics of the Dungeon Master, despite yourself.

“Take a pic, Bee, it’ll last longer!” You feel your cheeks burning as Dustin cackles, followed by the groans of the gaggle of boys surrounding him. You stare straight ahead, doing your best to avoid the way Eddie’s eyes are penetrating the side of your face.

“Dustin, shut the hell up. Upsetting Bee is almost worse than upsetting Eddie.” Mike elbows his friend in the ribs.

“It’s true, dude, you’re playing with fire.” Lucas adds, tone heeding a warning. You hear a thump under the table, followed quickly by Dustin’s cry of “Ow, you bitch!” Followed by a 20 sided die flying at Eddie’s head. Luckily, his fluffy curls soften the blow, Eddie barely even flinching.

“Oh, you’re in for it now, Henderson.” Eddie practically growls at the boy, eyes darkening with the mischief the rest of them have grown familiar with.

–

“Well, well, well.” Eddie leans back in his chair, folding his hands across his chest with an aura of smugness. “Looks like you’re all out of options.” Your character is mostly unscathed, but you can’t say the same for your campaign party. All of the kids’ characters are on their last legs, Dustin’s even literally, having lost his left lower limb to a corrupted mage about twenty minutes into the game. “Any last words?”

You can tell Dustin regrets his joke from earlier, face trembling with anxiety so palpable you’d think he’d seen this type of horror in real life. “I choose to surrender.” The party only mumble in agreement

“Roll to see if your surrender is accepted.” Eddie leans in, the grin on his face widening.

Dustin rolls a three. “Shit.”

Eddie throws his head back, a devilish cackle releasing into the air of the apartment. “Oh you poor, poor thing. Looks like your begs for mercy go unheard.” Eddie rolls the die himself, landing on eight. “Hm, seems like you’re getting off a little easy. You may leave unscathed.” Dustin squints his eyes at the older man, waiting for the catch. “All you must do is leave your strongest soldier as collateral.” He leans his elbow on the table, and Dustin follows his gaze to where you sit across from him, too distracted by the look on Eddie’s face to pay attention to what he’s saying. What the fuck is wrong with you?

“Bee?” Will’s voice snaps you back to reality. “What do you think?”

“What? Oh,” You look from Eddie, with that stupid smirk on his face, back to your teammates. “You want to sacrifice me?”

“Well, we don’t want to. Clearly you’re the reason we’re still alive here.” Dustin grumbles, fiddling with a handful of dice. “The second we give her to you, Ed, you’re gonna destroy us!”

Eddie only shrugs, giving none of his diabolical plan away to his opponents. “Only one way to find out.”

Dustin looks at you, eyebrow raised. “What do you think, Bee?”

You try to focus on the game. If you surrender, you become what Eddie likes to describe as a henchman. Your moves from here on in are only to benefit him. You’d be turning on your team, but they’d be free to walk away. If you don’t surrender, who knows what the sick and twisted Dungeon Master has up his sleeve for them?

“I guess… I will bravely sacrifice myself for your freedom.” You decide, gracefully gesturing to the younger boys. “I would be honored to die for the good of the campaign.”

The boys look at each other, ultimately deciding to accept your sacrifice. Eddie, though, throws his head back with his in character evil laughter, swiping your game piece from the board. “And so it shall be! The mage has been sacrificed, and captured by the darkness to distract from the escape of the rest of the party.” He looks from the boys back to you, the smile on his face a little softer. “An honorable risk, indeed.”

–

As promised, the younglings are kicked out promptly at ten, and Eddie is nice enough to bring them all home.

“Bye, guys!” Steve gives a wave before closing and locking the door. “I am fucking exhausted.”

“Yeah, it’s really tiring work sitting on your ass eating pizza.” You snort, clearing the paper plates from the table.

“Hey, you’re one to talk. You got to play a game all night while Eddie made googly eyes at you.”

His comment stops you in your tracks. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, please, like you have no idea!” He looks at you, face contorting from amused to bewildered. “Oh, you really have no idea.”

Robin snorts behind him. “Neither of them have a clue, Stevie.”

“Can someone please explain to me what the hell you’re talking about?” You’re exhausted, and you can’t keep up with your friends’ cryptic bullshit.

“C’mere.” Robin walks around to sit on the couch, patting the cushion next to her.

“Rob, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Relax, Steve. Bee’s gone through enough, the least we can do is tell her what we know.” You plop down beside your friend, and Steve joins you on the other side. “Bee, what do you know about Eddie coming back to Hawkins?”

You squint at Robin. “As much as you do, I thought! He came back when Chris got released. I still don’t even know where he went after he graduated. Before then, it had been years since we’d spent any time together.”

Robin nods thoughtfully, like she’s considering your words. “Well, think about it. Why would he choose now to come back? Why would he put the effort in to hang out with us, with you?”

You shake your head, growing more frustrated by the second. “You know I don’t have the answers to any of that. All I know is that Chris told Eddie to rat on him, to save his own ass from being tormented by Hawkins PD. And I only learned that, like, yesterday.”

Steve chimes in. “Well, at least he finally told you some of the truth.”

“What?” You turn to face him, your voice straining. “What more is there?”

“Bee,” Robin rests a hand on your shoulder. “He broke up with Macy, he’s hanging out with us every damn day. Don’t pretend you haven’t figured out Eddie’s obsessed with you.”

This shit again. You groan, throwing your head back into the couch cushions. “This is bullshit. You’re making shit up.”

“Okay, if that’s your theory, why the hell would we do that?” Steve seems offended by the accusation.

“How should I know? You guys love to meddle, why would I be exempt from your torment?”

“It’s hopeless, Rob. We’re gonna have to show her.”

She shrugs. “Guess so.” She plucks her phone from the coffee table and begins scrolling. “Ah! Here it is.” She turns her phone to face you. Displayed is a picture from the Chappell show, the four of you posing in front of the stage with big, excited smiles on your faces. Well, you, Steve, and Robin are smiling. Eddie isn’t even looking at the camera, but at you. His arm is wrapped tightly around your shoulder, and he’s smiling, eyes focused on the side of your face. Robin hadn’t posted this picture, and you can now understand why. The best way to describe the look on Eddie’s face is lovesick. You feel a lurch in your throat, still examining the photo, the way you hadn’t even noticed him.

“What am I supposed to take from this?” You try to play it off, despite the impossibility of denying what you’re looking at. “This doesn’t change anything.”

“Please, Bee. Don’t tell me you can’t feel it. You know there’s something there.” Robin is practically pleading with you. “I know he has a lot of making it up to you to do, but, what if you gave him the chance? I’m not saying you have to fall in love with him or anything,”

“Though, that would be kind of awesome!” Steve interjects.

“But, I dunno, maybe you guys could be friends again. Maybe things could start healing themselves.”

“Would it get you two off my back?” You half joke, feeling your palms sweating under the pressure. They nod eagerly. “Okay, fine. I’ll try my best to give him a chance. That doesn’t mean I believe a word of what you’re telling me, though.”

Robin and Steve high five over your head. “We’ll take it!” Robin exclaims, jumping from her seat. “And, if he ends up being a total douche bag, you have all the right to say you told us so.” She holds out her pinky to you, and you grab it with your own, sealing the deal.

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