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shivasdarknight · 1 year ago

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#THANK YOOOOU#also re literacy: we learn he wrote reports in the moogle tribe quests#and his vocabulary and dialect is more ''posh'' Ishgardian than it is country or Brume#he's not stupid he's not any of that stuff#he's just not super gabby and I imagine he's feeling awkward around all the academic Scions#he chimes in plenty anyway often with a more practical or intuitive view#(and he's autistic coded to me so that's part of the selective socializing in my eyes)

YES EXACTLY. YOU GET ME.

I only brought up the "we don't fully know" mostly because of specifics like what level of functional reading vs functional writing, but that mention of the reports is another thing people completely skip over: the Azure Dragoon wasn't just...whoever killed dragons the best. Their role within the Knights Dragoon was that of the top commander, which meant organizational skills, reports, etc. Estinien was effectively in a similar position to Aymeric, just exclusively within the Knights Dragoon compared to the wider Temple Knights and Ishgardian military. That's a big fucking deal!

But back on literacy, that point exactly. He's still got the mid-upper class Ishgardian speak compared to how they write Brumites or rural people regardless of where they're from. He speaks like his adoptive father, who - as an aside - is a minor Lord, because House Bale is a minor house thus Alberic is still nobility to an extent. Meaning Estinien wouldn't be escaping stuff to do with reading or writing; he's just stuck with the frustrating thing of potentially a later in life learning. It's still very likely that he knew how to read even prior to being taken in by Alberic, as reading was a more common skill than writing (we just link the two together these days and take it for granted). He may have also had rudimentary writing skills, but that's something we do not really fully know - kids in xiv tend to talk about "learning their letters" if they're from places like upper Ishgard compared to places like rural La Noscea, which is where I'm basing this thought from. Regardless, a shift from farm kid, to troubled teen being raised by a guy from a minor house, to an adult and fairly high ranking officer with Lots of paperwork is a fairly drastic shift. And if you aren't used to something like, I dunno, writing? It's physically painful.

This is again something we take for granted because writing is taught pretty early on, but scribes were a legitimate profession due to it not being a common skill. Writing was a separate skill from reading, so many people hired scribes. Additional and related piece of information: writing is such a physically intensive task that the bones of scribes are physically warped compared to people who didn't write whatsoever. The action has your tendons create new connection points in your phalanges, and actually elongates them over time for more surface to grab onto. So if you're a late learner, that's more painful. If you didn't write a lot and now suddenly have a large workload, that is also going to be very physically painful. I see a lot of interpretations of "Estinien doesn't send letters" as him being illiterate or a dickhead, but I don't think that's really fair to him. Now, I do personally write him as someone who now avoids writing when possible due to how much it does hurt, but even with that he's not illiterate! He definitely reads, he can definitely write - it's just looking to his circumstances and trying to figure out something that makes sense within my writing.

I derailed a lot there, but it's absolutely that point about what group he's in now: he's the odd one out, and really only able to relate to the WoL and kind of Thancred - otherwise, he's at a loss. He's not one to hang out in groups anyways, but a group of scholars is beyond anything he would seek out. He can't contribute much to conversation and debate, so why bother speaking when the others are more valuable in that task? He sees himself as being more useful when it concerns action, and this is shown countless times as the one to actually act instead of standing around theorizing. He knows what to say and when, he knows when to act or went to talk - he just talks when he's not intruding on more important matters. He's very opinionated, he just doesn't try and intrude?? Action over theorizing, and chatting for when there isn't anything to do.

And hey!! Similar brain! I'm sure I'm slipping autistic stuff in there w/o fully realizing it, but I'm very intentionally writing him as ADHD as so much of his actions post hvw scream RSD. Which just makes it more important with regards to how I write him to not portray him as stupid or illiterate with that intentional inclusion of ADHD (and probably also autism). The guy's not dumb, he just doesn't think or act the same way that the Scions do. He's at his most chatty when its one-on-one, and he's at his most curt and quiet when there's stuff going on within a large group. None of that means super quiet, curt or even dumb ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

one of the things that gets me about fanon lens - especially when you entrench yourself so much in a fan version of a character - is how a character can just slowly be stripped of what they are and who they are because of the self referential nature of fanworks (which isn't inherently bad, don't misunderstand; neglected characters can have new life breathed into them)

which is a long way of getting to: where did people get the idea that estinien's not one to talk, or is bad at effectively talking? I don't mean selectively mute hcs, i mean just very curt. like he's not as flowery as many of the scions or even compared to aymeric, but he's still dramatic and talks a lot. he's precise when he needs to be and extremely blunt, but just because of that doesn't mean he won't ramble

like his whole tangent about where he is today because of the wol right before the Dead Ends in Ultima Thule. his chattiness seems to fluctuate with how comfortable he is with someone, so i'm not really sure where "estinien's bad with words" came from?

he's no politician, but he's good at saying what needs to be said and saying it in a way that matters. yes, there is the whole aymeric thing but avoiding a difficult conversation rooted in guilt isn't the same as being bad at talking. he clearly knows how to get to people - especially to antagonize them into action (see: tiamat, azdaja) - so where did this come from?

#original #reblog #estinien #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #i got sidetracked there because we talked about this stuff in some of my favorite college courses #which hiLARIOUSLY werent even really about this subject #there was the mid-medieval art class but also phenomenology in medieval art which was where my professor brought up the fact that like #we kinda take reading and writing as a conjoined skill and take it for granted when that was the furthest from the case back when these #religious texts were being complied and everything. so most people could read but writing was an entirely different matter #the other was forensic anthropology lmfAO #we were talking about how you can kinda spot occupational damage in skeletons from how muscles and tendons create new points of attachment #based on your usage. eg body builders would see that change. scribes see that. etc etc #im a giant fucking nerd who really liked academia and wanna go back okay #THE POINT is that unless your character is used to writing for long periods of time it is a Very Painful Task #this is also coming from someone who had carpal tunnel surgery this year. shit's damaging.#wouldnt be surprised if - in the case that estinien Is avoiding writing because of this pain - that he finds injuries like that ridiculous #because he has all these nearly life-ending scars and other sustained injures and it's his /hands/ that are giving him hell? from /writing/#yeah guess what he's gonna cut out from his life now that he doesn't need to anymore #idk i care about this topic a lot - especially because of all the adult literacy programs that are in my area that i've been around #not in them just in proximity to due to volunteering at libraries A Lot #it's a p serious thing but Im Rambling whoops

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kckt88 · 10 months ago

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The Lost Dragon XIV - Lingering.

Summary:

Aemond and Vaelys have returned to Kings Landing to attend a celebration in honour of their son's birth, Aemond takes an instant dislike to Cregan and later he reveals his deepest fear.

Warning(s): Nightmare, Angst, Apology, Language, Insults, Jealousy, Possessive, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Smut -Breeding Kink, Lactation Kink, P in V, Proposal.

AEMOND TARGARYEN x O.C -VAELYS TARGARYEN

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Word Count: 5788

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9

The skies ablaze with dragon fire and the air thick with the scent of death. Aemond watched helplessly as Vhagar, burst through the clouds and devoured Lucerys.

His heart heavy with sorrow, Aemond watched as Helaena Targaryen, was forced to make an impossible choice— Jaehaerys or Maelor? His heart breaking at his sweet sisters scream of anguish as her son was killed.

The scene shifted, and Aemond found himself standing in the courtyard of the Red Keep, surrounded by the sound of the desperate pleas from prisoners. His hands, slick with blood, trembled as he carried out executions with ruthless efficiency, each blow a painful reminder of the cost of war.

The funeral of his nephew, his body wrapped in the shroud hand stitched by Helaena, his little hand clutching his favourite dragon toy.

His own decent into darkness, the cold grip of ruthlessness had seized him and refused to let go.

And then, the fall of Princess Rhaenys and her dragon Meleys at the Battle of Rook's Rest—the gruesome bloody show of the dragon’s severed head paraded through the streets of Kings Landing.

His brother Aegon, injured and vulnerable-as Aemond found himself being crowned Prince Regent, tasked with ruling in his absence.

Alys Rivers, the witch of Harrenhal-her eyes dark and inscrutable as she beckoned to him with a knowing smile. Aemond was drawn to her, unable to resist the magnetic pull of her presence.

As they drew closer, the nightmare twisted into a grotesque parody of intimacy, with Alys wrapping herself around him in a macabre dance of seduction. Aemond's heart pounded in his chest as he watched himself become ensnared in her web, his every instinct screaming for him to break free, to flee from the darkness that threatened to consume him.

But in the nightmare's cruel grip, Aemond was powerless to resist, his will subsumed by the allure of desire and pleasure. And in the throes of passion, he surrendered to the darkness, his actions driven by impulses he could neither comprehend nor control.

As the nightmare continued to unfold, Aemond watched in horror as Alys grew round with his bastard-a son with no name.

Then he saw her-Vaelys, her eyes wide with fear as he stood before her, his own hands wrapped around her throat. He watched in horror as his grip tightened, squeezing the life from her with a brutality that tore at his soul.

The dark version of him, had no love for her-in this world she had been responsible for the death of his brother Daeron, unflinching as she bathed him in dragon fire during the second battle of Tumbleton.

"No-" Aemond's voice broke, a strangled cry escaping his lips as he recoiled from the sight before him. But in the depths of his nightmare, there was no escape, no respite from the anguish that consumed him.

As Vaelys' lifeless form crumpled to the ground, a primal scream tore from Aemond's throat.

His nephew Maelor torn apart by a mob of common folk, the decent of his siter into madness and her fall from the window’s of Maegor’s Holdfast.

In the skies above the God's Eye, the air crackling with the energy of impending battle. He felt the familiar rush of adrenaline course through his veins as he soared through the clouds astride Vhagar.

But his exhilaration was tinged with dread as he spotted the silhouette of another dragon, its massive wingspan blotting out the sun. It was Caraxes, ridden by his uncle Daemon, a formidable adversary with a reputation for ferocity and skill.

As the dragons clashed in a deadly dance of fire and fury, Aemond felt a cold knot of fear tighten in his chest. The air rang with the deafening roar of their flames, the ground below a blur as they circled each other in a deadly game of cat and mouse.

Aemond's heart pounded in his chest as he urged Vhagar onward, his mind consumed by a primal instinct to survive at any cost. But as he looked up, his eyes widening in terror, he saw something that chilled him to the bone-a flash of steel glinting in the sunlight, the deadly point of Dark Sister, his uncle's legendary Valyrian steel sword, aimed straight at him.

With a strangled cry of horror, Aemond tried to veer away, to escape the deadly trajectory of the blade. But it was too late, he felt the sharp point of Dark Sister pierce his remaining eye, driving through flesh and bone, agony engulfing him as the blade tore through his skull, its tip emerging from the back of his throat.

With a gasp, Aemond jolted awake, his heart racing in his chest as he struggled to shake off the lingering tendrils of the nightmare. Beside him, Vaelys stirred, her presence a comforting anchor in the darkness.

Trembling, Aemond reached out to her, his fingers tangling in the soft strands of her silver hair as he pulled her close, seeking solace in the warmth of her embrace.

As the dawn's light filtered through the windows of their old chambers in Kings Landing, Vaelys watched with a heavy heart as Aemond stirred fitfully in his sleep. She could see the lines of worry etched upon his brow, the restless toss and turn of his body betraying the torment of his nightmares.

With a sigh, Vaelys reached out to gently brush a strand of hair from Aemond's forehead, her touch light and soothing against his skin. "Aemond," she murmured softly, her voice a gentle caress in the stillness of the morning, "You haven't been sleeping well. Your nightmares-are troubling you."

Aemond's eye fluttered open, the weariness evident as he gazed up at Vaelys with a mixture of gratitude and resignation. "I'm sorry, my love," he whispered, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "I can't seem to escape them, no matter how hard I try."

Vaelys' heart ached at the sight of her husband's anguish, the weight of his nightmares a burden she could scarcely bear. "You don't have to face them alone, Aemond," she reassured him, her voice filled with quiet determination. "I'm here for you, always. We'll face them together."

With a tender smile, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close in a comforting embrace. "We'll find a way to ease your troubled mind," she promised, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Whatever it takes."

"Aemond, perhaps the maesters could offer something to help with your sleep," she suggested softly, her voice laced with a mixture of hope and apprehension. "Maybe some dreamwine, to ease the burden of your nightmares."

Aemond's expression softened at her suggestion, a flicker of gratitude crossing his weary features. "It's worth a try," he conceded, his voice tinged with a note of resignation. "Anything to find some relief.”

"I'll speak with Maester Garrick, when we return to Dragonstone-but for now you must try and get some rest" said Vaelys, her voice filled with resolve.

Aemond turned to her, his gaze filled with gratitude and weariness. "I'll try, Vaelys," he replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "But the nightmares-"

Vaelys shook her head, her eyes filled with determination. "You don't have to face them alone," she assured him, her voice firm yet gentle. "Let me be your anchor in the storm”.

With a sigh, Aemond nodded, allowing himself to relax into her embrace. As Vaelys wrapped her arms around him, she felt the tension drain from his body, his breaths slowing as he surrendered to the comfort of her touch.

Gently, she began to stroke his hair, her fingers tracing soothing patterns against his scalp. "Close your eyes, my love," she murmured, her voice a tender lullaby in the darkness. "I'll be right here beside you, every step of the way."

As Vaelys continued to stroke Aemond's hair, she felt the tension gradually ebb from his body, his breathing growing slow and steady against her chest. With each gentle caress, she whispered words of comfort and reassurance, her voice a soothing balm against the turmoil of his troubled mind.

And then, gradually, almost imperceptibly, she felt Aemond begin to relax into sleep's embrace. His eyelid fluttered closed; his features softened by the peace of slumber.

Vaelys held him close, her heart overflowing with love and gratitude for the man who had captured her heart. She pressed a tender kiss to his forehead, silently vowing to stand by him ,to be his rock in times of storm and his beacon of light in the darkest of nights.

As Aemond finally succumbed to sleep's gentle embrace, Vaelys felt a sense of profound relief wash over her. In his arms, she found solace and strength, a sanctuary from the cares of the world.

And as she held him close, nestled in the warmth of their shared embrace, she knew that together, they could face whatever challenges lay ahead, united in the unbreakable bond of their love. With a whispered prayer for peaceful dreams, Vaelys closed her own eyes.

As Aemond watched Vaelys gracefully slipping into her light red gown, his breath caught in his throat, stunned anew by her radiant beauty. The delicate fabric hugged her curves, the colour complementing the warmth of her skin, and he found himself unable to tear his gaze away.

"Vaelys," he murmured, his voice tinged with awe, "You look absolutely breathtaking."

Vaelys turned to him, a soft smile playing at the corners of her lips as she caught the admiration in his eyes. "Thank you, my love," she replied, her voice a melodic whisper. "I wanted to look my best for the celebration."

Aemond couldn't help but chuckle at her modesty, a warmth spreading through his chest at the sight of her. "Well, you've certainly succeeded," he said, his tone affectionate.

Vaelys laughed, the sound like music to his ears as she stepped closer, her hand reaching out to trace the line of his jaw.

Aemond's heart swelled with love for the woman before him, his fingers intertwining with hers as he drew her into his embrace.

And as they shared a tender moment together, bathed in the soft glow of their love, Aemond knew that there was no greater treasure in the world than his wife.

Vaelys met Aemond's gaze with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, her lips curling into a playful smile. "And what of your beauty husband" she teased, her voice laced with affectionate sarcasm, "I know there are ladies at court who will glance at my husband. With his long flowing silver hair, his reputation as a great swordsman, and let's not forget, the rider of the largest dragon in the world."

Aemond chuckled at her jest, a warm glow of pride spreading through him at her words. "Ah, yes," he replied, a hint of amusement in his tone, “They can look all they want but they'll quickly learn that my heart belongs to only one."

He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her waist as he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "And she's standing right in front of me," he added, his voice filled with sincerity. "The most beautiful woman in all the Seven Kingdoms."

Vaelys' cheeks flushed with colour at his words, her heart swelling with love for the man who had captured her heart. "Flatterer," she teased, but her eyes sparkled with genuine affection as she leaned into his embrace.

As they made their way through the quiet hallways of the Red Keep, Aemond couldn't shake the sense of unease that gnawed at him. He could feel the tension radiating from Vaelys beside him, her usual poise marred by the weight of their surroundings.

He stole a glance at her, taking in the furrow of her brow and the tightness of her jaw, and he knew without a doubt what troubled her. This was the first time she had set foot in King's Landing since the argument with her mother, Queen Rhaenyra—a rift that still lingered between them, a wound not easily healed.

But this celebration, in honour of their son Aemon, demanded their presence, and Aemond understood the necessity of putting on a united front for the sake of their family. Still, he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at the discomfort it caused Vaelys.

"Are you alright, my love?" he asked softly, reaching out to gently squeeze her hand. "I know this must be difficult for you."

Vaelys offered him a small, reassuring smile, though he could see the tension still lingering in her eyes. "I'll manage," she replied, her voice tinged with resignation. "For Aemon's sake."

As Aemond and Vaelys entered the grand throne room of the Red Keep, the opulence of the surroundings seemed to fade into the background, overshadowed by the warmth and joy that filled the air. Aemond cradled their son, Aemon, in his arms, the babe’s amethyst eyes wide with wonder.

Vaelys walked beside him, her hand intertwined with those of their other children, Sovia, and Daevyn, who beamed up at their parents with excitement.

The room was alive with music and laughter, the sound of lively conversation mingling with the strains of a cheerful melody. Tables laden with sumptuous food and drink lined the walls, inviting guests to partake in the feast laid out before them.

“Vaelys-over here” said Helaena brightly as he patted the empty chair next to her.

“Hel-where are the children?” asked Vaelys as she sat down.

“Daeron has taken them to visit my mother-“

At the mention of Alicent, Vaelys looked at Aemond who busied himself with making sure Aemon was covered with his blanket.

“She keeps asking for him” whispered Helaena.

“It’s Aemonds choice-” replied Vaelys.

“I know-“ muttered Helaena softly.

“Sovia-please don��t do that” scolded Vaelys as she caught her daughter pulling at the ribbons in her braided hair.

“But mama-” complained Sovia pursing her lips together.

“Listen to your mother byka grēges” said Aemond (Little bug).

“Daddy-nyke ȳdra daor raqagon ziry” replied Sovia (I don’t like it).

Vaelys smiled slightly as she took a sip of wine, any minute now Aemond would cave in and undo the braids in their daughters hair. Her silver curls had always been wild, and she barely tolerated anyone even brushing her hair.

Rider of the mighty Vhagar weak for his daughter.

“Let me take them out then” muttered Aemond handing Aemon to Helaena so he could lift Sovia onto his knee.

“Avy jorrāelan” whispered Sovia (I love you).

“Softie” whispered Vaelys as Aemond rolled his eye as he began undoing Sovia’s braids.

As the revelry filled the throne room, Queen Rhaenyra rose from her seat at the head of the room, her presence commanding the attention of all who gathered there. Her gaze swept over the assembled guests, her expression one of regal pride and affection.

"My lords and ladies," she called out, her voice ringing clear above the din of conversation, "I would ask you to raise your glasses in honour of a joyous occasion—a celebration of new life and boundless hope."

As the room fell silent, all eyes turned to the queen, their attention captured by her words. With a graceful flourish, Rhaenyra lifted her goblet high, the golden liquid within catching the light as it sparkled in the dimly lit room.

"To Prince Aemon Targaryen, my grandson" she declared, her voice filled with warmth and sincerity, "May his future be as bright as the flame of his ancestors, and may he bring honour and glory to House Targaryen for generations to come."

With that, Rhaenyra took a sip from her goblet, the sound of applause erupting around her as the guests followed suit, offering their own toasts to the newest member of their family.

As Rhaenyra's toast echoed through the grand hall, Vaelys raised her goblet with a strained smile, her eyes flickering with a mixture of emotions. The weight of the past argument with her mother still hung heavy in her heart, casting a shadow over the joyous occasion.

Sensing her discomfort, Aemond reached out beneath the table, his hand finding hers in a comforting gesture of solidarity. Their fingers intertwined, a silent reassurance passing between them as they shared a moment of quiet understanding amidst the revelry.

As the festivities continued to swirl around them, Vaelys felt a gentle tap on her shoulder, drawing her attention to her brother, Jace, who stood beside her with a warm smile.

"Vaelys," he said, extending his hand to her, "Would you do me the honour of sharing a dance with your dear brother?"

Vaelys returned his smile, her heart lightening at the sight of him. "Of course, Jace," she replied, placing her hand in his with affectionate familiarity. "I'd be delighted."

Together, they made their way to the centre of the room, where couples twirled and spun to the music. Jace guided Vaelys with practiced ease, their steps falling into rhythm with the lilting melody that filled the air.

Vaelys smiled up at her brother, grateful for this moment of connection amidst the whirlwind of the celebration.

As they danced, they talked about their children, Jace giddy with excitement as he spoke of his daughter Laena, a precious little thing she was, the pearl of his world.

Out of the corner of her eye, Vaelys spied their brother Luke reclined lazily against his chair, he looked rather exhausted, but given the fact that his wife Rheana had recently birthed twin girls, it made sense.

“Mayhaps Luke should retire for the night” laughed Jace.

“Oh, come on brother-you know what the nights are like with a babe” replied Vaelys smiling.

Jace returned her smile, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "I think you look beautiful tonight, Vaelys," he said, his voice filled with brotherly pride.

Vaelys' heart swelled with love for her brother, her own smile widening at his words. "Thank you, Jace," she replied, her voice soft with emotion.

As the music swirled through the grand hall, a familiar figure caught Vaelys' eye—Cregan, his tall dark form standing out amidst the throng of guests. With a warm smile, he approached her, his gaze earnest as he cleared his throat.

"Princess," he began, his voice steady but tinged with a hint of nervousness, "Would you do me the honour of sharing a dance with an old friend?"

Vaelys' smile widened at the sight of him, her heart lifting at the prospect of dancing with Cregan once more. "Of course, Cregan," she replied, her voice filled with genuine warmth. "I'd be delighted."

As they embraced in a brief hug, Vaelys felt a surge of happiness at seeing her friend again after so long. The bond they had shared during their time together had always held a special place in her heart, and she was grateful for this chance to reconnect.

Together, they stepped onto the dance floor, their movements fluid and graceful as they moved to the rhythm of the music.

As Vaelys danced and conversed with Cregan, a sense of lightness and joy enveloped her, temporarily shielding her from the weight of her worries. However, as she glanced over her shoulder towards Aemond, her heart sank at the sight of his furious expression.

Aemond's gaze was fixed on her, his features contorted with anger. Vaelys' stomach churned with apprehension as she felt the tension radiating from him, a sharp contrast to the warmth she had felt dancing with Cregan.

Concern etched into her features, Vaelys excused herself from her conversation with Cregan, her steps faltering slightly as she made her way towards her husband. She approached him cautiously, her heart heavy with worry.

"Aemond," she murmured softly, reaching out to touch his arm, "Is everything alright?"

Aemond's jaw clenched visibly as he tore his gaze away from her, his anger palpable in the air between them. "Was that Cregan Stark?" he demanded, his voice low and tense.

Vaelys swallowed hard, her throat dry with apprehension. "Yes-“ she replied, her voice tinged with unease.

Aemond's expression darkened further at her words, his fists clenched at his sides. "I don't like the way he was looking at you," he growled, his voice barely more than a harsh whisper.

Vaelys' heart sank at the realization of Aemond's jealousy, a pang of hurt piercing her chest. She had never seen him like this before, consumed by such irrational rage.

"Aemond, please," she pleaded, her voice tinged with desperation. "There's nothing between us. He's just a friend."

But Aemond's fury remained unabated, his gaze unwavering as he continued to glare at her with undisguised resentment.

“A friend that you were almost betrothed too”.

"Aemond, please," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "Cregan was a good friend to me while you were in exile. He offered me support and companionship when I needed it most. There was nothing more between us, I swear."

Aemond's jaw clenched, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. "Oh, I'm sure he was a good friend," he replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "But just how good of a friend was he, Vaelys?"

His words struck her like a blow, and Vaelys felt her heart shatter into a thousand pieces. The insinuation that she had been unfaithful to him cut her to the core.

"Aemond, how can you say that?" she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "You know that I would never betray you. You are the only one I love."

But Aemond remained unmoved, his expression hardened by suspicion. "Forgive me if I find that hard to believe," he retorted, his voice laced with bitterness.

“You know what believe what you want” snarled Vaelys as she turned on her heel and stormed out of the throne room.

After entrusting the care of the children to Ceci, Aemond went to find Vaelys.

Lost in his thoughts, he rounded a corner and nearly collided with Cregan, who stood before him with a cool expression. Aemond's jaw tensed at the sight of him, his possessive instincts flaring to life in an instant.

"What are you doing here?" Aemond demanded, his voice sharp with suspicion.

Cregan raised an eyebrow, his demeanour calm but tinged with a hint of challenge. "I could ask you the same question," he replied evenly. "But I suppose it's none of my concern."

Aemond's grip tightened on his fists, his jealousy simmering just beneath the surface. "Don't play games with me, Stark," he growled. "I know what you're up to."

Cregan's gaze hardened, his own temper beginning to fray. "And what, pray tell, am I up to?" he shot back, his voice laced with frustration.

"You're trying to come between me and Vaelys," Aemond accused, his words laced with venom. "But let me make one thing clear—she's mine, and I won't let anyone take her from me."

Cregan's eyes flashed with anger at the implication, his own temper flaring in response. "I have no interest in your wife, Aemond," he snapped, his voice sharp with indignation. "But if you can't see past your own insecurities, that's your problem, not mine."

The tension crackled between them, a palpable force that seemed to fill the corridor with its intensity. Aemond glared at Cregan, his chest heaving with fury and frustration, while Cregan met his gaze with unyielding defiance, refusing to back down in the face of his aggression.

As Aemond's anger simmered, he glared at Cregan, his possessiveness over Vaelys flaring to life with renewed intensity. "Don't try to deny it," he spat, his voice thick with resentment. "I know you were close to her when I was in exile. You think I don't see the way you look at her?"

Cregan's expression hardened, his jaw clenching with frustration at Aemond's accusations. "You're mistaken, Aemond," he replied evenly, his tone firm. "Yes, Vaelys and I were friends during your absence. But our relationship was purely platonic. I care for her deeply, but not in the way you seem to think."

Aemond scoffed, his disbelief palpable. "Forgive me if I find that hard to believe," he retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You were practically betrothed once. What's to stop you from trying to steal her away from me now?"

Cregan's gaze softened, his frustration giving way to pity. "Aemond, you don't understand," he said, his voice tinged with sadness. "Yes, Vaelys and I were once almost betrothed, but that was long ago. We've both moved on since then. I befriended her during your exile because she needed support, not because I had any ulterior motives."

Aemond's jaw clenched, his jealousy still burning bright despite Cregan's assurances. "And yet, here you are," he shot back, his tone accusatory. "Hovering around her like a vulture, waiting for your chance to swoop in."

"Do you realize what you've done, Aemond?" he demanded, his tone biting. "This celebration was supposed to be for your son, a joyous occasion to celebrate his birth. But your jealousy has ruined it."

Aemond's jaw tensed, his own anger flaring at Cregan's words. "I am not jealous," he shot back, his voice defensive. "I just-I want to protect what's mine."

Cregan scoffed, his disbelief evident. "Protect what's yours?" he mocked; his tone laced with scorn. "From whom, exactly? Me? The truth is, Aemond, your insecurity is what's driving a wedge between you and Vaelys. And frankly, it's pathetic."

Aemond's fists clenched at his sides, his temper flaring at Cregan's taunts. "You have no right to judge me," he retorted, his voice sharp with indignation. "You don't know anything about our relationship."

Cregan's lips curled into a sneer, his contempt for Aemond evident in his gaze. "Oh, I think I know plenty," he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "After all, when one has to kidnap a woman in order for her to marry him, then your insecurity can't be helped."

Aemond's eye widened in shock at the barb, his face flushing with embarrassment and rage. He opened his mouth to respond but found himself speechless in the face of Cregan's cutting words.

With a final look of disdain, Cregan turned and walked away, leaving Aemond seething with anger and humiliation. And as Aemond stood alone in the empty corridor, the weight of his own insecurities pressed down upon him like a leaden cloak.

As Aemond stormed through the corridors of the Red Keep, his heart heavy with regret and determination, he searched frantically for Vaelys. Every step echoed in the empty halls, a stark reminder of the chasm that had opened between them.

Finally, he found her in the library, her form illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight. She was engrossed in conversation with her brother, Luke, their heads bent close together in whispered conversation.

With a sense of urgency, Aemond approached them, his footsteps echoing in the quiet room. Vaelys looked up as he drew near, her expression guarded as she met his gaze.

"Aemond," she greeted him coolly, her tone betraying none of the warmth he had grown accustomed to.

"Vaelys, may I speak with you privately?" Aemond requested, his voice strained with emotion.

Luke's eyes narrowed at the request, his lips curling into a sneer as he glanced at Aemond. "And why should she speak with you, after the way you've treated her?" he retorted, his voice dripping with disdain.

Aemond's jaw clenched at the implication, his frustration mounting with each passing moment. "This is between Vaelys and me," he replied evenly, struggling to keep his temper in check.

Luke chuckled mirthlessly, shaking his head in disbelief. "You truly are an idiot, Aemond," he remarked, his voice filled with contempt as he brushed past him.

Aemond's fists clenched at his sides, his heart heavy with despair as he watched Luke leave the room. He turned back to Vaelys, his gaze pleading as he searched her face for any sign of forgiveness.

But Vaelys remained silent, her expression unreadable as she regarded him with a mixture of disappointment and resignation.

As Aemond stood before Vaelys, his heart heavy with remorse, he took a deep breath, steeling himself to apologize. "Vaelys, I'm sorry," he began, his voice soft with sincerity. "I shouldn't have said those things, and I shouldn't have doubted you. I let my jealousy get the best of me, and I regret it more than anything."

Vaelys looked at him with incredulity, her eyes flashing with a mixture of hurt and disbelief. "You're sorry?" she scoffed; her voice tinged with bitterness. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound, Aemond? How could you even for one minute think that I would ever look at another man? I'm married to you, Aemond. I've birthed three of your children. And yet you still doubt me?"

Aemond's heart sank at her words, the weight of his own insecurities pressing down upon him like a suffocating blanket. "I know, Vaelys," he replied, his voice tinged with desperation. "I know I messed up. But please, you have to believe me. I love you more than anything in this world, and I would do anything to make things right between us."

As Aemond stood before Vaelys, the weight of his insecurities pressing down upon him like a heavy burden, he took a shaky breath, steeling himself to confess his deepest fear.

"Vaelys," he began, his voice barely more than a whisper, "I-I'm afraid."

Vaelys' brow furrowed with concern as she gazed at him, her heart aching at the vulnerability in his eyes. "Afraid of what, Aemond?" she asked softly, reaching out to gently touch his arm.

Aemond swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. "I'm afraid-that you only love me because of what happened between us," he confessed, his words tumbling out in a rush. "That somehow, our love isn't real. It's-it's almost like an illusion."

Vaelys' heart shattered at his words; the pain evident in her eyes as she took in the depth of his insecurity. "Aemond, no," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "That's not true. Our love is real, I swear it. It's not based on what happened in the past. It's based on us, on who we are together."

Aemond shook his head, his gaze filled with self-doubt. "But how can you be sure?" he pleaded; his voice laced with desperation. "How can you know that it's not just some twisted result of me kidnapping you?"

Vaelys reached out and cupped his face in her hands, her eyes locking with his as she spoke with unwavering conviction. "Because I know you," she declared, her voice steady with determination. "I know the man you are, and I love you for it. Our love is real, Aemond, and nothing will ever change that."

Tears welled in Aemond's eye as he looked at her, his heart overflowing with emotion at her words.

As the tension between them began to ease, Aemond mustered a small smile, his eye twinkling with mischief. "Now that we've finished arguing," he quipped, "Does that mean we get to make up?"

Vaelys couldn't help but laugh at his cheeky remark, her heart lightening at the sight of his playful demeanour. "Given the severity of our argument," she replied with a teasing smile, "There needs to be a lot of making up done."

Aemond's grin widened at her response, his gaze filled with warmth as he reached out to gently brush a strand of hair from her face. "I'm up for it if you are," he murmured, his voice low and husky with desire.

Vaelys' cheeks flushed pink at his suggestive tone, her heart fluttering in her chest at the promise in his words. "I think I can manage that," she replied, her own voice tinged with anticipation.

“Aemond” gasped Vaelys her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“That’s it ābrazȳrys, take every fucking inch of me-let me fill your sweet cunt” (Wife).

“Oh, please Valzȳrys. I want it. I want all of you” moaned Vaelys (Husband).

“FUCK” roared Aemond as he hauled Vaelys away from the bookcase and placed her the edge of a desk.

“Yes-Yes Aemond, Oh gods” breathed Vaelys.

“I love you-I love you so fucking much” growled Aemond as he mercilessly fucked his wife, filling her over and over again with sharp penetrating thrusts.

“Aemond-yes, right there. Don’t stop-don’t stop” cried Vaelys the tears running down her pale cheeks.

“That’s it Issa jorrāelagon. Come on daddy’s cock” rasped Aemond lurching forward and wrapping his lips around one of his wife’s erect nipples.

Suckling greedily as her mother’s milk flooded his mouth, he reached down and began expertly circling her pearl with his long fingers.

“AEMOND” screamed Vaelys her entire body seizing before going slack and pliant.

“FUCK-I’m going to come-“ groaned Aemond.

“I want it-fill me with your seed Issa dārys” gasped Vaelys (My King).

“FUUUUUCK” roared Aemond, his head thrown back as rope after rope of his seed spilled inside his wife’s cunny.

“Aemond” breathed Vaelys as her husband collapsed on top of her.

“I love you so much-“ replied Aemond.

“-And I love you. I never want you to doubt my love, no one will ever compare to you-my soul mate”.

“Issa idañnykeā perzys” muttered Aemond (My twin flame).

“Husband” breathed Vaelys as she slid her hands into his long silver hair and pulled his face towards hers.

“Wife” replied Aemond as he pressed a kiss to her soft lips.

As they basked in the warmth of their reconciliation, an idea began to form in Vaelys' mind, a way to prove to Aemond once and for all that their love was real and unshakeable. With a spark of excitement in her eyes, she turned to him, her voice filled with determination.

"Will you marry me?” asked Vaelys.

Aemond's brow furrowed in confusion. "We’re already married," he pointed out, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Vaelys shook her head, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I know, but marry me in the ways of old Valyria," she explained, her voice soft but determined. "On Dragonstone. On our beach"

Aemond's eye widened in surprise at her suggestion, his heart swelling with love and admiration for the woman before him.

With a trembling voice, he finally found the words to respond. "Vaelys," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion, "I-I would be honoured to marry you-again”.

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

Text

GRAY GROUSE (XIV)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER XV ||

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 3.2K

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, angst, mentions of guns & weapons, gore mentions, talks about shootings, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your mind isn’t itself as you hear every clink of your cane hitting the floor. It echoes inside the cage of your skull—amplified like not even a brain sits there with its pulsing flesh.

You can hear every one of your broken footsteps taking you farther away from him.

“When you get in there…” Laswell’s words blur heavily.

Gaz was leaving. He was leaving now. The Brit was walking out onto the tarmac—entering the metal of a cargo hold before he settled down for the long flight to Russia. Joining back up with his Task Force. So why was a part of you still trying to make your feet turn around to follow?

Joey lowe.

The name snaps you out of your brooding thoughts—your shaky fingers as they strangle your cane.

“...Be watching the entire time.” Kate sighs under her breath, and from the corner of her eye, she glances at you. “You don’t have to worry about the possibility of him attacking you. He’s fully restrained to his chair.”

“I’m not worried,” you mutter. “Let’s just get this over with already.”

The woman’s stare narrows, glancing behind even if she knows that the Sergeant wouldn’t be sneaking after you. That wasn’t how Kyle was. But still…a part of her looked.

“I couldn’t agree more. Follow me.” Kate pulls ahead and guides you along.

Staring at the back of her head, you fight the sharp sting behind your eyes, but even you can’t force a knife out of your skin and expect it not to hurt.

When Laswell hears a stubbornly inhale, she doesn’t even mention it.

The walk isn’t long, and while the bullet wound on your thigh pulls, you welcome it as a distraction. Your other hand had slipped into your pocket, reaching for your coin, but when it had brushed the picture that you’d folded inside, that almost kiss flashing through your consciousness, it nearly left you bending over yourself.

A door appeared ahead of you, your pulse as loud as a roaring lion.

“Remember,” Kate moves her keycard from her lanyard. A firm glance. “We’ll have eyes on the entire time.”

Like a phantom, you enter the unlocked barrier just as it beeps.

Joey is just how you remember him—except now he was minus the bulletproof vest and the gun in his hands. Perhaps you’d just become used to all of this because the memory slips off of you like water to a metal surface; it doesn’t matter. There were only so many things that you could tear at your mind about at one given moment.

Gaz seems to take precedence, and you have a deadly knowledge as to why.

Lowe’s eyes move up as you slip inside, letting the door close behind you with a definitive lock. It’s a classic interrogation room—like the one you’d been brought to when all of this started. Sitting in a metal chair, the man that had been sent to kill you was reduced to a flushed mess of tanned skin and a bruised, bald, head. The sunglasses were gone, just as the lower face covering. Now, all that you saw was the round face directed right into yours.

“You,” Joey snarls, hands yanking at the handcuffs that leave him restrained to the table. Your eyes slip to his middle. The padding of bandages was thick—just like the ones on your thigh.

“You shot me,” you blankly comment, feet moving closer.

Like a droplet of blood hitting the floor, your heartbeat echoed through the tingle of your nerves; raced up and down your spine.

Answers.

You were done playing all of these pieces in someone else's game. The videos on your father’s laptop, every lead stopping at a brick wall just when the reveal was at the tip of your tongue—it was ending.

“Should’a done more than that, Brat,” Lowe snaps, hands swelling with blood.

“Careful,” you numbly glance upwards. Locking your eyes with his for but a moment. “You’ll break skin.”

“I don’t give a shit!” Lips flickering, you grasp the second chair’s back, peeling it out with a huff and delicately placing yourself down until you can sigh out the tension.

But the man’s words are more layered than he’d like to admit—you picked up on it instantly. Fear. You knew because, in every instance along the long line of this story, your own sentences had been dripping with it; that undertone like a sharp knife. It was bleeding from his heart.

“Alright,” you mutter under your breath, glancing at the large wall of one-way glass to your left. You can’t see anything, but you know people are back there. Waiting. Your head swivels back. “Then why are you shaking?”

Joey’s eyes burn you one glare at a time. The man only stops when he grunts in pain, midsection bending in as his throat clears quickly.

How quick you’d gone from the one in the very same situation as him, to the one holding the gun. It was almost poetic.

Again your mind slips into images of Gaz’s brown eyes, a longing growing the more you can’t look over your shoulder and find him waiting for you. You nearly do just that—turn around. Head half-turned until it hits you like a strike of lightning.

Your father’s journal sits heavy, hidden in your coat.

“I don’t expect you to tell me anything worth my time,” Joey looks up at your words, face tight with aggression. “But I want you to listen.”

You let that pause linger, and the hired gun is about to yell at you again before you do the best thing you can: lie.

“We have the laptop,” you shrug, licking your lips as your thighs move over the chair to re-settle. A spark of heat moves through your wound. “And we also know who hired you and Samson. Nothing you tell me will be worth my time,” you tilt your head, “because we already know it all. The game’s over.”

“That’s bullshit,” Joey laughs. “You expect me to believe that? I had a deal in place—nothing’ll break it ‘cept my damn death.”

“We struck a new one,” you utter, and suddenly his eyes aren’t hard to look into at all. A bout of courage overtakes the raging waters of your hope that Kyle will come through the door and back you up on this.

But he won’t.

“You,” Lowe looks increasingly more panicked. “You’re lyin’. The fucking government would never take up a deal with Chiyou.”

Your eyes take on a sharp hue, honing in. The entire air goes tight with eagerness.

“It’s the government,” is all you dryly state, trying not to sound so excited.

Joey’s eyes dart to the one-way slashing around frantically. His pulling at the cuffs gets harder, and the blood that falls only moments later makes you stare. If it were someone else, maybe you would have cared.

“Now’s the time to clear your name,” you continue, motioning a hand as your other plays with the material of your cane. A flicker of something moves along your face—mimicking his very words from when the barrel of a gun was pressed into the back of your head. “You should be thanking me…”

“I’m not—”

“Tell me about Samson,” you interrupt, eyes stuck on him. Anger begins to overtake you—building. Your body leans forward in the chair stiffly. “Tell me about how he wasn’t strong enough to get the job done.”

“If you already know, why are you asking?!” Blinking, you send a glance up and down Joey’s body. He was shaking in pain, and you had no doubt that his stitches were pulling. No one had come in from the other room to tell you to stop.

And you were always so stubborn, anyway.

“I think we’re done,” you shrug. “I was right—you can’t tell me anything.” Standing, you move as if a walking bone to a chained dog, slinking through gore and blood until you’re already to the door. Feet slow and steady, you raise your knuckles to knock. Like clockwork, a thunk of the lock lets your hand shift to the handle, grasping it and adding pressure to—

“Wait!” You push open the door, head sticking out only enough for Kate’s stiff-eyed form to show from the room a foot away. She has herself half in and half out of the frame, watching you closely.

Raising a slow brow at her, your body pivots back and disappears once more.

Perhaps this was so easy because Lowe was retrained. If he hadn’t been, things could be wildly different. Gaz would have told you that even if he was cuffed, this was still not your job. You shouldn’t have to do this.

The door behind you closes once more.

Staying on your two feet, you tap your fingers against your cane and incline your head. “You have the floor, Joey.”

“You’ve just signed my death warrant,” he barks, eyes still unable to stay still. “You don’t know what you’ve done. I need a deal—I-I need witness protection.”

“Talk,” you hiss. Impatient nature rearing its head, you glare tightly.

Kyle must be on the C-17 by now—maybe it was even taking off as you were having this conversation. Why did you feel so anxious about it? Why were your feet still wanting to turn even when you were on the cusp of blowing this wide open?

He can’t really mean this much to you…can he?

“Samson was too good of a guy to get stuck in this, dammit!” Dark eyes lock with yours, and you frown. “All the decent ones are already dead, and it’s your fuckin’ fault.”

“I’m failing to see how I’m supposed to care at this point,” you dryly spit out.

Joey’s head shakes back and forth, bald head shiny in the overhead light. “Yeah, I’m not that surprised, Sweetheart. Samson let you live, but, hell, I’d have put a bullet in you a thousand times before I did that to your father.”

Your spine tightens up. Lowe keeps talking as your heart stops beating.

“Fuckin’ fool,” Joey’s jaw clenches, his wide face bright with rage. “He should have just gone through with the orders—it would have been quick; he would have been alive to see his girls grow up.”

You partially open your lips but stop yourself quickly. He has to keep going.

“I knew he was too damn righteous for that; knew he wouldn’t kill you like he was supposed to. Damn idiot went and shot the fucking husband instead. God. Served with him and everything—I know that bastard didn’t kill himself.”

Wide-eyed, your thigh throbs as your entire body seizes up.

Joey tries to stand, growling and yelling becoming increasingly more violent; and still, that fear stays in his eyes—deep into his soul.

“You’re ex-military,” you whisper under your breath. Louder, “Tell me what you know about Chiyou,” you snap. “Who is it?”

“This is your fault!” He shouts, and the table jerks against the bolts holding it to the floor. You flinch, taking a small step backward as your face blankly of all else besides thinly veiled fear. “You’ve got your hands all in it! It’s you!”

Alarms blare over the speakers with the sharp screech of dying dragons.

Gasping, your head snaps to the one-way in shock—the lights flickering overhead as you blink quickly, confusion making your heart speed. The sound is so sharp your free hand has to physically snap to the side of your head to cover one of your ears—mouth releasing a fast yell.

Your back shifts to slap into the door, and with a quick hand, you reach for the handle. Yet, it opens before you can even touch it; fingers grapple for your clothes as you’re peeled out.

Joey screams above the alarm.

“Don’t leave me here! Don’t! It’s what they want—!” The door slams as Kate bullies you down the hallway quickly. Soldiers rush past.

In her hand, she holds the body of a small pistol.

“What the hell is going on,” your voice is smoother than you thought it would be, but nonetheless firm. You hurry along as fast as you’re able, adrenaline taking most of the intense pains and stacking them away for now. Namely, the one in your heart. There’s no time to think over what you’d just uncovered about this plot—no time to act on it.

“I’m getting you to a secure area,” Kate levels, not fully answering you.

“And are you going to explain on the way, or…?” You trail off, eyes digging into her and voice loud above the noise. A man rushing past clips your shoulder, and you stumble before your cane stops your fall. Laswell’s grip gets harder.

“Your mother was attacked in the medical ward. We don’t know who did it,” the woman explains in a swift breath.

Your face blanks, snapping over to her even as countless other people nearly run into you. Shouts and yells spring up—guns carried in hard grips as the sounds of boots connecting with the floor make you beg to hear more familiar ones.

But an instinctual glance behind you leaves nothing but electric air and millions of bodies of people you don’t know. You have to admit, that makes you more scared than anything that was revealed previously.

“Is,” you stutter, head jerking back to Kate. “Is she okay?! What happened, she was supposed to be safe here!”

“You need to focus on yourself,” is the harsh and blunt answer. Blue eyes grace yours, sharp as you’re taken down the next hallway on fast feet.

“How many times am I going to be told that before you people realize it’s not going to happen?” You shout, but it’s lost to the blaring, insistent, noise that makes your head ache the longer you’re out here—stuck in the bright lights and the screams.

It reminds you of the park.

Shoved into a side room, you’re released to stumble for a moment as Kate jerks the door closed with a rattling frame.

“It is going to happen,” she looks at you, hand low at her hip as she motions to you. “Kyle isn’t here anymore to watch you. Until this is over, you have to rely on your own skills to keep you safe.”

You narrow your eyes in disbelief, a sneer coming to your lips. Your body steadies itself as your breaths come quick.

“Isn’t that literally someone else's job? I’m sorry to tell you this, Laswell,” you growl, moving closer, “but I don’t know how to deal with hitmen!”

You’re given an unimpressed look before Kate shakes her head and frowns at you.

“You’re smart—Kyle saw that. But you make stupid decisions.” You move your hand out in a hostile gesture, teeth snapping like a dog. “You need to think, Spitfire. The pieces are all laid out, you know the answer to this.”

Confusion now overtakes that feral panic.

“What are you talking about?” Kate moves to you, grabbing at your shoulder with her free hand. You glare into her eyes, blinking away after a minute of contact.

“No one can figure this out but you. You’re the catalyst. It starts and ends with you—Lowe gave you the last of it. There’s an answer here, and you’re not willing to see it.”

“Where’s my mother,” you bark in question, annoyed at this line of conflict. “You’re not making any sense.”

Kate takes a step back and stares heavily at your face. She licks her lips and says slowly, the words nearly lost to your ears above the alarms, “Too many men and women have died over this already. You know that.”

“What I know is that you’re making my head explode!” You shout. “You’re going on and on about this—what about you?! You and your little Task Force that doesn’t even know the people they work with!” Your mouth moves in a laugh. “You send off the one person who I’m starting to trust, and then I find out Samson was meant to kill me.”

“We should be glad he didn’t,” Kate tilts her head. She’d gone too far in life to gain that sheen of guilt now. Her experiences were a long line of statistics and facts.

You were the target, now the question had shifted as to why. You had never been involved in any illegal activities with your father—there was never any evidence of that, and everyone knew it to be true.

One question leads to another, and another, and another.

You knew something. Something that you maybe didn’t even know yourself yet. But time is rapidly coming to a close.

“We should be glad I didn’t leak your fucking file onto the internet when I had the chance,” you point, teeth bared. “I’ve seen it—I know how you work. It’s goddamn disgusting the things you do.”

“I’m not discussing this with you,” Laswell utters, frowning. “It’s my cross to bear.”

“Oh,” you laugh sarcastically, “so high and mighty. Kate Laswell—a martyr.”

Kyle seemed to have taken the key to your anger with him and left the door wide open. Your cruelty slipped through the frame to bleed its black blood over the hardwood floors like some possessed dog, dragging itself home time after time for only a faint memory of warmth. You were just so angry all of the time. Being here—around these people; these bases and the secrets.

Every ounce of you is bathed in wrath.

“Trust me,” you grin numbly. “My eyes are wide open.”

Blue stares into you, unblinking until the earpiece makes the woman move back and press her fingers up to it—to listen above the noise.

All she gives you is a firm and unemotional, “Are they?” Before her face turns away from you.

You clench your jaw and scoff, neck shifting as you tap your cane into the ground. The wound burns, but your free hand easily moves into your jacket pocket and presses into your coin—digging your palm into it. A distraction, maybe.

But all you can think about is how Gaz would be giving you that disappointed look and turning his head away. It makes you want to throw something.

His stupid hat; stupid voice. How he carries himself—how he felt so guilty about his part to play in this.

How he left.

He left you here.

With your mother, with Laswell. He regretted it, sure…and the worst part was that you’d entirely forgive him if he came through that door right now. For everything. But, God, please don’t make him leave you here alone after everything he’s done to make it right.

The realization makes your eyes water, a sting again forming. You wanted him here with you. You wanted his jokes and his smile—that smirk of his. Gaz’s stories about his trials and his achievements.

His history.

You could study all you wanted about that topic, but the section that was titled his own would always be the most interesting. He’d snuck in and grappled onto the place between your ribs; he’d stuck a knife into your heart and refused to peel it out—to let you bleed him away.

Damn him, damn him, damn him.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Kate’s face goes grim while you fight your own inner monologue. Her sentence rips you out of the bubble you’re stuck in.

“Lowe’s dead. Get ready, I’m moving you across base.”

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uldahstreetrat · 4 months ago

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there's like a thousand and ten little apps and things for stuff like animal crossing daily tasks but my adhd ass needs one of those for XIV SO bad orz

like there is ALWAYS something I'm forgetting to do daily between my reputation quests and hunts and everything else and I need a little check list but I can't remember everything I need to do to just make one myself ˚‧º·(˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥)‧º·˚

#it's the autism adhd clash here boys #need list but cannot remember what needs to be on the list #and like I've seen a few things for XIV weekly/daily stuff but it's usually kinda raid focused

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dresshistorynerd · 2 years ago

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I had the idea of writing about some historical queer figures I find interesting and drawing them for this pride month as a little project of mine. I will see how many I'll have time to do, I have in mind at least four other historical people, but knowing myself, I'm not holding my breath for all of them. Julie d'Aubigny she been one of my favorite historical figures for years so I decided to start with her.

Historical Queer Figures - Julie d'Aubigny

Julie d'Aubigny, also known as Mademoiselle Maupin and La Maupin, was a French opera singer and fencer in the late 1600s. She was infamous for having sapphic relationships, being aggressive and dramatic, having androgynous presentation by occasionally dressing in men's clothing in public and being a fencer and duelist. Trans and genderqueer readings of her are very possible, but because none of the accounts of her (at least those I've read) suggests she ever used any other than feminine first names or terms or she/her pronouns about herself, I will use she/her pronouns when talking about her.

The French court absolutely loved to gossip and people were constantly making up libel about the people they didn't like, and Julie had a lot of enemies and was very controversial figure. During the 18th and 19th centuries she was written about a lot in these highly sensationalized Encyclopedias, where the rumors from her lifetime got increasingly wilder and sensational. She was accused for example of seducing noble women in court balls, burning down a convent and murder. There's not much primary sources left or available from her actual lifetime so distinguishing truth from fiction is not an easy task in her case. Kaz Rowe did great job in their youtube video about her to try to actually find out where the stories of her life comes from. They go through some great context too about the rumor industry in the French court at the time so I highly recommend checking it out.

CW: very brief mentions of child sexual abuse and self-harming

The Timeline of Most Concrete Events

Let's first go through the things that have at least a bit more backing than a rumor started 100 years after her death. Julie d'Aubigny was born between 1670 and 1673. Her father was Gaston d'Aubigny, the secretary of Louis of Lorraine, count d’Armagnac, who was Master of Horses to King Loius XIV, and her mother is unknown. She was probably brought to the Versailles court in 1682, where she got a full education including academic subjects, riding and fencing, usually only thought for boys. She was married off to a Sieur de Maupin (first name unknown) probably around 1687, when she would have been 14 to 17 years old. He apparently got a position from a southern province as a tax collector. The stories about her claim she remained in Paris, but I don't think there's evidence of this, though what we do know of her adult life does suggest she was estranged from her husband and lived apart from him. Nevertheless, she did end up in Marseilles, where she first appeared on stage in Marseilles Opéra between 1687 and 1690. She didn't have education in music, but her good looks and beautiful voice landed her the role.

Her first appearances in the Paris Opéra are listed to 1690, so that is probably when she had her debut there. She became a very talked about figure and she gained both friends and enemies in the opera and the court. She performed in the Paris Opéra for probably four years, after which she went to Brussels, Bavaria, where she performed with the Opéra du Quai au Foin at least during 1697 and early 1698, after which she returned to France to perform again with the Paris Opéra.

It was the period when her career peaked and she got a lot of leading female roles. Those roles in French opera were at the time soprano roles, but Julie's natural voice range was lower, contralto. (There's a whole thing where at the time she was described as mezzo-soprano, but the music historian consensus is that her range matches contralto in modern terms as opera was sang on lower cords across the board at the time. (I understand nothing about music theory so I just hope I managed to explain this correctly)) She excelled in secondary female roles of goddesses and warrior women. For the leading roles she had to sing on higher notes than was natural to her and the naive and dainty personalities of those roles clashed with her own personality. Some later retellings of her life claim she performed male roles for female singers (which was common practice, and these roles were often those of young boys), but all known records of her roles are female roles. In 1702 on the leading composers of the Paris Opéra, André Campra, wrote her a leading lady role in Tamcréde, which is often credited to have the first leading female role for contralto. But her perhaps most famous role was as Médée in Medus, which was considered to be a very difficult role. Apparently the original leading singer had fallen ill before the debut so Julie was quickly trained in her stead, but succeeded well and got a lot of praise for the role.

In 1703 Julie started an affair with Madame la Marquise de Florensac, who was said to have been the most beautiful woman in France. This is the affair of hers of which there's most evidence. De Florensac was married and had children, but she was also rumored to have many affairs. Julie lived quietly together with her for two years. They were described by a contemporary to have lived in perfect harmony, always spending time together and only appearing in public when necessarily. Julie deputed in her last role in 1705 and ended her career after De Floransac died of sudden fever. Nothing concrete is known about the rest of her life, not even how or when she died, but she is usually speculated to have died in 1707.

Parsing History from Fantasy

Chronologically the rumor that places earliest in her life was that she had "an affair" with count d’Armagnac (age 46 at the time), before she got married in the same year so as a 14 to 17 year old. There doesn't seem to be any actual evidence of this and even if that really happened, it wouldn't have been an affair, it would have been grooming and sexual violence. Related to it is the rumor that the count arranged her marriage and sent her husband away, but kept her in the court with him. Then she "got bored" of the count and ran away with an assistant sword-master, Séranne, to southern France. They got money by performing fencing matches in fairs and taverns while they were traveling till they got to Marseilles, where she first appeared in opera.

The stories of her in this period are generally written in a super nasty tone, and she (as supposed 14 yo) is written as the seductress and the adult men are written as the victims of her fiery temper and fitfulness. All these stories seem pretty unlikely though. The rumor about the count seems (unfortunately) most possible, but accounts from 18th and 19th century about these early events in her life don't seem to be based on any information from her lifetime. I find it most likely that the writers in 18th and 19th centuries were filling out the blanks we don't know from her life and painting her as this (in their eyes) degenerate seductress from an early age. An alternative possible explanation could have been that she indeed accompanied her husband to south, perhaps near Marseilles, where she then performed with the Marseilles Opéra. Many sources claim though that she performed with her maiden name there, which would be odd if she was living with her husband. I don't know where that claim comes originally, but it could be false of course. Although the generally proposed year of her marriage could also be false, which would explain why she at first performed with her maiden name, and later in Paris and always after that with her husband's name. That would not explain how she ended up going to Marseilles though.

The next and perhaps the most infamous and coolest story of her sets somewhere shortly before 1690. In that story she fell in love with a girl in Marseilles and the girls parents sent her to a convent to avoid a scandal. Julie went to the convent with the premise of wanting to become a novice. They tried to frame the girl's death by putting a dead nun's body into the girls bed and setting it on fire and then went on the run for couple of months. While on the run Julie was sentenced to death in absentia, but after returning to Paris and rekindling her relationship with count d'Armagnac, he got the king to pardon her. As amazing as this story is, it's very likely not true. It seems quite unlikely that the 15 to 19 year old Julie would have done that, but even more unlikely that she'd just get all her charges dropped and these crimes wouldn't have hindered at all her career, which hadn't even properly begun yet. The first surviving description of this incident comes from a letter of her contemporary court lady, Madame Dunoyer, who was basically an early gossip columnist and despised her. Her story doesn't mention Julie at all, but talks about a nun, who tried to frame her own death in a similar manner to escape with her male lover (which still sounds very unlikely story). The first surviving description that attaches that story to Julie, comes year after her death from the very suspect writings of a known liar, Cardinal Debois, who did personally know and hate Julie. He claimed that Dumenil, who was an actor in Paris Opéra the same time as Julie, related him the story, while also acknowledging he probably did it because he too hated her. So very likely not a true story, but possibly something that was rumored during her lifetime already.

In the stories of her, after escaping from the convent and before going to Paris, she traveled again in male attire and met Louis Joseph d'Albert de Luynes von Grimberghen, commonly known as count d'Albert. He was an interesting character in his own right, roughly her age, and like her, his real story is a little hard to parse from the legend (though in his case, he was a nobleman so there's also a lot of actual records of his life). In the story though, he thought she was a man, they had some disagreement, a fight broke out, she won, injured him and nursed him back to health. And then they had a brief affair before d'Albert went to war again. They were lifelong friends, so this is not entirely made up. It's entirely possible they had a brief affair (and according to many stories an on and off type of affair that was re-kindled at many points in their lives) and there was rumors about it even in her lifetime, but the story of this first meeting seems to lack validity.

Next in her stories she met Gabriel-Vincent Thévenard, who was another famous singer and her contemporary, either right before or right after she arrived in Paris. They became lovers and after Thévenard auditioned and got accepted into the Paris Opéra, he helped to get Julie accepted too. It is true that as far as we know, they both debuted in 1690. They were also said to have been life long friends and again it's possible they were lovers at some point, but the details of their meeting are difficult to know.

There are many stories about her antics of both of her times in the Paris Opéra. In those stories she fought duels, assaulted Dumenil with a cane, robbed Dumenil, had fights with men after they insulted her or another women or harassed other women, tried to kill herself after her love was not reciprocated, threatened to shoot a duchess in the head, threatened to slit Cardinal Debois' throat, bit Thévenard in the ear on stage and had affairs with men and women. According to Cardinal Debois the feud between Dumenil and Julie started because Dumenil was interested in her but she rejected him. The Cardinal was a liar but it does sound pretty believable. So if it's true and he spread in retaliation a lie that she burned down a convent, her beating him up or beating him up, stealing his valuables and returning them to him by humiliating him in front of other actors, would align well with everything else told about her personality. Maybe her retaliation wasn't exactly as in the stories, but if the other things about Dumenil were true, I'm sure she retaliated in some way. Same applies to her threatening the Cardinal's life. He wrote about it, but he was a liar, but, but because he was a liar who lied about her, it sounds like something she might do. Madame Dunoyer wrote about her threatening the Duchess of Luxembourg apparently because of jealousy over count d'Albert. The duchess was d'Albert's mistress at one point and apparently he even fought a duel over her in 1700. So there is some validity to this rumor, though the circumstances were perfect to fabricate that kind of rumor. I haven't found as much backing to other rumors, but many of them sound possible or at least maybe rooted in some reality and exaggerated.

The rumored explanation for why she left the Paris Opéra around 1694 was that she went into a court ball in men's clothing, kissed a woman on the dance floor and got challenge to a duel by three noblemen. They went outside and she won, but because dueling was illegal, she had to flee to Bavaria, and later when she returned, she was supposedly pardoned by the king again. In the more sensational versions of the story she killed the noblemen. This whole story is very unlikely. Even count d'Albert was imprisoned for engaging in an illegal duel (the one in 1700). He got eventually pardoned, but he was a nobleman and basically a war hero. The first surviving accounts of this story come much after her dead and it sounds more like a very exaggerated version of the other stories of her. There's many more plausible reason why she would have left to Bavaria. If her contemporaries descriptions of her behavior were even half true, those could have been scandal enough. Or if the rumors of her burning down a convent were circling that time already, that alone could have been damaging enough to her career that she thought it best to leave for a while.

In Bavaria, she's rumored to have another scandal. She supposedly became lover of the Max Emanuel, Elector of Bavaria, but she was too dramatic and after she stabbed herself with a real knife during a performance, the Elector decided she was too much, demanded her to leave Bavaria and gave her money for it. She supposedly threw the money to the feet of the messenger and left. The first surviving account of this story comes again from Madame Dunoyer, the details of which have changed, but were always quite exaggerated and unbelievable. Still the core events might be true, it's possible she was the Elector's lover for a while and it's also possible she stabbed herself on stage for real, being very dramatic as she was.

Was she queer?

There are enough accounts of her attraction and relationships with women from people who actually knew her, that I do find it very likely that she was sapphic. Cardinal Debois even implied she was exclusive interested in women or at least heavily preferred them, though other accounts by the people who knew her did talk about her attraction to men too. Her dressing in men's clothing is also mentioned enough times by her contemporaries that I do believe it. Because gender was so heavily tied to clothing and sexuality and fashion was less about what you wanted to wear and more about what you wanted others to think about you, I think she probably had some gender feelings. Even her aggressive and assertive behavior was very much seen as crossing gender boundaries. There's no more evidence of her feelings on gender than her androgynous presentation, so it's mostly speculation.

In conclusion, she was definitely a flavor of queer.

Julie circa 1700 in opera costume.

The most notable source I used:

Julie D'Aubigny: the 17th Century Sapphic Swordfighting Opera Singer, video by Kaz Rowe - I mentioned this before but it bears repeating

Research page by Jim Burrows - This was great since there's gathered multiple sources on le Maupin, historical and more recent, some of which are hard to access fully otherwise

Julie d'Aubigny: La Maupin and Early French Opera, LAPL blog post - It repeats most of the rumors of questionable origin about her as truth, but the sections about her career, which have more backing than just rumors, are really helpful

Mademoiselle De Maupin; Biographical sketches & anecdotes, The Dublin University Magazine - One of those questionable biographies of her from 1854, really only good as a source of what the rumors were after her death

Chevalier, Louis-Joseph, prince de Grimberghen, essay by Neil Jeffares - Biography of count d'Albert, which includes a lot of unsourced rumors about both le Maupin and d'Albert, but recounts his life events in great detail, and references to each claim show which parts are sourced well

#queer history #history #pride month #art #queer art #lgbtq history #sapphic art #digital art #portrait #historical art #historical queer figure #julie d'aubigny #julie de maupin

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