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trulyumai · 3 months

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Blinded by the Flame

Pairing: Messmer the Impaler x Reader

Warnings: Blood, Death.

Synopsis: Left bloodied and blinded, Messmer searched. Not for revenge, but for his wife.

A/N: So, this fucking sunflower boss is kicking my ass. Im cooked.

Enjoy the story!

“Ah! Mother, please!” In the middle of the room, sat the legend of the flames.

He balled up in agony, his fingers covered his face— his eyes entirely.

Blood seeped between the crevices of his digits, his eyes burned with an itch, a feeling he wanted to tear out.

“For how could I— your spawn, be subjected to such a monstrosity of an ending?” The man cried out, his deep wails echoed throughout the chambers around his being.

Messmer mumbled incessantly, begging and twitching as his vision blackened.

He had to gain control— before the chaotic numb feeling goes too far, before his mind slips away completely.

Think of the throne

Think of the order

Think of…

“Wife,”

He called out, saliva dripped down in a reddened pace between his lips.

Messmer reached out to nothing, to the blackness that surrounded him.

“Wife!” He wailed

“Don’t— don’t leave me alone!”

The lanky man keeled over, his hands beat against the wooden floor with fury.

“A-Answer me! Your husband— your Lord demands it!”

With a slurred speech, he crawled, began to move toward where he thought the door might be.

His hand met with a stone wall, it stood firm against his blood covered palms.

He couldn’t think- couldn’t remember the size of the room, the chamber at all for that matter.

The pain was piercing his mind, it left fire in its wake.

“Augh—“

The knight continued his mission, persisted onto finding the exit, the way to his home- his love.

Knees now scratched and molded over with scabs, he stopped his movement, as something cold came into contact with his dirtied palm.

Shakily a pale arm reached down once more and with his posture bent, he leered over the object.

It was fleshy, wet with a warming substance and–

“No,”

Firm hands acted, looked for proof that could refuse the perverse thoughts invading his mind.

“No, no, no!”

Shaky fingers guided their way to a hand, it was soft, so small that he could cover it whole with his own.

He came into contact with a cold metal, a band that had been wrapped around the person's finger.

His darling wife’s finger.

“—Ah! No, this— this is a warning- a vision, it's a farce!”

Not bothering to stop the blood from pouring down his chin, it fell atop of the bloodied woman.

Her eyes remained closed, the middle of her person laid into a deep maroon color.

As best as the weakened knight could, the woman was pulled towards him. She rested upon his lap like a deity.

Her head was angled towards him, it sagged into the man’s chest instantly.

He smelled the apples— the Elder flowers that clung onto her stilled skin.

There was no denying, it was his love that lay crumpled in his arms like a wilted lily.

Only his cries were heard through the chamber, bouncing off the walls with ease as his wails got louder and louder.

The cries were wet, uneven hiccups accompanied the tears.

As if nature mourned her loss; thunder boomed, rain seeped down to drench the land and the wind howled beneath the winking stars.

The man’s shoulders shook, he howled— it was too much, too far beneath the golden rays he was promised.

Burying his head into her neck the man refused to move.

His kin could walk through the gates now— with a cure for his blindness yet he would say put.

For his protective reign is over.

Now that his purpose lay still and quiet.

His grip tightened, wide knuckles turned white with pressure.

“Thy will bury it all in flame,”

His voice but a whisper among the pelting rain.

“I will offer it all; and join thee with the heads of the filthy accusers, who dare put thy to rest.”

Biting down on his cheeks, more crimson seeped down with unwanted reign.

“Rest, my wife,” his forehead met with hers, the surface sticky and wet.

“My love will hold me here—“

“—nnnghh,”

Thin red brows raised, with his mouth agape he let out a noise like no other.

“Darling, love, please!” He didn’t know what he was begging for, but it came out in unseen repetition

Her mind was foggy, vision even more so as her arm raised above her being.

It felt as if daggers pierced through her chest, and needles laid about her arms like unseen birthmarks.

“–mer, Messm—“

“I’m here! Gods, I’m— lovely, hear thy cries, please!”

The voice sounded like it was under rubble, or even perhaps miles of sand and dirt.

She felt the light touches, how they guided their way on her cheeks, her jaw.

It was a loving, soft touch made by roughened hands.

Familiar hands.

Tears struck her bloodied cheeks, a sloppy smile graced her expression.

He hadn’t left her afterall— after the fall, the oncoming of soldiers, he was here, by her side.

Grunting out a low groan, words fled her cut lips in a rush.

The woman’s words slurred together, and the man tried to make sense of them.

“Slow down, my wife, slow—“

“Es, mess, yo— your eyes!”

On queue, the blackened holes throbbed. Dark pits of ash wobbled down the crevices and met the material of his armor.

“Shhh, Darling, it will be alright, it will be alright.”

Her lips shook with a new level of fear, of total shock.

“I will take care of it— mother will help. I— it will be alright.”

“She is the cause of such damnation, how will she help?” Taking her hand in his larger one, Messmer placed kisses upon each finger.

The woman gaped up at him.

“Why are you so calm, aren’t you angry— hurt?”

“I… was,” He replied. Still distracted by the kisses he laid upon her skin.

“But thy are here to calm such a flame, hm?”

The red knight pushed his woman closer, till the cheek of her face mushed against his dirtied armor.

“Let us get fixed, then such a discussion can be demanded.”

Ignoring the woman's constant worried touches, a smile adorned his face.

He wasn't alone, his wife lay huddled between his arms. The unspoken horror lay hushed beneath his heel, stomped and winded.

Although he was blinded, left to die on his own, he could continue his push to the capital.

For the prophecy has already been foretold.

The kingdom will be left in ash; with only his wife and him to huddle in the flames of ambition.

#messmer x reader #messmer the impaler #messmer elden ring #elden ring x you #elden ring x reader #elden ring dlc #Messmer the impaler x reader #video game x reader #Spotify

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wntrswolf · 3 months

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love mirage

✧ pair: benjicot "davos" blackwood (fancast) x freader!secret-lover-betrothed-to-a-bracken

✧ theme/warning(s): slight/implied smut, angst, forbidden romance, star-crossed lovers. — (all characters mentioned are of age!) 18+

✧ word count: 1.8k

✧ author's note: hello! this is my first writing! this one-shot was spontaneously written as it was meant more for self-indulgence but i thought why not share it to others who also has a current obsession with the rising blackwood character, right? :-) anyways, reading fics under the benji tags manifested many scenarios in my head, and gave me inspiration to write something. lastly, forgive me for any possible grammatical errors, i still am an amateur in fictional writing. enjoy!!!

It was the dead of night. The sky had been painted in its darkest hue, the moon stood nearly at its peak, offering its gentle glow along the riverbank. The distant chatter that could be heard during a long day's labor was no longer present, replaced by the solemn silence of nature's symphonies—the flowing river, the rustling of leaves as they danced in breaths of wind, and the lullabies of insects as they clicked and buzzed.

The forest was no stranger to you; befriending the woodland for the passing moons. You often wondered if anyone would, or had, grown an inkling of your periodic disappearance following the hours of supper—what others would think of your father’s only daughter growing a rather sudden interest beyond the walls of your family's stronghold. You always made your way out stealthily, though his words echoed in your mind,

“You are our only hope, daughter. Do not fail us.” A stark reminder of your duty, which would soon bring honor to your family's name.

If it means anything, you knew it was wrong from the start. You had never intended anything as such to happen. For the name of a nobleman was bound to yours, yet your lips would chant whispers of another.

Time became irrelevant right before you met him on this cool summer night. There the young man stood, one hand steady on the hilt of his dagger, ever vigilant should danger lurk in the tranquil embrace of the silent woods; his tense body relaxing upon the sight of your cloaked figure before him—a beacon of familiarity. You had planned to tell him about your betrothal tonight.

Although it was not much longer that you would find yourself a whimpering mess under the Blackwood boy. Your sighs mingled with the saccharine words Benjicot spoke, adding harmonies of moans and gasps of pleasure in the serenity of the haven you both made. You often feared getting caught but Benji assured you in these remote lands, he doubted anyone would be near enough to witness anything— not even the treacherous act you both selfishly indulged in. You still pray to the Gods that they grant you both the favor that no eye spies this clandestine meeting; and the many before.

You never really questioned yourself on why you couldn't confide in your father about your betrothal; had you already envisioned the conversation—mayhem would ensue. It was simple, it was the decision he made—securing your family's position through a marriage pact, a political alliance they called it. Duty, you thought yet again.

You didn't know what, or whom, to shift the blame on—or maybe it was the complexities of guilt. your guilt. You knew the inevitable, yet your selfishness, your greed, your immature desire for love; tainting your rationale. Or that maybe you should feel resentment that your father and the Lord of Stone Hedge, Humfrey Bracken regarded their relationship as close as to being kin. Maybe then you would have the strength to ignore your obligations, this once.

You cursed yourself for thinking the way you did, and you cursed the Gods for the decades-old rivarly between the ancient houses—a hatred and feud born long before either of you were born; beyond your father's time, and his father's before him, yet its roots grew, multiplying the petty divide among those that followed after them.

It made you question what started the war between the two in the first place, as sin begets sin begets sin; however, unwavering was the tryst between you and Benjicot—untouched by the strife and grudges.

He knew. You were aware of his knowledge with the woven webs you had with the Brackens; about your father's bond with the red stallion lord. Your thoughts do not come to a plausible explanation as they endlessly spun in your mind.

And all it took was Benjicot's hips to lower into yours, silencing these whirling thoughts.

Your cloak drapes over you, offering its warmth from the breaths of wind, coming from the riverbank. It spared the watchful eyes of the forest spirits from your unneeded bareness. At your side, Benjicot lays as he adjusts his breeches.

“There’s a war soon to come,” he says as he stares at the sky, hands behind his head, ”And I ought for you to know that given the growing wars, you have not left my mind since.” he nervously confessed.

You hum in response, the weight of his words settling heavily in the quiet of the forest. "I fear what lies ahead, Ben" you whisper, your voice barely above a murmur, filled with both longing and apprehension.

He turns to you then, his gaze searching yours with an intensity that spoke of unspoken promises and uncertainties. "No matter what comes, my love for you will endure." he vows, his fingers gently tracing the contour of your cheek.

You turn your head and sit up, feeling around for your discarded garments to dress.

"Did I say something wrong?" he asks, sitting up, his expression betraying confusion at your abrupt reaction.

"No, it's not that." you breathed out, your back faced to him. It was this very moment you had feared since the first: the inevitable.

"Well, did you not finish as I had?" he ventured in jest, a playful side of him that you loved. "Or is it because I professed my love for you?", hoping his declaration had not caused you to pull away. "Trust me, I will make sure there's nothing—"

"My betrothal..." you did not let him finish, "it's to Aeron Bracken." you said, still facing away from him as you rose from the ground. You picked on your fingers picked in nervousness of his next response. The weight of your confession hung heavy in the air.

At first he thought he had not heard you clearly, as if the world had gotten awfully quiet. It was when you repeated once more, realizing his ears did not fail him as his blood got hot—of you saying the name whom ignited an unexplainable fury in him.

"Aeron Bracken," Benjicot repeated in disbelief of your sudden confession, "The Bracken twat, eh?" — the very same Bracken he encountered in fresh conflict, near the mill's boundary stones. Although he did not show it, the tension in the air was strong enough to burn and linger its flames; his knuckles turning pale as he clenched his fists at his side.

"A craven false king follower... is bound to your name, to you." he chuckles incredulously.

He paced in the clearing, his footsteps heavy as he turned to you. "And what are you to do about it?" He posed the question, pain plain upon his face, though hope bled through the mask of his composure. Deep down, he already knew the answer. He could scare tell if asking you such question was to self-inflict torment, or just a desperate need to face the harsh reality of your confession— not a difference between the two really.

You finally turned to meet his gaze, "It's my father's decision," you explained softly. "I... I cannot defy it." You stood before him, as your tears glisten in the faint light. Torn between love and duty.

"Ben," you pleaded, your voice shaking. "You know the stakes. It’s my duty. My family's honor—”

"Fuck honor!" he interrupted, his voice thundering through the forest. He strides towards you, "It was long gone the very moment we first met—" he huffed out. He knew in his heart that despite the love he developed towards you, the tangled web of your kinship with the Brackens would soon unravel the bond you shared— still, he gambled with the odds, just as you had.

He had ever hoped that the old Gods would bestow the blessing of his fervent wishes—that it would be you, not some other maiden, whom he would take to wife. He often dreamed of you bearing the heirs of his house, growing gray together, and watch as your blood flow through the veins that would carry on his legacy. Yet, it was only ever a distant dream.

You reached out to him, to calm the storm raging within him, but he jerked away. "Tell me, then," he challenged, stepping closer with fire in his eyes. "Where do your loyalties lie, beyond this," he motioned between the two of you. "Are you suggesting that your father, and even yourself, are to declare for the usurper cunt of a King?" he whisper-yells to you. “Or is this some sort of arrangement with those Bracken fucks, to get back at us Blackwoods, simply just using me as a pawn, 'cus you know I'm now Lord?" His words spitting at you like venom;

“Oh, you know where my loyalties lie," you spat, your voice filled with heartache, "But I won't stand for you questioning my integrity nor my family's honor to secure a future." You glared at him as your heart stung with hurt, "And to accuse me... I would not dare to commit something so heinous even if i could; I'm not cruel, Benji."

Benjicot's jaw clenched, shaking his head as he stood facing the river, incomprehensible words muttered under his breath.

"I never asked for this," you whispered, tears welling in your eyes. "But I have responsibilities. We both do." you sniffled, swallowing the tension of your throat away, "And I know you know..." you wiped your tears, "we know... that this was bound to occur, sooner or later, Ben." your voice was barely audible, even with the deafening silence the forest came to be. "There's a war coming."

The silence hung heavy in the air, thick with unspoken words and the weight of impossible choices.

Benjicot stood before you, his expression torn between love and anguish. His hands trembled as he gathered his scattered belongings, his movements reflecting the turmoil in his heart. You mirrored his actions, silently picking the remnants of what you felt is to be your last fleeting moment of happiness.

"I swear it," he finally spoke, "would that we were not bound by the enmity between our folks, I would have already vowed myself to you. Long before your father would have you promised to another."

His words pierced your heart with longing and regret, the bitter truth of your circumstances hanging between you like a veil of sorrow. “And I would have gladly accepted it,” you replied with a heavy sigh. "—my Lord."

The Blackwood male nodded, his gaze fixed on yours, filled with a depth of emotion that mirrored your own. With a heavy heart, you both silently acknowledged the futility of your love.

Benjicot turned away first. The distance between you both grew; and his silhouette became one with the dark forest.

You knew that somewhere, amidst the pain and heartache, you would find a way to carry on—a life of uncertainty but fraught with duty. As you walked away from the happiness and love that the forest had given you, the ache in your chest spoke of a love that was lost but will never be forgotten. It would be a bittersweet reminder of what once was, and what could never be again.

#hotd x reader #benjicot blackwood #benjicot blackwood x reader #bloody ben #davos blackwood #davos blackwood x reader #forbidden romance #star crossed lovers #hotd angst #i love me some angst #mmm mmm mmmmmmmm #i hope you guys like itttt!!!#kieran burton fancast #hotd fanfic #hotd

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drenched-in-sunlight · 20 hours

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i checked the JP description of Malenia set & in the “[Miquella] possesses the wisdom, the allure, of a God” line, the word they use for “allure” is 「誘惑」

It can also be translated as “seduction”.

It’s the same word used in the DLC trailer for “seduction and betrayal” part.

Tbh, I have no crazy revelation on this. I were just thinking “why Malenia did not factor in “kindness” as a quality for a God to have when she described Miquella— oh shit which word did they use for “allure”.”

Somehow I knew it’d be the same word before I even looked up the rest

For me at least, “seduction and betrayal” has always been a general theme of what Godhood will entail.

The Fingers promised Marika power to avenge her kins & betrayed her by locking her into a cage of divinity (that brought her and her future family nothing but misery in the end), Marika accepted to be a vessel but at the same time tasked Hewg to make a weapon to slay a God (so she was always going to rebel against them), Radagon charmed Rennala then left her a husk of her former self, Miquella was seduced by the naive belief that Godhood would be the answer to all the problems but got betrayed by that ideal as it made him lose himself, Miquella charmed others and some of them felt betrayed when the charm was broken.

It’s a theme.

So this is not exactly news to me, but I think it’d be interesting to point that out.

(Like, if I’m to list out more: Ranni linked up with the Black Knives but later imprisoned Alecto when the deed is done, if you attack Fia before getting the mending rune, Godwyn’s body would attack you to protect her, but once the rune is finished (aka Godwyn achieved second life as Lord of Death), she could be murdered by D’s brother… & Fia was obviously infatuated with Godwyn.

If you write “seduction & betrayal” and draw a bunch of arrows from it… it’s pretty much in every demigod subplots. It depends on how one interpret certain events, yeah, but still.

Also: Rennala bewitching the Academy making them believe the Moon was equal to the Stars, the Fell God letting the Fire Giants borrow their power but curse them to tend to the flame for eternity, Bayle vs Placidussax, like… those whole other cans of lore worm?? Need I say more??)

#er brainrot #damn if I think too much about it everyone in ER is kinda a backstabber. even us. it’s funny alright 💀🗿#the irony of Miquella framing Marika’s ascension that way only for his own twin to use that exact same word about him. it’s poetry to me

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silmarillion-ways-to-die · 2 months

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"Oh, what are you doing, And where are you going? Your ponies need shoeing, The river is flowing! Oh, tra-la-la-lally Here down in the valley, ha! ha!" – Elves of Rivendell, The Hobbit

“You are more worthy to wear the armour of elf-princes than many that have looked more comely in it.” – Thranduil, The Hobbit

“May your shadow never grow less (or stealing would be too easy)!” – Thranduil, The Hobbit

"A Elbereth Gilthoniel, silivren penna miriel. 0 menel aglar elenath!" – Elves of Rivendell, The Fellowship of the Ring

"Such is of the course of deeds that move the wheels of the world: small hands do them because they must, while the eyes of the great are elsewhere." – Elrond Halfelven, The Fellowship of the Ring

"Farewell, and may the blessing of Elves and Men and all Free Folk go with you. May the stars shine upon your faces!" – Elrond Halfelven, The Fellowship of the Ring

"Yes, they are elves, and they say that you breathe so loud they could shoot you in the dark." – Legolas Greenleaf, The Fellowship of the Ring

"And now at last it comes. You will give me the Ring freely! In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning! Stronger than the foundations of the earth. All shall love me and despair!" – Galadriel, The Fellowship of the Ring

"In this phial is caught the light of Eärendil’s star, set amid the waters of my fountain. It will shine still brighter when night is about you. May it be a light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out." – Galadriel, The Fellowship of the Ring

"Get thee gone from my gate, thou jail-crow of Mandos!" – Fëanor, The Silmarillion

"...neither law, nor love, nor league of swords, dread nor danger, not Doom itself, shall defend him from Fëanor, and Fëanor's kin, whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh, finding keepeth or afar casteth a Silmaril." – Fëanor and His Sons, Morgoth's Ring

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thelien-art · 5 months

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Fëanáro; King of the Noldor and Lord of the Lights

‘Why, O my people, why should we longer serve these jealous gods, who cannot keep us, nor their own realm even, secure from their Enemy? And though he be now their foe, are not they and he of one kin? Vengeance calls me hence, but even were it otherwise, I would not dwell longer in the same land with the kin of my father’s slayer and the thief of my treasure. Yet I am not the only valiant in this valiant people. And have ye not all lost your king? And what else have ye not lost, cooped here in a narrow land between the jealous mountains and the harvestless Sea? Here once was light, that the Valar begrudged to Middle-earth, but now dark levels all. Shall we mourn here deedless for ever, a shadow-folk, mist-haunting, dropping vain tears in the salt thankless Sea? Or shall we go home? In Cuiviénen sweet ran the waters under unclouded stars, and wide lands lay about where a free folk might walk. There they lie still and await us who in our folly forsook them. Come away! Let the cowards keep this city. But by the blood of Finwë! unless I dote, if the cowards only remain, then grass will grow in the streets. Nay, rot, mildew, and toadstool.’

Morgoth´s Ring by J.R.R Tolkien - Of the Speech of Fëanor upon Túna

This took way too long - want a burning version too? or the end of his speech??↓

‘Fair shall the end be, though long and hard shall be the road! Say farewell to bondage! But say farewell also to ease! Say farewell to the weak! Say farewell to your treasures — more still shall we make! Journey light. But bring with you your swords! For we will go further than Tauros, endure longer than Tulkas: we will never turn back from pursuit. After Morgoth to the ends of the Earth! War shall he have and hatred undying. But when we have conquered and have regained the Silmarils that he stole, then behold! We, we alone, shall be the lords of the unsullied Light, and masters of the bliss and the beauty of Arda! No other race shall oust us!’

#feanor #feanaro #curufinwe #sons of feanor #if you look close #tolkien #jrr tolkien #silmarillion #tolkien art #silm art #my art #digital art

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tamayakii · 1 year

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Mare's Milk & Cider

warnings: drinking(reader has no specific age), story takes place in "second of his name" during Aegon's II celebrations, canon events basically. pairings: Otto Hightower x reader(can be seen as platonic/romantic), hotd x reader notes: thank you Aaliah, @genshinluvr, she helped me out with the ending!!! Let me know if you'd like to be in a tag list for this fic :) this fic is also paired up with this drawing i made!

“Then it lies with you, to make him see it.” Hobert advised, stepping closer to his younger brother, “Lord Hand” It did not go under Otto’s nose of what his brother was suggesting, reminding him of his own title.

His eyes never leave Hoberts as he considers his brothers' words, “and speaking of growing,” Otto follows Hoberts's moving gaze to the Princess, Angel of The Red Keep, adorned in a headdress with a long silk veil, dragons and stars embroidered in. Face decorated in Velaryon pearls, neck and fingers embellished with the finest green rubies, jades and agate the Hightowers could find.

“The fine lady y/n has grown to be a wondrous young woman, hasn’t she?” Hobert eyes do not hold simple admiration for a young girl grown, they hold more, and they contain something that Otto wants to snuff out with his bare hands.

“She is betrothed?” Hobert asks, looking back at his brother. “A fine woman like that cannot go un-married for long. With her and Rhaenrya combined, I can imagine the king's chambers are filled with betrothal letters.” Otto looks back at the Princess, watching as she plays with her new baby brother, covering her face and pulling her hands away quickly.

“A fine mother she will make as well, Aegon loves her.” The comment almost makes Otto snap, the thought of anyone being her husband or the father to her children makes a fire burst inside him. One Otto cannot explain reasonably, so he stifles it.

“She.. is not betrothed, Brother, I don’t think the King has any interest in marrying her off,” Otto answers, his lips tightening when his brother looks at him with a smirk. A near-knowing one that always made Otto furious since childhood.

“The king, or you?” Hobert quips, smirk widening when Otto’s face scrunches, nostrils flaring and wrinkles deepening. Hobert pats his shoulder as he begins to walk away, satisfied to get under his brother's skin.

No. Lady y/n shall not betrothed. Otto thinks, especially not to the likes of his brother. He watches as she laughs, throwing her head back and hand over her heart. Nothing, nothing could compare to her.

She steps away as the Lannister boy steps in, talking about the stepstones. She treats herself to the glorious spread on the table, picking out ham and grapes, plate barely complete- Otto steps in.

“Please, My Lady, have more” He helps fill her plate, and she shakes her head,

“You’re so sweet, Ser Otto, but i don’t think i can handle it. I am trying to watch my waist.” She responds, in a honey-sweet voice, one that cradles his entire being but her words make him roll his eyes.

“Treat yourself, My lady, we do not wish you to starve on such a good day. Now go ahead; eat before the long journey” Soon Viserys is at her side, like a dragon protecting its kin. All it takes is one look to make Otto step away,

“Come eat.” The king demands, “Fortify yourselves for the journey.” Otto watches her, keeping by her father’s side; Like a lamb to its mother. She looks over her shoulder and smiles at him--

☾

The trip to Kingswood is long and cold. Hand intertwined with Rhaenrya’s as you arrive, the loud crowd applauding for the king and new prince’s arrival but Rhaenrya makes no move to depart from the carriage.

“Rhaenrya?” Whispering as you scooch closer to the princess, “They await to see you” Still unmoving, all she does is blink. “Come.” standing up and pulling her along, “We will go together.” You step out of the carriage, with the princess alongside you.

“The Realms Delight herself; Princess Rhaenrya of Dragonstone! Accompanied by Princess y/n, Angel of The Red Keep!!” You squeeze her hand, looking at her. She looks at you with a somber smile, squeezing your hand back.

The roar of the crowd could blow you back, it will never not be jarring to be reminded of your station. A Princess. Not by blood but by word, and who would tell the king no? Who would dare say to King Viserys that his second daughter, whom his own late lady wife believed she had birthed her, cannot be a princess?

The celebrations are grand, the finest cakes and delights, the meat freshly hunted and prepared before your eyes. At your father's request, you stayed by his side, forcing you to leave Rhaenrya.

The glorious tent is filled with laughter and talk, and the smell of wine and cake fills your nose. Looking over to where the pregnant Queen Alicent sits, you realize she has been staring at you. You offer her a smile and she too offers one back.

Settling back into your chair, crossing your hands on your lap as you look above. Looking into the tiny details of the royal tent, the golden threads woven with black.

“Tired, my dragonling?” Viserys looks at you, reaching his free hand to yours- the other holding a goblet of wine. You reach over and hold his hand, As soon as he questions you, a yawn tries to force its way to your throat.

“The ride was tiring and too long for my tastes but--” you look to your father with a reassuring smile, “I shall be okay, After some food and rest, I'll be okay” he smiles back at you before taking another drink from his goblet.

Soon enough you’re offered your own goblet, filled with mare’s milk and honey. Time passes by slowly, you blink once and your father isn’t by your side anymore, It seems no one has noticed you dozed off. You promise yourself you won’t fall asleep but as you close your eyes and your goblet tips in your weak hand; the promise is broken.

“Is that all I am to you? A prize to be proffer about to the great houses?” Rhaenrya's voice makes you jump out of your short slumber, eyes wide like a deer as you begin to process the situation. As Viserys steps towards Rhaenrya, you push yourself out of your seat, setting your goblet down on the table beside you.

“You’re of age, Rhaenrya,” he points out, “and Jason Lannister is an excellent match,” he adds on. Oh. Oh no. Stepping towards the pair they seem not to notice you, there was no smooth way to stop this bickering. The two argue every day at least ever since Queen Aemma passed and especially since Viserys took Alicent to wife.

“He’s arrogant and self-serious” Rhaenrya argued, You wring your hands together anxiously. Watching the two fight as a bystander was like watching two lions fight, watching them as their family felt like two dragons fighting overhead. All that would follow would be the destruction of varying amounts that was left for you to pick up and fix, being both of their shoulders to lean on.

“Well, I thought you might have that in common” Even Lord Lyonel could feel the suffocating air around the two, taking a third step back. Sending you an apologetic look, the face Rhaenrya has is indescribable. Perhaps she wanted to scream at him, or even shocked that he would say such a thing, or maybe she had been at a loss for words.

Otto stalks closer from the sidelines, watching closely. This catches your eye, you try to breathe; knowing he is here comforts you. For nearly three years now, he has been your aid, your comfort and your closest friend- even despite the large age gap. You realize the tent has now fallen silent, and everyone listening in.

You quickly step to Otto’s side, seeking his silent comfort. You wish you could fix everything, and make everyone happy; even if it left your hands raw and bloody. If you could give your own heart for it; then you’d do it.

“Even I do not exist above tradition and duty, Rhaenrya!!” You cover your ears quickly, eyes wide with fear. Turning your body away from them, you began to feel violently aware of everyone's eyes on your family, some on you but mainly on the spectacle; The King and The Heir fighting on Aegon’s second name day.

When Viserys turns to Otto what he sees makes his flesh burn; You. So very close to Otto but turned away from him- Your father. It makes his blood boil, you should seek comfort from him. Not Ser Otto. You are his daughter. Not Otto’s.

Viserys soon leaves after the news of the white hart, but Otto stays, just for a moment. His gloved hand sitting on your shoulder, a reassuring hold. Your breath is shaky and your chest tight but you still manage to look at him through your eyelashes,

“Breathe, Princess.” He insists, and he maneuvers you towards your seat. Hand traversing to your lower back, “Sit and have some milk.” He gently puts your goblet back in your hand as you seat yourself. Feeble hands grip the handle, eyes drawn to the floor.

Otto tries to find the right words, he has never been a man of comfort. His hand hovers over your dropped head, unbeknownst to you. He sighs and takes his leave, passing his goblet to a maiden.

The day gets longer, Rhaenrya has run off with Criston following behind her. You knew it was against your set rules but you sank into your cups, after whispering to the help to fill your cups with cider but to not tell anyone else.

Your eyelids get heavy again, head tipping back. You love your family, you do. They took you in as a child, they gave you everything even despite the tight rules provided, sometimes… sometimes you wish that you took to a dragon and flew. Flew somewhere, to old Valryia or maybe to the free cities.

Then you’d be free.. but never truly free. Your love ties you down to your loved ones but that is the consequence of loving hard. Looking down into your cup, you swirl your drink. Taking a deep breath you look back to Alicent, she is already looking at you.

You wonder how long she has been staring at you and you tilt your head, she gestures for you to sit next to her. Another sigh leaves your mouth, slowly pushing yourself up.

“oh! princess, here allow me to help!” a maiden comes to your side, you wave her off as you give her the empty goblet. You keep your steps slow so as to not wobble, to others; you looked like you were gliding.

“My Queen.” you address as you sit beside her, Alicent quickly holds your hand closest to her. You are surrounded by the lady wives of many different men along with Larys Strong, the son of Lyonel Strong, the brother of Harwin “Breakbones” Strong.

“This is Viserys’s other daughter, Princess y/n” Remembering to keep your eyes open, you look around with a smile. “Dear y/n, how’s your day? you seem awfully tired.” Alicent asks with concern, one hand on her belly and other on your hand as she leans closer.

“I’m quite fine.” you mumble back, fighting your heavy lids as you nod. “The day is long… but soon we shall dine and turn in for the night.”

The conversations bore you, useless politics, rumors, marriages of lower houses. You wave over another servant with a sigh, already they know what you want. They deliver it, you try to hide the contents from Alicent but she notices.

“Cider?” She whispers tightly, holding the wrist that holds your goblet. Your nose flexes, “You know you cannot handle that.” She states, “a maiden your age shouldn’t even be holding a cup of cider.”

The rest of the ladies converse, and you are unbeknownst to another set of eyes on you. “Please. I will be fine.” you whisper, patting her hand and prying her tiny fingers off.

You take another big swig of your cider, almost finishing it all in one go. Looking over to Larys who has nearly burned holes into your head, nodding at him as a greeting.

“La-Larys.” you slur and he smiles at you, and you return it with a half one. The sudden need for fresh air sits in your lungs, eating you like a snake does a vole. Chugging your drink before shoving it in between the cushions of the seat, you stand up.

“I’m.. gonna go get some fresh air.” You announced, trying to make your way out of the once lovely group of women who now seem like a horde of gossiping vultures.

“Oh!” Lady Redwyne pops, “I heard that the hunters found a fat hog, they should be smoking it just now!”

The thought of watching them gut a pig to smoke makes your stomach turn, “thanks.. Lady Redwyne” You hurry out of the tent, the sun shining upon your skin. The pungent smell of burning meat and spices hits you, quickly turning away and scurrying to the back of the tent- where it was closer to the forest edge.

“ugh…. fuck.” You groan, kicking the dirt below you, the cider sticks to your insides like jam to bread. You ache to be in the comforts of the red keep, painting, or perhaps riding on horseback. You ache for a lot of things. Ache for the motherly hands of Aemma, to feel the embrace of someone you refuse to let yourself say. Perhaps you ache for the unmade.

You stand there, for minutes. Just staring into the bushes and trees, the arrival of the hunting party brings you back. Smoothing down the white lace on your dress, gulping down the fresh forest air; you return to the celebrations.

“Princess?” a feeble voice calls out, you look around and are surprised to see Larys.

“O-oh! Larys.. Larys, you surprised me.” You turn to the man hunched over his walking cane, leaning onto it. “How have you enjoyed my brother's second name day?” you ask, almost swallowing your tongue.

“it has been fine.. not that i can enjoy the most of it.” He moves his twisted foot, something that has dubbed him “The clubfoot” among gossipers. “But to be honest, i think i prefer talking with the maidens.” he adds, “they are far more gentler”

You nod along, eyes flickering over to the hunting party. Dogs held right by handlers, horses snorting and throwing their heads back as their riders dismount.

“But you..” he continues on “seem to be left to your own,” You still and wrong your hands together. Adjusting your stance as you feel yourself leaning, telling yourself to keep yourself together.

“Yes.. but it’s okay, I don't… don’t mind.” You reassure,

“I’m sure the cups of cider helped.” he smirks, knowing, your face flushed. How did he know? noticing your red face he chuckles,

“not to worry, Princess. I shall not tell anyone.” His eyes never leave yours, following your finicky gaze. It makes you uncomfortable, like a child being examined.

“I suppose it’s not-“

“You shall not tell anyone, what?”

you almost jump out of your skin, you turn so quickly that your head may have spun all around. Otto stands tall, chin up. Almost looking down upon Larys,

“Ser Otto” Larys addresses, if Larys was scared, he made no effort to show it. Your heart beats against your chest, “She was telling me a story; about Aegon.” You try to catch up to where Larys was, but he seemed to be a whole book ahead.

“ye… yes!” you stammer over words, “i uh, guess you could say i spoiled him despite Alicent request.” Otto's hard eyes soften when they land on you, it was a siren's song to your intoxicated state.

“The princess should be with the king.” Otto says, he offers you his arm and you reach for it.

“I was keeping the Princess company as she enjoyed the fresh air.” Larys explains, “She felt a bit queasy. I guess the mares' milk may have gone bad.” Otto looks down at your averted gaze, examining your state. Shuffling in your stance, flickering eyelids and subtle swaying.

“I see, I will look into that.” Otto puts his hand over yours, a grip to keep you near- not to comfort. “Come on, Princess.” He tries to walk you back, you step on your own foot as he does so.

“I think the princess would like to enjoy the fresh air longer.” Larys turns slowly, looking dead in Otto's eyes.

“The king has requested her presence” Otto's grip tightens, his nostrils flare. “but you can enjoy the air if you wish. I’m sure you won’t be bothered” Larys watches Otto lead you off into the tent, eyes never leaving you.

Entering the red tent filled with dozens of folk and your father right ahead, your sister is nowhere to be seen. You want to go home, you want to lie in your warm bed with Rhaenrya and wake up to braid each other's hair.

Soon you’re back in your chair, holding Viserys’ hand and Otto to your left. You stare off, taking a deep breath.

You would always be in the jaws of someone bigger, the dragons or the hounds. You’d bare your neck like a lamb, and hope for the dark delicate love.

Entwined in other people’s fate, all you can hope is that the fates bring you peace.

#HOTD x reader #yandere house of the dragon x reader #yandere hotd x reader #yandre house of the dragon #yandere hord #otto hightower x reader #yandere #Viserys Targaryen x reader #rhaenrya targaryen x reader #house of the dragon x reader #Larys Strong x reader #yandere Larys Strong #Yandere Otto Hightower #Yandere viserys targaryen #yandere rhaenrya targaryen

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camille-lachenille · 8 months

Text

A flickering flame

She looks at the babe in her arms, blissfully asleep and unaware of the world he just entered. This little boy who shouldn’t be, her miracle and her curse.

Drained, she leans back against the pillows as the midwife cleans the room. It’s a sad place, to bring a child to life in, this rickety little cabin in the woods. And yet, it is the only way to keep her secret, to keep her son safe.

“Do you have a name for him?” the midwife asks quietly. It is not the first time she asks, and not the first time silence is her only answer.

No, she doesn’t have a name for her son, because she did not mean to have a son. Because, by any mean, he should not even exist.

Yet, exist he does, and his warm weight against her breast chases some of the pain and melancholy away. She presses a light kiss to his soft dark hair. His eyes are blue, for now, and she wonders if they will change to her own brown or stay as blue as his sire’s. She considered calling him his father, even if just in her heart, but the wound is still too fresh and the word stings at this gaping absence. He left her, alone with this tiny, flickering life; he does not desserves any other title than sire of her son. And yet…

And yet this is not her son, she muses, not entirely, for the life in him is brighter and stronger than it ought to be. This babe a mere hours old already has a keen gaze, his large eyes reflecting the light. She wonders if they will reflect the stars, if she brings him outside.

She does not have foresight, for this is a gift of the Eldar, but she knows her time with her son is limited. That she has to secret him away and rip yet another piece of her heart if she wants him to live. He does not belong to the green forests of Ladros and the villages scattered there. He is not destined to the simple life of the men of this land.

With a heavy sigh, she carefully lays her son next to her on the bed and asks the midwife for the paper and ink she packed with her own supplies. The letter is short and to the point, just cryptic enough that anyone unaware of her identity can’t understand the message. There is precious little wax in the cabin, but she sacrifices a bit of her candle to seal the letter before handing it to the midwife.

“Give this to the closest courrier you can find,” she says, an order despite her tired voice. The midwife nods and tucks the letter in her bag. She won’t speak, she knows.

***

The answer comes swifter than she expected, in the form of a tall, cloaked figure entering the cabin at night. She almost screams in fear, reaching for the knife on the bedside, before recognising the face half hidden by the hood. The bright eyes shine in the dim light of the lone candle.

“You called for me?” the figure asks, his voice melodious and fair. If she did not know the identity of her visitor, she could have mistaken his voice for another, beloved one, just for the faintest moment. But he is not him. She will never see him again and she thinks ‘good riddance’ even as her heart bleeds.

Mutely, she signals to the visitor to sit on the side of the bed, and places her son in his arms. “Take him to safety, my Lord,” she says. “Tell whatever lies you want about his origins but keep him safe with his kin.”

“But you are his kin, my friend,” he replies calmly, even as he rocks the babe in his arms. And what a picture it would be, to see this great Lord playing nursemaid, if the situation wasn’t so painful.

She shakes her head. “He may share my blood but not my soul; I can see it in his eyes. He belongs with you. Please, take him and tell no one the truth!” and she hates how her voice shakes, how she is reduced to beg to have her son taken away from her. But she cannot keep him, she knew that from the very moment she felt this little life growing within her.

Her visitor sighs softly in defeat, and even this sound is music. “Very well, my nephew has a young daughter and his wife is still nursing. They will be happy to call him their son.” And his words sound like a promise.

A knot loosens in her chest at the knowledge her son will be well cared for. “Thank you, my friend,” she whispers quietly. “But go now, before dawn comes. There is a basket with supplies for the babe on the table.”

The visitor raises, towering over the bed she has spent the last few weeks in, close to her son, and secures the still sleeping babe in a sling against his heart with the uttermost care. Yes, her son will be safe in these hands.

He is about to leave, basket in hand, when he pauses by the door and turns to look at her. “You never told me his name.” His voice is serious and his gaze piercing.

She looks back at him, calm and sure of herself for the first time since he entered the cabin. “Artanáro,” she says with a tight little thing of a smile. “For his life is bright as a flame.”

Her friend smiles faintly as he looks back and forth between her and the babe. “Artanáro. Yes, it suits him.”

#tolkien #the silmarillion #athrabeth finrod ah andreth #gil galad #gil galad son of plothole #finrod #andreth saelind #implied aegnor x andreth #silm fic #tolkien fic #my writing

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