#t: aeron

[serenstars]

got my og girl to act 3. having lots of thoughts about how all her new discoveries are impacting her

[moonriselabyrinth]

Aeron: you’re the most jealous man I know

Davos: you know other men?

[sornasaur]

Happy Birthday to my Aries Boy, Aeron~ aka C h a r d o n n a y B o y T o y~

I can’t find any other screenies I had saved of him so this one’ll do xD

[entitled-fangirl]

More wolf.

Cregan Stark x Bracken wife!reader

Summary: Cregan's Bracken wife is full of fire, and it warms his Northern heart. A misunderstanding comes between them, and the tension only grows.

Warnings: talks of death, sparring, attacking, breaking trust, talks of sex

A/n: God, I love this more than I love myself. This is one of my favorites.

Masterlist

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

She didn't take his hand when she dismounted her horse. 

She was too stubborn of a woman, Cregan often thought. 

She was a Bracken, and Brackens were nothing if not stubborn as mules.

The war did nothing to bridge the gap. In fact, it made it only grow.

A Bracken married to the Wolf who fought for the Blacks.

It seemed ridiculous.

Now, married for a few months, nothing had changed. 

Her feet hit the ground, and she smoothed out her dress. "Ready, Lord Husband?" She asked out of politeness and nothing more. 

Cregan let out a soft sigh. 

She was gorgeous, if only she wasn't so stubborn. 

…

The brass woman confused Cregan more and more every day. 

He stepped out into the courtyard at his usual time to spar, but paused. 

She angrily swung her sword at the dummy, the sound of the fabric ripping filling the air.

He cursed under his breath at the sight of her legs now clad in pants. It awoken something in him.

"Good morrow, wife."

She turned, the tip of the sword falling to the ground as she looked at him. Sweat dripped from her forehead, her hair a mess around her face. 

Gods, she was beautiful.

She tipped her head at him as she panted. "Good morrow, husband. Am- Am I in your way? I apologize. I usually train in the afternoon but I find this cooler morning weather quite lovely."

He hummed, trying to stay focused. "As do I. Hence why I spar then. Please, don't let me interrupt you."

"No," she insists as she brushes her forearm across her forehead. "A break will do me well. Perhaps I'll stop here."

She grabbed her things and began to walk away. 

"How is it that I've not seen you training until now, wife? You've been here four months now." He hums, "Strange, don't you think?"

"Not in the slightest," she retorted over her shoulder. "Why would I want my husband to know of my swordsmanship?"

He watched her walk off, trying not to focus too closely on her ass.

…

While Cregan was frustrated at the war, he was no monster. So, he allowed Aeron Bracken, her brother, to write to her often. The only criterion was that Cregan had to read the letters back and forth when sent and received. He was to be the one to break the seal when received and the one to send hers off. It was a fair deal, honestly more than fair.

"His respect for me and my people stopped the moment I declared my army the Queen's. Even after our wedding," he grimaced. He threw the paper down onto the desk. "Has he always spoken of me this way?"

She shook her head. "I fear the war is beginning to drive him mad. He's an angry man, driven by whatever angers our father the most." She leaned back in her chair. "If it eases your mind at all, I often ignore those parts of his letters."

It did ease his mind to hear her small proclamation, no matter how slightly backhanded it seemed. 

"How will you respond?"

She sighed and stood. "I won't."

His mouth opened, but by the time he thought of something to say, she was gone.

…

Cregan stayed in the courtyard the entire next day. He blamed it on his frustration and stress for the upcoming war but in all reality?

He was waiting for her to come train again.

Various men and servants came to him to try to beckon him indoors to deal with urgent matters, but he'd send them away, not wanting to leave for even a moment.

And eventually, she did show. 

But only for a moment.

She stepped out and paused at the sight of Cregan there. She looked around in confusion and a slight bit of frustration, then stomped back indoors. 

That cute fucking furrow in her brow had him beginning to think things a gentleman never would.

…

He decided to try again the next day, hoping that this time, he could catch her before she stomped off. 

But Cregan underestimated the Bracken's intelligence, for she had peeked from various balconies throughout the day to view the courtyard. And seeing that he was still there, she ducked back indoors. 

How infuriating.

…

That night, Cregan stretched from his chair in his solar. The workload was getting to him, especially when he had to complete it all in the night hours due to his daytime activities. 

He brought his hands to his face, as if he could rub away the sleeping hormones that began to control his brain. 

A distance sound made his head perk up.

He moved to his window, daring to peak out into the night.

In the courtyard stood his bride, lit only by torchlight, stabbing away at a sparring dummy.

He wanted to be angry. He really did. How foolish was this woman to be out alone like this?

But it filled him with pride more.

He found himself stepping away from the window and through the doorway, barely grabbing his cloak in time. 

He stepped out into the cold air outdoors, smiling at the sight of his wife. "Bit dark for training, don't you think?"

It startled her enough that she dropped the heavy longsword, trying to ignore the sound of it hitting the ground. She spun around. 

He expected her to laugh at that, or at least find joy in that fact that he noticed her presence out here. But no. She was infuriated.

"What the hell are you playing at?"

He took a step back in shock. "I don't know what you mean."

She huffed, placing a hand on her hip, the other in her hair to rub at her scalp. "Will you not let me have the night either? If this is too unladylike for you, Lord Stark, just say so." She kicked at her sword. "Fucking take it then."

Cregan held his hands up, trying to remain calm despite her outburst. "I meant no harm."

"Oh, I'm sure you didn't." She lets out a humorless laugh. "You only occupy the courtyard from dawn until dusk, knowing well that this is the one thing I have here."

Cregan's jaw fell a bit at that. "I hadn't thought of it that way. I only wished-"

"What?" She stepped up to him, though their height difference was much, the anger in her eyes made up for it. "What does the great Wolf of the North wish for?"

"To see you happy," he admits softly before he can stop himself.

Her brows come together, the same look that makes Cregan have to shift his weight to his other leg. 

"I'll go, wife. And I won't bother you again out here. That I swear."

The tension between the two was at a peak as they stared at one another. 

He studied her as if it was the last time, and turned to walk back indoors.

"Cregan."

He immediately paused in his step, not even looking back at her. 

Her voice was soft, something he'd not heard before. "If you want- I'd like a sparring partner."

His face lit up in a bright grin, but he wouldn't dare let her see it. "I'll be there."

And he stepped inside.

…

The next day, Cregan spent outdoors. 

And when she appeared, he was beyond gleeful.

"How good exactly are you, Cregan Stark?" She asked as she reached for her sword.

Was that a tease?

He leaned over her back to grab his own, taking the opportunity to speak into her ear. "Very."

She tried to ignore the shiver that moved down her spine at the northman's husky voice.

She'd taken on larger opponents, but she feared that he was perhaps the best. 

Aeron was good, but he was no Cregan Stark.

"Ready to weep for my mercy?" She further teased when they got into formation.

A genuine laugh came from him as he spun Ice in his hand. "I don't think I'll have to worry about that, my lady."

"You're no Aegon the Conqueror," she jabbed.

He took initiative, stepping forward and swinging the large blade through the air. 

She blocked it easily enough, the sound of the metal scrapping filling their ears. 

He pushed his blade against hers, trying to get the advantage. "I believe I'm more of a Maegor myself."

"More of a Torrhen."

They pulled away from one another, and Cregan's blade dropped a bit. "You mock my ancestor?"

She faltered, her face falling. "I didn't mean-"

Cregan used that to his advantage, using his sword to knock hers out of her hand. The tip of Ice touched her throat. 

The two stared at one another, hers in shock, and his in amusement. 

"Never let your guard down."

She had to manually remember how to shut her mouth, the shock getting to her, and then the small bit of anger came in. "What's the ancient saying? Ah, yes, 'Fuck you'."

Cregan couldn't stop the bright chuckle that erupted from his chest. He tapped the flat end of the blade against the underside of her chin, forcing her head up. "Careful there, or I'll think those words literal. What was it your brother called me? A 'dumb brute'? Perhaps you shouldn't overestimate my intelligence, Bracken."

When he lowered his blade, she felt herself take a small gasp of air, trying to bring oxygen to her heated cheeks. "You're not dumb or a brute," she defended.

"No? What am I, wife?" He asked softly.

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. She hadn't meant to compliment him so openly, and now her defenses were vulnerable. "You're not… unintelligent."

He grinned, spinning his sword again. "Wow. What a compliment from a pretty girl. I fear I'm flushed."

She tried to ignore the tumble her stomach did when he called her pretty. "Well," she said as she bent down to pick up her sword, "I'm nothing if not honest." She adjusted her grip on it. "Again."

Cregan stared blankly, knowing he was head over heels for this girl.

…

He woke up better than he should have the next morning, beyond ecstatic for his sparring time with his wife.

He groaned and stood, ready to start his day. 

His servant came in and began to help him dress, but there was a certain look to the man's eye. 

"What?" Cregan asked. 

"Hmm?" The man looked up. "Oh, nothing, my lord. Excuse me."

"No," he pushed. "Speak your mind, please. I encourage it."

The servant hesitated. "It's not mine to tell."

"Speak," Cregan ordered a little harsher.

"Your wife, my lord. The lady, she- she's inconsolable."

Cregan paused. "What?"

"There was a letter of some kind…?" He trailed off.

Cregan audibly growled. He dragged his tongue across the top row of his teeth to think carefully about his words. "From House Bracken? She broke the seal without me?"

"So I've been told, my lord."

"Where is she?" He asked a little too calmly.

"In the courtyard, I believe."

Cregan sighed. "Dress me for a spar."

…

Indeed she was outside, repeatedly swinging her sword without pause at the wooden dummy.

She was angry. 

Her arms burned, her legs ached, sweat ran down her face in abundance, but her anger was too much to stop. 

She swung back again only to feel the weight of her blade leave her hands. 

"YOU BROKE MY TRUST," an angry voice sounded from behind her.

She whipped around. 

Cregan stood, his towering frame only more intimidating with his anger. His eyes were set on her like a wolf spotting prey. Her longsword lay in his hand, his grip so tight that his knuckles were four shades lighter than the rest of him. 

With his teeth bared like that, she finally understood all of the Stark/direwolf references. 

"Give me my blade," she shot back. 

He held it out of her reach. "Starks are honest. Noble. Trustworthy. You are no Stark."

She scoffed. "Cause I broke one seal?"

"It's more than that and you know it."

"Give. Me. My. Sword."

When she reached out for it, Cregan took his free hand to grab her jaw tightly. "What was in that letter?" He growled.

"Fuck you."

He pulled her closer, their breaths mixing in the cold air. "Tell me."

She spat in his face, throwing Cregan off. 

Taking a play from his book, she used that to reach out and take her blade. She stepped back and pointed it at him. "Stay away from me."

"So eager to take advantage of my kindness, girl?"

She shook her head. "Kind? You're not kind at all. Hoping to lower my defenses and gain my trust, all while your war waged on in the background? Hardly a gentlemanly thing to do."

Her words made him falter for a moment. "What?"

"Oh, don't act so noble now, Stark." She waved the blade around as she spoke. "Parade me around while I remain clueless. I may be your Stark, but I am no traitor to anyone, much less my family."

"I never said you were," he said through gritted teeth. "Give me your sword. End this foolishness."

"I'd rather die."

Cregan forced himself to take a breath, reaching for Ice. "Don't do something you'll regret, wife."

"What will you do?" She held her arms up. "Kill me too? Just do it already."

"You fucking Bracken!" He yelled. "So caught up in yourself that you-" His head tilted and his voice softened immediately. "Kill you too? What does that mean?"

She shook her head. "Playing innocence? How noble indeed. Maybe you really are just a dumb bru-"

"-Watch your next words carefully, wife," he warned lowly. His patience was wearing thin. 

"Yes, I broke the seal. Yes, I read the letter. Punish me, I don't care!" She almost threw her sword aside but stopped herself. "Would you have even told me?"

"Told you what?" He looked around in anger. "What are you even doing out here? Practicing to spear your husband?"

That was obviously the wrong thing to say, he noticed. Though he wasn't sure why. 

She swung her sword at him in anger, and he retrieved Ice quick enough to block it. 

She growled and let out a series of swings, each driving her a step forward and the Stark a step back. 

Cregan was an expert swordsman, blocking each one. Her attacks were sloppy without a doubt, but the speed caused him to be on edge. 

He soon found himself backed up against the wall of Winterfell where he had to block and push his blade against hers to keep her from getting the upper hand. 

Their faces were close, the only separation being the blades between them. 

Cregan studied her face. The furrowed brow, the soft complexion, the tears in her eyes. 

"If this is how a Stark man consoles a woman in mourning," she whispered, "I want no part of you."

Seeing that her words hurt him more than her blade ever could, she backed away, throwing her sword in the dirt and storming off.

"My father had the decency to tell me since it seems my husband wouldn't," she yelled over her shoulder. 

Cregan stayed against the wall in contemplation. "Your father never writes you," he yelled back.

"Exactly."

…

Aeron Bracken was dead. 

Cregan ran his fingers across the ink over and over again, rereading the letter once he finished it. 

Was he surprised? No. But if there was any noble death to a Bracken, it was challenging a Blackwood. 

"Ashamed I read it without your leering shadow?" A small voice sounded from the door. 

Cregan looked up at her, only seeing now just how distraught she was. Her eyes held a dullness to them now that he'd extinguished the fire in them earlier. Her cheeks seemed sunken in. He wasn't sure how that could even happen from news that was only heard hours before. Her shoulders that once held pride and stubborness were slumped in surrender. Even her dress seemed too heavy for her now.

"My condolences." That was all he knew to say.

She took in a shaky breath as hot tears began to fall down her face without warning. 

Seems there was more to her than the anger she always hid behind. 

"I should have written to him that day," she cried as she looked at Cregan. "Why didn't I write to him when I had the chance?"

Cregan cursed under his breath. 

They both knew the answer. 

Aeron had insulted Cregan. 

He felt so guilty for placing her between two sides. 

Cregan had no words of reassurance. No 'He died a noble death,' for he had died attacking Cregan's ally. No 'He loved you well,' cause he wasn't sure that Aeron did. No 'I'm here,' for the last thing she wanted was his touch. 

"I didn't know," is what he finally settled on.

She sniffled. "What?"

"This," he gestured to the letter. "I didn't know. The Blackwoods have not written to me yet, it seems. For if they did, I would have told you myself."

"Would you?" She questioned lightly.

"Better from me than ink-"

"Forgive me for my actions."

He paused. "Alright."

"I was cruel without reason. I suppose grief can cause the mind to forget a lot of things."

"Forget things?" He asked as he stepped to her. "Like what?"

"The love I have for you," she admitted as she avoided eye contact.

He felt his breath hitch. "Ah."

"Or perhaps," she spoke again, "That attacking a master swordsman is a bad idea."

He laughed. 

How easy she was to converse with, even when the two were so full of emotion. 

"Indeed," he smiled. He tried not to feel too much at the sight of her smile, no matter how teary eyed she was.

"I should have known better than that. Starks are honest and trustworthy. You are," she paused to finally look up at him, speaking each word slowly to show she truly meant it, "honest. And trustworthy."

"You mean that?"

"What? You'd rather me call you a brute again?" She teased. 

Gods, she was so captivating. 

He tilted his head in disbelief. "I don't think you would."

She took a step with each word as her grin only grew. "You mischievous. Little. Bru-"

His lips locked onto hers. 

They hadn't kissed since the wedding. It was so much better than he remembered it. So much sweeter. 

She took a moment to snap to, kissing him back equally. 

The two took in each other, hands wandering like never before. All of this tension had finally snapped, and neither were willing to part now that they'd had a taste. 

"Your house wor-"

She put a finger over his lips. "Who fucking cares?"

He grinned and pulled her hand away to kiss her again. 

Her fingers began to pull on his tunic, and only then did he snap to. He pulled away.

"Something wrong?"

He shook his head. "Gods, you're… you're a vision, but I can't. Not like this." He panted lightly as his gaze moved to the longsword he'd thrown on the desk. "Perhaps we do something else with our… stamina."

"Right," she said with a deep breath. "That's noble of you. Sparring will do us well, I'm sure. Just until this passes."

His cheeks heated. "And then?"

"I'm moving into your chambers within the fortnight."

She had said it so matter-of-factly that he wouldn't dare deny it to her. 

"Alright."

"Then I'll jump your bones, Cregan Stark."

His eyebrows shot up and he was sure he was a bright pink color at that point. 

She only smiled and stepped out of the room to dress for their spar.

…

"What was that." Swing. "You were saying." Swing. "About my house words?" Swing. 

He grinned as he blocked and then swung himself. "I was going to say." Swing. "That they might." Block. "Ring true." Swing.

Block. "How so?" Block.

Swing. "I fear you," he teased.

"You don't." Swing.

He chuckled. "You're right." Block. "I don't." Swing.

She managed to sidestep him, causing his momentum to shift with his sword. She took that time to step around and kick at the back of his knee, causing the man to fall to his knees. 

She bent down and tugged on his hair, exposing his neck as her other hand pulled her blade to rest gently against his neck.

He smiled widely. "But I fear for everyone else if they dare test you."

She placed a kiss to the side of his head, stepping away and letting the Wolf stand himself. 

"You're getting better," he commented as he moved to retrieve Ice.

"Or you're getting worse," she snickered. 

He pointed his blade at her with a teasing smirk. "You better watch yourself, Stark."

"Am I not a Bracken anymore?"

"No. No, hardly." He lowered his sword to step to her. He pulled her body against his. "I'm not sure you ever really were."

"How so?" She asked, trying not to get distracted by the proximity of his face to hers. 

"You're much more of a direwolf than a horse, don't you think? You bite much harder than most."

"How would you know that?"

He laughed. "Well, I intend to find out. Perhaps when I finally see you in my chambers."

She turned red. "If you weren't a lord, I'd-"

"-You'd what?" He taunted playfully.

She paused. "I'd take you in this courtyard."

He leaned in. "Who says you can't, Stark?"

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

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[wickedsnack]

getting to act 2 of cyberpunk 2077 and realizing all within about 3 minutes of each other why t-bug, jackie, and johnny are all non-romanceable

[witchybitchycrybaby]

Enemies in public, lovers in private

Davos Blackwood x Bracken!fem!reader

Warnings: smut, it's basically porn without plot, suggestive language, fighting

Words: 3k

Also this is my first ever attempt at writing 18+ content, I hope I did well

✨✨✨

It was a perfect day for another traditional clash between Blackwoods and Brackens. It wasn't too hot nor cold, it didn't rain at all and the sun wasn't shining in their faces, hidden behind clouds.

Maybe it was hiding because it no longer wanted to see the unresolved conflict between the two houses.

The air was thick with tension and hatred at the boundary line. Davos Blackwood, with a handful of his men, stood at the edge of their territory, the Red Fork River murmuring softly nearby. Opposite them, you and your brother Aeron approached, flanked by a few Bracken soldiers.

Your eyes locked with Davos' brown ones with a mix of frustration and longing. That was the only way you could communicate something more than insults without anyone paying attention to you. You blinked quickly, hiding every one of your feelings behind a cold, resentful mask.

"Blackwood," Aeron sneered, his voice, though a little bit unsure, was dripping with disdain he didn't even try to disguise. He then looked the dark haired boy up and down. "What brings you to our lands? Lost your way like a stray dog?"

Davis gritted his teeth at the insult. He took one step closer to where the bracken stood. “Just making sure you craven lot aren’t overstepping your boundaries, Bracken. Your family has a knack for moving boundary stones.”

"Funny thing, Blackwood," you barked back, his name a stinging venom on your tongue. "We were just discussing how often those stones seem to wander towards our side. Must be the wind, perhaps, or the dragons. Surely, you wouldn't have any share in that, would you?"

One of the Blackwood men, until now staying a pace behind Davos, took a step forward and looked at you with so much hate and anger you had to suppress a shiver. You stood still however; you would rather die than cower before them.

"Careful, you Bracken wench. Watch your tongue before we cut it out."

Before anyone could react, Aeron's face twisted with fury, and he drew his sword. His grip was however a bit uncertain. You really appreciated this, his want to always protect you. He was the more delicate one among the two of you, not suited for battle. And yet, he was very stubborn to prove himself.

You saw the way Davos' jaw tightened as his fingers gripped the hilt of his sword. Davos Blackwood instantly unsheathed his weapon, eyes trained on the blond boy. "Looks like little Bracken is shaking in his boots. Did your sister drag you out here to play knight?"

"I've got more honor in my little finger than you have in your entire body, Blackwood."

Davos stepped closer, his eyes darkening. "Honor? You wouldn't know honor even if it bit you."

With a war cry on his lips Aeron lunged at the Blackwood boy. The metallic sound of the sword struck the otherwise quiet air like a thunder. The clang of steel against steel echoed through the trees as they clashed with a fury borne of centuries-old hatred. Their hits were brutal and fast; their movements swift and well-practiced. You watched, your heart aching with every strike, knowing you had to play your part.

The fight was intense but brief. Both men landed a few cuts, blood staining their clothes but nothing fatal. As Davos prepared for another strike, you decided you were fed up with this fight and stormed between them, your eyes blazing with anger. You put a hold on both of their arms, stopping them from doing something they would later regret.

"Stop this, both of you, or I’ll take my sword and kill you myself,” you said with ice in your voice. Your gaze wandered from one boy to the other.

They both well knew you could and would do it; you weren't the one to make empty promises. They could play their little war all they wanted, but not on your watch. You'd faster claim a dragon than let them kill themselves over some stupid boundary stones.

Your grip on their arms remained strong until both of them lowered their swords. You could feel Davos' muscles twitching beneath your touch. He huffed with anger and wrenched himself from your grasp.

For a brief moment, Davos' eyes softened as he looked at you, but he quickly masked it with a scowl. "Listen to your little cunt of a sister, Bracken. Fuck off to your side of the river.”

As he walked away to his men, you tugged at your brother and pulled him to yours. He would bitch about it later, you knew it. But oh well, you'd take it.

Aeron glared at you enraged and also pulled his arm away from you. "What are you doing, (y/n)? They deserve to be taught a lesson."

"And you'll be the one to learn it if you don't back down," you retorted, your hand closing to the hilt of your own sword. "This pathetic Blackwood isn't worth the blood on your blade."

His jaw tightened but he had enough sense in his head not to speak.

You heard Davos sheathing his sword so you turned to him. There was a small cut on his cheek and your heartbeat quickened. He wiped the blood with the back of his hand and stared right into your eyes. You lifted your chin just a little and crossed your arms.

"Tell your men to stop moving the boundary stones, and we won't have to keep coming here to correct your mistakes."

"Perhaps if your men had the integrity to keep to their own lands, we wouldn't have this problem."

A scoff came from one of the Bracken men. "You're saying you have integrity, Blackwood?"

Davos smirked, you practically could see the glint of craze in his eyes.

"It's not us who's always trying to take more than what’s ours.”

The Blackwood and Bracken men exchanged hostile glances, muttering curses under their breath. You balled your hands into fists, your knuckles white.

"Enough!" yelled Aeron. "We'll leave your precious stones alone if you do the same."

There was a moment of silence on the hill. You knew how much Davos loved those little battles between your houses and that no matter what he might now say will stop them.

Finally, Davos gave a mocking bow, his dark eyes flashed with something very opposite to the want of truce. "Fine. But don't think this is over, Blackwood."

Aeron nodded curtly. "Wouldn't dream of it."

With that, Davos Blackwood shot you a final glance and ordered his friends to retreat. There was promise in his eyes that only you could understand. You watched them go, your heart thudding in your chest. You played this meeting well, your love-hate relationship still sealed and hidden.

"Next time, dear sister," Aeron hissed. "I won't back down so easily."

You sighed when he moved away. Maybe you won't stop him next time. Maybe you should just let them kill themselves and they'd be rid of this callow feud.

As the Brackens turned back to their lands, your thoughts lingered on Davos. Your love was a dangerous game, one that could cost you everything. But for now, you had survived another day, your secret safe for a little longer.

~•~

The Mill stood at the edge of Blackwood and Bracken lands, silent and dark, shrouded in shadows. It wasn't precisely a mill anymore, truth be told. Nobody used it, so it stood empty and alone.

And it was just perfect for Davos and you. The Mill became your sanctuary, its walls one of a very few confidants of your love and late-night trysts.

Davos waited inside, not daring to light any candles for fear of drawing unwanted attention. His breath was steady, but his heart racing. He knew you'd come. You always did.

He fixed his eyes on the wooden door when he heard the soft and cautious footsteps. Your footsteps. You quietly slipped inside, the door creaking when you closed it behind yourself. You barely had time to turn around and properly look at him before he surged forward, and in seconds was on you, pushing you against the rough wall. You yelped in surprise, but it was quickly swallowed by Davos' hungry mouth when his lips crashed against yours in a hard, desperate kiss.

You instantly melted into him with a fervent response. Your hands threaded through his silken, dark locks, pulling him even closer. His hands roamed over your clothed body, caressing the curves of your waist and hips, which he knew so well.

Finally, you broke the kiss, panting heavily, both completely out of breath. There was a string of saliva connecting your lips. You leaned back, resting your head against the wall.

"Cunt?" You asked rising an eyebrow. "I thought you'd have some more sophisticated terms up your sleeve, Blackwood."

He laughed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "My apologies. Had to keep up the appearances." he murmured, his voice anything but apologetic. He pressed a kiss to the column of your neck, and you shivered. "Would you prefer 'Bracken witch' instead?"

Your eyes narrowed in mock-serious resentment, but your body betrayed you, arching towards him. "Bastard." You whispered with a smirk on your lips. Just like that, he was forgiven.

He'd kneel if you'd asked. He would beg, and he wouldn't find any trace of shame it that. Seven Hells, he'd crawl if that was what you wanted. He'd do everything without a second to lose, because you were his Brecken. His and nobody elses.

"And you love me anyway." He gave you one more peck on the lips and grasped your hand in his. He pulled you further into the Mill, towards the makeshift bed of hay and blankets. As you moved, he kissed you again, his lips trailing down your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

"I've missed you," he whispered, his hands moving to the laces of your shirt. You could feel his impatient fingers grazing over your sternum and stomach. You sighed with contentment when the material slid from your shoulders and fell to the ground.

"I hate how much I've missed you too," you admitted, your hands clasping his shirt and pulling it over his head.

Davos attacked your lips with a new wave of desire, he kissed you like a man starved, and you were the sweetest of fruits. His hands slid down your waist to the lacing of your breeches and slipped them off. He picked you up, and you crossed your ankles behind his back. His body was so hot; in every place you touched, you felt fire.

He laid you gently on the blanket and quickly discarded his own breeches somewhere in the corner. He then climbed on top of you, careful not to put his whole body weight on you. You opened your legs to accommodate him and you gasped when his half-hard cock brushed against your inner thigh.

"I was a bit disappointed seeing you fight today, Blackwood. I've seen better fighting from children. Do you train with toddlers in Raventree Hall?"

"You vixen," Davos rasped and bit your lip and didn't let go until he tasted warm metallic liquid on his tongue. "My fighting is better than whatever pathetic excuse for training do Brackens do. I bet even a blindfolded squire could best you or your brother."

His lips wandered down your body, leaving open mouthed kisses in their wake. Down the column of your neck, to your collarbone, and to your breasts. He eagerly took one nipple in his mouth, teasing it into hard peak. He then continued his ministrations on the other one, all while you were a squirming and whining mess under him.

You threw your head back and dug your nails deep into his shoulders when Davos put his hand between your heated bodies. He was sure that the marks you'd leave would stay on his back for quite a while. His finger travelled between your folds and stopped right at your entrance. You pushed your hips to seek any type of friction but he just released your nipple with a soft pop and shook his head, a crazed smirk on his face.

"You know, Bracken," he whispered slowly, leaning above you, his face mere inches from yours. "I used 'cunt' on purpose. Because yours is just divine.

And with that he thrusted one of his digits inside you. You moaned, and all he wanted to do was freeze the time and capture the sound in a bottle. His perfect Bracken, all pretty and pliant for him. He could do whatever he wanted to you, and you'd let him. His ethereal lover.

You buckled your hips once more when he pulled and pushed two fingers. In and out, in and out. He could see the unshed tears on your lashes when his thumb started to tease your clit.

"Fuck-.Davos..." You whimpered. "You lousy teaser."

He captured your lips in his again, a low groan escaped from him when your soft, warm walls started to tighten around his fingers.

"You are so eager, my dear Bracken, so unsated. You will come on my fingers and then I'll fuck you stupid, I promise."

And it didn't take long. He kissed you until both of you were breathless, and whispered sweet nothings into your ear; whispered how good you were for him, how good you were taking him, heaven-sent just for him to have and take care of. He pushed his fingers and continued his assault oh your clit until your legs started shaking. Your back arched into him, and with his name on your lips, you climaxed. And even after that, he didn't stop because that's what he was there for. To make you happy, to worship you, your body and the ground you walked on.

You panted when he removed his fingers and brought them to his lips. You watched as his tongue darted around them, licking up your juices.

"You will be the death of me, Blackwood," you moaned and kissed him hard. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and it made your head spin. You locked your ankles behind his back to keep him in place. As if Davos would rather be anywhere else than right here.

"Will you give me another one?" He asked and positioned his cock right at your entrance. You shivered some more when you felt his already leaking tip tease and push at you. "Will you," he pushed more until he was inside your warmth. "be a good girl to me?"

You writhed beneath him and it made him swell with pride. He made that. He was responsible for this state you were in. His sweet, sweet girl.

"If you don't put it in right now, I'll do it," you blurted.

"As the lady commands." He grinned at you and bottomed out in one smooth thrust.

He groaned at the feeling and hid his face in the crook of your neck. He needed a moment to compose himself and not come right away. You were so warm and tight, he truly didn't mind dying like that, inside of you.

You gasped for air and looped your arms around his neck. One of your hands tangled into his hair, your nails scratching his scalp. Did you know how much he loved you? Did you know that he would kill for you? Gods, he would start a war in your name, all you had to do was ask.

Davos tightened his jaw and rolled his hips just a little. Both of you moaned in unison. You didn't believe in heaven or hell, but you sure knew that heaven was right here, with him between your legs and inside you.

"You chicken out, Blackwood? Are you just gonna lie there and look pretty, or will you move already?"

"I should've put this mouth of yours to a better use," he muttered but did as he was told. He pulled out almost completely and then thrust back in. Hard. You yelped and cried out in pleasure.

He did it again. And again. And again. It was a torturous tempo, and everything in him screamed to be faster and claim you already. But you were a brat today, a spoiled brat, and he wanted to punish you for it. Yet, your sweet mewling and moaning made him grit his teeth and go faster.

He placed his hands in the bend of your legs and brought them to your chest to give himself even better access to your pulsating core. You were so beautiful like this, so hauntingly beautiful he could cry. His Bracken, his, his, his and he accentuated it with each deep thrust he made.

You moved together, your tempo more erratic with each push. The world outside the walls of the Mill stopped existing; there were no more lands, no more Blackwoods and no more Brackens. There were just you and your desire.

Davos knew he wouldn't last much longer, and neither would you. He left open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck and collarbones until he felt the climax building up within himself. He could feel it in you too by how your walls were tightening around him. You had this serene, fucked-out expression on your face, your eyes glassy. And it tipped him over the edge.

You came together. His milky spent filled your insides, some starting to leak out as soon as he pulled out and turned around to lie on his back beside you. Your bodies were covered in a thin layer of sweat, the smell of sex filling the air.

You panted heavily for a while, and then Davos pulled you on top of him, your hair pooling around you two. You placed your head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

You then pulled yourself up and leaned on your elbows. Your smile was sated when you looked into his eyes, but it faltered when your gaze fell on the cut on his cheek. You gently traced it with your fingers.

"Does it hurt?" You asked softly.

But he just turned his head and kissed your wrist. "It's not bad. Blackwoods are tougher than Brackens, I assure you."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Stubborn as mules, more like."

"Maybe," he replied and caressed your cheek. "But we know what we want."

"And what do you want, Davos Blackwood?" You whispered leaning into his touch.

"You, (y/n) Bracken. Always you."

[waterfae]

Kill My Lord Husband [Part 2]

Summary: Your father has decided to marry you off – and to a Blackwood no less! But you want nothing to do with the famously known Bloody Ben, not when your heart already belongs to another. Your solution? Kill your lord husband.

Pairings: Benjicot “Davos” Blackwood x Reader, Aeron Bracken x Reader

Warnings: canon-typical violence, adult language, slow burn, enemies-to-lovers, arranged marriage, house-neutral fem!reader, no use of Y/N, absolute nonsense, no beta

Word Count: 1.9+ K

Part: 1 | 2 | 3

Benjicot continued to quietly observe you, even as Atlanna marched up to pluck you from his arms and steer you towards the rest of the family where you were greeted by Lady Blackwood and Lady Alysanne. Now and then, you would do the same, catching his eyes several more times before quickly looking away after each occurrence, heat rising to your cheeks. A familiar feeling. A cursed feeling. The persistent fluttering within your stomach only further made you feel as though you were burning up from the inside – from sinful hellfire, you decided.

Atlanna caught the flushed look on your features and whispered with a knowing smile, “At least he is pleasing to look upon.”

“It is not a good thing.” You whined in reply, although it was a lie. Who wouldn’t want to have a husband that was delightful to look at and he was indeed a handsome one, but he was not Aeron; you didn’t want him to be pleasing.

His gaze lingered. You could feel the heat of it as you were led towards the castle and ushered into the dining hall for dinner. It lingered still after Atlanna left you to be seated while the servants brought out various dishes to set onto the table. With great effort, you ignored his attentions and withheld your own. It had taken you by surprise, the initial reaction to your betrothed as he held you in his arms. You had felt that jolt only once before; for only one man before. It was jarring. It disgusted you – made you sick with guilt. You pushed the feelings away, just as you pushed the boiled potatoes about your plate. You wanted to hate this man. You needed to hate this man.

“She looks even more like her mother than the last I saw her.” Lady Blackwood’s comment pulled you out from the swarming thoughts of your husband-to-be. You looked up from your plate and smiled politely at the compliment; one you were frequently given.

“Indeed, she does.” Your father said beaming at you as he patted your hand lovingly, “My late wife would have been so proud – so happy to see our families united.”

“You are blessed by the gods.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed at Lord Blackwood’s latest remark, unable to control the impulse and catching your actions too late; you hoped no one had noticed. “Fuck the gods.” Was your following thought. You hadn’t believed in the gods since your mother died six years ago; not really – just enough to still have anger towards them. And considering your current predicament, you most certainly believed in them a sufficient amount to be just as – if not more – resentful.

As the evening wore on, bellies grew full and people shifted their seats in favor of conversations. Lord and Lady Blackwood continued to discuss with your father about the upcoming nuptials. Ser Willem and Lady Alysanne bickered over the superiority between his sword and her arrows with Benjicot cutting in as it became more heated to claim his own caliber to be greater than that of his aunt and uncle. Eventually, you found yourself leaving yours to wander over to the balcony, finding no common subject matter to insert yourself.

The clouds above were just as thick as when you arrived, blocking out most of the light from the moon, yet still from where you stood, regardless of the dimly-lit night, you were able to make out the ancient weirwood you had only ever heard stories about; colossal in its size with hundreds of ravens perched against its branches.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Came a voice suddenly from behind. It startled and urged you to search for the speaker. You found Benjicot slowly making his way forward until he was beside you, leaning against the balustrade. “Despite it not having shown a single leaf for nearly a thousand years.” His eyes stayed fixed on the giant, “Poisoned by House Bracken.”

“It certainly is a wonder.” You replied shakily, your heart wrenching at the mention of the Brackens.

“We shall be wed there. Before the old gods.” He said, finally straightening himself to face you, “But you do not seem to believe in the gods.” Benjicot stated it rather than asked.

Your eyebrows raised at his statement. It appeared your reaction earlier at dinner had not gone unnoticed. Had he really still been watching you at that moment? You wondered. His attention span was remarkable, “It’s not that I don’t believe, because I do.” You paused to heave a sigh, “Enough for them to anger me.”

He let out a low laugh, “Do they?” He took a step towards you, “You don’t seem angry.” He scanned your face, searching for what, you weren’t sure, but the look on his was one that hinted at nostalgia, “Annoyed, perhaps, but angry? No.” He shook his head with feigned disappointment, then suddenly smirked, “I’ve seen you angry.”

You sent him a questioning glance.

Before you could voice the query, he explained, “Years ago, I participated in a tourney held by Lord Tully for his nameday. You and your father were there. It was the first time I heard mother and father bring up a marriage between our houses, but your mother had just passed and your father too distraught. Out of friendship and respect, they didn’t pursue the issue further.”

You were taken aback, shocked that as early as then there had already been plans to attempt a match between the two of you; there was never any mention of it before.

“Such a pretty thing, even then.” He added softly, your mouth went dry and gulped as he took another step forward, towering over you, “Prettier all the more when you knocked that Bracken off his feet.” He flashed an amused smile, “Such rage.”

Your jaw fell open as Benjicot continued to speak of it, the memory of that particular time rushing back to the forefront of your mind and it clicked; you knew the exact event he was referring too. That had been the day you first met Aeron – right after you lunged at one of his cousins and struck him over the head with his own helm; retaliation for a remark made about you being half an orphan. Aeron had been the one to pull you off of him and restrain you.

You scrunched up your eyebrows and slowly asked, unsure if you were understanding correctly, “I somehow gained your favor because I was...pretty...and angry?”

He chuckled, “Not so much your anger, but your spirit.” His stormy eyes found yours again and you couldn’t look away, “There was a fire in your eyes and it told me that if my parents wishes were to be fulfilled then you would make an exceptional addition to our house; you were meant to be a Blackwood.”

“You wanted this union?” You breathed as realization hit you.

“I wasn’t against it.”

You suddenly became very aware of how close Benjicot was. Too close. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your face and it caused your heart to beat rapidly. You quickly tore your gaze away from his and took a step back, chest heaving, your lungs screaming for air. How long had you been holding your breath?

“I am sorry to inform you, but I am not that girl. Not anymore.” You said in a rush and hoped your words would make him think twice of his opinion of you, “I was young. Still growing, still learning. I’ve matured since then and have become a proper lady.” Distance, you thought as you took another step back, you needed more distance. “I was also grieving for my mother. Not in the right mind. That girl wasn’t – isn’t me. I no longer participate in such uncouth behavior.”

‘I was also not yet in love with Aeron.’ You kept that declaration silently to yourself.

Benjicot tilted his head, studying you for several moments before finally heaving a sigh, “That’s rather unfortunate. For such a flame to burn out.” You noticed him bite his lip before going further, “Mayhaps, overtime, we can reignite it.”

There was something in the way he said it that made your stomach lurch and your head dizzy; you had not even taken another step, yet it still made you stumble. He made a move to try and catch you, but you were able to steady yourself with a nearby pillar, one arm outstretched signaling him to stop and keep the space between you.

“I should retire to my chambers!” You blurted out in a panic.

He blinked at your sudden outburst, “Are you alright, my lady? Have I done something to offend you?”

“I am tired.” You replied while steadying yourself and straightening your skirts, “It has been a very long day.”

“Shall I escort you –”

You cut him off, frantically waving him off with your hands, “No. It’s fine.” You turned on your heel, ready to get as far away from him as possible, “I am capable of finding my own way.”

You weren’t. As soon as you left him on that balcony and bid your father and the Blackwoods good night, you immediately turned the wrong corner exiting the dining hall and had gotten lost. You mentally kicked yourself while you walked around aimlessly for gods know how long, regretful of turning down Benjicot’s offer to escort you to your chambers. You buried your face in your hands at the thought and stomped your foot like a petulant child. As helpful as it might have been to have him, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to withstand another minute. The emotional turbulence, the way your body reacted to his proximity, the things he said and did...it wasn’t love by any means, but it was overwhelming all the same.

“What in the seven hells is wrong with me?!” You asked aloud to no one in particular. In your turmoil, you almost didn’t noticed the brisk footsteps echoing down the hall.

“My lady!” You looked up to find Atlanna scurrying towards you, “There you are!”

Relief washed over you, glad to have been found and not left to wander the halls all night. She stopped in front of you, pausing to catch her breath; she must have been running and searching for you for a long while to be in such a state. You questioned it.

“I was waiting for you in your chambers – unpacking more of your belongings and to help you get ready for bed – when this arrived.” Atlanna held up a piece of parchment, “When you still hadn’t come, I went looking for you. It seemed important.” She scanned the corridor, making sure the two of you were truly alone before whispering, “I think it’s from him.”

For a moment, it felt as though your heart had stopped. You eyed the little scroll in both excitement and fear of what its message may contain. With much hesitation, you accepted and unrolled it. You immediately recognized the handwriting scrawled upon it and a rush of different emotions came to hit you all at once. There was not much to it – the message was very short with simple instructions. You read over his words repeatedly, until you were overcome. You burst into tears without any sort of warning and began to sob violently, shocking Atlanna in the process.

“It’s from Aeron.” You stated the obvious as the tears you held onto for so long finally streamed down your face. Atlanna caught you just as your knees gave way. Unable to carry your weight, she instead guided you to the stone floor. She held tightly onto your trembling form, rocked you from side to side while rubbing your back to soothe you, your cries muffled as you buried your face into her bosom and Aeron’s message crumpled in your tight grip.

a/n: This chapter was getting too long, editing was killing me, and I became too impatient to update. So I broke it up. I made you guys wait too long and simply wanted to serve something. I'm hoping to get the next part out very soon, since it's technically already written. I'm just polishing it up at this point. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always greatly appreciated and my askbox is always open. ♡

I accidentally made myself cry. Woopsies! Aeron will actually show up next chapter. Shenanigans will be had.

taglist: @pantheonofbeauty @cregansfourthwife @spicyteaandcrumpets @accidentpronedork @cococrazy18

@witch-moon-babe @a-romantic-twst @flusteredmoonn @nixtape-foryou @flowerprincezz

@trouble-sistar @username199945 @claire-loves-music @lady-dragon-rider @spider-stark

@moonnicole @hardkiddonut

[callooopie]

School’s in session || HOTD men

“Then I see you, you’re walking ‘cross the campus. Cruel professor, studying romances.” — Campus // Vampire Weekend

packing’s tuff asffff. I’m glad for a break in the middle of it all. This is very short. And I hope it satisfies the pookies enough in the calloopie drought. But once again, I return to the trenches of packing for college 🫡🫡🙂‍↕️✌️

Davos Blackwood // Computer science

As we’ve established once, Davos rooms with Aeron. No one knows why, or understands even. They both hate each other (so they say).

Once you see him walk into his computer lab, just know that you’re not seeing him ever again until the late hour of the night. He goes in with two—three energy drinks, comes out with four empty cans… not sure how that happened. Davos isn’t sure where the extra can came from. Magic. Pure college magic.

He’s a very smart and capable student. He’s just.. lazy. The type to put assignments and projects off until the day of the deadline. And then he’ll lock in for the whole day and not text you or anyone until midnight when he turns it in just barely on time. He says he lives for the thrill, the adrenaline of bordering the due date.

Rides a skateboard to class, around the campus, everywhere. If he sees you he does a trick in front of you before riding off. Only for you though. Sometimes he fails, and it’s bad for him but funny for you (and everyone else who sees it happen). It’s like once I saw someone fall into the fountain on campus. Yeah—that’s what happened to Davos. A trail of water leading toward the science building, and a very unhappy Davos sitting through a lecture with his pants soaked.

Enjoys sleeping on the grass if it’s nice enough. A backpack for a pillow (or your thighs). You could be sleeping beside him, letting his head rest in your lap, or simply just doing homework or coursework as you both enjoy the afternoon. Whatever you have going on, Davos is just happy to be beside you.

The type to cut it really close to class time if he’s getting food. Nothing gets in the way of his food, not even the start of a class or lab. He’ll be in line and you’ll spot him out and be confused, looking down at your phone as you talk about how you thought he had a lab. And Davos would happily respond and say, yes, he does indeed have that lab. But fries are calling his name. And who is he to deny such salty callings?

Jacaerys Velaryon // Political Science

Attentive, in every one of his classes. Sometimes his posture is upright, other times he’s leaning back. But he never dozed off or loses interest. The only sign of his boredom would be seeing him twiddle around a pencil or pen between his fingers, both ends tapping lightly against the desk or notebook in front of him.

Bounces his leg too. Not out of anxiety or anything, but once again just an outlet for his boredom or restlessness. It gets worse when the clock shows it’s nearing the end of class.

Sometimes he’ll get so engrossed in whatever’s being taught, you’ll have to poke him once or twice to get his attention. He’ll snap his head toward you before returning his attention to the front of the class, but he’s listening to you now at least. A hand resting against his chin as you talk into his ear or show him something on your laptop or phone.

Coffee girl. You never see him without a coffee. Iced, hot. Starbucks, homemade. Whatever it is, it’s on his desk. Definitely not a Stanley cup guy. Jace likes something small, simple. Nothing that stands out or is overly complicated and fancy. It’s probably a portable mug he stole from his mother, or has just had for a very long time.

Always put together. Even a lazy fit on him looks chic. You ask him one day, how does he do it? Even wearing just sweats and a t-shirt; he somehow always looks so.. good. Jace chuckles under his breath, shaking his head as he adjusts his cap. Oh it’s a bit of this and that, confidence and coolness. How you hold yourself. But also really.. it’s all in the accessories; he tells you.

Cregan Stark // Environmental Science

A literal ghost on campus. You never see him—you don’t know how he does it. You could go the entire day without seeing Cregan and then randomly think about him and not a moment later he’s right in front of you. And yes, he likes seeing how you light up in surprise. How you say his name every time he suddenly appears beside you. Never gets old.

Big salad and study guy. Or just snacking and studying in general. In the library, in a study room, somewhere on campus, no matter what; Cregan’s got something in front of him as he reads over an article.

Reads the news while he walks to class. Usually he doesn’t like staring at his phone so aimlessly. But for the latest news updates, he will do it. He lets out little hums or groans depending on what’s happening in the world. Only once have you seen him shake his head at something. A scoff and an eye roll were rare as well.

Does not adhere to sidewalk paths. If there’s a quicker route to the building where his class is being held—he will take it. Even if it’s through the woods; he will take it. Efficiency is the name of the game here, and he’d rather be early than late.

He does not pay attention when he walks also. So if you’re trying to get his attention, you will have to grab his arm and put yourself in his field of vision. He’s a fast walker too. He’s got places to be after all, he can’t just slow down to make conversation when he’s got a busy schedule and things to do. But he will.. slow down a bit. And make time for you, in his busy life.

[writervaul-t]

something about you

pairing: modern!fancast!benjicot blackwood x f!reader

summary: in a mortifyingly state of panic, [name] tells aeron bracken that she's dating the first person who walks in at her job to get him off her back. little did she know was that 1) aeron was well aware of who benjicot blackwood is and 2) he hated his guts. even worse, benjicot is more than willing to go along with this ruse if it meant getting under aeron's skin for a couple of weeks. she can't help but wonder, though, if this is something she'll regret later in the long run...

rating: t (i don't write smut, sorry babes 🤩)

tropes: college au, fake dating

note: i'm gonna say this here and now and admit i am an american girl and will try my best with keeping things non-american with the writing for consistency sake but if i screw up PLEASE HAVE MERCY ON ME I'M JUST A GIRL AND I THOUGHT KIERAN WAS CUTE SO 🧍‍♀️😭

playlist

masterlist below :)

chapter one: duck and cover

chapter two: benji

chapter three: friends?

chapter four: the wild wolf

chaptee five: burned trust

chapter six: the kingsroad market

chapter seven: kept promises

chapter eight: sparkles and dust

chapter nine: rumor monger

chapter ten: bloody ben

epilogue

extras: benji's pov

taglist:

@not-a-glad-gladiator @opheliaas-stuff @sahvlren @nikki-is-a-nerd @weird-things-i-think-about @cxcilla @anakilusmos @haydee5010 @waystarkia @newestobsessionishere @herejhsttostan @hardkiddonut @aisselasstuff @rebeccawinters @aemondsb1tch @radiantdanvers @northofvalyria @accidentpronedork @cafemirka @hobis-hope95 @nixtape-foryou @poppyflower-22

[dirtytransmasc]

imagine if Aeron and Davos survived the burning of the mill and had to witness the merciless carnage of the Blackwoods against the Bracken's after Daemon orders Willem to turn the Bracken's to Daemon's side.

imagine them finding each other in the chaos. Davos cannot stand for it, because he loves Aeron, and these are Aeron's people, and they are but women and children, even if they're still Bracken's. they could be his aunt's or little cousins or even nieces or nephews. hurting his family feels wrong.

Aeron is angry, his people are being pillaged and tortured, women and children are going missing and being slaughtered in their homes, in their beds. his lovers kin is doing this, they're savaging his people for holding strong.

and then they find one another. Aeron is blazing with fury, even as the flames lick at and singe his still healing wounds. Davos, usually the one itching for a fight, for the spill of blood, looks pale at the scene around them.

Aeron throws a punch, not giving the Blackwood a chance to attack him and move onto the next victim, not able to see anything past the others red clothing and Blackwood sigil, but Davos catches it, hiking the other's hand gently.

"Babe killers, all of you, you- why are you doing this?" comes Aeron's agonized cry, unable to free his hand, choosing to swing with his non-dominant hand, aiming for Davos's chest. Davos lets him, before taking that one too. "you stoop so low to attack women in their beds, spill their and their children's blood on their very own sheets, steal our food, all because we had honor?"

he's teary eyed even as his face flushes with anger, his ears tinge bright red, his beautiful hair hanging in his face, in his eyes. his lips look like they're red from crying and biting. it's still torn, like the high of his cheek. he favors one leg over the other. he's still wounded from battle.

Davos can see that he is beautiful, even in a moment like this, and his kin are tarnishing that beauty.

"I'm sorry," is all he can say. he squeezes Aeron's hands in his own. "I'm sorry, I-" what does he say? what could he say? does he betray his house and apologize for their actions? would he even be believed? would that hurt Aeron's heart more?

he doesn't say anything else, not yet, just drops Aeron's hands so he can take his face, holding just tight enough that Aeron can't pull away. he doesn't kiss him, just looks in his eyes, lets their pain and fury wash over him.

"this is wrong!" Aeron cursed

"I know."

"can't you see it's wrong?"

"I do"

"why won't you stop them? why won't you make it stop?"

"I can't."

"can't? or won't?" his eyes were dark now.

"can't. if I stop them, try to stop them, they will put a blade in my heart, it will have been for nothing."

"then you're a coward." it felt like a punch. it was true. even if he could stop this, he wouldn't. he was afraid. he could not stand between his kin and the Bracken's.

"I am... but if it were the other way around, would you?"

Aeron sighed, the fight leaving him. he leaned into Davos, their foreheads coming together.

"no."

Davos was not angry at the answer - they were just boys and this was war. they were boys and their people had been fighting for longer than they could comprehend. they were just boys and they were afraid- instead, he just kissed him softly, praying no one would see them, or if they did, then they would just strike them down here where they stood, that they would let them die together, tangled into one.

"they had honor. they would not be forced to pledge for another simply because they were afraid of death. their honor was meant with depravity." Aeron whispers through tears now.

Davos nodded. they did have honor. more honor than his own kin had.

"I'm sorry."

Aeron didn't speak again, just held onto him, wrapping his arms around his back, taking hold of his cloak, balling it up in shaking fists. Davos moved to copy him, threading one hand into his soft hair, gently smoothing it with his thumb, and the other wrapping around his waist.

they stayed there. through the screams and the cries and the smell of smoke and the calls of animals being herded from their fields. they were together, two boys hiding in the forest as their houses slaughtered each other.

[starogeorgina]

Children of the dragon

Warnings: Incest, sexual content, child birth, swearing

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen × Targ oc, Minor Aemond Targaryen × Targ oc

1.04

“Perhaps the prince would like to leave the room to give the midwives a chance to-”

“Don’t you dare fucking leave me!” You hiss, squeezing Aegon’s hand, and you stare daggers at the maester. “He’s not leaving my side.”

Reluctantly, the maester nods, swiftly leaving the room to no doubt report back to your mother, who was waiting at the door. She seemed more concerned that Aemond was nowhere to be found than you. The midwives had managed to spin your baby to the right way round, which reduced your chances of dying while giving birth breech.

Aegon hadn’t once left your side.

As the midwives ordered you to push, Aegon stood behind you, his forehead pressed against your crown, whispering words of encouragement and a promise to keep you safe while you held onto both of his hands tightly, screaming and crying as your first child entered the world.

“It’s a boy,” the midwives tell you as they wrap your screaming baby in a blanket, wipe his face, and then place him in your arms.

You sob at how tiny he is; “it’s a boy. My beautiful boy.” You stare down at him, admiring all his small features, until you feel sharp pains in your stomach and say, “Fuck! Aegon take him!”

“What?”

“Just take him!”

Nervously, Aegon takes him from your arms and into his; as soon as he does this, you grip the sheets, holding back on screaming again as you deliver the afterbirth. Afterwards, you stand up to let the midwives clean the bloodstained sheets, and you notice they keep looking at Aegon and then each other, clearly confused at why he is there.

Aegon was so mesmerized by the baby in his arms that he hadn’t noticed you’d gotten up and changed until you winced in pain getting back into bed. With a proud look on his face, he places the baby back into your arms and then kisses you on the forehead.

Moments later your mother enters the room; she shoots Aegon a disapproving glare when she sees him sitting on the foot of the bed, his hand resting on your leg, but smiles when she sees your baby for the first time. “He’s precious,” she says, brushing damp strands of hair out of your face. “I’m so proud of you, my darling. Have you and Aemond thought of a name?”

“Aeron.”

The room falls silent. You and Aegon stare at each other, and a flicker of understanding passes between you.

Your mother lets out a sound of delight. “I think the name Aeron will fit him well.”

—

Once your mother left, a wet nurse arrived, offering to take Aeron and feed him. You shake your head and say, “Thank you, but I’m going to do it myself.”

The wet nurse looks bewildered. Breastfeeding was deemed an inconvenience, and it would apparently stop you from getting pregnant again while doing it, but you didn’t care. You wanted to feed and connect with your newborn, which shouldn’t have been a problem, but the idea of it had caused the other women in the room to fluster. The wet nurse looks between you and the midwives. You became irritated and let out a sigh of annoyance.

Tracy, your handmaiden smiles sweetly at the wet nurse and says, “You may go.”

An older midwife tries to intervene. “My lady, it is known that-”

“Princess Theodora,” Aegon says sternly.

Her jaw clenches as she struggles to keep a polite smile on her face. “Princess, I believe it would be better if you hand the babe over to the wet nurse for now so you can rest.”

You had only given birth hours prior, and already they were seeking to control how you parented. If you lost control now, you would never regain it, and you would simply not allow that to happen.

“My child will be staying by my side, and his cot will be brought through to my chambers so I can tend to him overnight.”

The midwife's blank facial expression changed to one of horror. “I must insist—”

“Everyone out!” you snap.

“And if anyone has issue with the princess's choices, you can take them up with me, the firstborn son of King Viserys, or you can ask the Queen her opinion on the matter,” Aegon adds.

The midwives scurry to gather their belongings and leave. Tracy tried to hide her amusement, saying, “I will have someone move his belongings from the nursery to your bedroom right away.”

“Thank you,” you say sincerely.

When the room is empty, you look at Aegon, trying not to laugh, and ask, “The first son of King Viserys?”

He shrugs, smirking, “It worked, didn’t it? Pay them no mind. He is our-your son. He’ll grow up knowing nothing but love.”

You look down at the helpless baby in your arms and tear up. You’d never imagined you’d feel so much love at once or the urge to protect. Aeron was innocent and pure, you’d spend the rest of your life trying to shield him from the badness in the world.

Aegon kisses the back of your head, saying, “I was so scared when you started bleeding; I thought I might lose you. Both of you… I promise I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him safe, even if it means pretending he isn’t mine.”

His voice is weak from trying to hold back tears. It never occurred to you when you first made love to Aegon how much was to be caused further down the line. But looking at your son's small, lilac eyes, you know you wouldn’t change it.

“If Aemond ever finds out Aeron is yours, he'll burn King's Landing to the ground.”

“Don't worry, he won't find out.”

—-

“Aegon!” You empty a cup of water over him. “This is serious, wake up!”

Rubbing the water from his face, he scowls up at you. His voice is laced with irritation as he looks around the room and asks, “Where are the children?”

“In bed, it’s nighttime.”

“Unless you’ve woken me to show me your sweet cunt, I’m going back to sleep.”

He was drunk. You kneel down so you are level with him. “Aemond will be here soon; you need to go. If he finds you here-”

Aegon slurred his words and waved his hand, motioning to the chair he was lying in. “He’ll what? Assume I walked into the wrong bedchamber and passed out.”

“He’s getting suspicious. If he starts to believe the rumours…you know not to come here when he wants to spend time with me.”

Aegon sits up, his greasy hair flops over in front of his face, and he always drinks heavily when Aemond wants to try for another child. When Aeron turned one, your husband suggested having another, and just over nine months later you gave birth to twin girls, Alina and Alyssa. Of course, they shared the same father as their brother.

“Spend time with you—you mean he wants to rut into you and fill you with seed.”

You hated how crude his language choice could be at times, “You need to go now.” You scrunch your nose up when Aegon leans his head against your chest, “and take a bath. You stink of ale.”

“This wasn’t a part of our plan; you can’t have any more children. Not now.”

Hearing the pain in his voice broke you. You blink away tears that threaten to build up, kissing the top of his head, “I know, I know, and I won’t.”

Aegon had begged you to leave King's Landing and start a new life somewhere the name Targaryen means nothing, and you did consider it until rumours of you and Aegon fucking in a brothel spread. Although it wasn’t true, the rest of your family became more suspicious of the time you spent with your brother.

You watch happily as Aegon plays with your son in the garden. It surprised you how protective he was over Aeron and your newborn babies. Hearing footsteps approaching, you look over your shoulder and smile, “You look lovely today, mother. We missed you at breakfast this morning.”

“Thank you, and I was praying to the gods for guidance.”

Hearing Aeron let out a cry, you spun around fast to see your son being scooped up into Aegon’s arms. He had tripped over a small rock, scraping his knee. Aegon soothes him by stroking his hair and kissing him on the cheek. A moment later, Aeron was placed back on the ground and returned to exploring the garden.

“Where is Aemond?”

You shrug. “I do not know, but I’m sure he won’t be far.”

Most days, you just saw Aemond in passing at meal times and formal events. He only visited your bedchambers when he wanted to create another heir or was frustrated.

Your mother looked at you and then into the garden. Her face settled into one of worry. “Parenthood is hard; it takes some fathers longer to adjust.”

“I don’t doubt Aemond loves the children.”

“A mother's love is different,” she squeezes your hand. “And an uncle’s as well, apparently. They are very lucky to have so many people taking care of them.”

You frown at her; your mother's tone has changed from neutral to cold and accusing. “If Aegon wishes to tell my children about dragons, Targaryen history, and bedtime stories, even if they are too young to understand them, then so be it. It's more than Aemond does.”

“And why is that?”

Her question was simple but loaded. She wasn’t willingly blind like your father; being queen, she had learned how to be sleek, observant, and cunning. She knew the truth but didn’t dare outright ask.

“Why don’t you ask him?”

It might have been possible for you to sneak out of King's Landing with Aeron without raising suspicion; you would have claimed to be taking him with you while dragon riding, but after delivering twin girls, it became impossible. You wouldn’t be able to ride with all three children safely, and the moment someone noticed Sunfyre riding alongside Dallax, the consequences would be dire.

A knock at the door causes you to jump back just as Aemond enters the room. He looks between you and Aegon and rolls his eyes. “Lost and wondering again?”

“Piss off.”

Aemond smirks, enjoying seeing his brother in such a state. “You should sleep it off,” you say softly. “Come on, we should get you back to your own bedchamber.”

“Allow me,” Aemond brushed aside, pulling Aegon to his feet. “Come, brother, I doubt my wife wants to spend time with you at this time of night.”

You hold your breath, waiting to hear Aegon’s drunken response, but he says nothing. It’s not until you meet Aemond’s gaze that you realize it was more of a question than a comment.

You try to laugh it off as a joke. “I’m going to bathe before bed, so I'd rather you both left.”

Aegon smirks at your response.

Aemond simply nods his head, turns the other way, and leaves with Aegon without saying another word.

—

You rub at your skin, desperate to get the smell of Aegon off you. Usually you loved the smell of your lover lingering in the air, but not when Aemond was around. You always feared he’d smell Aegon on you. The thought of how paranoid you’d become almost made you laugh out loud. Most of the time, you were invisible to your husband; if you ever did leave, he would be the last to notice.

In the years you’d been married, he had yet to show any real interest in being your husband, which is why your affair with Aegon was so easy to carry on despite the guilt that occasionally overwhelmed you. It wasn’t until you gave birth that you understood your mother's comment. Aemond would always put the family name first, but Aegon would put you first.

Your relationship with Aegon wasn’t just based on sex, although he had become addicted to fucking you like he claimed he would. He would take you anywhere he could, and not just with his cock. He loved using his mouth and fingers to make you scream and beg for him. But the way he made you feel safe and loved was the best part; he adored all three of your children. Your days were spent playing with your children, riding dragons, or sitting beside him reading or talking. But you knew if anyone else found out, they would never understand.

Once you finished bathing, you waited for a couple of hours, but when Aemond didn’t return, you decided to go to bed. After changing into a nightdress and unbraiding your hair, you crawl underneath the bed sheets, feeling your eyes heavy. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep.

—

Feeling a dip in the bed beside you, you turn to see what's going on, and you’re shocked to see Aemond getting in the bed. The moonlight was the only source of light, making it hard to read the expressions on his face. “Aemond, what are you doing?”

You freeze, feeling his lips press against yours. “I am your husband.”

You’re taken aback by the playfulness in his voice; it's an unfamiliar sound. You remained stunned as Aemond started kissing your neck. Your shared intimate moments usually consisted of you lying fully dressed while Aemond did what he needed to quickly. The kisses shared were usually out of curiosity, and foreplay wasn’t something you’d ever done before.

Aemond gently pushes you back onto the bed before removing his clothes. He lay back down beside you and resume kissing your neck while his hand caresses your breast. “I’ve never seen you before,” he says, his breath sounding ragged. “Not truly, not all of you.”

You gasped when he pulled down the front of your nightdress so that your breasts were on full display. Aemond sits back and pushes the fabric up to your hips, but for the first time, he actually looks down at your sex instead of avoiding it. He mumbled something you can’t make out then kissed you, his hand running up and down your thigh.

You cup the side of his face and sigh, “You don’t need to do this. You don’t need... do more than you want.”

“You are my wife,” Aemond says, moving to cup your warm slit, his finger teasing the entrance. “I must admit that I have neglected my duties in attending to your needs.”

Something inside you stirs—an emotion you can’t place.

“Tonight I’m going to put another heir into you.” Aemond slides a finger into you, kissing you at the same time.

Not knowing what to do with your hands, you place them gently on his back. Aemond withdraws his finger and lines himself up with you, then slams into you. Removing his lips from yours, he takes as much of your breast into his mouth while squeezing the other with his free hand. You arch your back and let out a small moans he takes you roughly.

Aemond doesn’t last long and cums quickly, pressing his head against yours and breathing heavily. He pecks you on the lips, pulling out and rolling to his side. You wait for him to leave, but when he closes his eye, you realise he has no intention of going. You face the other way, close your eyes, and pray that morning comes quickly.

—

You collapse onto the bed, panting and gasping; Aemond was most definitely determined to get you pregnant. At first, you weren’t overly worried because you had plenty of time to drink moon tea, but it was now much more difficult considering he had sex with you twice since waking up.

You wanted to know what brought on this unusual behavior. You wanted to ask Aemond why he even wanted another child when he hardly saw the three he believed were his. He didn’t return from his travels for over a week the last time you gave birth; he briefly visited the twins in their nursery then left again.

“You don’t sleep well, do you?” Aemond asks while putting his clothes back on.

“No, the dreams I have keep me awake.”

Aemond looks intrigued. “Do you get them often?”

Growing up, your brothers would mock you and Helaena; they would call you weird. Of course Aegon stopped long ago; he was the only one you ever truly confided in. “Yes, I’ve been having the same one for years.”

“What do you see?” Aemond sat down on a chair facing the bed; he seemed serious. “In the past, I never listened, but I’m asking you to trust me enough to tell me.”

You feel ashamed. Aemond wasn’t a bad person; he just didn’t love you or your children. “It’s hard to describe. It’s not just what I see; it’s what I feel,” You clutch a pillow to your chest. “I’m in the sky, surrounded by clouds. The sun is shining down on me, and then it disappears. Then I’m falling, and I feel this intense feeling that's trying to suffocate me, like a weight being pressed down on my chest. Then I hear it—a woman screaming. I think she’s dying because her whole world turns black.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until the wetness runs off your cheeks. Feeling awkward, you wipe them away. Aemond gulps, “I’m sorry; I never realized your nights were plagued by such images. Do you ever have other dreams?”

“Yes, I had a vision of our nephew Jace dying. So I sent a raven to Dragonstone, making sure he was okay.” It wasn't until you became a mother that you understood your family's hatred towards your nephews was pointless.

He seems surprised by your honesty. “Well, I’m sure your mind will be at rest knowing he is alive. But I don’t think you should waste your generosity on them, and I definitely don’t want Aeron interacting with bastards.”

“Your fight with the Velaryon boys is not mine, and it’s definitely not my children’s.” Aemond glared at you but didn’t argue. You let out a deep breath, feeling exhausted. “Speaking of the children, I should probably go check on them.”

“I’m sure our dear brother has beaten you to it,” he snorts. “I should thank him really. He gave me some good counsel last night, which was surprising given the state he was in.”

“What did he say?”

“Something along the lines of how ungrateful I was and that I needed to cherish you before you were gone for good. I assured him I wouldn’t let you or the children out of my sight from now on, in case you disappear,” he chuckles darkly. “But he did make me see that I need to make more of an effort, and now that I’m here, he won’t need to be around you or them so much.”

The emotion you couldn’t place before returns, but now you can name what it was.

Fear.

Horrible, agonizing fear that something terrible was going to happen.

[serenstars]

*points*

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

Jump then fall prt.2

Playlist;

Strong- One Direction

Fearless- Taylor Swift

If I Could Tell Her- Ben Platt, Laura Dreyfuss

Disclaimer: Victoria here with some more content for the handsome Bracken because Elizabeth loves him and there aren't enough oneshots.

Description: Aeron resolves to woo his lady with a newfound confidence, but his plans are thrown into disarray by an unwanted betrothal.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Warnings: female reader. Insecurities over stereotypical gender norms. Mention of events that happen in Fire and Blood (writing in italics is a direct passage and belongs to George R.R. Martin). Misguided Rhaenyra slander. I don't think there's anything else.

Several weeks had passed since Aeron and Y/N had rekindled their friendship, resuming the old pastimes of their childhood. A chill in the air, gently rusting the golden leaves of the Brackentree,  signalled the end of the summer months and the oncoming of Autumn. The days grew shorter, but as the sun began to wane into the soft glow of a sunset a young knight and lady could still be found enclosed within the roots of the tree, the lady leaning over the shoulder of the young knight to get a closer look at the tome he was reading from.

'The accomplishments of king Jahaerys I Targaryen are almost too many to enumerate. Chief among them, in the view of most students of history, are the long period of peace and prosperity that marked his time upon the Iron Throne.'

'It is a poor king who wages battle against his own Lords and leaves his own kingdom burned, bloody, and strewn with corpses.'

'Why did you stop reading?

Aeron had tried to persevere through the passage on the reign of King Jahaerys and Queen Alysanne, aware that it was a favourite of Y/N's as a young girl. He knew that she loved the romance of their union, of their undying devotion to one another, to choosing one another as partner and consort despite the opposition from their parents and advisors. But theirs was also a reign of unprecedented peace and prosperity, one which set an example to future rulers that had never been more pertinent than now as fractious tensions had turned to full out warfare between The Black's and The Greens. News of the young Prince Jacaerys's murder had spread like wildfire throughout the Riverlands, serving to ignite the long held tensions between the Blackwoods and Brackens as sides were chosen and battle lines were drawn.

Aeron had been appalled at the infanticide, and could not understand how anyone could side with a queen so depraved that she would resort to such an act of violence against an innocent, against her own blood. The act had stirred in him a fury he had never before felt and he was gladdened to hear of his Lord uncle's decision to swear fealty to the true king Aegon Targaryen. And yet he feared the consequences of this declaration, felt the palpable repercussions of the violence that would surely follow, not just in the Riverlands but with a reach that would surely see the whole realm thrown into a war between competing factions and dragons as the House of The Dragon determined to tear itself apart.

Despite all of these thoughts swirling in his mind as he read from the Maestors' histories, it was the gentle graze of Y/Ns hair tickling his face and neck as she leant over his shoulder, a hand lightly placed atop his back to steady herself, that had caused him to stop abruptly with a sharp intake of breath. For Y/N it appeared to have been easy to fall back into their old past times and resume their friendship, for him it had not been so simple, not when he desired not just her friendship but her love. Y/N seemed to have no problem at all with their close proximity, but it set Aeron's skin on fire.

"The sky grows dark. We have tarried too long and the night shall soon be upon us. I would not have you so close to the border with those Blackwood broads about when darkness falls. Let us set aside Jahaerys and Alysanne for today" he reasoned, though did at once realise the truth of his observation, as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a shadow over the page he had been reading.

With a small huff, which Aeron found adorable, Y/N removed herself from Aeron's shoulder and rose from the root on which she perched, fixing her skirts as she did so before offering her hand to Aeron to help him up. Not entirely trusting her balance to support his weight, he nevertheless accepted her proferred hand as he pushed himself up. Content at the way in which her smaller hand seemed to fit perfectly in his, he held her gaze and hand longer than was strictly necessary, though Y/N either did not seem to notice or mind.

"May I walk you home?"

"My father should still be with Lord Bracken, they have had much to discuss of late with war looming." Y/N's brows furrowed into an uncharacteristic frown that Aeron immediately wanted to smooth.

"Then we should return to Bracken Hall together" Aeron replied, offering his arm out to her. No sooner had Y/N entwined her arm with his than they both felt heavy rain drops splatter atop their heads through the gaps in the branches of the Brackentree.

"We must make haste" Y/N shouted to Aeron over the cacophony of the now pouring rain, dropping his arm to grab his hand and forcibly drag him away from the tree and towards his ancestral seat. They both broke into a run as the rain grew heavier and the wind rose up in gales, Y/N breaking into laughter and playfully grinning at Aeron. Bracken Hall was half a mile's journey and by the time they burst through the front doors they were both soaked to the bone. Aeron found that he hardly cared, blessed with the sound of Y/N's laughter and the comforting weight of her hand still in his as they both tried to catch their breath.

"You cannot face your Lord Uncle in such a manner good knight, you shall be Lord Bracken one day too" Y/N joked, reaching up on tiptoe to brush locks of Aeron's hair that had stuck to his face in the downpour out of his eyes, tenderly tucking a rueful piece behind his ear. Aeron's heart seemed to stop for a moment before continuing to beat with resounding thuds he feared she could hear beating out of his chest due to her closeness, feeling her breath fan across his face. Aeron's mother had loved to brush his long hair in his childhood, always stroking his head tenderly before bed and calling him her sweet boy, a moment of affection he sorely missed after her untimely death, followed shortly by that of his father's when he was but 10 years of age. He had kept it long ever since, knowing it had been her preference and Y/N had similarly expressed her love of his hair even as a girl, always threatening to thrash him if he should ever cut it and begging him to let her braid it. He sometimes even acquiesced to her request. He gazed down at her in awe, unknowingly lowering his head slightly for her to reach as she continued to brush it into place.

A cough echoed throughout the entrance hall as a Bracken bannerman called to them "Ser Aeron, Lord Bracken requests your presence immediately in the great Hall." Y/N quickly dropped her hands, stepping away from him then as if embarassed. Aeron bemoaned the loss of contact but shifted to address the knight "Thank you, I will be there forthwith." Turning back towards Y/N to give her a small bow, he took her hand to bestow a gentle kiss atop before meeting her eyes. Noticing a light dusting of pink upon her cheeks, the corner of Aeron's mouth tipped up in a smile of renewed confidence. "I must attend to my duties tomorrow and expect to spend the day in the training yard. May I request your presence? I am certain your support would bring me good luck."

Smiling up at him through her lashes she upturned his hand, dropping a thin strip of lavender ribbon embellished with lace and closing his palm over their entwined hands. "I will gladly come to cheer you on my good knight and will also offer you my favour in anticipation of your victories." Y/N's eyes shone with mirth but Aeron could not but feel his heart soar at her actions. He had never had to prove himself to her, in her eyes he had always been her good knight. "I shall wear it with pride then" he replied,  briefly squeezing both of her hands and pocketing her favour before striding down, wont to keep his uncle waiting for long.

Aeron hacked at a training dummy, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead, strands of hair falling into his eyes from where he had tied it earlier that morning. With every blow he imagined the face of his uncle, fully aware of how petulant his thoughts would seem to others but entirely unable to suppress his anger. He should have sensed something was amiss when he was summoned immediately upon his return to Bracken Hall, should have guessed at it when, upon entering the Great Hall where his uncle took council meetings, all heads turned sharply in his direction, his uncle fixing him with a stare so resolute and focused it alarmed him. Aside from appointing Aeron a knight, his uncle had always seemed to look straight through him.

Aeron did not stay long, storming out of the room shortly afterwards, but what his uncle had said rang in his mind even now, that he was to marry one of Lord Tully's daughters, sleep having granted him no relief from his inner turmoil. He could understand the political soundness of the match. Both House Blackwood and House Bracken wore sworn vassals to Lord Tully but their Lord paid no heed to their constant skirmishes, lending support to neither side in their frequent land disputes. With war looming across the realm as the Blacks and Greens summoned their bannermen to arms, it was critical now more than ever that their liege Lord Tully grant the Brackens his support. A marriage pact would ensure this, binding their houses together in blood.

This did not mean that Aeron accepted the match. At one time he would have been pleased to do his duty and, gods willing, wipe the perpetually smug smirk off Benjicot Blackwood's face, loyal as he was to his house. But he was also sure that he could not marry the Tully girl when his heart belonged to another. It was not a fate either of them deserved. He immediately resolved to perform his duty another way, pleading with his uncle to reconsider. He would gladly fight for his house and swear his sword to Aegon's cause, but he would not pledge his heart to any other but Y/N, the lady he loved.

"What did that dummy ever do to you?"

Aeron was jolted out of his thoughts and incessant attacks on the now unrecognisable straw dummy in front of him by the voice of his friend Samwell. Bristling at Aeron's lack of response, Samwell scoffed "I'm surprised you can even get that thing up."

Aeron grinned "Well enough for killing Blackwoods."

"Good, then turn your focus to a more worthy opponent" Samwell shot back, sword quickly withdrawn as the two knights began to circle one another. As the two crossed blades Aeron spotted the unmistakable figure of Y/N entering the training yard, watching her progress as she pushed herself up to perch on a fence overlooking the yard. Dazed by her sweetness in keeping her promise to come and support him, Samwell took advantage of his moment of distraction. He levelled a blow to Aeron's abdomen that had him doubling over and gasping for breath. Embarassed that Y/N had most assuredly borne witness to his fumble, Aeron swung his sword with renewed vigour, choosing to stay on the offensive rather than defensive this time.

Pushing Samwell further back with each parry of his sword until he was stumbling over his own feet in his haste to block his blows, Aeron brought his sword in a downwards motion over his opponent's before swiftly bringing it back up in a circular motion to wrench it from Samwell's grip. With a harsh clang as his sword hit the ground, Samwell was disarmed to the cheers of their fellow knights who had gathered to watch the two spar. Aeron quickly sheathed his sword, stalking over to Y/N whilst ignoring his friends' teasing jeers at his lovesick proclivities and hoping beyond all hope that Y/N would ignore the fiends too.

Stopping directly in front of Y/N's perch, her knees almost brushing his tunic as he looked up at her, Aeron attempted to fix her with a charming grin.

"What did you think?"

Y/N smiled down at him and Aeron felt sure she must hang the stars in the sky each night.

"You don't have to prove yourself to me Aeron, you never have. But for what it's worth, I think you every bit the knight I know you aspire to be. Your skills with the sword are admirable indeed."

Aeron did not say anything immediately but stared at Y/N in wonder, rejoicing to hear that she thought him a worthy knight when he himself had often doubted it. Y/N broke the silence first, clearing her throat and pointing at the lilac ribbon tied to his sword belt...her lilac ribbon.

"Although, perhaps it is my favour which granted you victory today and I am owed some credit."

Aeron laughed heartily at her teasing, though she could not guess at the veracity of her claim. He had no doubt that it was the image and thought of her, the strength of his desire to impress her, that had spurred him forward to best Samwell.

"I am sure your favour was instrumental to my success on the field my lady. I needn't confess to you that the sword has never been my strong suit and my aversion to the life of a warrior has long vexed my uncle. The Riverlands are no place for the soft of heart he has always assured me."

Aeron could not help the tinge of insecurity that laced his voice as Y/N's eyebrows furrowed.

"Reluctance to spill blood is not a fault" she protested.

"That may be so, but alas it is yet perceived as a sign of great cowardice among my order.'

Y/N's expression turned suddenly very serious, her hair falling gracefully around her shoulders to form a curtain around the both of them as she bent her face closer to his and he tilted his upwards to meet hers, their noses close to touching.

"You cannot be brave if you have not first felt fear. What is courage but the willingness to tackle your fears face on? You have double the bravery of any knight driven by unadulterated bloodlust with no regard for human life. I do not wish you to think of yourself so harshly." Y/N lightly swatted Aeron's shoulder as if scolding him for daring to think less of himself than she did, but her tone was earnest. Catching her hand in his before she could retract it entirely, Aeron placed a chaste kiss upon it, devotedly grazing his lips over her knuckles.

"Thank you Y/N." He spoke softly, gazing into her eyes, trying to express with his eyes what he had always found difficult with words, to show her how much her words had meant to him.

Y/N briefly brushed her fingers over his cheekbone in an affectionate gesture that pierced his soul before shifting to lower herself from her perch. Aeron quickly wrapped his hands around her waist and lowered her to the ground, maintaining a light hold on her to request that they meet again on the morrow.

As he came to meet her at their habitual spot the next day, he was momentarily dumbstruck as he spotted Y/N, bedecked in an ochre gown the shade of his house colours. Mind racing, it was with concerted effort that he managed to stay rooted to the ground rather than rush to offer himself to her in marriage. How could he tell her that he loved her now? When he was still tied to the Tully girl. No, he resolved to wait until he had resolved the matter of his betrothal for he was determined, now more than ever, that he would win Y/N's love and that she should become his lady wife to bear the sigil of his house along with his house colours as Lady Bracken.

@lady-callisto @twistytimesandthoughts @abookloverlawyerfan-blog @mymoonempress @lovebabe18 @poppyflower-22 @ithilwen-blackwood @spinachtz

[sornasaur]

Happy Birthday Aeron~ Sorry I haven’t drawn you in forever xD

[entitled-fangirl]

Devotion.

Benjicot Blackwood x Bracken!wife!reader

Summary: After the Battle of the Burning Mill, the reader is relieved to see Benjicot unharmed. The same could not be said for her brother.

Warnings: War, blood, death, murder, misunderstanding, cursing, harsh talk of women

A/n: This came from some dark place in my brain😭 Also the fucking PowerPoint presentation I could make on my differences in characterization between Benjicot, Cregan & Jace. Benji is the harshest out of the three obviously, so keep that in mind when reading. He's a lot more... crude.

Large italicized sections indicate a flashback!

Masterlist

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

"Benjicot!"

The great Lord Blackwood turned at the sound, his face lighting up at the sight of his lady wife. 

He barely excused himself under his breath to the men he spoke to, briskly moving to her. He would run, but his heavy armor could never allow that.

He braced for her, catching her with ease as her chest slammed against his metal breastplate. Her arms wrapped around him, relaxation finally moving through her body now that he was alive and in her sight.

"What are you doing here?" He asked in a hushed state, holding her firmly to him. "You shouldn't have come."

"The battle is over," she murmured against his neck.

He couldn't help a small grin from coming over his face. "Only barely. There is still much to do."

She pulled away just enough to look around, taking note of the bodies that laid across the fields, cloaks both red and yellow alike. "That's why I've come. To help where I can."

He sighed and looked over her. "That's thoughtful of you."

She hummed. "You're still bloody. Did it not end yesterday?"

"It did." He looked down at his armor then back to her again. "The blood does not bother me."

"Have you not even washed yourself?" She reached up and wiped a bit of blood from his cheek.

He gently pushed away her hand. "You fret for me far too much."

"Can you blame me for doing so? Look around. In another life, one of these bodies may have been yours."

Benjicot shrugged. "But it's not."

She sighed and pulled away, taking in the sight of the bodies. "What warranted such a killing?"

Benji bit his cheek. "Border stones," he lied through his teeth. "Just the border stones."

She huffed. "Men and their land. I'll not understand them."

Benji forced himself to laugh, a guilty feeling erupting in his stomach. 

…

"BRACKEN!" Benjicot screamed as he and his men neared. "Put the boundary stones back."

Aeron Bracken scoffed. "We didn't move them."

"Ah. Did they move themselves then?" He questioned. "Just rolled their way over so Bracken cows can fill their bellies on Blackwood grass?"

"The assize-"

"Fuck the assize." Benjicot stepped into Aeron's face. "And fuck you. This is our land."

Aeron grew nervous under Blackwood's glare. "T… This is Bracken land."

Benjicot's tilted his head, studying the man closely. 

Having enough, Aeron turned around and began to storm off, muttering under his breath. "…babe killer-"

"What did you say?"

Aeron paused in his steps, realizing exactly what he had just done. But he was too stubborn to step down. He turned. "Your false Queen Rhaenyra is a kinslayer."

Benjicot paused. "Your uncle declared for Aegon, did he?" When Aeron said nothing, he continued, "Well then, let me tell you." He took steady steps towards the Bracken as his anger grew. "Aegon Targaryen is no true king. Just as you are no true knight."

Aeron's hands shook but his voice remained steady. "Craven. Little. Cunt."

Benjicot couldn't find it in himself to be mad at that. He even took a step back and let out a hearty laugh. "The only cunt I know of is your sister's."

Aeron growled and drew his sword, pointing it at Benjicot. "You'll watch your words, Blackwood."

The men with Benjicot all flinched, hovering their hands over the handles of their own swords. Benjicot laughed and held up his hands in mock surrender. "What? I can't speak of your sister's love for me? Dare I speak of her willingness to carry a Blackwood's heir contently? Because she would. She takes me so well-"

"-QUIET!" Aeron stepped forward. 

He grinned and stepped closer, the tip of Aeron's sword only inches from his chest. "You wouldn't dare."

…

"Must have been quite a fight," she remarked as the two walked through the fields. They avoided the people who loaded a few of the dead bodies up to take them back to their families. 

"Aye."

She looked up at him. "You've been awfully quiet." She reaches up and brushes his hair back.

He sighed softly, trying to hide his guilt. "Only the wears of war finally getting to me. That's all. Perhaps we should go to my tent."

She hummed and walked on. "In a bit." Her eyes scanned the field, obviously looking for something. 

He had a good idea what she was looking for. Any sign of her brother. "I've grown weary, my love. As I'm sure you have." He reached out and grabbed her arm to try to stop her.

Not even looking at him, she brushed her hand across his chest before stepping further from him. "Only a moment, Benji."

He forced another sigh, keeping his nerves down. "You shouldn't be out here. Let me take you back."

"Benjicot, please." 

"I'm only thinking of you, girl. C'mon."

She turned in frustration. "Just a moment."

When she began to look eerily closer to where he knew her brother lay, he rushed forward and grabbed her arm. "Darling girl, stop this now."

And she did. Her entire body froze and a soft sob wracked her body.

"A- Aeron?"

Benjicot cursed under his breath. "You shouldn't look at this."

Aeron lay in the mud next to the small creek. A sword ran through his neck, blood staining his clothes and the little grass that he lay on. 

She felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on her, or a knife in her heart, a tremor now in her hands. 

She spun around. "Did you know about this?"

"What?"

Her eyes watered, her jaw clenched. He watched her pick at her fingers. "Did you know about this?"

Benjicot ran his tongue across his teeth. 

She didn't bother to wait for a response, running to the dead man and dropping to her knees at his side. Her dress began to soak in the mix of mud, water, and blood. 

The Blackwood watched with an aching heart. He swallowed hard. "Y/n…"

"No." She brushed her fingers over her brother's face, pulling the hair back. She tried to ignore how cold his skin was. "No, no."

Benji dared to take a step closer to her. He couldn't stand to only sit and watch her suffer like this. "Y/n," he tried again.

"Why?"

His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, "Why what?"

She sniffled. "Why couldn't you prevent this?"

Benjicot felt as if he'd been punched in the gut. His breath caught in his throat. "Do you think I wanted this?" He asked with a trembling voice. "I bled for our cause. War is unpredictable, and death has a way of finding its way into every battle."

Her fingers shook violently against her dead brother's shoulders. 

He forced a sigh. "I promise you I didn't want this. But he started it."

Her hand faltered. Her head tilted to look over her shoulder at him. "What?"

Benji bit his cheek. He shouldn't have said that.

"Benjicot. What do you mean?" She asked. "Where you there when it started?"

He couldn't bring himself to speak. He tried to, but his voice was gone, the guilt beginning to eat him alive. His eyes were set on the cold body. 

"W-" She followed his gaze, looking at the longsword that held her brother's body down.

Benjicot's longsword. 

Her head snapped back to him, noticing that he indeed was missing his longsword from its sheath. 

Her eyes slowly moved up Benjicot's entire body until she found his eyes. 

"You killed my brother?"

…

Benjicot pulled his sword out of a man's body, moving on to the next one. He was covered in blood, his armor starting to irritate his skin from the constant movement. But he hardly cared about that. 

His sword collided with another and he looked. 

"Take it back!" Aeron growled. 

Benjicot tilted his head, "Or what?"

Aeron stepped back and fixed his position. He looked terrified, but he refused to let it show. "Or I'll gut you. And I'll take my sister back."

"She's a Blackwood," Benji grunted. 

"She'll never be," the Bracken rebutted.

Benjicot's anger grew, pushing him to make the first real attack. He swung his sword with accuracy and precision, intent on doing anything to injure his opponent.

Aeron was quick, but he wasn't as accurate. While his dodges were good, he was only defense. 

So when he finally lifted up his sword to swing it in offense, Benjicot lifted his foot and kicked the Bracken firmly in the chest. 

Aeron lost his footing, falling backwards and rolling. He panicked at the cold feeling of the water that stood only inches from him. He groaned and tried to get up, but Benji was quick to keep him down. 

The Bracken reached out blindly across the ground, trying to find the handle of his dagger that had fallen from his belt. It was somewhere around here. 

There it was.

Benjicot caught his actions at the last second, pulling himself away before Aeron could cut him.

Aeron growled and sat up, getting up as fast as he could.

But the Blackwood knocked the dagger from his hand and tackled him back into the dirt, now straddling him. He bent down to spit in his face.

Aeron grunted and flinched. He tried to fight against Benjicot, but the darker haired man was beginning to go into lose his patience entirely. He grabbed Aeron's armor at his shoulders, picking up the boy's torso and slamming it into the ground again.

"I hope you're right," Aeron wheezed out.

Benjicot snarled. "What?"

"I said," Aeron said as he spit up blood from a tooth lost earlier. "I hope you're right."

Benji shook his head, "I don't care for final words and monologues."

"Then know this, Blackwood. I hope she does carry your heir. I hope you fill her with your seed over and over and over again." He laughed cruelly, looking up at the sky. "I hope the future of your house depends on a Bracken womb."

Benjicot slammed the man again. "Shut up."

Aeron looked him in the eyes now, using the last of his strength to get in his face. "I hope House Blackwood is forever tainted by the cunt of a Bracken. Your children will be Brackens."

"I said shut up!"

Bracken spit in Benji's face. "Fuck her well. I hope they look Just. Like. Me."

Benjicot felt something in him snap. His eyes glazed over. 

He stood and stared down at the man with no mercy. Benjicot pressed the tip of his longsword to the neck of his enemy.

"I hope that you're lost to time, Aeron Bracken."

…

Benjicot felt his heart break and splinter at the sound of her voice. His own was a whisper, "please, listen to me." He took a slow step toward her.

"STAY AWAY FROM HIM!" She screamed. She began to sob violently as she threw herself over Aeron's body, grief truly hitting her like a wall.

He staggered back in shock. His jaw clenched, the urge to gather her in his arms and make her see the truth becoming overwhelming. "Listen to me," he repeated. 

"We were s-supposed to be the treaty," she muttered against Aeron's chest. 

"W… What? What was that?" Benji asked.

She sat up. "You and I. We were supposed to be the treaty. The thing that could have prevented this. And we weren't. Divorce me or kill me, but please. Please. Don't torture me like this."

He was beginning to lose his patience again. "Dear girl, you must listen to me. You must."

She shook her head. "I won't."

"Y/n," he grunted and stepped to her. 

"NO!" She held a hand up, as if the young woman could stop the force that was Benjicot Blackwood. "Don't touch him!"

He held his hands up, forcing himself to calm down. "I won't. I just want to speak to you."

"You've done enough, Benjicot."

"I know. I know what I've done is cruel to you, but you have to let me explain myself."

"Leave, Benjicot."

He huffed. "I won't. You're going to listen."

She pushed herself up onto her knees. "Leave," she spoke through clenched teeth.

"What?" He asked in anger. "You're not going to return to Raventree Hall with me?"

"Not by will."

"You can't be serious. You'd rather abandon our marriage, our home, then return with me?"

She wiped at her cheek, unknowingly smearing dirt and blood across her face. "My home was with Aeron. M-My brother is dead. I have nothing."

He took a cautious step toward her. "You have me," he muttered, the words like a vow.

"You never wanted me."

Benjicot's arms fell to his sides, feeling utterly defeated. 

The man was a valiant fighter, a formidable warrior, and four words from his wife made him feel utterly hopeless.

He looked out over the field, debating what to even say. His voice broke, "You know that's not true."

"You killed my brother. If you love me- if you ever loved me, you wouldn't have done this."

"It's not that easy."

"It is!" She stood up. "It is that easy! All of this," she gestured around, "Over the fucking boundary stones?"

"OVER YOU!" He yelled. "He dared to speak ill of you and you know I'll not have that!"

She felt a shiver move down her spine slowly. She looked over to Aeron's body. "Did he?"

"Darling," Benjicot tried to speak reasonably once again, "I am a dangerous man. It feels as if I fall asleep in battle and wake up covered in another's blood. I am no saint, and I refuse to pretend I am. But listen when I tell you that I am no liar." He sighed. "If he had let it go, perhaps he would still be breathing. But if defending your honor makes you hate me then perhaps it is worth it for I know I did what was right."

She was quiet for a long time, staring at the water. "Do you believe the old stories?"

His brows furrowed. "I'm not understanding you."

She looked up to him. "The weirwood tree. Do you believe that the Brackens poisoned it all those generations ago?"

Benjicot shuffles his feet, not sure what to answer. "I-I couldn't say for certain."

"And yet you still wear it on your chest with pride? Something you don't even know for certain?"

He looked down at his family crest and back to her. "It's a part of who I am. I can't change that."

She tilted her head. "Then don't expect me to either. You can love me or hate me, Benjicot Blackwood, but I am a Bracken no matter which way you twist your story. I cannot change my blood."

"Where are you going with this exactly, beautiful?"

She took a step towards him. "If you kill all of the Brackens in the world, it'll only lead you back to your own house. You shouldn't have married a Bra-"

"-Shut up," he ordered. 

She looked up in shock. "What?"

"I don't care what you are. I don't care if you're a Targaryen or a fucking toad. I do not care. You are mine, as I am yours." His eyes glazed over with a new emotion. "The rest of the world could rot for all I care."

She watched him take slow, deliberate steps to her until the gap was completely closed. He leaned in, his lips almost brushing hers. "I am addicted to you. I always have been."

She took in a shaky breath, her heart pounded in her chest. Only Benjicot had ever made her feel so alive. "I-I'm in love with you."

He paused, his eyes trying to read an emotion from hers. 

They had never said such a thing to each other. This was supposed to be a marriage for alliance purposes. There wasn't supposed to be love. There wasn't-

He couldn't stop himself, connecting their lips roughly with a low groan. 

He could faintly taste dirt on her bottom lip, but he paid no heed, pulling her closer to feel her body against his. "Have you ever felt this before?" He whispered against her. "Utter devotion?"

She let out a whine.

He kissed her again. "Fuck the weirwood tree. I'll worship you until the end of my days."

She tugged at his hair, making him growl with lust. He gripped her jaw easily with one hand, holding her firmly. He was never a cruel lover, but he was a firm one. 

"Tell me what he said," she managed to pant out.

"No," he hummed, beginning to kiss down her neck. His hand pushed her head back to expose more of her skin to him.

In the unyielding hands of the infamous Bloody Ben, she'd never felt safer. 

"I'll bury him for you." Was all the more that Benjicot said about it.

"Hard to jump your bones in all that armor," she whispered in his ear. 

"Fuck," He groaned. "Careful, Braken," he teased.

She pulled away and he instantly began to feel regret for his jest.

Her brows furrowed as she stared up at him. "Fuck you, Blackwood."

"Darling-"

Her lips pulled into a small smile and she began to laugh. 

"Don't fucking do that again," he exclaimed, grabbing her jaw again roughly. 

"You fell right into my hands, Blackwood," she continued. "The great Lord Benjicot, so gullible."

He pushed a smile down. "You're a cruel goddess."

"I don't think you mind."

He pulled her face to him, placing a heavy kiss to her lips. "You're right."

"Trust me, my lord, you'll be rewarded for your devotion."

His brows quirked up. "Will I?"

Her eyes flicked to his lips and back up to his eyes. "I can be benevolent when I want to be."

He groaned. "I'll worship you forever."

…

Only a year later, Benjicot held his newborn child to his chest, caressing the young boy.

The babe's eyes opened, revealing dark brown pupils.

Y/n cooed, "He looks just like his father."

Benjicot let out a breath he didn't know he was keeping. 

Aeron Bracken was wrong. 

Seems even genetically, Blackwoods were the dominant house.

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

[atopvisenyashill]

sorry to bother you but do you ever think of theon’s arc as being sort of akin to an amalgamation of the previous generation of starklings in a way - he starts out lustful and wild like brandon, though raised apart from family, dead older brother(s) like ned and isolated in a tower with a sibling trying to save them like lyanna? like theon recieves a bunch of connections with the old gods and having weirwood dreams but i’m not too sure what it all means together.

oh that’s sooooo interesting.

okay so yes re: theon’s connection to the old gods and having weirwood dreams. that’s something i think about a lot. one thing i find interesting is the play between him, aeron, and patchface as prophets - aeron calls himself a prophet of the drowned god, and while i think its likely all of the greyjoys are capable of magic to some degree, it’s not aeron who is regularly having true visions in the family it’s theon who has shown this funny aptitude for magic and interestingly, it’s patchface who drowned, was revived, and suddenly became a voice for the gods. i have this theory that patchface is a prophet for the drowned god (or whatever magical being is thought to be the drowned god, the same way as for example the old gods are most likely not gods but hundreds if not thousands of greenseers connected to the weirwood hivemind system) and theon is a prophet for the old gods. patchface going through the ritual accidentally, imo, caught the attention of the drowned god. theon, meanwhile, i think is someone who was born with magical abilities, in a time period where magic seems to be reaching a boiling over point after spending several centuries simmering, surrounded by other similarly “have the aptitude but not the know-how” people in the starklings, having been intensely physically traumatized - like patchface, i think he caught the attention of the old gods bc he accidentally went through the rituals while In Their Domain. bran has his visions of the woman blood sacrificing the old man, and i’ve kind of loosely theorized that being capable of extreme magic means you must be capable of sacrificing yourself as well as others. dany doesn’t just burn mirri, she walks onto the pyre herself; melisandre doesn’t just use pyre victims to fuel her magic, she has to literally give birth to her magic; but to take it a step further, i think when people capable of magic are physically traumatized by others, it does kind of….get their senses tingling i guess you can say. i think this is why bloodraven goes from being just like a regular fighter to being known for magic and sorcery - losing his eye + his knowledge of magic sets off his senses. so as theon is already magically inclined, living in a place that is steaming with magic, tortured by ramsay…all of a sudden he goes from having visions in acok to talking to weirwoods. he’s caught the attention of the old gods (the old god being, of course, bran).

so that’s my theory on like, HOW theon’s third eye has slowly opened but the fact that it’s seemingly opening towards the OLD GODS and not THE DROWNED GOD is really interesting on a narrative level. i think when you ask “what will happen to theon” in the fandom at large, it’s a really bleak picture - some of that is the show, but i’ve seen people theorize that the last chapter we have of him in twow (the preview chapter) is the last we’ll see if theon since i got into the fandom when s2 was airing. and i know i’m biased bc i love him but i do think his connection to the weirwood magic is going to come into play. similarly, i see a lot of theon fans who would prefer an ending where he’s no longer with the starks or in the north but in the iron islands. but again - it’s not the drowned god who is speaking through him it’s the old gods! this signals to me that he is never leaving the north permanently, if at all. and i think that makes sense with his story on a narrative level; he can insist he is salt and sea, a greyjoy of pike, but even as he’s trying to prove himself as a greyjoy he’s calling himself the prince of winterfell! nothing will erase the reality that most of the formative years of his life were spent in winterfell with the starklings and when he pictures home it’s that place! that place that was full of love that he was not allowed to partake in! being able to go back to pyke and fully reintegrate back into the culture he was born into is, imo, too sweet of an ending. he doesn’t get to go back!

i’ve always felt like he will live a long life, longer than he’ll ever really want, and that’s the point - he gets to live and others don’t (and some of that is his fault!) and he has to keep trying because of it. forever. he can’t take the easy way out and exit the narrative. so i think it’s interesting you compare him to the older starks because the youngest is benjen and benjen was a man of the night’s watch. i think that concept of like, spending the rest of your life trying to do penance being what theon gets makes so much sense. specifically here i think it’s interesting that lyanna experiences some element of sexual abuse, and theon is both a perpetrator and a victim of it. and there’s that common theory that perhaps benjen helped lyanna sneak out of winterfell and joined the night’s watch out of guilt. i think you get that very interesting kind of dark mirror here - theon is much less well liked than brandon despite engaging in the same behavior, theon is never able to “rise” to the occasion as oldest boy and heir like ned nor is he respected by the iron islanders the way ned is by the northerners, theon is trapped by ramsay in a very twisted love story while lyanna’s story was more of a slow burning horror. always always never enough when compared to the starks. but i think an ending like benjen’s, not necessarily one where he’s specifically sworn to some order but maybe a more metaphorical one (not dissimilar to sandor on the quiet isle actually - less about WHO he is swearing to and more about what he does with his time), really fits everything theon is heading towards. can’t outrun and outfight his status as a hostage, his murders, his rapes, being raped, the greyjoy name or the stark one - but he can just stop and THINK for a second about WHO he is and WHY he’s wound up this way!