#that’s his eldest daughter of twins from his first marriage

[maleksrami]

.

[sansaorgana]

— LADY OF THE ROSES (I)

PART TWO || PART THREE || PART FOUR

PAIRING — Ser Gwayne Hightower x fem!Reader // Tyrell!OC

SUMMARY — When Lord Tyrell organizes a huge tournament, the rumour has it that the winner might get his eldest daughter's hand in marriage. When she finds out that certain twins are not playing fair and are scheming together with her father to win, she finds herself a champion she wants to succeed instead – Ser Gwayne Hightower, who was sent by his father to win the tournament.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — It’s written as an usual x Reader fic without describing anything about the Reader’s looks but I still classified it as an OC as well since she is a Tyrell. Although I am not sure if we have even seen them in House of The Dragon, so they can literally look like anything...? 🤔 Thank you so much for reading my last fic with Gwayne and leaving lovely comments and messages! 🌹 It inspired me to write for him again and I already have more ideas for him and a Tyrell Lady Wife (although I don't think the fics will be connected, so they can be read separately). For some reason it makes SO MUCH SENSE to me for Gwayne to have a wife from Highgarden! Some sexual things are mentioned here but there is no actual smut, so I didn't put the warnings. 😉

WORD COUNT — 5,040

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

LADY OF THE ROSES (I)

Beautiful courtyards of Highgarden were filled with tents and knights. The sound of horses and clinging armour reached your ears as you were taking a stroll between the tents – against your father’s wish. He didn���t want you to walk freely around all those knights but you had your own guards and your curiosity had no match because you knew perfectly well what that expensive and flashy tournament was about.

You were in the right age to marry – some would say the age was more than right, too right even. You were Lord Tyrell’s eldest daughter and out of all the three sisters, you were the only one who still remained unmarried. The reasons behind that were two. First of all, you were a picky and proud Lady. Second of all, you didn’t want to leave Highgarden and The Reach.

Your father hoped that your marriage would create a powerful alliance and as a daughter of The Lord Paramount of the Reach and The Warden of the South, you were quite a catch for your suitors. Walking amongst them, you saw them turning around and staring at you with smirks. You were the only Lady around and your pale green dress was showing off just enough of your virtues in a typical Highgarden fashion. There were golden roses in your hair and golden eyeshadow on your eyelids as you were all dolled up for the first day of the tournament.

You took a turn around the Lannister tent and you hissed at the sight of your father. Thankfully, he was not looking in your direction and you managed to hide behind your guards but you ordered them to stand still. You wondered why your father was even by the Lannister tent. Talking so openly to one of the knights participating in the tournament was a clear favouritism.

“Thank you, Lord Tyrell, your support means a lot,” Lord Lannister said and you tried to see him better from between your guards’ shoulders. You didn’t like him at all since arrogance was written all over his face.

“It is no secret for all the men here that I would like you to win. It is a formality,” your father lowered his voice. “An alliance between such big houses… It would make us both stronger,” he put his arm around The Lannister. “But I liked the idea of the tournament. It has splendour, don’t you think? I like to show off,” you father grinned.

“As I said before, I am no knight. My younger twin brother is,” Lord Lannister said and your father looked around before shushing him and they both entered the tent.

Curiously, with furrowed brow, you peeked inside the tent despite your guards’ protests. And you nearly gasped at the sight of another man inside who was being prepared for the tournament as a squire was putting his armour on. He looked identical to the man your father was talking to.

“My brother, Ser Tyland, will pretend to be me during the tournament. No one will know,” Lord Lannister told your father and your father nodded at that. “I will sit and watch, pretending to be him. I will be criticising his techniques out loud just like a real knight would criticise his foolish brother who takes part in a tournament without being a knight,” he explained, very proud of himself.

He wouldn’t be the only man who wanted to take part in this tournament without the title of the knight. After all, everyone was aware that the prize was your hand in marriage and you didn’t necessarily need a knight. There were lots of common Lords joining the tournament but they were all honest with their intentions. Not only Lord Jason Lannister had your father’s favouritism but he also was planning to obviously cheat by using his brother.

It made you angry as you carefully took a step back and nodded at your guards to follow you down the path. It seemed like the whole tournament was just a show and a theatre play – you were no longer excited since the end result seemed to be fixed. You would be sent to Lannisport to marry that annoying and arrogant Lord Jason Lannister. Tears filled your eyes and you didn’t even care about your makeup anymore since you no longer longed for the tournament to begin.

You walked past the greenest tent around and saw a man in auburn hair washing his face outside. He noticed your staring and looked up with a dashing smile. He recognised you immediately from the portraits and your clothes. Also, what other Lady would dare to take a walk here? Only the one for whom the tournament was taking place.

“Lady Tyrell,” he bowed his head but his blue eyes were still on you.

You sniffled your tears back and straightened yourself.

“Lord…?” You asked and turned your head to see the banner on the tent. “Lord Hightower? No, that cannot be. Lord Hightower is in King’s Landing, is he not? And he is much older. He is The Hand of The King Viserys,” you tilted your head a little.

“You mean Otto Hightower, my Lady,” the man nodded with a smile as he approached you. His armour wasn’t fully on yet and you could see his shirt slightly open. “I am his eldest son, Ser Gwayne Hightower,” he introduced himself and reached his hand out.

After a while of hesitation, you allowed him to kiss the palm of your hand.

“Ser Gwayne Hightower. You are a brother to our Queen Alicent! Are you to inherit Oldtown after your father’s death?” You asked.

“That is correct, My Lady,” he nodded and straightened his back.

You hummed to yourself. Oldtown was in The Reach and it was the second largest and most populated city in the Seven Kingdoms. To get there from Highgarden, a horse needed around ten days down the Roseroad. You had been there before a few times with your parents but you had never met Ser Gwayne before. 

You looked him up and down. He had a cocky grin on his face but there was something about him that you actually quite liked – especially compared to Lord Jason Lannister. Ser Gwayne seemed to be confident but in a different, less exasperating way.

“Did your father encourage you to take part in this tournament, Ser Gwayne?” You asked him as you raised an eyebrow at him. “I do believe he is known for being an ambitious man.”

“Yes, my father insisted on me taking part,” Ser Gwayne admitted. “But I do not mind it myself.”

You nodded at that. Well, a union between your houses seemed to be right. You were both from The Reach and perhaps The Tyrells were more significant but The Hightowers were a real power, especially now. Sadly, your father seemed to be fixated on that whole idea of you marrying a Lannister.

Unless… Unless you would interfere somehow.

Your silence was interpreted by Ser Gwayne as a sign of exhaustion or boredom, though. He nodded his head and took a step back.

“It was nice to meet you before the tournament, my Lady,” he bowed his head. “I know there are dozens of knights around but, please, do remember about me while choosing your champion, I humbly ask,” he gave you one more dashing smile before walking inside his tent.

As a Lady for whom the tournament was taking place, you had the right to choose your champion. A man you favoured. Although, since the unofficial prize was your hand in marriage, it would be very awkward for a man who was not your champion to win. You assumed that your father would try to force you to choose Lord Jason Lannister.

And you had been right. Now, when you were holding a golden rose prepared for this occasion as all the knights were standing in front of you and your family in the audience, your father squeezed you by your elbow. He leaned in to whisper into your ear:

“You shall give the rose to Lord Jason Lannister and name him your champion,” he said with a fake smile before moving away.

You swallowed thickly and took a step ahead to be able to reach the man you would choose. You glanced at The Lannister man on the horse – Tyland, pretending to be Jason. And in the audience nearby you there he sat – Jason, pretending to be Tyland. Your eyes met for a second and he grinned at you confidently although he had no idea you were aware of his plan.

You searched for a different pair of eyes now, amongst all the knights. And then you found them, the blue ones. His armour had beautiful ornaments and even his horse was armoured. It all looked so elegant and you smiled at the sight.

You bit on your lower lip. But was he a good knight? Did he actually stand a chance to win?

Well, you were about to find out.

“Ser Gwayne Hightower,” you took a few steps to the right to be closer to him as he commanded his horse to take a few steps ahead. “I choose you to be my champion,” you smiled at him and leaned in to hand him the golden rose.

“Lady (Y/N) Tyrell, it is an honour,” he bowed his head and you saw in his eyes that he was quite surprised that you had named him amongst all the men your champion. He took the rose from you carefully and pinned it to his armour before closing his helmet and returning to the other knights.

You took a deep breath in before walking away to take your seat. Your father’s burning gaze was nearly painful but your mother kept smiling, unaware of the schemings.

“That’s Otto Hightower’s eldest son. The Queen is his sister,” your mother babbled to your father. “Our daughter has chosen wisely,” she smiled at you. “And he’s handsome and quite young.”

Your father ignored her words and gave you a deadly glare instead but you only huffed and walked away, locking your eyes with Lord Jason again. The real one, sitting in the audience. He was not grinning anymore.

Thankfully, Ser Gwayne turned out to be an excellent knight. Sadly, so was Ser Tyland Lannister, pretending to be his brother Lord Jason.

On the second day of the tournament, they already got rid of most of their opponents as they defeated them in combat. Some of the knights were seriously wounded.

On the third day it was already known that the last duel would be between Ser Gwayne and Ser Tyland. Everyone was taking bets and your father was gritting his teeth.

All this time, you were carefully watched by him and you had no opportunity to speak to any of the men taking part in the tournament. But on the night before the last, fourth, day when the final duel would take place, your father had thrown a feast, during which you were approached by Ser Jason Lannister.

Or Ser Tyland. Were they pretending to be each other during feasts as well? You were tempted to ask but you had no courage to do so.

“Lady Tyrell, there should be songs about your beauty,” he bowed his head and you bowed down.

“Lord Lannister,” you mumbled out, uninterested. “Why aren’t you busy writing them then?”

Your mother looked at you with terror in her eyes but you ignored her.

“Oh, believe me, I do not have time for such frivolities although I wish I had. However, my duties in Lannisport are many. My treasure is full and I shall spoil you with my goods when you are my Lady Wife,” he grinned at you, luring you with his wealth.

“You sound so sure that you’re going to win, my Lord,” you pointed out.

“Oh, I am sure. Ever since you named that Hightower knight your champion, I am determined to show him his place. But I hold no resentment towards you for your choice. I do realise that you, women from The Reach, like to tease,” he winked at you and you had to pretend his words were not an insult. Even your mother gasped a little at his boldness.

“I cannot believe you would spoil me with your wealth for nothing in return, my Lord,” you raised an eyebrow, curious of the response.

“Well, of course not. Like every husband I want my wife to be obedient, easy on the eye and give me many, healthy children,” he informed you. “Sons, I mean,” he fixed himself. That arrogant smirk was still on his face.

“I think your father is calling us,” your mother saved the day as she quickly took you by the arm and excused you both to walk you away from Lord Jason. “Oh, what an insufferable man! Sadly, your father seems to be fixated on the idea of you marrying him. And you know, dear (Y/N), after all the matches you had dismissed in the past… You just can’t say no now. Especially at your age,” she looked at you sternly, but still worried.

You didn’t answer that. You simply nodded your head and walked away to go outside and catch a breath.

You kept walking ahead of you, leaving the noise of the party behind you. You wanted to be alone and despite the darkness, you knew where you were going because you knew this garden better than yourself.

You entered the maze to hide in your favourite spot but after a while you heard unfamiliar steps behind you. You gasped and turned around to see a male silhouette, which caused a shiver go down your spine. If something happened to you now, unguarded and with no one to rescue if you called for help… You didn’t even want to imagine the consequences.

“That is only me, my Lady,” you heard a familiar voice and the man took a few steps ahead. It was Ser Gwayne Hightower, smiling at you.

“Ser Gwayne!” You pretended to sigh with relief but the truth was that you didn’t trust him either. You trusted no man who was creeping up on a Lady like that. “We shouldn’t be left alone without a chaperone,” you pointed out.

“Forgive me, I saw you running away and quite upset. I wanted to make sure nothing bad would happen to you as you wandered off from the crowd without any guards following you,” he lowered his voice as he approached you.

You swallowed thickly. He was right in front of you and behind you there was a tall live-fence that was making it impossible to escape. As he leaned in, his auburn hair fell onto his face and you felt it tickling your cheeks. That close he was.

“How chivalrous of you,” you breathed out, starting to feel dizzy. You had never been so close with a man.

He looked down, his gaze fixated on your tight, revealing dress. Your breasts were squeezed under the silky golden fabric.

“What if I don’t win tomorrow?” He asked as he lifted his eyes up again to meet yours. “Lord Jason is surprisingly good, especially for a man who is not a knight.”

“It’s because it’s not him,” you confessed with a heavy sigh and Ser Gwayne furrowed his brow at you.

“Are you suggesting that…?”

“I am not suggesting, Ser. It is true. I know from the very beginning, I have overheard them talking to my father. My father wants me to marry Lord Jason Lannister and this tournament is nothing but a show-off. He was angry at me for choosing you as my champion,” you told him.

Ser Gwayne seemed to be confused as he took a step back and you surprised yourself because you wanted him close again.

“That is… Unhonourable and disrespectful,” he pointed out. “Do you wish for Lord Jason to win as well, my Lady?” He looked at you, intensely.

“No! Why would I choose you as my champion then, Ser?” You shook your head, desperate to make him believe you.

“To toy with me, perhaps. Or to tease Lord Lannister,” Ser Gwayne pointed out.

“I do not wish to have anything in common with that man,” you huffed.

“And me? You do not know me, do you, my Lady?” Ser Gwayne smirked as he leaned in again, his nose nearly brushing yours as he put his right hand on the live-fence above you. You felt so small underneath him suddenly.

“What do you expect from a wife, Ser Gwayne?” You asked, swallowing a lump in your throat and he looked confused at that question as if it was a stupid thing to ask.

“Loyalty, of course,” he answered.

“And that’s it?” Now you were the surprised one. “What about children?”

“Well, it would be nice to have them, don’t you think, my Lady?” Ser Gwayne chuckled and rubbed your nose with his.

“What if I am flawed like my mother and I can give you only daughters?” You bit on your lower lip, slowly getting drunk at the feeling of having him so close.

“Then we shall make them all great ladies of great houses. My sister is The Queen. Us, Hightowers, we are ambitious,” he told you. “And I have many younger brothers who can produce their male heirs. The future of my family is safe whatever I do,” he assured you and raised his other hand to caress your cheek with his fingertips.

At first, you got startled at his touch as if it was causing you pain because you were not used to being touched like this by a male hand. But then, after a short while, you gave in and hummed to yourself, making him smirk.

You leaned back onto the live-fence and arched your back, connecting your crotch with his. You had no idea what made you do that… It was as if your instincts were telling you what to do. And it felt good.

“Don’t,” Gwayne scolded you and took a step back as you whined.

“Aren’t you here to claim me just in case you lose the duel tomorrow?” You asked, feeling your cheeks heating up. You couldn’t believe the boldness of your own words.

Lord Lannister had been right about the women from The Reach, apparently.

“Perhaps you should have not made me your champion, Lady Tyrell, if you think so lowly of me,” Ser Gwayne bowed his head and turned around to walk away, leaving you alone; confused and full of embarrassment.

One thing was certain – he was messing with your head. You couldn’t stop thinking of him all night long, touching yourself to the thoughts of him standing so close, to the memory of his touch and his voice.

You would rather die than marry Lord Jason Lannister. Any attempt to imagine anyone else other than Ser Gwayne touching you, was making you physically sick.

You watched with fear, clenching your fists on the railing and leaning down to see better although, at the same time, you didn’t want to see; you were that scared.

You knew that people had been betting on who would win this combat. And more people had bet on The Lannister. Your eyes followed the golden rose attached to Ser Gwayne’s armour, though. You only wanted to keep looking at him as you prayed to the gods old and new for his victory.

The combat was fierce and long. Both of the horses got hurt and taken away and the two opponents were standing face-to-face now, having to duel with their swords on the ground.

Lord Jason Lannister – the real one, the one in the audience – stood up and clenched his fists on the railing, too, as he watched his twin brother.

“Come on!” He yelled and that was when the other Lannister struck Ser Gwayne down. “Yes! That’s right!” He cheered alongside the audience. Then, he looked at you with a smirk.

“Ser Gwayne!” You exclaimed in a high-pitched, scared voice.

To your relief, your champion stood up after taking the blow and you clenched your fists even tiger around the railing. You wouldn’t be surprised if you broke the wood with your hands.

After a few more attempts to strike each other down, both opponents were roaring with frustration. And then you spotted Ser Gwayne taking his helmet off and throwing it aside as people gasped.

Was he insane? You had been thinking that he was a rational man but apparently much less than you expected.

He looked up at you and nodded his head as the wind ruffled his auburn hair a little. You had to admit that he was presenting himself very handsome and you were aware that the helmet was limiting his view during combat but it was still very risky.

When you nodded back, he went back to the fight. His strikes and blows were fast and determined as if the fight was to death. You held your breath whenever he would get a punch or a strike since he was wearing no helmet. However, he seemed to be doing much better now.

Eventually, The Lannister was laying down and not standing up for quite a long time now as Ser Gwayne spat some blood out and looked up again – his face covered in blood and a few bruises but other than that, he was fine.

Your father stood up, carefully, before walking up to you to see with his own eyes. He hesitated and froze instead of announcing the winner and the whole audience was now looking at him.

“You shall announce my champion the winner,” you reminded him and he swallowed thickly.

“I… I announce Ser Gwayne Hightower the winner of this tournament. Congratulations!” He exclaimed and turned around this very instant to sit back down on his chair.

“You fought bravely, Ser Tyland,” Ser Gwayne helped his opponent to stand up as everyone froze at his words. “Oh, Lord Jason, do forgive me,” he nodded at him with a smirk before leaving the field.

Your heart picked up its pace and you couldn’t help a big grin. You glanced at The Lannister in the audience and he gave you a very unpleasant look this time. You couldn’t blame him, really. Ser Gwayne’s little mistake would make people gossip about The Lannisters cheating in the tournament. It was bringing you lots of satisfaction.

You were about to excitedly leave your parents’ side, when your father grabbed your wrist and stopped you.

“Where are you going?” He asked, harshly.

“To see my champion!” You answered him.

“Absolutely not,” your father shook his head. “You are coming with me to meet with The Lannister brothers,” he told you and both you and your mother widened your eyes at him.

“Father… Ser Gwayne has won the tournament… Fairly,” you pointed out.

“You said that the winner would have (Y/N)’ hand in marriage,” your mother reminded him.

“It was never officially announced, was it?” He barked at the both of you. “It was just a rumour.”

“Do you want to enrage The Hand of The King by disrespecting his son? Do you want to enrage The Queen herself by disrespecting her brother?” You asked him.

Your father let go of your wrist but he kept staring at you with anger and resentment in his eyes.

“Why did you want The Lannisters to win so badly?” You asked him. “To the point of letting them play it dirty and cheat?” You continued as your mother’s eyes were widening. “I have overheard your conversation on the first day while taking a stroll between the tents like you had forbidden me to,” you admitted. “Why, father?”

“My Lord Husband?” Your mother asked him, enraged by what she had just heard.

“Perhaps you have also overheard the part where I was saying that the tournament is a nice show-off,” he explained.

“I do understand why you threw the tournament. The question was not about that,” you raised an eyebrow at him and crossed your arms.

“Wealth,” was all he said after a short silence.

“And… that’s it?” You asked, disappointed.

Your father nodded and looked away.

“Wealth and splendour. An alliance between The Tyrells and The Lannisters would be a powerful one. And their treasure is big,” he added.

You opened your mouth to say something but you had no words.

“Your foolish sisters!” He continued as he raised his voice suddenly. “One married some Dornish lesser Lord and the other went up North to marry a knight in The Vale! The Ladies of House Tyrell! I should have been creating powerful alliances with you, foolish girls, but, no, all of you know better! All of you!” He yelled at you as your mother began to calm him down.

“I would never marry a man without an honour like Lord Jason Lannister,” you only said. “A cheater who plays dirty by using his brother because he knows very well that he would lose his very first combat if it was him down there,” you finished.

Without any other word, you hurried downstairs to run up to Ser Gwayne’s tent. His squire was working on removing his armour off of his body and you approached him to cup his bruised face splashed with blood.

“Ser Gwayne…” You started and then you swallowed thickly and looked down, remembering your encounter with him from the previous evening and the things you had been thinking of at night.

“Lady Tyrell,” he nodded at you with a smile.

“Are you alright, Ser? What has gotten into you to take the helmet off?” You asked as you dared to look up again, right into his blue eyes.

“It was limiting my view,” he answered. “I am alright, my Lady, no need to worry about me.”

“Are you always that irresponsible, Ser?” You asked yet another question. After all, it was important to know if he was supposed to be your Lord Husband.

“Never, my Lady. But it was rather an important combat, was it not?” He raised an eyebrow at you and you smiled widely at him.

You let go of his face as you took a few steps back to let his squire continue his work with the armour.

“I shall leave you now,” you nodded. “Thank you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Lady Tyrell,” Ser Gwayne bowed his head slightly as he watched you walking out of his tent.

There was a feast again on that evening but instead of being with the guests, your father was locked in the library with Ser Gwayne, discussing the unofficial prize of the tournament – your hand in marriage.

You were pacing around the corridor, all dolled up for the party in a pastel pink dress but with no interest to walk down and participate in the celebrations. You were afraid that your father would be rude to Ser Gwayne or scare him off, so you wanted to be around just in case you needed to put out some fire.

At first, you had chosen Ser Gwayne Hightower to be your champion simply to annoy your father and to avoid showing any favours to Lord Jason Lannister. But as the time progressed – especially after last night… – you just wanted to become Ser Gwayne’s wife. You would still live in The Reach and have your mother quite close but at the same time you’d be away from your father and his constant remarks of remaining unmarried despite your age.

Oldtown was an important place on the map of Westeros and you would be The Queen’s sister-in-law. Your father would be foolish to choose Lannister's gold over that honour.

The doors opened finally and you saw your father who was visibly surprised at the sight of you nervously pacing outside the library.

“Are you curious or nosy, dear daughter?” He asked you with his eyebrow raised.

“Perhaps both,” you answered.

“Either way,” your father shrugged, taking a step aside and revealing Ser Gwayne standing behind him, “that is not a problem of mine to deal with anymore,” he finished. “Disciplining her might be a challenge,” he chuckled at Ser Gwayne.

“With all respect, Lord Tyrell, I am not Lady (Y/N)’s father to discipline her,” Ser Gwayne nodded at him and approached you to hold your hands in his as he looked at your face. “We are going to get married, my Lady,” he announced to you and you smiled widely at him, feeling a huge wave of relief washing all over you. Relief, happiness and… excitement.

“When?!” Was all you asked before looking at your father’s face. He seemed to watch you carefully but wasn’t as displeased as before, right after the tournament.

“Ser Gwayne is running Oldtown in the name of his father so he must return there immediately tomorrow morning,” your father answered. “We will escort you to him for the wedding once all the preparations are finished. It shouldn’t take more than a few weeks.”

“A few weeks?!” You whined. “How am I supposed to wait for so long?”

Ser Gwayne chuckled at that and so did your father as you felt your cheeks heating up.

“You have been waiting for so long to get married, my dear, you can surely hold off a few weeks more,” your father pointed out.

But he didn’t understand. Now, when you actually wanted to become a wife and found a man worthy enough to be called your Lord Husband, you didn’t want to wait a day longer. However, being whiny about it would only make you look childish and desperate.

“I shall wait then,” you sighed and looked down in defeat.

“And I shall prepare The Hightower for your arrival, my Lady,” Ser Gwayne nodded at you. “What is your favourite colour, may I ask, my Lady, just so I know how to tell my people to decorate your new chambers?”

“It’s green, Ser Gwayne,” you answered with a soft smile. “Green and yellow like the colours of my house.”

“Something tells me we are going to be an excellent match,” Ser Gwayne smirked at your answer with a wink.

MASTERLIST

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 13

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: i have realized i dont link the polls to the fics. here's what won last time!! bask in your decisions <3 once again, the high valyrian might be wrong so roll with it and leave comments/reblogs ok!!! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!! | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones

Caraxes was never fond of being holed up in the pit, and yet, as King's Landing became apparent on the horizon, the dragon found himself beating his wings faster than normal. When the stench of the pit the creature's nostrils, he knew then, he was home.

Perhaps it was still because he was in his armor, but for Daemon, it was not until Viserys looked upon him, first warily then happily, and embraced him that he felt the realness of it all.

As the entirety of court watched the brothers' affectionate exchange, most thought the display touching... then there were the Hightowers. The only reason Alicent was here in the throne room to greet him was because she was queen and it was expected of her. And Otto did not want to look upon the dastardly prince's face, but he had to see what state he was in for the sake of his eldest daughter.

"My brother has returned!" the king announces, enticing cheers from the onlookers. Lord Hand promptly leaves after this, intent on going to you.

Otto asks the first servant he sees where you are, and is immediately directed to the garden. He is unsurprised to see that not one, but two of your wards are there, evidently on high alert. The moment they spot him, they freeze to greet him in unison, "Lord Hand."

"Does she know?"

The twins share a quick glance, and again, in unison, "everyone knows."

Otto releases a sigh. You know of your husband's return and yet you chose to remain in the gardens. He was about to ask the twins step aside, but then he hears the sound of giggles. He peers past the two, finding you laughing with your nephew in your arms. He rubs his forehead and clenches his jaw, "what did she say?"

Erryk and Arryk stare at Otto's distressed face. The former speaks, " 'he did not wish that I see him off, I should not see to his return'. "

Otto sighs deeply and wipes his face, "Seven save us."

Arryk almost pities your father for how worried he looked... but almost is not enough; he'll never forget the tears you shed because of him. No one in your family seemed to grant you grace.

"As it is," Lord Hightower raises his hands, "the prince is in good spirits, and I am sure he will not so soon look for her as he would the cups of wine he wishes to share with the king. Do not impose upon the prince if he does come around," Otto raises a finger, "but do not let his entitlement get into his head."

The Cargll twins not in sync, "my lord."

With that, Otto walks off.

Once he is gone, Erryk turns to his brother, "I would sooner fall on my sword than have her husband ruin the happiness she's so delicately built for herself."

Arryk gives him a look, "do not forget yourself."

"I do not," he snaps, "but perhaps you do."

Arryk does not take kindly to his accusatory tone.

"I cannot forget even if I wanted," Erryk looks off, "it my shift when she miscarried," he grits his teeth, "mine, when she tried to fling herself off the eastern tower."

"And it was mine when she locked herself in her bath," Arryk quips, "and when she threw herself at Caraxes, only to have the beast take her under his wing. Do not feel self-righteous in your suffering, for it is not yours," he points, "it's hers."

Erryk clenches his jaw so hard it's a wonder his teeth do not break. He spare his brother a glance.

Arryk turns forward and sighs deeply before repeating, "do not forget yourself."

"Do not forget yourself," he counters.

All three of them are wrong, Arryk, Erryk, and Otto. Otto was wrong to think that Daemon would not look for you before anything else. The prince notices is your absence the very moment he notices your sister. He asks Viserys, "where is my wife?"

Viserys looks over to his Alicent, who clutches her belly and finally approaches, "ah... she's probably with her boy."

Daemon pulls his head back.

"My prince," Alicent smiles half-heartedly to her good-brother, "I trust your travels home were smooth."

He completely ignores her, "her boy?"

Viserys thinks nothing of Daemon's words as he takes wife's hand, "where is your sister, dearest."

Dearest? Daemon's expression curls.

Alicent turns to the king, rubbing her swollen belly, "last I saw her, she was in the gardens with Aegon."

Aegon? Daemon's eyes narrow.

"Oh!" Viserys smiles, turning to Daemon, "you should go to the gardens and fetch them then. Your wife has brought forth new life to the Keep. I encouraged her to write about it to you, but she did not think you would find care to learn it through letters."

Daemon's face falls. New life? You brought forth new life? Without a word, he sprints off to the gardens.

Viserys is momentarily taken aback by this. Alicent is agitated by it, especially because she catches on to the ambiguity of his words. She she squeezes his arm, "do you think this is a good idea?"

"What?" he pulls his head back, "that he see his wife and nephew?"

"He might not take kindly to Aegon. You called him her boy."

Viserys chuckles, "but he is. She loves him so dearly."

"I know, but you made it sound like my sister had a babe."

The king pulls his head back and chuckles. When he realizes Alicent's worry was apparent on her features, he thinks about what he said and shakes his head, "I was talking about the flowers she planted in the garden."

"I know," Alicent repeats, "but does Daemon?"

"Don't be silly, Alicent," Viserys squeezes her hand, "Daemon is not that slow-witted. Besides, does your sister not write to him everyday?"

She clenches her jaw, "yes."

"So," he shrugs, "why would he be so sorely mistaken?"

Except he was; Viserys is also wrong. And as Daemon makes his way toward the gardens, it becomes apparent why Arryk and Erryk too are wrong. Both of them immediately forget themselves upon seeing the approaching prince. They block his path instinctively.

Daemon stops in his tracks, "out of the way."

Erryk stares blankly at him. Arryk shifts on his leg, "allow me a moment to announce your presence to the princess."

"Why would I need to be announced? She is my wife."

"She is with Prince Aegon," Arryk raises a hand and steps forward, "it is in her best interest that I ensure you are welcome while he is present."

Daemon is flabbergasted. He clenches his fists, "why wouldn't I be welcome around my own flesh and blood?!"

"My lady has only recen-"

"Do you deny it!?" Daemon snaps.

They do not reply.

"Do you deny the boy is my flesh and blood?"

The twins know the prince is riled up. If they persist, a fight will surely break out. Though they cared little for the consequences of quarrelling with the newly returned prince, they did care greatly for your peace of mind. This was why Erryk replied, "no, ser."

"Then get out of my fucking way," he snaps.

Arryk and Erryk stare at him. Eventually, they reluctantly step aside.

Daemon, in all his rage and pettiness, makes sure to knock into them as he passes. It was good he was still in his own armor, or else the collision against their steel shoulder pads would have hurt.

"Right, shall we go back now?"

The sound of your voice makes him stop in his tracks. How was it that he was so angry to be denied going to you just now, yet he now can't seem to move from his spot.

"No, my love, we do not pick roses so carelessly."

"Flower!"

Daemon's breath hitches at the sound of the boy's voice.

"You want the rose?" your voice is soft but audible, "you want to pick the rose for mummy?"

Mummy? Daemon slowly inches foward.

"Mummy?" the small voice repeats.

Daemon witnesses the moment the babe reaches for your curls. You brown hair is completely undone, spilling all the way down to your waist. A gentle breeze makes your tresses and skirt flow. His lips part at the beauty of you.

You chuckle when Aegon tries to eat your hair and pull it away before he manages to, "silly boy. Shall we ask Ser Arryk to pick the flower for us?"

"Flower for mummy!" he bounces in your arms.

You bounce him back, making him giggle as you repeat, "flower for mummy!" You flip your hair back, "Ser Arryk, could you-"

Your mouth goes dry when you see Daemon staring back at you. His hair is short and his eyes shine. You nearly choke on your breath, feeling your knees buckle as he slowly walks over. Your hold on Aegon tightens as he reaches out.

You step back. It takes him off-guard. It feels just like when an arrow was shot to his chest. Daemon moves towards the rose bush, picking out a flower, carefully removing its thorns.

"Flower!" Aegon coos and reaches out.

Daemon turns to him, handing the blushing bloom, "rūklon, ñuha tresy." Flower, my son.

You freeze. You freeze because you understand him.

Aegon gives a gummy smile; he shows all his teeth but he only has two at the bottom. He happily groans and grins at you when he has the flower in hand, "FLAWOW!"

You turn to the boy. His shining face instantly shatters the tension and unease you feel. You huff and brush his silver hair back. You freeze again when Daemon's hand comes upon yours.

You turn to him with wide eyes. His eyes are fixed on Aegon, "Rūklon, Aegon. Kostagon vestrā rūklon syt kepa?" Flower, Aegon. Can you say flower for father?

Daemon takes Aegon's chin, making him look to him, "rūklon, Aegon. Rūk-lon."

Your initially shocked expression melts into molten anger.

Aegon looks at his uncle, "rūklon."

Daemon is surprised but immediately pleased. He lets out a rich laugh as he turns to you, "he is good."

"Daor kirimvose naejot ao." you snap, pulling Aegon away from him. No thanks to you.

He pulls his chin back. He watches in shock as you turn to move the prince away. You glare as you do so, eyes beady and pink. His forehead wrinkles.

"Eman gūrēntan Valyrio Eglie sīr bona kostan bodmagho zirȳla. Emā daorun naejot jiōragon zirȳla." I have learned High Valyrian so that I can teach him. You have nothing to offer him.

Your frosty words make him pull his head back again. "daorun?" Nothing.

"Kessa," you nod, "daorun" Yes. Nothing.

His eye twitches as he shakes his head in disbelief, "iksan se valītsos kepa." I am the boy's father.

The severity of your laugher is haunting. His eyes widen and his skin pricks with goosebumps. You throw you head back, feeling a tear run down your face. You sigh and shake your head as you turn back to him, "you are completely devoid of both heart and mind, aren't you?"

Daemon too stunned to do anything but stare.

You turn. Daemon finally sees Aegon playing with the flower. You catch his attention by brushing his hair back, "my love," you start, "qilōni iksis aōha kepa?" who is your father?

Aegon looks up at you with little interest.

"Kepa, Aegon, kepa."

"Kepa?" he repeats.

"Kessa, skoros gaomas kepa gaomagon?" Yes, what does father do?

Aegon raises his rose, "dārys!"

King? Daemon's face falls.

You smile and bounce the child in your arms, "rōvēgrior!"

He tenses at the sound of the word. Rōvēgrior. Excellent. There was a time where you could not say that word at all. He taught that to you. And yet as you turn to him, your face destitute of any happiness that you had offered Aegon, it felt at though it was a memory he just conjured up.

"You are no more related to the boy than I am," you quip, "she is my sister's first born."

"Viserys said you brought for new life in the Keep," he mutters, as if he was afraid he heard wrong.

Your jaw feathers, but as the wind blows, you catch sight of the flowers, "he meant the roses," you turn to the said blooms. You laugh, bitterness pulling out a mocking smile from you, "how could you expect a son from me?"

Daemon shifts in his spot, ready to argue, but he quickly finds he had nothing to say to that. He thinks of all the seed he's spilled on your skin. He thinks of his persistence in leaving your womb empty. He thinks of the discipline he employed to ensure he would never finish in you. He clenches his jaw.

You turn to him; tears begin to fall from your eyes. Aegon notices and reaches for your cheeks; his flower falls to the floor, forgotten.

You and Daemon stare at each other. You feel your breath begin to shorten the longer you do.

Your expression falls when you hear Aegon begin to fuss. You immediately steel yourself away as you turn to your nephew; the boy looks like his on the brink of tears. You sniffle and shush him, "no, no, no-"

It's too late. He begins to cry.

You push past Daemon with little regard. Your wards turn to you upon hearing Aegon's cries. You say nothing to them, your full attention on Aegon as you rock him in your arms, "the fishes swim in seas of blue, and dragons breath fire so red..."

Arryk and Erryk follow after you.

Daemon is left alone in the middle of the garden.

He has no word to describe what he felt in that moment. He was stunned, hurt, saddened, torn. He was angry. How could you do this to him? You had begged him not to go, and now that he's returned, you treat him like... like you hated him.

He laughs dryly under his breath. Was this a game? Was this your way of getting back at him? He laughs louder as he walks off. He could hate you back better.

Daemon joins the luncheon the king throws in honor of his return. He does not waste his time and makes a show of himself.

It is easy for him to fall back into his old ways once he is in his princely garbs. He openly and unabashedly flirts with all the ladies he can set his eyes upon and eagerly annoys and offers backhanded compliments to all the lords present.

It gets so bad that Viserys has to intervene. Even Alicent and Rhaenyra, who had not spoken to each other since the king's wedding, find each other's company just to momentarily agree that Daemon is being completely callous and tactless.

The king pulls him by the shoulder and Daemon manages to snag a cup of wine as he is pried away from the offensive conversation he instigated.

"I understand that you are overjoyed to be home," Viserys leads him off, "but please, control yourself."

Daemon pouts, facetious, "kessa, kepa." Yes, father.

He bristles, "iksan issare dokimare. Emagon mirri iotāptenon syt aōha ābrazȳrys." I'm being serious. Have some respect for your wife.

Daemon immediately shoves Visersys's hand off him at the mention of you. He snaps, "gaomagon daor ȳdragon naejot nyke hen bona aspo!" Do not speak to me of that bitch!

The queen and princess, along with the rest of the people present, turn to the brothers upon hearing raised voices.

"Uncle!" Rhaenyra calls him out, offended by the conversation only she and they could understand.

Daemon turns to her, chucking his drink to the side before storming off.

Viserys rolls his eyes and sigh, "Daemon."

Alicent walks over to her husband.

"Daemon!" the king snaps.

"Leave it to me, father," Rhaenyra says, following after her uncle.

Daemon is back at the gardens. He snaps over his shoulder, "fuck off!"

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes, "what has gotten you so sour?"

"HER!" Daemon whips back around, eyes red and glassy, "THAT HIGHTOWER BITCH!"

Rhaenyra recoils and pulls her head back in shock. She carefully mutters, "you can't possibly mean Alicent, can you?"

"Her and the whole lot!" Daemon throws a hand out, "they can all drop dead for all I care."

The princess watches him pace around. Her brows knit, "I would say I am comforted that you share in my offence over my father and Alicent's union, but I cannot say I do. I know you have long hated Otto, and Gwayne, as he's bested you in tourneys—"

Daemon steps forward, "have you followed me to further spur-"

"But what has -"

"Don't you fucking speak her name to me!"

Rhaenyra is taken aback by this. The two stare at each other, and as Daemon heaves. Her face hardens, "what could you possibly be angry about?"

"She did not even greet me!" Daemon points to nowhere.

Rhaenyra laughs. It goes dry when she realizes he was being serious. Her face contorts, "Daemon."

He looks away.

Her lips curl, "she just got better"

His brows furrow.

"You do know that?" she tilts her head, "right?"

Have you been sick?

"Seven hells," Rhaenyra's face falls, "you don't know."

"..."

"She writes to you everyday," she motions vaguely, "I have not been in King's Landing for many moons, but even I know this."

"War makes time for-"

"Then why are you angry?!"

"..."

Rhaenyra raises her brows at him. Daemon remains unable to respond. She rolls her eyes, "welcome home, uncle."

Daemon is left alone in the garden for a second time. He goes back to his personal quarters.

You see him from across the hall just before he enters but he does not see you. Before you can take another step, Arryk and Erryk each take hold of your arms.

"Release me."

"Why should you be the one to go to him?" Arryk asks.

You turn to him, "you know why."

"If he does not want to go to you, do not waste your grace on him," Arryk says, just as you pull away to turn to them.

"He does nothing to understand you," Erryk adds, "and he will misunderstand you so long as it suits himself."

Your eyes immediately water, "why are you turning against me?"

"We are-"

"You think I want to live like this?"

Erryk speaks your name, "he is not ready to face you."

"It's been three years!" you chuckle dryly.

"Let him come to you," Arryk adds.

You scratch your eyes and shake your head, "the bodies of my babes remain unburied, wrapped and sealed in a crypt, because I insist that they be given but one respect due to them in the tradition of their house, and you would deny me-" your voice breaks. Tears run down your cheeks as you try to compose yourself. You clear your throat, "you would deny my son and daughter this?"

The twins do not speak.

You wipe your face roughly with your hands, "well? What say you?!"

Arryk lowers his head. Erryk cannot look at you, but he cannot keep his peace either, which is why he says, "I say they would not want their mother to suffer at the hand of their father."

"Damn you, Erryk!" you shove him back.

Erryk looks at you in shock.

"You dare presume to know my children when I-" gasp, "did not-" gasp, "even-" gasp.

Your guards reach out for you when you begin to topple. They keep you upright and you find yourself too stubborn to faint. You wrangle out of their grasp and lean on your knees as you struggle to catch your breath.

When you straighten up, you look and see Erryk's teary eyes. You feel terrible. It nearly makes you lose your breath again. You groan and sink your face into your hands, "I can never win, can I?"

"Princess," Erryk mutters, "forgive me, I-"

"Enough," you raise a hand to him, "I will not have my children be the cause of conflict."

Erryk nods and keeps his head bowed. Arryk turns to him before doing the same.

You sigh, belly churning with sadness and guilt, "come," you take their hands, "my twins waited this long for their father. They can wait a little longer."

Daemon, through in his adamant refusal to read your letters, kept every single one of them, even the ones he trampled on in his anger. Three sacks of letters, there were three sacks that contained all of the letters you sent him, one for every year he was gone. He empties them out on his bed. He walks to his trunk of clothing and grabs the only one he ever read and rereads it.

He walks back to his bed and sits a the floor. He flattens out the parchment beside him, then haphazardly reaches for another one.

𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩. ℑ𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔱𝔬𝔡𝔞𝔶. ℑ 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔫𝔬 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔬𝔴 𝔰𝔲𝔯𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰. ℑ 𝔫𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔶. 𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔪𝔞𝔡𝔢 𝔦𝔱 𝔰𝔬. ℑ 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔟𝔢 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔩 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔠𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔟𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔚𝔦𝔣𝔢.

Daemon flattens the parchment, stacks it on the previous one, and grabs another letter.

𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩. ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡 𝔪𝔶 𝔩𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰, 𝔶𝔢𝔱 ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔶𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔭 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔏𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔏𝔞𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔯 𝔙𝔢𝔩𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔬𝔫 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔪𝔢 𝔰𝔬. ℌ𝔬𝔴 𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔶 ℑ 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔫 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔱𝔢𝔭𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔰 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔪𝔢, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔬𝔴 𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔩𝔶 𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔦𝔱 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢, 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℌ𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔶𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔯𝔶 𝔬𝔣𝔱, 𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔞𝔡𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔰. 𝔇𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔯𝔶 𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔦𝔪; ℑ 𝔯𝔢𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔞𝔰 𝔞 𝔣𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔡. ℑ 𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔞𝔰 ℑ 𝔡𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲. 𝔖𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔶, 𝔏𝔞𝔡𝔶 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯

He knits his brows, flattens the parchment, stacks it on the previous one, and grabs another letter.

𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔏𝔢𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲'𝔳𝔢 𝔤𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔯𝔤𝔲𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔥𝔦𝔪. ℌ𝔢 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔫𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔩𝔶 𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔬𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔫 𝔬𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔯𝔶 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔰. ℌ𝔢 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔡𝔩𝔶 𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔡. ℑ 𝔢𝔫𝔳𝔶 𝔥𝔦𝔪. ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔪𝔶 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔡. 𝔓𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔭𝔩𝔶.

His face falls at your sentiment. You think this? He wonders for a moment what he and Laenor argued over, but he cannot recall anything for the life of him. The next letter he opens makes him sit up straight.

ℑ'𝔪 𝔡𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤. 𝔓𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔥𝔬𝔪𝔢.

This letter drives him mad, because it is the only one like it. He rips open more than a dozen letters, yet all of them are like all the rest. He reads some more about Laenor, some of Gwayne and Alicent, some of Otto, some of Arryk and Erryk, some of Viserys, but most of them are about the mundane things you busy yourself with. Mundane things you do to distract yourself from him.

He does not know what to make of it.

Then, he unfolds a piece of paper with hastily written script.

𝔖𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫, 𝔦𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔞 𝔩𝔢𝔱𝔱ℯ𝓇 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓇ℯ 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝓊𝓈𝒷𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉ℴ 𝓇ℯ𝒶𝒹, 𝓁ℯ𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝒷ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈. ℐ 𝒽𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝓃ℴ𝓉 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓃 𝒶𝒷ℴ𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒷ℯ𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈ℯ ℐ 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒶𝒻𝓇𝒶𝒾𝒹 𝓉ℴ, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒟𝒶ℯ𝓂ℴ𝓃, ℐ 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹. ℐ 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒷𝒶𝓇ℯ𝓁𝓎 𝓈ℯℯ 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓅𝒶𝓅ℯ𝓇 𝒶𝓈 ℐ 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 ℐ 𝒻ℯ𝒶𝓇 ℐ 𝓂𝒾ℊ𝒽𝓉 𝓃ℯℯ𝒹 𝓉ℴ 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃ℊℯ 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝒸𝒽𝓂ℯ𝓃𝓉 𝒶ℊ𝒶𝒾𝓃. 𝒞ℴ𝓂ℯ 𝒽ℴ𝓂ℯ. ℐ 𝒾𝓂𝓅𝓁ℴ𝓇ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊, ℐ 𝒷ℯ𝓈ℯℯ𝒸𝒽 𝓎ℴ𝓊— 𝒸ℴ𝓂ℯ 𝒽ℴ𝓂ℯ.

"I was with child?" Daemon repeats to himself.

He frantically grabs a bunch of letters and skims through them, desperate to learn more of this. He goes through 5, 10, 20, 50, 100 letters, but none of them ever mention such a thing ever again.

At some point, the letters become singular.

𝔐𝔶 𝔥𝔲𝔰𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔡, ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔢𝔞𝔱. ℑ 𝔭𝔥𝔶𝔰𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔶𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣 𝔱𝔬 𝔢𝔞𝔱 𝔬𝔯 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔫. ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔞 𝔡𝔢𝔠𝔞𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔭𝔰𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔞 𝔭𝔲𝔩𝔰𝔢. ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔪𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥. 𝔖𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔢, 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔦𝔱. ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔱𝔬𝔪𝔟 𝔬𝔫𝔠𝔢. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔚𝔦𝔣𝔢

They all speak of your apparently imminent demise.

𝔐𝔶 𝔥𝔲𝔰𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔡, ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤. 𝔄𝔩𝔩 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔰𝔢𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔴𝔦𝔰𝔢, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔦𝔱. 𝔉𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔪𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔪𝔶 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔰𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰. ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔚𝔦𝔣𝔢

It goes on for far too long.

𝔐𝔶 𝔥𝔲𝔰𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔡, ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔫𝔲𝔪𝔟. ℑ 𝔫𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫. ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔞 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔩𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔟𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡. ℑ 𝔣𝔢𝔩𝔱 𝔫𝔬 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔱𝔥 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢. 𝔓𝔢𝔯𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔰 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔶 𝔱𝔬 𝔡𝔦𝔢 𝔟𝔶 𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔬𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢. ℑ𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔟𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔚𝔦𝔣𝔢

Daemon's stomach rolls. He cannot bare to read any more, and yet his guilt urges him to drink up this pain, as if it would make it go away, as if it could make up for what he had done.

The moon begins to fade as the sun begins to rise. He reads hundreds of letters that speak nothing but your pain and desire for death. His face is wet with tears and bitterness linger in his mouth. He no longer is on the floor. He lies on his bed, surround by his wife's misery.

He wails. He can do nothing else as he takes in your words.

Then, for the final time, the tone changes.

𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔬 𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔶 𝔰𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯'𝔰 𝔰𝔬𝔫. ℌ𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔡𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔰𝔬��𝔯𝔬𝔴 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔣𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔰. ℌ𝔢 𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔰 𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔪, 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔢𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔪. ℌ𝔦𝔰 𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔢. ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔰𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔯 𝔡𝔞𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔰𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔞 𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔫𝔬𝔦𝔰𝔢. 𝔏𝔞𝔡𝔶 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯

... mine own son or daughter. Daemon wipes his face.

𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔄𝔢𝔤𝔬𝔫 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔢𝔯. ℑ 𝔡𝔢𝔱𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔬, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔩𝔶 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔰𝔲𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔰 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔬𝔴𝔫. ℑ𝔣 ℑ 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡, ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔟𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔴 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔰𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔣𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔧𝔬𝔶. ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔶𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔶 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡. ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔱𝔬𝔬. 𝔏𝔞𝔡𝔶 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯

He knits his brows and sits up. All the remaining letters are about Aegon.

𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔗𝔬𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔨𝔰 𝔞 𝔶𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔪𝔶 𝔟𝔢𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔡 𝔄𝔢𝔤𝔬𝔫 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫. ℌ𝔢 𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔡𝔞𝔶. ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 ℑ 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔦𝔪, 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔥𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡. ℑ𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔣𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔶 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔬𝔬. 𝔙𝔦𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔰 𝔥𝔦𝔪𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰; ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔟𝔢𝔠𝔞𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔥𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔰𝔦𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔞𝔯 𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 ℜ𝔥𝔞𝔢𝔫𝔶𝔯𝔞. ℑ 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔣𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔠𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔣 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯; 𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔩𝔩, 𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔡𝔞𝔶 ℑ 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔰𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔤𝔱𝔥 𝔱𝔬 𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔫 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔦𝔪. ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔡𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔲𝔭𝔬𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫. 𝔏𝔞𝔡𝔶 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯

You speak of nothing else save him. You do not mention your affliction, you do not mention your everyday life, you speak only of your affections for Aegon.

The sun rises.

Daemon did not realize he fell asleep until a voice of a servant wakes him. It did not feel like he slept at all; he is still exhausted.

He groans as he sits up. He sees a servant girl staring at the thousand pages scattered across the room. He comes to a stand and begins pick up the papers, "do not mind this. Prepare me a bath. I will break fast with my wife."

The servant watches the prince clean up after himself. She curtsies and does what is instructed.

Daemon had stacked the letters by date as he read them and now tiptoed around the room, gathering the papers in chronological order. He grabs his trunk and files the papers there. By the time he is finished, his trunk is stuffed and his bath water is barely warm.

Neither did the bath wake him fully, nor did it refresh him. What's worse was the scent of his soap broke forth dam of memories for it smelled like you. Resentment for his own folly began to choke him with tears.

His face scarcely resembled him. His angular features were softened with woe, namely his eyes. He cared little for the puffiness rendered him by his tears as he made his way over to your room.

Arryk and Erryk instantly spot him, both of them raising their brows and curling their lips at the look of the prince.

"Is my wife awake?" Daemon asks once he is before them, voice telling of how he had clearly been crying.

Neither of them find sympathy, only disgust and irritation. Erryk particularly despises how readily he refers to you as his wife; he was just a stranger, an evil-doer you had tragically married, "do you see that she's awake?"

Arryk's jaw tenses at his brother's response. He slowly turns to him with knit brows.

Daemon is numb to their hostility, too wrapped up in his self-loathing, "it is nearly noon. Doesn't she wake earlier than this?"

"Yes," Erryk instantly responds, "she did three years ago."

The prince stills. He now recognizes the twins' acrimony. He takes in a breath; he has no desire to start a fight, not when he's freshly just read about your affections for them and how they cared for you in his absence. Daemon wipes his face then raises a hand, "alright. Let me pass. I will wait for her to rouse."

The twins' shoulders hit each other as they block the prince's passage. Arryk tilts his head, "rest does not come easy to her. It would be best if she is not disturbed."

"I will not disturb her," Daemon quips, "I said I would wait for her to rouse."

Erryk raises a brow and motions, "of course, my prince. Feel free to wait for her out here with us."

Daemon stiffens. He grinds his teeth as he debates the truth of the sentiment. He stares at them.

They stare back.

He shakes his head and storms off.

Erryk scoffs in disgust, clutching his scabbard. Arryk scowls at the prince then his brother, "you dunce. This is what we want, for him to go to her."

"Yes," Erryk eyes Daemon hotly, willing his body be burned by his glare, "yet watch how easily he retreats. He wants only to go to her for his own sake, not because he wants to see her."

"Erryk," Arryk places a hand on his arm, "you overstep."

Erryk turns to his brother, "I step my foot exactly where it should be." He looks forward, "if he really wants to see her, he would come back."

And he was right. Daemon really wanted to see you. Why then would he waste his time and patience in quarrelling with your wards when he could simply take the hidden entrance to your chambers? He knew the passages well, after all; this was his home.

Daemon's senses are flooded as he emerges from the darkness.

Your fragrance is nearly tangible to him. He walks towards your vanity and takes a vial of your body oil. He inhales deeply, feeling warmth cascade through his body. He smears a bit on his philtrum. He missed this.

He sets the vial down and brushes his fingers over your jewelry. He takes the robe hung on your vanity chair and smells it. His eyes begin to water. He hangs it back in its place and finally, finally, he turns to you, throat uncomfortably tight.

Your brown hair is fanned out behind you. Your skins glows with invitation to be caressed.

He kneels beside you the way you did before your beloved statue of the Mother. He scratches his eyes when his tears begin to fog his vision. He strokes the back of his hand down your cheek. He fixes the blanket around you.

He watches you intently. He so badly wants to bury his face into the crook of your neck, to feel you, to smell you, to kiss you, but even he knew it was selfish; even he could admit he was undeserving.

The memory of the very first time he had ever beheld your sleeping form plays in his mind as you act it out in real life. Your lips and forehead curl; you stir slightly in your spot. He sighs when the corner of your closed eyes begin to water.

Daemon wipes your tears away, speaking the same words he spoke you then, "amīvindigon sesīr isse ēdrugon." Tormented even in sleep. He strokes your cheek and hair, "mundagon riña." Miserable girl.

He cannot help himself any longer. He shifts on his knees and moves in to press a kiss upon your temple. He leans his forehead on you, closing his eyes to savor your presence.

All is still.

All is solemn.

That is, until you begin to fuss.

You mutter incoherences and begin to moan.

He squeezes your shoulder and kisses you again, "gīda ilagon, ñuha jorrāelagon." Calm down, my love.

You moan out in response.

He pulls his head back with and opens his eyes. You moan again and it becomes clear that you were moaning a name.

"Alyrie."

A line forms between his brows.

"Alaeric."

He feels his chest tighten. What?

You moan as your arms reach out, "stay."

Daemon pulls back, eyes burning with tears. You repeat those names and a pit forms in his stomach, deep and dark. You whine as you embrace your pillow. He watches you press your lips into your pillow. He hears you mutter, "love you."

His throat constricts and he clenches his jaw. He does not like this dream.

You speak those names again and he pulls back, deciding he's had enough. He repeats it, mutters under his breath what he thinks he heard you say, "Arryk and Erryk." After all, how would he know the names Alyrie and Alaeric when you couldn't bare to even think of them, let alone mention them?

And just as he did moments ago, he wastes no time.

Daemon storms away, grabbing a pitcher of water on his way. He is upon them the moment he throws the doors open.

Before either brother can react, one has a pitcher bashed to the back of his head, and the other is kicked from behind. Shrieks pierce the air; your incoming servants witness the brutal onslaught.

All that was not enough to wake you, nothing would.

You startle awake, terrified out of your mind. Not only did you wake from a melancholic slumber, you wake to the sound of screams and battery.

Daemon would have managed to knock out the brothers had they not worn helmets. Still, the blow to the back of Arryk's head left him in a daze and Erryk, who was kicked from behind and shot off to the parallel wall, was no better.

The prince focuses on the closer twin who managed to face him. He kicks Arryk on the chest, knocking him down. He quickly climbs upon his felled body and removes his helmet before splitting his knuckles on his face. He manages to land two punches before he is throttled to the ground by the other Cargyll.

Erryk did not mean to merely subdue him, he was eager to retaliate. He crushes his knee into the prince's back, squeezing the air out of him before flipping him over, intent on breaking his nose at the very least.

Erryk underestimated the raging sense of betrayal that fuels his opponent.

Daemon manages to grab Erryk's neck and squeezes it with all his might. The latter begins to choke but he thrusts his shin-guard into the prince's side, giving him little choice but to scream and loosen his hold due to the the pain.

Erryk finds the upper hand in no time. He pries Daemon's hands off him and launches a right hook. The prince shields his head, still, the knight manages to land some nasty punches.

"ERRYK!" Arryk shouts, prying his brother off. He drags his brother away, and in that moment, you emerge from your room, running barefoot in nothing but your shift.

You notice the twins first, for they were closer to your door. You release a horrified sound at the sight of them. They look at you with hard faces as you walk over, "what is the meaning of this?!"

Erryk shrugs his brother off and points an accusing finger, "the prince attacked us from behind!"

You turn to where he points.

Blood trickles down Daemon's face as he struggles to get on his knees. His lips are busted, nose ruptured, eye swollen. Your face falls at the sight of him. He looks horrendous, even worse than what Gwayne looked like when he fell from his horse during the tourney. A dozen horrible memories begin to flood you. You clutch your chest as you feel it tighten.

Erryk continues, "we would not let him disturb your sleep, but he managed to sneak into your bedroom-"

"What?" you turn to him.

"- then he attacked Arryk with a pitcher," Erryk points to the pitcher on the floor that laid beside a puddle of water, "then he kicked me on the back."

You turn to Arryk, finding his hair, neck, and armor wet. You whimper and wipe your face. You snap at Daemon, "what is wrong with you?!"

You watch your husband come to his feet.

He clutches his side and grunts out your name.

Goosebumps shroud you.

Daemon shudders as he walks over, "gaomagon ao jorrāelagon nyke?" Do you love me?

You instinctively step back where the Cargylls step forward. Your face curls in mortification. Your lips wobble and you shake your head in disbelief. You repeat, "what the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"Gaomagon..." Daemon lowers his head, "ao ēdrurys yno?" Do you dream of me?

You knit your brows tightly. You grit your teeth and clench you fists. You take a step towards him.

He lifts his gaze when you do.

A shiver runs down your spine as he speaks your name.

"Īlē mirre hen ēdrurys nyke mi—" You were alll of the dreams I ev-

You slap him before he can finish his words.

The blood from Daemon's nose sputters to the wall. The action hurts more than the act. He does not look back at you.

You are trembling, neither from your affliction or fear, but out of pure, blinding wrath. You do not tear your gaze from Daemon though you do not speak to him, "the both of you go to the maester's ward."

Arryk and Erryk nod and regard you, "princess."

"Drag him with you," you blurt, turning to your open door, "I will be there shortly after dressing."

[aemondmybbg]

★ hotd bots masterlist

@ illumielle on character ai !! ᡣ𐭩

here you can find all my existing bots and a short description, i will update this page! 💌

ᯓ aemond targaryen: {14}

(1) — not his children? (niece!user {no dance!au} where they're married and he begins to believe the rumors that she conceived children from jace) (2) — his beloved niece (niece!user where he proposes to her during dinner in 1x07 episode) (3) — postwar marriage (niece!user the only surviving child of rhaenyra and daemon, in which he takes care of her and grooms her to build a trusting relationship and marries her when she grows up) (4) — forbidden feelings (aunt hightower!user and he just being in love with her, but afraid of this) (5) — after 'the pink dread' (niece!user consoles him after this joke) [platonic] (6) — in harrenhal (twin-sister wife!user where she pregnant and afraid of that rhaenyra captured king's landing) (7) — the only queen (lannister-wife!user who wants to be a queen and he does everything for her) [r] (8) — his strong girl (niece!user after dinner scene when he calls her and her brothers bastards) (9) — street of silk (niece!user where he finds her there after aegon took her to the street of silk) (10) — get his attention (baratheon!user that daughter of borros whom he chose as his wife) (11) — fear of closeness (wife!user {u can choose her house if you like} where he's afraid of s3x because aegon took him to a brothel when he was thirteen) (12) — war trophy (strong!user who is the legitimate daughter of harwin and aemond takes her to his bed after the capture of harrenhal) (13) — trying to be a good father (niece!user he cheated on her with alys rivers and after the war he tries to take care of their children) (14) — father for the first time (niece!user where they become parents for the first time and he worries about whether he will be a good father)

ᯓ aegon ii targaryen: {10}

(1) — king wants to see you in his chambers (niece!user after the 'dance of the dragons' trying to have a child) (2) — burning body and heart (wife!user stays with him after rooks' rest) [r] (3) — seeks comfort (wh0re!user he just comes to a brothel and for the first time he is looking not for s3x but for consolation) (4) — may become a father (aemonds wife!user where aegon becomes a father to her children after news of aemond's affair with alys rivers is revealed) (5) — takes you to the street of silk (niece!user where he takes her to a brothel to anger rhaenyra) (6) — newborn (niece!user where they meet their first child) (7) — his rhaenys (sister!user who was going to become a septa, but he wants to take her as his second wife because he always wanted only her) (8) — after usurpation (niece!user where he visits her with their son after the usurpation) [r] (9) — blood & cheese (niece!user comes to his chambers with their daughter after the murder and finds him in bed with her lady-in-waiting) (10) — different twins (twin-sister-wife!user where they are complete opposites but he wants to find a common language with her) [r]

ᯓ daemon targaryen: {6} (1) — won't allow it (sister!user where she is engaged to viserys, and daemon takes her to a brothel to tarnish her honor and take her as his wife) (2) — teacher's pet (stepdaughter!user where he no longer finds rhaenyra interesting or attractive, and his attention shifts entirely to her eldest daughter) [r] (3) — he regrets it (niece!user who accidentally became pregnant by him, but to hide it she was married to otto hightower) (4) — late visit (hightower!user which otto sends to the daemon after laena's death so that she can console him) (5) — obvious things (sister!user who is married to viserys, but her children are actually from daemon and they keep it a secret) [r] (6) — queen wants to see the newborn (sister!user where they meet their child and alicent wants to see him) [r]

ᯓ jacaerys velaryon: {2} (1) — solace (sister!user where they both find solace in each other after luke's death) (2) — one of those dragon seeds (bastard!user where he's just still grumbling about bastards riding dragons)

ᯓ rhaenyra targaryen: {2} (1) — she likes you more than your husband (harwins wife!user who has an affair with rhaenyra) [wlw] (2) — something she will never forgive herself for (daughter!user who is aegon's wife and lost her child during blood & cheese and rhaenyra tries to comfort her after all that) [platonic]

ᯓ alicent hightower: {1} (1) — her only child (daughter!user who looks exactly like her, and alicent has the strongest connection with her) [platonic]

ᯓ daeron targaryen: {1} (1) — reunion (sister!user where they are reunited on the battlefield after a long separation) [r]

ᯓ helaena targaryen: {1} (1) — doesn't want to fly into battle (lannister!user calms her down after aemond's attack) [r, wlw]

my requests are still open and i am happy to receive them ⭑.ᐟ

i didn't leave any links, but again you can find my profile and all these bots there! and if you need a specific link send me a message!

[gnocchibabie]

Desire and Blood (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen/Strong OC(Jaenara Velaryon)

Tags: AU - canon divergence, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, Targcest (uncle/niece)

Wordcount: 4.9k

Summary:

Against all odds, the love between childhood friends prevails and the Dance of Dragons is avoided.

However, peace comes at a cost. With the unexpected proposal of marriage between Alicent Hightower's son and Rhaenyra Targaryen's only daughter, can love truly blossom between sworn enemies? Or will Jaenara Velaryon be reduced to a mere pawn?

Love may yet arise where enmity once thrived, but Aemond's relentless pursuit of power threatens to shatter everything they hold dear, including each other.

Notes: You can find the rest of the chapters on my masterlist!

If you like the first snippet of this series, please consider showing some love on my AO3 posting of this fic :) thank you x

Atop the cliffs that line Dragonstone, Jaenara Velaryon watches the tide crash against jagged rocks littered below. Crystal blue waters lap at the sandy shores and white wispy clouds pass by overhead. She thought it unfair that a picturesque day such as this be wasted on tragedy. Jaenara grips the ground beneath her, plush green grass filling her palm and tickling the skin. Gripping harder, she reveals the dirt underneath as grime is pushed underneath her fingernails. She is alone now, away from her mother and brothers. From her step-father and step-sisters. Away from all prying eyes and listening ears. Away from hushed whispers, the only sound that fills her ears are that of the breeze that whips around her and the ocean below. 

She is finally free to weep. 

Tears litter the ground she sits upon. Although she is alone she chokes back a cry, as if fearing that the winds would carry her sorrow back to the castle. Her tears muddle in the dirt below, and Jaenara recounts the events of the past fortnight.  

— — —

Sunlight spills into the Chamber of the Painted Table, where Rhaenyra and Daemon are positioned at the head. The war room had seen more activity this past week than it had in many years, Jaenara had thought. She and her twin brother, Jacaerys, had sat in on a few meetings with members of her mother’s council. The passing of King Viserys had left the realm in disarray, and while her eldest uncle had made no claim to the throne yet, Jaenara understood that time was not on their side. 

“The instruction of a mother can only do so much, especially for a boy as unruly as Aegon,” Rhaenyra had said to her council, “While Alicent may urge her son to heed the wishes of Viserys, Otto and his council are surely whispering ideas of betrayal and usurpation into my half-brothers ears.” 

“I will not wait to see if Aegon honors my rightful place on the throne. It is time to act.”

Her mother had said this before leaving for King’s Landing, much to the dismay of some of her council. The presence of Prince Daemon - no - King Consort Daemon, had helped to quell some of their anxieties, as well as Jaenara’s. Though she knew, better than most, that her mother was a force to be reckoned with even on her own. They had left Dragonstone on Syrax and Caraxes, a formidable warning to the Hightowers and anyone else who opposed Rhaenyra’s claim.

Jaenara’s desire to accompany her mother and step-father had fallen on deaf ears.

“Jace and I must ride with you,” she had urged her mother, “dragons are stronger together.” 

Rhaenyra smiled at that. “There is truth in what you say, sweet girl,” her mother ran a hand through her daughter’s thick black mane. So unlike her own white-bonde hair. “But this is a delicate time. We may yet be on the brink of war-

“All the more reason for us to come!” Jaenara pleaded.

“You, Jace, and Luke are needed here.” Rhaenyra had not raised her voice at her daughter, though her piercing violet eyes scolded her all the same. “Keep a watch over Joffrey, Viserys, and Aegon,” Jaenara let out an over-exaggerated sigh at that, turning away from her mother. 

“As well as watch over Dragonstone, atop Aetherion, Arrax, and Vermax.” Her mother added.

The princess turned around at this. 

“We can only hope your uncle and his council of vipers will allow this transition of power to be peaceful. But I need you and your brothers to remain here, to ensure that no one dares to bring harm upon this castle.”

The prospect of riding her dragon alongside her brothers seemed to satiate the princess’ desires. That had been the end of it. 

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

A week had passed. A cloud of tension hung over Dragonstone that Jaenara could only escape by mounting Aetherion. She patrolled the surrounding waters, in search of any signs of a siege on their isolated stronghold. Her dragon, still young and only slightly larger than a warhorse, danced across the waves below the castle. His dark, purple wings almost dip into the sea, allowing Jaenara to taste the salt in the air and feel the mist spray across her face. She had not a drop of Velaryon blood in her, though she enjoyed the water all the same. 

I am no true Velaryon, Jaenara had thought to herself - a truth she would never speak aloud. But I may yet prove to be the blood of the dragon.

She reins Aetherion upwards, into the clouds above.

The princess is handing Aetherion over to the dragon masters when she finally learns of her mother and step-fathers arrival home. Her ears perk at the faint roars of Syrax and Caraxes in the dragon pit, surely feeding by now. Without another word, Jaenara turns on her heel, and sprints into the castle. 

“Your mother requests your presence in the war room!” A servant had shouted after her. 

Still in her riding leathers, she makes a sharp turn down the hall leading to the room and stumbles into her twin. “Jace-” Jaenara catches her breath, “Mother and Daemon are home! You must come with m-”

“I know.” Her brother responds shortly. 

A pause.

“You have already met with them?” she asks.

Jaenara studies her brother and notices he will not meet her eyes. Her gaze drops to his fists, white knuckled at his side. “Go speak with her. We can talk afterwards.”

And before his twin has the chance to respond, Jacaerys is gone. 

A sickly feeling settles in the young princess’ stomach as she faces the large doors of Dragonstone’s council room. She decided that there was no point in stalling whatever awaited her on the other side. Jaenara pulls open the doors and steps inside. 

Queen Rhaenyra and King Daemon turn towards the young woman, and Jaenara feels even more unease spread through her. The feeling nearly subsides when she looks upon her mother.

“Nara,” Rhaenyra sounds as though she has not seen her daughter in years rather than days. Arms outstretched towards her daughter, Jaenara breaches the distance between them and embraces her mother. “Sweet girl” Rhaenyra breathes.

“Mother,” Jaenara exhales and realizes just how much she had missed her. 

A moment passes before Jaenara finally pulls away. She eyes Daemon, and notes an unreadable expression etched upon her stepfather's face.

“Well,” Jaenara breathes, “I would venture to guess things went well?” she jokes.

Daemon turns away from mother and daughter and walks towards the large windows, looking out to the sea. 

Rhaenyra looks upon her only daughter. The blood of her blood. Her long black hair spills over her shoulders. Her black and crimson riding leathers, crested with the symbol of House Targaryen, grips her form. She meets her daughter's lavender eyes. The rest of her daughter’s physical image, so unlike her. But not her eyes. Lighter than her own, but still undoubtedly Targaryen. 

A deep breath from her mother. Daemon remains silent at the window. 

“An agreement has been reached. I will take my rightful place on the Iron Throne, just as your grandsire intended. Alicent Hightower, members of the council, and even some lords throughout the Seven Kingdoms rallied to my cause - vouched for my legitimacy as heir. Your uncle, Aegon, seems surprisingly content with this arrangement. His mother tells me he has no true interest in ruling. He only wishes to retain his status so that he may live his life in his own…selfish ways.”

Rhaenyra sighs. “We have the gods to thank for allowing reason to prevail so that the realm may be spared from being plunged into needless war. There is no war so hateful to the gods as a war between kin, and no war so bloody as a war between dragons…” Her mother trails off but finds her voice once again. “But there are terms to this peace - I have agreed that your uncle has a seat on my council.”

Jaenara looks between her mother and step-father incredulously. A scoff breaks from her throat. “That’s it? Well this is good news!” she exclaims, “And Jace, he should remain your hei-”

“Tell her the rest of it.” Daemon turns from his place at the window, finally facing his wife and step-daughter. 

The princess looks to her Queen, eyebrows raised.

“Mother?” Jaenara looks to her mother and sees a woman haunted. 

“You are to marry Aemond Targaryen, and you will preside over Dragonstone together.”

Silence fills the room.

“Surely you jest, mother.” Jaenara bites out. Her voice is as cold and hollow as the room now feels.

“Your mother is not so cruel as to make a joke out of this.” Daemon says to his stepdaughter. The princess of Dragonstone stares at her parents. Rulers of the Seven Kingdoms. A position they have paid for with her hand. Her hand.

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra turns to her husband, “A moment alone with my daughter.” It is not a question but a command. He steps away from his place at the window and begins to leave the Chamber of the Painted Table. Daemon reaches his step-daughter and places a hand on her shoulder. Squeezes it. Leaves.

The door shuts and Rhaenyra moves towards her daughter, but not before Jaenara draws back.

“All my life,” she gasps, “All my life, you have told me you only wish that I may marry as I please. That I should not be in the position you found yourself in as a young girl. That I should not be some token of peace - some possession to be given away! You have allowed me to remain free in this position, even now at eight and ten!” Her hand finds her neck, as though she might start to choke. 

“And now…now you - you give me away to him. To that - that man. Who tormented me throughout our childhood together. Tormented Jace and Luke! Surely it will be a loveless marriage.” She looks the Queen in her violet eyes. Eyes that mirror her own. “But anything for your throne, right?” She spits out. 

Rhaenyra’s face falls at that. At a time such as this, she is reminded of herself in her youth and of her own mother. She remembers Aemma, her sweet mother, in her final days. Of when she had told young Rhaenyra that royal wombs as theirs are to serve the realm. Rhaenyra remembered the discomfort that had filled her, hearing her mother say this. And discomfort still surrounded her at the thought of her daughter following in her own footsteps. She remembered the gatherings of lords and their sons that had taken place in her teenage years. Auctions for her hand. Power hungry men only wishing to share her bed for a glimpse at the throne. 

There was the evident truth. She had given away her daughter, in exchange for the Iron Throne. Rhaenyra had condemned her only daughter to the same fate she had suffered.

Jaenara immediately regretted the vitriol she had spouted at her mother. Her mother, who faced hostility and disdain all her life - from even those who were supposed to be her friends. Her family. Deep down, Jaenara understood what was necessary to avoid all-out war. She had told herself she would do whatever she would need to, to secure her mother’s crown and to preserve House Targaryen. But it was not supposed to be like this.

As a dragon-rider, she was supposed to forge the path to the Iron Throne through Aetherion. Alongside her brothers. Her step-father and step-sisters. Her grandmother, Rhaenys.

Not through a marriage pact. 

Rhaenyra gathers her thoughts and speaks, “My love…this is not a decision I made lightly. You see now why our visit to King’s Landing lasted so long. The negotiations were a labyrinth to be navigated. I know this is not fair to you, but we inhabit a world that is unfair to women. A world that deals in our lives and in our misfortune. A world built by men, for men. But when I sit the throne…I will build a new world. I will forge a new path. One that your grandchildren may be happy to live in.” 

Jaenara physically recoils at the thought. The Queen continues, “Though for now…we do what we must.” She takes her daughters hands in hers, “There are whispers about my ability to rule. There have always been, though now they are more present than ever. But you-” Her voice wavers and her grip tightens, “You have the opportunity to help me in ending the question of my capabilities. You can unite our house - we would all be the better for it. You will do the realm a great service in avoiding a war of fire and blood.” The mother finishes, squeezing her daughter’s hands again.

Jaenara breathes, low and steady. “Mayhaps I would rather see the realm put to the torch than marry a man such as him.”

“You do not mean that, daughter.” Rhaenyra is quick and stern in her reply. Now, her words burn Jaenara as well as her eyes. Jaenara does not shrink back, though she does not mean what she says. Not really. They are empty words, born from the heat of the present moment. It is not her mother she is angry with. The princess of Dragonstone is angry with the world, that it was made only in the interest of men. Angry with the gods, for making her a woman. Angry with herself. Angry at her now betrothed, for being who he was - for hating her so.

“I do not.” Jaenara finally replies. “But mother, he will not have me! Just as I will not have him!” Aemond Targaryen knew what Jaenara Velaryon was.

Memories of hurtful epithets from her youth—bastard, his Strong niece, the daughter of a whore—echoed in her mind, whispered by Aemond and Aegon alike, haunting her even now

All phrases that had been hurled her way in the days of their youth from him and Aegon alike. Words that followed her and her brothers throughout the corridors of the Red Keep. Words that coaxed tears out of the eyes of little Jaenara in the darkness of her bed chambers, where no one may see them. 

Aemond would not settle for someone he viewed as inadequate as his niece, and Jaenara would not stoop so low as to marry someone as detestable as her uncle. 

It would be a relationship doomed from the start.

Her mother’s words surprise her. “Aemond has agreed to the union.” Rhaenyra reasons with her daughter, “Alicent is very persuasive in her ways. She knows you to be good natured-”

The remarks earned a bitter laugh from Jaenara.

“-And not unlike him! You have both changed since the days of your youth. You are more alike than you may think.” Rhaenyra continues, “You would not be far from me daughter. Not far from the protection of myself and Daemon. As well as Jace. You would remain at the Red Keep for a time - before and after my coronation and your wedding - and leave for Dragonstone when you are ready.”

“He is vile. He despises me. And you.” Jaenara tells her mother.

“And yet my time at King’s Landing revealed a different side of my half-brother. He was not pleased with this proposal - though he took it much better than you have, Nara.” Rhaenyra reveals. A certain glint shines in her daughter’s eyes upon hearing this revelation, though it leaves as quickly as it had appeared. “Taking his hand will keep you close to me. You will both hold significant positions of power. You need not worry about being shipped off to the Riverlands, or gods forbid - the North - to marry a lord you barely care for-”

“I do not care for Aemond.” Jaenara interrupts.

“I would rather you take the hand of the devil we know rather than a devil we do not.” Rhaenyra remarks.

Jaenara left her mothers grasp and looked around the room before her. The room, which now belonged to her. And Aemond she thought bitterly. She had come to find profound comfort within the walls of Dragonstone. Some would call the castle dark and unwelcoming, though she knew its warmth came from the people within. Its merriment came from her time overhead, in the skies. But now, Aemond meant to ruin her home. Is nothing sacred? The princess wondered. In this moment, her thoughts felt so numerous that they may yet crack open her skull. Her emotions were so varying, she felt as though her heart would erupt from her chest.

Rhaenyra waits for her daughter to face her, and to finally give in to the Crown’s wishes. Instead, Jaenara lets out a noise akin to a wail and rushes out the door.

And Rhaenyra is alone.

— — —

Jaenara Velaryon’s tears finally stop and she feels as though she can finally catch her breath. She recalls the circumstances of the morning over and over, as if it were all just a bad dream she would soon wake up from. Wind whips her dark hair into her face. Salt kisses her lips. Salt from the air and from her teardrops mingle together.

A dragon does not weep.

“Dragons do not weep!” She echoes the words aloud, as if speaking them into existence will make it any more true. The words are carried away by the breeze and escape her.

“Everyone cries, child.” 

Nara does not turn around. She doesn't want her mother to see her cry, as though she were a child reprimanded. Rhaenyra settles into the grass next to her daughter and takes her into her arms. Jaenara feels as though a coldness inside her melts from the warm embrace of her mother, and she allows herself to cry. She was still her mother’s child.

“I am sorry, my girl. My Nara.” Rhaenyra wipes her daughter’s tears away as her own begins to pool in her eyes. 

Huddled in the warmth of her mother, Jaenara feels the anguish of her mother and sees the sorrow in her tears. How cruel it is, she thinks, that a mother could not save daughter from the same fate she once suffered — despite sitting on the most powerful seat in The Realm.

The princess understands sorrow to be a condition of life. A condition of womanhood, especially. But did sorrow have to become a hallmark of her life — for the rest of her life? Jaenara takes a shaky breath. She was a princess, a reality she had enjoyed as a luxury until now, when the weight of duty descended upon her. Marriage, a princess’s duty—she resolved it would not become her undoing, nor the source of her sorrow. Her duty is for The Realm. For her family.

In a moment of clarity, Jaenara understood the folly of her tears..

She sits there another moment, in her mother’s arms. She begins to picture Aemond Targaryen. His one eye, staring back at her with intensity. His sleek, white hair. The curl of his lip. Jaenara knew she could never come to love the man, and would never be able to love her. Duty, Jaenara thinks, is the death of love. 

The princess finally rises up to look at her mother. Sorrow has been replaced with resoluteness.

Rhaenyra had always seen echoes of her past lover, Ser Harwin Strong, in her daughter’s features and had cherished her for it. But now, watching Jaenara, she sensed a dragon’s fire within her.

“I will do it mother.” Jaenara begins, “I will do my duty, I will serve my kingdom and you as its Queen - I will wed Aemond Targaryen.”

— — —

The One Eyed Prince rises from a dreamless sleep. He remains in bed for a moment, his eye adjusting to the early morning light that had begun to creep into his bed chamber. He stares at the ceiling and wonders if today will finally be the day that an agreement would be reached. 

His half-sister and the Rogue Prince had descended upon King’s Landing on dragonback days ago. He regarded the gold and scarlet dragons with little interest. No matter, he had thought, mine is bigger. 

During their lengthy stay, Aemond observed the frenzy that had been set upon the Red Keep. A frenzy that had started after his father’s passing and had only grown. He had sat in on a few meetings between Rhaenyra, his mother, grandsire, and members of the former king’s small council. Some meetings he and Aegon had been privy to - some they were not. His elder brother did not seem at all perturbed by the prospect of his possible throne being wrenched out from under him. He understood Viserys had no intention of leaving him with the crown. And Aemond had thought that the realm was the better for it. 

Aemond and his mother had witnessed first-hand the kind of man Aegon had grown up to be. His sweet sister, Helaena, knew better than the both of them combined. It seemed the only person who wanted Aegon to sit the Iron Throne was their grandsire Otto - though he did not seek this out of the belief that his grandson could unite the realm. He only sought after a new puppet, one he could pull the strings of whichever way he pleased. 

Alicent and Rhaenyra had grown closer in the past few months before the King’s passing. Letters carried by ravens were exchanged, and now the two women almost seemed like the close childhood companions the court had once known them to be. Almost. It was still uncertain if time could truly heal all wounds.

Aemond thought his mother naive. Easily bent to the will of his half-sister. A phantom pain settles in the socket of his eye.

It was no matter now. As a second born son, Aemond had nothing to gain either way. If the gods were fair, he would have been born the eldest. And his weak, malleable father would have named him heir, rather than Rhaenyra. It was no matter now. Dwelling on fleeting possibilities would do him no good. 

Aemond is securing his leather patch over his sapphire eye when there is a rap at his door. Alicent Hightower stands before him. Dark circles sit below her eyes and loose, red curls frame her fair face. The negotiations between his half-sister and his mother’s family were taking their toll. “Your presence is needed in the council chamber. Rhaenyra and Daemon will be there, as well as Aegon and members of the small council.” She tells her son. 

“And so we finally relinquish our power,” Aemond breathes, “under what conditions?”

Alicent’s eyes drop from her son’s and she walks away without another word. 

His mother had always been a distant shroud. As a child she was wordless when he craved encouragement. Out of reach when he yearned for a motherly embrace. He tried not to blame her for this. He heard the stories that circulated the castle - of a girl who grew up without a mother of her own, forced to bring forth babes when she was not much older than one herself. 

So, he was used to her aloof nature. Though her lack of explanation at a time such as this did unnerve the prince. 

Aemond enters the council chamber where everyone else has already gathered. 

“The man of the hour!” Aegon bellows. 

Aemond regards his brother and wonders what has lifted his spirits at such an hour. Aegon delights in the misery of others, and in remembering this, Aemond feels unease.

“Aegon, enough.” Alicent is stern in her words, “Aemond, please sit.”

Prince Aemond sits opposite his half-sister Rhaenyra and her husband Daemon. Rhaenyra’s eyes rake over him, and he meets her neutral gaze with his cold one. Daemon lets out a wry chuckle at the wordless exchange. Ser Criston Cole, positioned at a corner of the chamber, stands stock still.

Alicent clears her throat and begins, “This council has come to a consensus,” Aemond looks to his mother.

“Rhaenyra…will be made to sit the Iron Throne, as King Viserys intended.” she shoots a sour look over to Otto Hightower, who sat on the far side of Aemond. Dismayed grunts and whispers circulate the chamber. “Aegon is to serve on Rhaenyra’s council. Jacaerys and Baela Velaryon are to stay here in King’s Landing. As heir, he will attend council with his mother and will make a place here.”

Aegon shifts in his seat and stares at a corner of the room, obviously bored. As if he had heard this to him recounted numerous times by now. 

“The more the merrier.” he says in a voice so low, Aemond wonders if anyone else had heard him. Aemond then wonders how his brother can be so content with relinquishing rule over the Seven Kingdoms to their sister. He hears Rhaenyra draw in a breath and his cold gaze finds hers once more.

“Aemond. We find ourselves in unprecedented times. One of the last things our father wished was for the infighting amongst his family to cease. We cannot expect the realm to watch as sister fights against brother.” She pauses and Aemond senses the hesitancy in her words. Alicent picks at the flesh around her fingernails. Rhaenyra continues.

“I only wish to unite our families and ensure that everyone has a place amidst my rule. Amongst my court. To do this…your mother sees it best to…” Aemond wishes she would just spit out her decree and be done with it. 

“I wish to wed you and my daughter, Jaenara Velaryon.”

Now that gives Aemond pause. 

Aemond had seen his niece a short time ago, when she and her family had come to King’s Landing to defend her bastard brother’s claim to the Driftmark throne. He had eyed her as Vaemond Velaryon was cut down by Daemon, intrigued by her unwavering gaze despite the horrific scene. He watched her at dinner that night, finding a smile gracing her face at times. He noted the joy she took in watching Jacaerys dance with Helaena. He felt her burn holes into him as he toasted to Jaenara and her brothers. His Strong niece and nephews, he had said. 

She despised him. And he gave her many reasons to. He did not have time to recount the enumerable times he had tormented her and her brothers during their childhood together at the Red Keep. A torment that was dealt back to him by the hands of his nephews.

Though Aemond could not deny, he held some sort of strange admiration for his niece. 

His half-sister's voice returns the prince from his thoughts. “Aemond?”

Aegon does little to suppress his glee. “What do you say, brother?” He laughs and gives him a rough slap on the back. “Will you have your bastard bride?”

Daemon Targaryen slaps a hand down on the table. “Daemon.” Rhaenyra stops her husband before he can speak or act. Aegon quiets once more, though a smug smile settles on his face.

Despite the truth in his brother’s words, Aemond takes offense to them. He found himself feeling that way more often lately, when the slights towards his niece had not been dealt by him. His thoughts return to the situation at hand. 

Aemond understands the position that he is in. This is not a request. It is a command by his new Queen. And by his mother. He considers that this may yet be a fortunate outcome for him. As the second-born brother, he has a small hope of ever sitting the throne. He had dreaded the day his mother would finally pass his hand onto the daughter of a lord that the Targaryens and Hightowers only wish to form political alliances with. Is that the only purpose children served? We are the bartering chips of our parents, he had thought bitterly. But with his niece - with Jaenara - Aemond would rule over the ancestral home of House Targaryen, and that seemed a better lot in life to have. They would retain their status. It could prove to be a comfortable position. But Aemond wondered if this is how low his family truly thought of him - to marry him off to a bastard. A so-called pure-blooded descendant of Old Valyria with hair as dark as the night. 

It was no matter now.

As Aemond considers the future that has been thrust upon him, a new thought crosses his mind. The line of succession.

Jacaerys is her heir.

And if something were to happen to his betrothed’s twin brother before he were to have an heir himself? If The Stranger were to come for the eldest male heir of the crown? Well, then Jaenara would be next in line. The realm had already accepted Rhaenyra as their ruler - surely they could come to accept another woman.

Jaenara Velaryon - or Targaryen - Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. And her King Consort:

Aemond Targaryen. 

It was hard to suppress the wry smile that began to tug on the prince’s lips. Aemond may yet use the cards he had been dealt to his own advantage. He could feel the cold steel of the Iron Throne beneath his fingers - power he may yet reach through his niece. He sat there another moment, as if still mulling over his options.

A sigh escapes him as Aemond once again meets the violet eyes of his half-sister. 

“As you wish, your Grace.” The One Eyed Prince bites. 

[creganslover]

Hiiii I’m so happy your request are open but I think a Cregan x reader would be absolutely amazing and. I’m kinda thinking like cregan x reader but they both have children from previous marriages (reader has 4 sons older than 13) and they have more children! I just love the idea of so many chaotic stark children and just there children in general and how her would navigate it! (I also love the idea of the only girls being twins and they look the opposite)

the pack survives, cregan stark x targaryen! AFAB reader

wc: 1.0k

warning/s: mentions of death, suggestive themes, slight violence(?)

note: omg... yes that man is absolutely insatiable, i tweaked it a little bit, i hope you enjoy!

GIF is not mine, credits to the owner!

Your marriage to Cregan had been… a wild ride, from both of you being widowed and happen to have children from previous marriages, it was quite the blessing of the Gods that both of your children had easily bonded with one another.

Your sons, older than three and ten, Aeryn and Daemion being the youngest had grown into tough boys, though will take the first chance they would get to butt heads together if given a chance, from where you could only let out an exasperated sigh at.

However, they had seemed to take upon their late father, as they were skilled in swordsmanship, often pairing together to train against other knights. 

Not only that, you have seen how these two boys would vye for the praise of their mother, after the loss of their father in which you were absolutely devastated with, they had now made themselves to look out for you despite their growing tasks and responsibilities, in which you were grateful for, knowing you had raised these children right. 

Now onto Cregan, he had also been widowed, left behind with children of his own as his first wife had died of childbirth, his now eldest Rickon Stark, and his youngest, Brandon Stark. Cregan deep within himself knew the life he had wished to live, Winterfell’s keep to be filled with sounds of his family, of his heirs and his wife by his side, having lived through many winters strong. 

And that’s when he was caught at the first sight of you trying to reign in your two boys from bickering, the daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen, who had been proposed to marry him, the Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell. 

Fast forward many moons, your sons had immediately bonded with Cregan’s, them being of around the same age a huge aided factor while you had relocated to Winterfell. At first, you were intimidated by Cregan’s presence, or mostly with the thought of loving again, that you had a difficult time opening up to your new husband, and Cregan felt the same, understanding that you both had been recovering from being widowed.

Surely in time, love began to blossom with the two of you, and that soon you had borne twins. Not just any twins, they were two of only your precious girls.

There was Kyra, taking after his father’s Stark features, hair as dark as chestnut brown, eyes matching Cregan’s, with its own tenderness to them. Then was Daena, taking after your Targaryen features, hair as platinum white, eyes of purple, matching your fiery gaze. 

Cregan loved both of them, possibly more than his boys yet he would not dare to voice such a thing. To add to it, Aerys, Daemion, Rickon, and Brandon would treat their only twin sisters the best, except for the brotherly teasing here and there. 

As Kyra and Daena grew, you would be by their side, supplying their curiosity for the world. Cregan often liked to take your sons, with Aerys and Daemion considering Cregan as their second father, and his own out of Winterfell often to bond over hunting or yet taking trips to the Wall where Cregan often reminded them of the importance of responsibility and duty, telling them tales of the North. 

And when they’ve come home, Cregan had always sought you first, greeting you with a tight embrace, lips finding yours, before he would subtly lean in your ear due to his towering size, murmuring of how he’d like to properly reconnect with you later at night, sending your cheeks to fill with heat, a hand coming to smack at his furs, making him chuckle deeply, looking at you with mirth in his eyes that you’ve missed to see the days he was gone. 

Then he would scout for his twin daughters after he shrugs off his cloak and armour, his sheer strength allowing him to lift both your growing toddlers in both his arms, your girls laughing and toying with Cregan’s hair and his growing stubble. 

In turn you would be then greeted by your sons, with you tutting as you messed about them, inspecting if they had any signs of strain or hurt on them, in which they grumble and complain that they were old enough to take care of themselves, but in secret loving the affection from their mother as they boasts about what they had did in their journey. 

“Thus Rickon remains unscathed after wrangling a boar with his own bare hands!” Aeryn nonchalantly commended as he leaned against the wall, crossing his arms with a smirk as he just finished getting inspected by you. Your hands froze on Daemion’s cheeks, leading them to be squashed in your hold, Daemion only looking back and forth at his mother and siblings whilst Rickon looked close enough to smack Aeryn on the head. Aeryn then realized his mistake as his chuckle died down and his eyes widened. 

Snapping your gaze to Rickon who was now sheepishly grinning but glaring at Aeryn, you were about to open your mouth when Cregan rounded, letting your daughters finally escape from his loving grasp to bother their brothers. 

“Ah, do not worry, wife, it was just a test of strength, and the boar was a mere size of a fawn at most!” Cregan said, approaching to pat his eldest Rickon on the shoulder. You sighed in relief, letting go of Daemion after a squeeze to his shoulders. “Should have seen him wrestle with it in the mud, it was unbelievable!” Daemion added. 

You looked at Cregan who only shrugged, sporting the same boyish grin you grew to love as he approached you from behind, wrapping his arms around you in which your sons now busied themselves with their little sisters, boasting their tales and trinkets they had bought for them, their voices filling the room. 

A warmth flooded within you, relaxing back into Cregan’s chest as he took in the familiar scent of you, pressing his nose against the side of your head, making you close your eyes, hands resting atop his arms as you turned your head to smile at him. “Do they ever grow tired?” You wonder.

A chuckle, “I do not think so, my wife. Not if there’s another one to follow.” He whispered playfully, rough palm resting atop your stomach through your dress. 

Oh Gods. 

[artsninspo]

FORGIVELESS - EPILOGUE - IT'S ALL LOVE 🩵

« previous part

➨ rio's library - good girl nbc

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) X Reader

Word Count: ~1.1K

Dedications: To all of you who commented and made this story feel like an active community. This happily ever after is dedicated to you 🩵

9 YEARS LATER

Leaning into your vanity you squint your eyes to assess your makeup blending skills. You’re completely out of practice these days. Your music stops playing and you see Tias name flash across the phone’s screen.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. I hope you’re ready!” She shouts over her blaring car stereo.

“Almost!” You respond, blending out your concealer.

“Alright see you soon” she shouts and you shake your head as your first born enters your bedroom. Time has blown by and it amazes you everytime you look at him how much your baby has grown. Taking all of the best parts from you and his father.

“You look pretty,” he smiles, charming as ever.

“Thank you baby” you smile, kissing his cheek and leaving a lipstick mark. He leaves it there when you go to wipe it off before laying one on you.

“But you’re gonna be back in the morning to see my soccer game right?” He asks for the third time tonight.

“Wouldn’t miss it” you promise.

“Okay, I’m going to bed now.” he nods, giving you a warm hug, nuzzling into your neck like the spoiled overgrown baby he is when his dad isnt looking.

“Sleep tight, champ” you smile, squeezing your eight year old tight.

“Love you” he says first.

“Love you too” you smile blowing him a kiss. Setting your face you remove your robe to reveal your outfit for girls night. The one you didn’t ask for but were roped into. Apparently your friends and family were tired of nights in and wanted to be outside again with you. For the sake of peace you’ve agreed. Dressed and ready you head downstairs where you find your husband with your newest edition awake in his arms and your twins out cold on the couch. His eyes drink you in the same as always, the eternal flame of desire in your relationship is too hot to burn out.

“Dont look at me like that, I have to leave soon” you warn, making him smile.

“You made mama even more gorgeous” Rio says standing with your youngest daughter, a nine month old chunk with a deep attachment to her daddy. You’re grateful for how RIo’s taken to the baby weight and your ever evolving body after 3 pregnancies and 4 children. Your babygirl coos making you smile.

“Thanks baby, I’ll call you if anything comes up. Tia should be here any minute.” You tell Rio before kissing him goodbye. He rids his lips of the lipstick, unlike his eldest son and you smile.

“When will you be home?” he probes.

“One - ish, I don’t want to be too tired during the game and I might be full” you explain touching your breasts to signify the ever present rounds of milk being produced to satisfy the baby.

“Alright” Rio nods, kissing the top of your head.

“Ugh, Christopher get off of her. Four kids is enough!” Tia says looking in from the screen door. Laughing, you unlock the door and she heads straight to the baby.

“Mommy you’re gonna be with me tomorrow” Tia coos, making your youngest smile. “Hello Christopher” she says acknowledging who’s holding the baby.

“You don’t start no fights or get too drunk. My wife isn’t rowdy like you” Rio warns getting to business.

“If she can handle your ass, she’ll be fine” Tis says fanning him off with her quick wit.

“Love you, night” you wave before leaving. Your marriage turned out to be even more than you knew you wanted. Rio hadn’t tied you down. Marrying him felt like being set free. Although, lately your girls begged to differ. You were knee deep in mom-life. Eight, four and nine months. Four kids are no joke and they occupy your weekdays and weekends. You’re always ready to cut out of adult only functions to spend time with them. Rio’s an incredible father too. Patient with perseverance. There’s nothing he won’t do for them, nothing too lowly to his attention. He’s a hands-on father that’s present for his family. Looking down he finds his daughter pouting.

“I know I don’t like it either” he tells her, looking at the sleeping twins.

At the club you feel the bass and smile watching the girls dance around you. You move along to the rhythm with them having a great time. You can’t remember the last time you were in a club without Rio. It had to be before you met him. Tia dances, putting on a show and summoning more male attention than you’re comfortable with. You laugh watching your friends try to settle the men down and check your watch to see you’ve lost track of time. It’s 12:30. Looking at Tia there’s no way she’s letting up anytime soon. 

“Want to dance” a man with a muscular physique says, reminding you of James.

“No” you tell him plainly causing him to walk away.

“You got your husbands I’ll kill you face down pat” Marisol jokes.

“He’s rubbed off on me.” You admit as the song changes. Marisol is something off the clock, she gets the rowdiest of all the girls. You guess listening to people’s problems all day will do that to you. Stepping out of the thick of it you head to the bar to get a virgin cocktail of your choosing.

“Virgin?” You hear after telling the bartender your order. You turn to see your husband seated beside you. He pays as the bartender slides you your drink. You have a million questions. But you relax.

“Mhm?” You nod sipping the drink with your eyes fixed on him.

“Are you sober or something?” He asks pretending to be a stranger. It reminds you of your first ever conversation all those years ago.

“Mother, I need to be clear headed” you correct over the music.

“Baby daddy let you out looking that good?” Rio says checking you out.

“Husband” you flash your rings. Rio pretends to be surprised at the size of the rings he put on your finger.

“Making money like that he’s probably a stiff fuck” Rio says, still the kind of spontaneity.

Shrugging you play along. “Can’t complain.”

“Well I think you’re sexy and with rings like that I know you have good pussy. Let me take you to a hotel huh. We can have a little fun and you can go play mom in the morning?” Rio says making you smile.

“You’re unbelievable,” you laugh.

“You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving you alone looking like that” he responds shamelessly.

“Why not?” You relent, unfolding your arms. “But you better not catch feelings, my husband is crazy” you agree continuing the charade.

“Can’t blame him” Rio says following suit.

“Ughhh” you hear behind you and find Tia hating.

“Don’t be like that!” You laugh heading out with your man. Hand in hand with Rio you head to your car. The G-Wagon is now an Escalade, because of the kids. When Rio takes the exit towards your favourite hotel you settle in your seat grateful for your life now. Thankful your first husband didn't keep you from the man of your dreams.

FIN

Author's Note: How's that for happily ever after my loves? I kept my promise and spoiled you like Rio. Shoutout to all the commenters and reblogers - you’re the real MVP’s and the story’s muses. If you enjoyed the Happy ending let me know. Sad to be finishing up with this story, but happy it's completed and something you all have enjoyed. You can also read the story on WATTPAD

TAGS: @meadows5 @wnbweasley @becauseimher @ariiaeltheedonn @woahthatshitfat @miniaturehideoutmentality @kokobells @ffenthusiastt @sowhatariyana @1xtral1983 @theegoddessofmelanin @fictionalreads @roxytheimmortal

[yanderes-galore]

Fandom: HOTD

Character: Aemond Targaryen

Pairing: Romantic

Type of fic: Concept

Extra info: I was thinking reader could be Rhaenyra's daughter, whether she's the oldest child or not is up to you, but she's definitely related to Jace and Luke (thought that her being a bastard could be a way to have Aemond conflicted about his feelings, at least early on).

Also, to add insult to injury, I thought she could take Rhaenyra's side instead of the greens- that way Alicent would definitely never allow him to marry reader lol,, but that's just a suggestion of course

-🥝 anon :P

Side note: your posts are what got me into hotd in the first place🤎🤎

I love Aemond sm. I may not write him the best, but he is a favorite Targaryen of mine. Here you go! Also, I'm so happy I got another person into HOTD ^^ I love ASOIAF a ton.

Yandere! Aemond Targaryen with Rhaenyra's Daughter! Darling

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Targcest (You're both half Targaryen), Obsession, Manipulation, Possessive behavior, Jealousy, Violence, Murder, Blood, Kidnapping, Forced marriage, Angst, Swearing, Mature themes, Forced relationship.

What comes to mind is definitely you being around the same age of Jace, if not a bit older.

You're a Strong bastard like your brothers, you were never blind to the idea.

Your mother may say it isn't true, but you are aware of your true parentage.

Maybe you're the older sister of Jace and Luke, or maybe even a twin of Jace.

Either way, there's a natural animosity between you and Alicent's children.

Especially with Aemond and your brothers.

When you were younger, you were aware your brothers would pick on Aemond.

Hell, Aemond's older brother Aegon even picked on him for not having a dragon.

Such a thing hurt the young prince's ego.

After all, even Rhaenyra's bastards got dragons.

Including you.

There's so much angst that can come from a pairing like this.

Maybe you didn't necessarily hate Aemond when you were younger.

Not until he took Vhagar, at least.

While Aemond knew what you were, you seemed to be the only one not to bully him.

Maybe it was because you weren't a boy, or because you were older and knew better...

But Aemond never fully hated you.

When you were all living in the Red Keep, you two playing with one another was a common sight.

Even though your mothers hated it.

You two originally got along... Aemond might've even experienced puppy love towards you.

As said before, he knows you're the eldest bastard daughter of Rhaenyra...

He shouldn't love you.

You're no pure Targaryen and he can tell your father isn't Velaryon.

But, being young, he felt you were the nicest lady he knew.

There's no big animosity until the Vhagar and Luke incident.

You were away at the time, unaware of the trouble the boys got into.

Only to hear Luke slashed Aemond's eye out... and Aemond took Vhagar as his dragon.

You no doubt wanted to check on Aemond, worried for him.

However, Alicent refuses such a thing.

Rhaenyra also keeps you from Aemond and Aegon.

There's a ton of volatility in your family... The safest option for a lady like you was Dragonstone with your family.

It's there your mother marries Daemon, and you're left to interact with just Jacaerys and Lucerys.

You may have even tried to send ravens to speak with Aemond.

Yet even those were intercepted.

As you can tell, Aemond being obsessed with you is... problematic.

Your mothers keep you away from each other due to what happened with Luke.

Pretty soon you may even adopt the animosity your brothers hold towards Aemond.

You haven't seen him in years and Jace is adamant on hating him.

After all, he hurt Luke, and he has no respect for your mother or the fact you're bastards.

Eventually... You accept those ideals.

Even if Aemond's feelings for you... weren't quite what you expected.

Aemond would feel conflicted when he notices his feelings haven't died down.

It's been years since you followed your mother to Dragonstone and his puppy love... isn't puppy love, it seems.

It's mostly conflicting because it isn't as easy as 'ask mother and father for a betrothal'.

His mother hates Rhaenyra and her children.

She wouldn't understand why Aemond has adoration for the sister of his attacker.

He should hate you.

Perhaps, in a way, he does hold resentment.

Although it's less towards you... and more towards everyone else.

I feel at first, there's rumors of a betrothal between Aemond and you.

It's all a way to mend the cracks in your family.

Originally marrying you to Aegon is discussed, eldest to eldest.

Yet that idea is shot down, leading to the possibility of Aemond marrying you.

It's no doubt discussed over a family dinner you're invited to.

Aemond may even try to encourage his mother to marry you to him.

Bastard or not... Aemond's loved you since childhood.

He tried to ignore it for a long time.

He even wondered if he wanted you close for revenge against your brothers.

Although, when he saw you enter the dining room in that dress no doubt picked out for you...

It only reminded him that you and him were once close... when no one else was.

You knew him when he was young, vulnerable, always picked on with no dragon in sight.

Now Aemond is a skilled swordsman and dragon rider, meant to protect his elder brother.

He didn't need your protection anymore...

Yet he still craved your comfort.

He doesn't care if his mother or your mother looks down on it...

He wants you.

The idea of betrothal between you and Aemond is considered briefly.

Viserys likes the idea, Rhaenyra is willing to go through with it... yet Alicent refuses.

The news sends Aemond into a... brooding mood.

To the point he even picks a fight over Jace and Luke at dinner.

He calls them bastards, both out of hate for losing his eye...

Along with the fact he never got to have you, all while you look all pretty in front of him.

All the young princes and princesses are separated and you begin to hate Aemond more...

Yet he continues to love you.

Even when you sit in the royal gardens to clear your head, Aemond can't help but watch you from the entryway.

He no doubt knows you hate him.

You've always been protective of your siblings... and Aemond outed all three of you as Strong children.

Maybe Aemond even tries to approach you, to talk to you.

It's been years yet you meet him with a glare.

His fault, really.

He sits by you, admits he missed you, he never meant to hurt you specifically...

He may even admit he wishes the betrothal went through.

You ignore most of his words, even when he tries to sit closer.

He's sorry... to only you...

He wants you as his.

He wants his mother to change her mind.

But you merely say you're not meant to be...

Making you leave soon after, as Aemond watches you through his one good eye.

Why won't you love him again... Is it because of your family...?

Did you ever truly love him?

Things only seem to get worse when Vhagar kills Luke, and war efforts begin.

While Aemond is The Greens most skilled warrior and dragon rider, he's vulnerable when it comes to love.

Like Aegon, he can be vulnerable in private.

He thinks of you often alone in his chambers.

Truthfully... He craves your comfort, the same comfort you gave him when you were young kids.

He wishes you would have joined him in matrimony... then you could be a Green.

Yet instead, like the loyal daughter you are, you believe mother knows best.

So you stay beside your mother and Jace, looking at The Greens with disdain.

You ride a dragon of your own, much smaller than Vhagar, but a dragon nonetheless.

Imagine if sometime after he fights Rhaenys and burns his brother... He finds you.

He finds your dragon on an escort mission, riding above men sided with The Blacks.

Imagine if Aemond decides, if he wants you, he's going to have to catch you.

Your dragon isn't as strong as Vhagar, it's an unfair fight, really.

The men you're escorting end up being burned alive by Vhagar.

The smell of burning hair and screaming comes from horses and men alike.

Much to your dismay and fear... as you know this beast killed your brother.

Aemond is careful when dealing with you.

He makes Vhagar knock you off your dragon.

Your dragon screeches as Vhagar's large head rams it in the air.

You end up falling off your dragon, thinking you're going to fall to your death...

Only for Aemond to capture you.

He catches you on Vhagar's back, securing you to him with an arm.

You can struggle... but that's a long drop.

"Hello, love..." Aemond purrs, his eye watching you with desire. "It's been a while...."

Your dragon will only be spared if you behave.

You become a prisoner of war, your dragon locked in the Dragonpit.

Aemond originally has you kept in a cell while he plays the role of king for his injured brother.

However, eventually, you see him enter the dungeons with a proposition.

"Be mine... and I'll let you out."

You can hold out as long as you can...

But you never had much of a choice.

Aemond will make you his bride this way.

His mother may protest, but she can't fight him this time.

The Greens need another dragon rider.

With you tied to Aemond through marriage... He'll get what he's wanted for years... and another dragon to command.

Aemond seems intimidating, especially in power.

Although, in private, when he encourages you to sleep in his chambers.

He's soft.

He treats you like he did when you were kids.

He commands you to lay on his bed, while he curls up in your lap.

Aemond loves you more than any other.

You may be his prisoner, this may be forced...

Yet he's his happiest when you two are finally married.

He's gentle as he can be during your eventual consummation...

But his grip is tight enough to remind you of your position.

Aemond tore you from your family, made you his bride...

Now he wants you to bear his heirs.

You're unhappy, you hate this and miss your mother.

Unfortunately, This will be your fate sooner or later.

Despite Aemond's soft affection and loving words while he cuddles you close... You know better...

You're a trophy, a prisoner of war, a hostage...

You're a possession now bound to him through marriage... all his, forever and always.

[huramuna]

downpour - oneshot.

modern aegon ii targaryen x nanny reader minors dni, you will be smited.

this is for @targaryen-dynasty sleepover challenge 🤭 i got the babysitter au + the prompt 'why so shy?' i had so much fun with this, modern aegon is a menace and also a sopping wet cat.

word count: 4.5k

content: smutty smut smut (specifics under cut), aegon being a little shit (we love it), saltburn spoilers (lol), allusions to drug / alcohol abuse and rehabilitation, mullet aegon, jaehaera and jaehaerys are hel's kids but they have an unnamed / unrelated father, gratuitous use of song lyrics, probably a touch of power imbalance because of her job

murder on the dance floor - sophie ellis-bexter

warnings: oral (m receiving), face slapping w/ cock, degradation, dirty talk (this man never shuts up), face fucking / deepthroat, cum on face

“Jaehaerys! Jaehaera! Please don’t run in the house with muddy boots!” you called fervently, trying to collapse the umbrella with one hand, two teddy bears slung in the other. 

“We won’t!” they both called in unison, followed by the unmistakable sound of muddy galoshes squeaking over the marble floor. You suppressed the urge to groan as you entered the exquisite home through the french doors that led to the backyard. 

“Boots off, little ones!” you called again, kicking off your own shoes in a haste to catch the gremlins before they tracked grime all over madam Alicent’s home. You had been working at the Targaryen estate for the better part of a year as a live-in nanny for Lady Alicent’s two grandchildren– twins, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. It was a wonderful job for the most part, as the twins were a delight and you had grown to have a strong friendship with their mother, Helaena. She was a bit dreamy-eyed and wistful, but was a wonderful mother nonetheless, even if she did have her melancholic days. 

The estate was huge and ancient, passed down from generations through Helaena’s father’s side, which was apparently a near royal bloodline from days long foregone. Viserys Targaryen, the father in question, was hardly ever home. He managed the family business (whatever it may be, you didn’t find it in you to ask– all you knew is that they were dirty rich) with his other daughter, Rhaenyra, from his first marriage. He had four children with Alicent, Helaena being the only one of the brood to still live at home.

 You’d met two of the others as well; Aemond, a lawyer in the family business who was, in short, all business and no play. He never regarded you, really, besides a quick glance or stiff nod. He had, however, slipped you a eight-thousand dollar bonus at Christmas time with a simple card that read;

Thank you for taking care of the twins and my sister. And keeping my mother sane.

- A.T

The other sibling, Daeron, was the youngest of the bunch, visited usually during holidays, as he constantly was studying abroad. ‘Sowing his wild oats’, as Helaena had put it. He was cordial to you and very much had a boyish charm, and Helaena loved to joke that he had a crush on you. When he had come home for New Year’s, he brought you a souvenir from Iceland, an authentic lopapeysa sweater, made from wool and sewn with a beautiful geometric design. 

“Awh, Daeron wants you to stay warm, lovey,” Helaena teased. 

“I-It’s just– her hands are always so cold, a-and the wool is supposed to help keep warm! The inner layer is insulating.” Daeron had stammered, the tips of his ears growing red. 

“Uncle Daeron has a brush!” Jaehaera squeaked, her words whistling through her tooth gap, she’d lost her first baby tooth just the week before.

“A crush, he’s got a crush!” Jaehaerys corrected softly. 

Alicent thought the whole thing very amusing.

That left one child you hadn’t met. You didn’t know much about him aside from small bits of conversation you’d picked up on between the rest of the family. Aegon. The eldest of all of them, and apparently the troublemaker of the bunch. You knew what he looked like from the portraits– blonde hair like the rest but with severely more bags under his eyes. Upon entering the home, one would see the chronological order of family portraits. 

It starts with Viserys, Alicent, and baby Aegon; the latter of whom is happy and chubby and bubbly. 

Then, it moves to the three of them, plus baby Helaena, with her wide blue-eyed stare at the camera. Aegon is still happy.

The next one adds the addition of baby Aemond– there is a glint of sentience in Aegon’s eyes, but he hasn’t experienced the crushing blows of reality yet.

You weren’t exactly sure, but as he got older, he became more morose– more bags, less light in his eyes. Then came the ear piercings, the tattoos, the head shaving, the bloodshot in the whites of his eyes. The portraits ended with this past year’s Christmas photo. Aegon was noticeably missing from it. You’d heard during one of Alicent’s phone conversations with her father that Aegon was in rehabilitation for a myriad of issues, and looking at his photos, you could only guess which one was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

A particularly harsh clap of thunder broke you from your thoughts, coming back to yourself. You scooped up Jaehaera before she stepped on the carpet with the muddy shoes. “C’mon, let's get cleaned up for lunch, yeah? What do we want for lunch today, lovies?” 

“Grilled cheese n’ tomato soup.”

“No! I want mac n’ cheese.” 

The squabbling ensued, the twins arguing back and forth for a few moments before you butt in. “Alright, how about– whoever gets the floor the cleanest and puts their galoshes by the washroom the fastest gets to pick?” 

The twins squealed in delight as they absconded from your sight, effectively going to do your bidding for you. You would, however, just end up making both meals anyway. As you moved to the kitchen, the sound of the doorbell rang. You bustled to the door, not sure who to expect– there weren’t many roving visitors in and out of the estate unless Alicent was explicitly expecting company– which you had triple checked the calendar when you woke up that morning.

You opened the door, expecting to see a debutante or someone of Alicent’s social circle– ‘twas not the case. You recognized him immediately, seeing his mother’s face in his own. Aegon. He was muddy, dirt flecks splashed on his face as he stood under the stoop trying to get away from the pouring rain. His face was a bit healthier than you’d seen it, the dark circles were still there, but not as prominent. It was like a gloomy day, rather than a full blown storm under his eyes. He had the wisps of a beard starting on his jawline, and his hair was cut into a makeshift mullet, longer in the back.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asked, hands in his pockets. 

“Erm– the… the nanny. For the children.” you stammered, his tone catching you off guard. You glanced behind him, seeing a beat up dirt bike caked in mud– that was probably how he got here. 

“A nanny? You’re a bit young for that, yeah? My nanny’s were all wrinkly old prunes.” 

“Oh– uhm, come in, Mr. Targaryen.” 

He perked a brow at the name, but didn’t say anything. He beat the bottom of his boots on the doormat, which didn’t accomplish much. He immediately began to track mud on the floor. “Mum home? Hel?” 

“Lady Alicent is… upstairs,” you offered, following behind him at a quick pace. “Helaena is taking a nap– the storm–” 

“Yeah, I know ‘bout Hel’s issues with storms. Don’t need to tell me twice. So, you got a name, or are you just the nanny?” 

You gave him your name as you glanced at the clock– it was almost time for the children’s lunch and you hadn’t even put it on the stove yet! 

“Got any food around here? Fuckin’ famished.” he added then as he nosed around the kitchen, hands still in his pockets. 

“I’m just about to make lunch for the twins– uhm, I can make you something too if you’d like.” you walked past him, quickly putting some pots on the stove and starting the gas. You and the twins were on a strict schedule, and if they didn’t get their lunch on time, they would turn into hellions. 

“Sure. Whatever the kids are having. I’m not picky.” Aegon waved his hand behind his head as he disappeared from the kitchen and clomped up the stairs, likely to speak with his mother. You fretted for Alicent’s mental state once that was done, and you felt even guiltier for not giving her a heads up.

As the tomato soup heated on the stove and the water began to boil for the macaroni, you unlocked your phone– you were curious about Aegon and why he’d come back, exactly. Well, of course, besides the fact that he lived here (or did, at some point) he was still supposed to be in rehab for another three months. You went to instagram, rolling your eyes as you saw that his profile was on ‘suggested for you to follow!’ 

You clicked to his most recent photo, the first that he’d posted in over a year.

“Jesus christ,” you muttered under your breath as you put down your phone on the counter to stir the soup. 

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” Aegon teased behind you. When the fuck had he gotten there? “Soup n’ mac and cheese?”

“Tomato soup and grilled cheese for Jaehaera, mac and cheese for Jaehaerys.” you responded plainly, trying not to notice that he was practically breathing down your neck. You glanced over as he leaned on the counter, where you had left your phone. Unlocked. Like an idiot. On his instagram page.

“Curious about me, are you? I’m surprised you haven’t heard enough about me from my mum.” 

“I don’t like to pry into Lady Alicent’s affairs–” 

“I wouldn’t consider myself an affair, more like a one time fling, eh?” Aegon snorted, grabbing your phone. It took every fiber of your being to not break all sense of decorum you held to snatch it back from him. “You’re not following me– let’s change that,” he mused, beginning to scroll through your page now. “Lots of pictures of the kids here– ooh, a trip to the seaside. There’s no pictures of you on here, eh? Only of… my family n’ other stupid shit, like the ocean.” 

“I’m a live-in nanny, sir,” you grit out, stirring the soup with more force than necessary. You consider yourself a patient person, and have become accustomed to how people in the Targaryen’s circle made their jabs. High society and filthy rich people had their own language of insults– ones that you wouldn’t realize they were insulting you until much, much later. It was like a game with a slow burning poison. But Aegon, apparently, was different. There was nothing meticulous about his jabs, no filter, no slow burning poison. It was all punch and sting, like a bite from a rabid dog rather than a viper. “I usually attend family trips.”

“Live-in, huh?” he drawled, his arm leaning over the counter in such a laissez-faire manner that you could feel yourself scowling. “Don’t get much action then, I take it? Let’s see if there’s any nudie judies on here, then…” 

“N-no!” you broke then, all sense of manners flying out of your body as you struggled to take back your phone.

“Why so shy? Got something on here you don’t want me to see?” he staved you off, a hand planted firmly on your shoulder as he scrolled through your photos, making all sorts of gaudy faces. You didn’t really have anything overtly scandalous, maybe a few lingerie shots for an old boyfriend.

“Aegon, leave her alone. Give her back her phone.” Alicent’s voice cut through the room like a knife, stunning both of you.

He sheepishly gave you back your phone as she crooked a finger to her son, ushering him to a room on the farther side of the house. 

As you fed the twins their lunch, you overheard some yelling, arguing and heated voices. You only saw Aegon later when going to your room to get ready for bed. His eyes were teary and red. 

— 

The next few weeks went by with some normalcy— everything was as usual, except it was like you had a third child to care for; Aegon. Except this child didn’t listen at all and had terrible habits. He was constantly flirting with you, but also would weave in jabs at the same time— you couldn’t quite tell if he even liked you or not. Not that it mattered, anyway.

You were sneaking in your own lunch one afternoon, eating scraps from the twin’s lunch while they napped— basically just the crust you cut off of the grilled cheese and the small bit of soup left in the pot. 

“You eat like a mouse.” Aegon said, always managing to be there to annoy you. 

“Too much food makes me tired— I won’t be able to keep up with them if I’m sluggish.” 

“Could always drink a red bull or a monster, instead.” he offered, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it in the kitchen. 

“You shouldn’t do that inside. It’s bad for the children’s lungs. Lady Alicent says—,” 

“Well, it’s my fuckin’ house too, innit? I can smoke in here if I well and bloody like,” he growled, exhaling a puff of smoke into your face. “My mum must be paying you extra to be my nanny too, then? The way you’re up my ass all the time.” he flicked ash in your direction. 

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest. He was goading you, baiting you into a reaction. He was being insufferable on purpose. You could tell by his pearly white smile he currently had plastered to his face, like a smug little— 

“Never had a nanny so pretty, though,” he continued. “If I asked real nice, would you feed me soup? Dress me up? Give me a bath if I’m real dirty?” he got closer and you could smell him— the smell of marlboro reds and cheap aftershave that had become synonymous with Aegon blew out your senses until it was all consuming.

Your mouth parted as you tried to think of some witty response, some barb, some jab— but nothing came out. You just huffed and turned away from him in an attempt to hide your red cheeks. Why were you blushing? 

You could practically hear the cockiness ooze from him, his mouth perked into a cheeky smile as he stole one of the crusts. He knew he’d gotten to you. 

—

It’d now been over a month since Aegon moved back home and the building tension between you two hadn’t let up a bit— you constantly felt trapped and elated all at once. When you saw him, your chest fluttered slightly in anxiety and anticipation. What was wrong with you? 

It was a dark, gloomy day. The seasonal storms were in full swing, pelting the estate in rain and hail. Alicent, Helaena, and the twins were out on an escapade to Alicent’s father’s house— you guessed Aegon hadn’t gone. But, it was a huge house, so surely you could enjoy some of your time off without seeing him? 

A rumble of thunder shook the house, rattling its constitution— and then the lights flickered. Flickered… flickered… then… out. It was dark, then, even with your window shades open. You turned on your phone flashlight and tiptoed out of your room, going to see if perhaps you could smack the backup generator into working. 

You hadn’t expected to work today, nor see anyone, as Alicent had given you the day off. So, you were subsequently dressed in your pajamas— a hilariously oversized Bass Pro Shop shirt (a gift from your dad in America) and cat-patterned sleeping shorts. Your toes cracked and creeped on the floorboards with each movement, and to your chagrin, as you passed Aegon’s door, it opened. He was wearing a shirt that said “MILF: Man I love Fishing”, with just his boxer briefs on, which didn’t seem to bother him at all. 

“Oh. You’re still here.” 

“Yes?” 

“Sorry, thought you were gone with the rest. Sad, I can’t do the Saltburn thing now.” 

“The… what?” 

“The Saltburn thing? Dance around the empty mansion to myself with my cock out.” 

“What.” you responded with the most deadpan tone.

“Dance… with my cock out?” he repeated.

“No– I know what you said– but why?” 

“Why not?” 

You rolled your eyes, shifting the conversation. “So, the power is out– uhm, do you know where the backup generator is?” 

“In the wine cellar. Nifty, huh?” 

“... the… wine cellar. I can’t say I’ve been down there yet.”

“I know it like the back of my hand, c’mon then. I’m sure I can kick the old gen in the nads and get it to work.” Aegon said with surprising confidence, turning on his phone’s flashlight and half blinding you. 

You followed behind him, to which he hummed ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’ while doing a half-assed dance, apparently from some movie that was definitely something you hadn’t watched– you don’t remember the last time you watched a movie that wasn’t geared towards the twins. 

“So basically… he had the whole mansion to himself, and then he dances through it with his cock out, hanging massive brain, y’know? It's murder on the dance floor, you better not kill the groove,” he imitates the dance, sprawling his arms out in the doorway to the wine cellar and shaking his bottom a bit, which was, admittedly, nicely fit in his snug boxer briefs. You felt a strange heat flush to your cheeks.

“And this… is a… what? Comedy?” 

“Well, categorically no– I’m not a film aficionado. I guess it could be considered a psychological thriller, but I thought it was pretty funny,” he stopped before continuing into the cellar. “It gets pretty hairy in here, so stick close, okay? Ever seen The Conjuring?” 

“... yes, actually. Horror movies are kind of my favorite.” 

“Ah, a girl after my own heart,” he mused. “Well, think of the basement in that movie, but instead of a bunch of old useless shit, it’s a bunch of old wine.”

“And… instead of ghosts?” 

“Oh, there’s definitely ghosts.” 

“... what.” 

“Yeah, estate is haunted. You haven’t noticed?” 

“Shut up.” you murmured. You were a huge fan of horror movies while simultaneously being a huge chicken shit when it came to scary things– you were prone to hiding your face before the big jumpscare or running up the stairs from the kitchen when it was dark, just in case something was chasing you– and your feet had to be covered by the blanket at all times when sleeping.

“Aww, you scared?” Aegon teased, turning to you.

“I mean– ghosts are scary. Of course!” you offered sheepishly, pulling up the collar of your oversized shirt to cover your nose and mouth in an almost hiding manner– a nervous habit of yours. 

“I’ll keep you safe, love, no worries about that.” 

“... that’s what they always say, right? Then they totally leave behind their girlfriends to get stabbed by the killer or… eaten by the monster.”

“You my girlfriend now?” he asked, that stupidly annoying and somehow charming smug energy exuding off of him in waves. 

“Shut up.” you grumbled as you both approached the generator. It was covered in dust and hadn’t been touched or tended to in a long time, it looked like. “Do… you know what you’re doing?” you asked Aegon tentatively, watching as he inspected it.

“Me? Oh, fuck no. I never know what I’m doing, honestly,” he shrugged, giving the metal box a kick and haphazardly pressing some buttons. “No dice, sweetheart. ‘Spose you’ll have to dance in the dark with me for a bit longer, huh? But, if there's a ghost, you'll be... ghost food, or whatever.” 

You pinched your brow in annoyance. “I don’t understand you.” 

“What’s there to understand? I’m a pretty open book, you know.”

“No– you aren’t. You flirt with me but also… insult me? I don’t get it.”

“It’s called teasing– picking? Picking on? Getting the goat?” 

“What? So, like a little boy pulling a girl’s pigtails on the playground because he likes her? That makes absolutely no sense, Aegon.” 

“If you spend your time trying to find a reason for it, you’ll go insane. Why not just enjoy the point of it? I like you.” he breathed, suddenly very close to you. He set his phone aside on top of the generator, flashlight up. It illuminated the walls of wine and cast shadows of cobwebs and dust all around the both of you.

“What?” 

“Are you deaf– I. Like. You.” he repeated, his knees bumping yours as you were practically glued together, your back now against the ancient stone wall.

Your lips parted as you inhaled a breath– okay, you weren’t exactly expecting him to say that, or even like you at all– you figured the flirting was all hot air, a defense mechanism, something for fun, not… real. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you became all too aware of the fact that you hadn’t been touched since you got this job, maybe even before that– and your previous boyfriends never made you feel… flustered like this. You couldn’t form words as he, uncharacteristically cautiously, put his hand on your cheek. He was so close, so close– his body heat mingled with your inherent coldness and warmed you instantly. You weren’t sure what came over you, but you leaned forward, slotting your lips against his. What the actual fuck were you doing– you were kissing your boss’ son, her notoriously bad mannered, foul mouthed, sloven slob of a son, and you liked it. Your hand instantly went to the back of his head, fingers grazing through his choppy curls– even giving them an experimental tug, which he seemed to enjoy, by the indication of something poking you in your thigh. 

His lips moved against yours like a dance, and you couldn’t get the fucking song he was singing earlier out of your head– It’s murder on the dancefloor– you grasped at his hip, it was fleshy and pleasant, the tips of your finger slipping under the elastic of his briefs– But you better not kill the groove– his hands were exploring, too, under your stupid Bass Pro shop shirt, groping at your breasts with reckless abandon – If you think you're getting away, I will prove you wrong – the heat rose in your body until you couldn’t take it any longer, the two of you were practically eating each other alive in this dank, dusty cellar and it was undoubtedly the hottest experience of your life – I'll take you all the way, boy, just come along – your lips parted for a moment, still connected by a string of saliva, bridging the gap between the two of you – Hear me when I say, hey –

“On your knees for me, love?” he asked, his voice suddenly so deep and husky, his thumb skimming over your collarbone. 

You fell to your knees for him so quickly– how pathetic. He wriggled down his briefs, already leaking at the fat tip of his cock. He wasn’t overly long, but he was girthy, like a beer can. Your eyes widened, which he must’ve noticed, as his face was plastered with a shit-eating grin. Your mind immediately went to an image of a so-called ‘American delicacy’ (your father’s words, not yours) called Beer can chicken, in which a can of beer is shoved in the ass end of a chicken and grilled. It is apparently as delicious as it is horrifying. Your throat bobbed as you surveyed it, a tentative hand around the base. He shook his head, prying your hand from him.

“Nope, mouth only. Open up, be a good girl.” Aegon muttered, looking down at you, the light of his phone flashlight illuminating him from below– he looked like a God. Or maybe a devil. 

Your mouth parted as his hand guided you forward. You wholly expected him to nestle in your mouth, but he surprised you with a slap to your face with his cock. It didn’t hurt, just caused you to yelp in surprise. He smeared some of the pre-come across your cheek, then slapped the head of his length on your waiting tongue. It was somewhat degrading, what he was doing– but it lit a goddamn fire under your ass, the neurons of depravity in your body, wherever they may lie, were alight with each nasty little gesture Aegon gave you, before he finally slid home. It stretched out your mouth, prodding at the back of your throat. 

“What would everyone else think, hm? If they knew you were such a fuckin’ slut.” he growled, gathering your hair in his fist like it owed him money, beginning to fuck himself into your mouth, careful to pay attention to your body language to make sure he wasn’t working you over too much. He made sure to be extra careful with his toys, rather than break them.

Tears welled, spilling down your face as you let him use you, degrade you– and yet, he also praised you.

“–such a good girl for me–”

“–you can take a little more, there you go–”

“–prettiest throat I’ve ever fucked–”

You felt like you were on fire, set ablaze by arousal you’d never experienced before– was this what they sang songs about? Dirty, borderline pornographic songs but the point still stood.

You had to chalk it up to the barometric pressure of the storm, right? Aegon wasn’t your type— your type was… well-adjusted, non-addicts, non-bad boy, non-troublemakers. Aegon was the antithesis of what you were into. 

And yet— you were into him. You were into him in a pathetic, pitiful way. It made you cringe to think about but you couldn’t resist his puppy dog eyes, nor could you forget the way he was whimpering— fucking whimpering! You squeezed your thighs together slightly at the sound of it, at the blurry-eyed, teary sight of him looking down at you on your knees, eyes half lidded. 

He pulled out with a particularly throaty grunt, painting your face in his unnaturally warm seed, somehow careful enough not to get it in your eyes– small mercies. Your lungs inflated with oxygen once more as you caught your breath, trying to gather yourself. You felt the swathe of cloth over your face as Aegon cleaned you up with his ‘MILF: Man I Love Fishing’ shirt, which he had apparently taken off. 

“You good?”

You nodded slowly as he helped you to your feet, brushing off your knees with the clean part of his shirt. 

“Um– so,” he still held onto you, as if he was afraid you’d run away. “Do you want to watch a movie with me later, when the power is back on? Like, actually watch it– I won’t fuck your face, I promise.” 

“... are you asking me on a date?”

“Umm… yeah. I think.”

“Maybe we could watch Saltburn?” you offered with a shrug.

–

“Your mum texted me,” you whispered. “The bridge is temporarily washed out from the storm, they won’t be back ‘til tomorrow.”

“Do you know what that means?” Aegon said, suddenly giddy. You both had just finished watching Saltburn, and you finally understood what the ‘Saltburn thing’ was. 

“You know your mum has like ten security cameras set up around the house, right?” 

“Okay… and?”

“I’m not dancing naked in the hallway, Aegon.” 

“How about just in my room? Please?” 

You gave a sigh, beginning to take your clothes off.

“Siri, play ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’ by Sophie Ellis-Bextor.”

‘Okay. Now playing ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’ by Sophie Ellis-Bextor, as featured in Saltburn.’

It's murder on the dancefloor!

But you better not kill the groove, hey-hey, hey-hey!

It's murder on the dancefloor.

But you better not steal the moves.

DJ, gonna burn this goddamn house right down.

[gia-batmm-crickle22]

What If! Pokeweed Married King Peppy? AU

First up is Prince John Dory

Like I said on the run down, John Dory is still Pokeweed and Stargrass's son, but he came a bit earlier, thus ending their marriage and having Pokeweed marry King Peppy instead (for the money and power mainly). He takes John with him because he just doesn't like him and doesn't want him to be happily raised by Stargrass. He was heavily abused by all of his siblings from King Peppy except for Poppy, who hatched after Pokeweed's death. And while Pokeweed abused him, King Peppy treated him like his very own.

Also, in this AU, he adopts Cooper when he finds him.

--

Next up is Lord Bruce

Bruce is King Peppy's eldest child and was crowned King before the Great Escape. He was a terrible brother to John, influenced by Pokeweed and his jealousy for his older brother. He treated him like dirt and when he was younger and even when he was King, believing that he was only lucky to be living with them.

His perspective changed after dating and marrying Brandy. He also didn't return to his tribe because he wanted to stay with Brandy. His wife opened his eyes to the faults he did in his past, and he wants to make up for every abuse and insult he inflicted onto John (who accepts his apology in a heartbeat).

--

Next up is King Clay

Clay is King Peppy's second eldest son and was crowned King after the Great Escape. He was the worst brother to John Dory, always believing that he was nothing but a mistake. After Bruce and Viva were missing, he did nothing but blame John for not protecting their siblings and had even attempted to have him executed just because he was alive and with the tribe and Bruce and Viva weren't. All attempts failed because of King Peppy defending him, which only fueled Clay's anger towards John Dory.

He is also Viva's twin brother but he is older. He is the one who looks most likely Pokeweed and is greatly feared by many of his people, including John Dory. He couldn't kill his half-brother, so he just sent him to his room in the Fungeon (it was built earlier) to not see his face. He had him moved to an actual room after Cooper was taken in though.

--

Next is Duchess Viva

Viva is King Peppy's elder daughter and was one of the one separated with the Putt Putt Trolls. She is the worst sister to John Dory and had even tried setting up traps wherever John walked to have him caught in an "accident", not to kill him, but enough to maim him, but John always seemed to avoid them. She stopped after Bruce was king because Peppy often caught her trying to set up traps and would scold her.

She is also Clay's twin sister, but she rules the Putt Putt Trolls with ease. The vibes she gave were more encouraging than Clay's, similar to King Peppy's vibes, so the Putt Putt Trolls were more willing to follow her orders. When reunited with her siblings, she still hates John, but she is not comfortable actually trying to kill him.

--

And lastly, Princess Poppy

Poppy is King Peppy's youngest daughter. She was just an egg when Pokeweed died and was only a toddler during the Great Escape. She is not close with Bruce or Viva because they went missing for years, and she hates how Clay often ostracizes John. She is very close to John Dory and the only sibling from King Peppy's side that would adore him more than anything.

She still saves Troll Village from the Bergens in the future, but she is more logical than her original (from Pokeweed's side of the family), and she still dates Branch, but does not become Queen. She is a fun and loving sister to John Dory and aunt to Cooper.

--

Next we have Floyd and Chaz in this AU

Chaz is a Smooth Jazz-Pop Troll and the eldest son of Bryony and Bebop. In this AU, Bebop was not killed, thus they had two kids. Chaz is trauma-free, and the most he does is protect his little brother from ostracism because his little brother looks more Pop than Smooth Jazz, just like their Papa. He doesn't hate Pop Troll much in this AU, but he still likes Smooth Jazz and even Classical Music.

Floyd is a Smooth Jazz-Pop Troll and the youngest son of Bryony and Bebop. He is also trauma-free, except for some bullying and ostracization by some of the Smooth Jazz Trollings around the tribe. He doesn't mind and only runs around for fun, much to Chaz's stressful days. He likes Pop Music but he pairs it up with Rock Music because he grew to like Rock Music too.

They reunite with their cousins after World Tour and the Rock-pocalypse and moreso after Viva and Bruce were found. They easily hate Clay and Viva for the abuse they gave John. Their relationship with Bruce is a bit tense, even if John forgives him. They're very protective of John, Poppy and their nephew/second cousin Cooper.

--

And lastly, Branch in this AU

Branch is the youngest son of Stargrass. He was made asexually, appearing in his hair as an egg to replace the pain Pokeweed had left him in. He likes adventuring like Stargrass and he's an adventurous guy. He was raised by Stargrass alone, with Grandma Rosiepuff to help him out. After Rosiepuff's death and after the Great Escape, Branch was taken to a facility that Stargrass had been preparing for them to live in the Bunker. He isn't dark or grey but he still gets very sad at the mention of Grandma because he still feels guilty for her death.

He still saves Troll Village from the Bergens with Poppy. He also dates her after World Tour because they are still the definition of slow burn, and I love it. When he learns that John is his older half-brother, he treats him well/better than the other brothers and accepts that Cooper is his nephew as well. When he finds out that John gets abused by Clay and Viva, he loses his mind, but John manages to calm him down. He hates Clay and Viva, and is still suspicious about Bruce, but he can refrain himself from going too far.

[witchofhimring]

Aemond and Y/n's family (the daughters, daughters in law and grandaughters)

This takes place in the same universe at this post. I will do a post on the boys next.

Queen Daenerys Targaryen:

Daenerys Targaryen was the first born child of Y/n and Aemond, coming into the world eleven months after their marriage. Rumors about Daenerys's illegitimacy stemmed from the fact Daenerys did not inherit her fathers white hair and had a fear of dragons. She spent the first few years of her life at Blackhalt, a island just off the coast of the Westerlands. At six she was taken to the Red Keep to be presented to Queen Rhaenyra and was chosen as the wife for Rhaenyra's grandson Viserys. As a future Queen guardianship passed from her parents to future Queen Baela. Rhaenyra died a year later and a fortnight after King Jacaerys was crowned. At ten and five Daenerys was married, against the protests of her grandmother Alicent Hightower who felt she was too young. At twenty Daenerys would give birth to her first child Rhaenyra. Shortly after Daenerys took Syrax as her dragon. Four years later Daenerys gave birth to her second child Alicent. At twenty and five Daenerys became Queen. Her tenure as Queen Consort was only five when her husband passed away. Given the political situation the council feared a child on the throne. Seven months with child, Daenerys became Queen Regnant. Three months later Daenerys gave birth to her third and final child, Baela. Daenerys would rule for fifteen years before dying of an ulcer in her belly.

Vaella of Blackhalt:

Vaella Targaryen was the second born child of Y/n and Aemond. She was first married off to Orwen Hightower, however no children came from that marriage. At twenty she became a widow and returned to Blackhalt. There she remained as regent for her mother Y/n, who was very ill. When her sister became Queen Vaela was married to the Warden of the North. She gave birth to two children, Caergin Stark and Selene Stark. She had a happy marriage and during her husbands long military campaigns acted as the Norths ruling Lady. She died in her sixties from a fever.

Elara Targaryen:

Like her eldest sister Elara was not born with Targaryen hair. Along with being born in Dorne, this once more brought rumors of Y/n's sexual conduct. In order to silence rumors Elara one day snuck into the dragon caves on Driftmark and took Cannibal as her dragon. Willful, many thought that what she lacked in Targaryen looks she made up for in spirit. She was closes to her brother Hardin who was only a year older. Elara would also make her own marriage by marrying Corin Velaryon, son of Lucerys Velaryon and Rhaena Targaryen. Elara was briefly imprisoner for this but quickly released. Elara accompanied her husband on his expeditions. Their marriage hit a hard place after a few years, however they worked to make it work and managed to end up very happy together. She had six children, Nymeria Velaryon, Naerya Velaryon, Helaena Velaryon, Saera Velaryon, Cora Velaryon and Rhaena Velaryon. At four and three Elara found herself suddenly pregnant. She gave birth to her final child Rhaena and passed away two weeks later from childbed fever.

Vissera Targaryen:

Vissera was the younger of the twins, with Elara being born two hours earlier. Unfortunately Vissera died at nine months from a fever. Her short life was spent at Blackhalt. She was buried in her families mausoleum in the Red Keep, much to her mother Y/n's displeasure.

Alice Targaryen:

Alice Targaryen was the final child of Y/n and Aemond and was the result of her parents grief. Her birth nearly killed Y/n and no more children were born to the couple. She was brought up in Blackhalt but only had her brother Viserys for company. At ten she moved to Oldtown as it was suggested she might become a Septa. This did not happen as Alice did not take to monastic life. Alicent resided in Oldtown until she was twenty and two. Despite her shyness Alice attracted unwanted attention for male suitors. Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaenyra and Daemon, considered marrying her. Alice was quick to marry Roan Baratheon, heir to Storm's End. The next year Alice gave birth to Corbin Baratheon. She and her husband ruled Storm's End together. Alice died at forty and five from a lump in her breast.

Visenya Targaryen:

Visenya was the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Daemon. She grew up in the Red Keep. At ten and five she met Elarion Targaryen, son of Aemond. She became a ward to Y/n Blackhalt and moved to the island. Visenya rode Meleys The Red Queen. At twenty and five Visenya eloped with Elarion and only came back when she fell with child. Her first child was Y/n Targaryen and a year later triplets Visenya, Aegon and Rhaenys were born. Visenya convinced her brother the King to give Elarion a dragon, Caraxes. Later on she would have three more children, Raellah, Veylara and Laenor. Visenya died at fourty along with her husband in battle.

Y/n of Essos:

Y/n Targaryen was born to Visenya Targaryen and Elarion Targaryen. She was named after her paternal grandmother Y/n. Most of her childhood was spent in Essos with her parents and siblings. At ten and six Y/n was spotted by Vaeserion Targaryen, son of Jacaerys and Baela. At ten and seven Y/n and Vaeserion married. Despite the age different the two had a happy marriage. Ten years later Y/n's husband passed leaving her a widow with two stepchildren and a two year old daughter. She spent the next two decade as a single woman, being called "Lady Royal". In her forties, Prince Rhaenar, heir to the throne, falls in love with him. Y/n becomes his mistress however Rhaenar wanted to marry her. Horrified, Y/n fleed to Storm's End which was under the rule of her cousin. Eventually Y/n and Rhaenar come to an understanding. Y/n retires to Essos and died at six and eight.

Visenya the witch of Blackhalt:

Visenya Targaryen was born the youngest of a set of twins. She was raised in Essos and at ten and six went to Westeros in order for her parents to secure a match. They had originally intended for her to marry Prince Edwin Targaryen however the match cancelled when her twin married Vaeserion. Visenya went back to Essos for a time and resided in Pentos. Visenya established her own court in Pentos and married a Pentoshi nobleman, Corbin of Pentos. Her firstborn child Astaria was shortly followed by a brother named Kiran. Visenya fought against slavery and was responsible for multiple slave riots. Visenya and Corbin would go on to have two more children, Alyara and Sephrone. She was assassinated at forty and one by slave masters.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 46 (Home to Henford)

Everett and Spencer Pancakes had worked hard on their marriage, but they still struggled in Oasis Springs so far from their families.

Then one day, Everett's phone rang. His hometown parish - the 400-year-old church in Henford-on-Bagley where he'd grown up listening to the scripture of the Watcher - needed a new priest. Though their sons were young for such a big move, they jumped at the chance for Greyson and Jett to grow up in their childhood paradise.

They moved in with Spencer's parents, Eric and Alice, at her childhood home in Old New Henford. With Lydia now in Brindleton Bay with the Goths, Spencer's parents had plenty of room for Everett, Spencer, Greyson, and baby Jett - and their dog, JJ, too!

Their first day back, Everett's twin sister, Malia, dropped by to visit and share some happy news. "Jamar and I are expecting!"

Everett knew his sister and her husband, Henford's young, successful doctor, Jamar Scott, had been trying for over a year. "That's fantastic!" Everett beamed, and Malia practiced holding infants by spending the rest of the afternoon entertaining baby Jett.

Spencer's work was primarily in Selvadorada and the only thing that kept her in Oasis Springs was the sun and Everett's old job, but being back with her family again meant everything to her. Not just having her parents, but her older sister Olivia lived with her own family just up the road on Old Mill Hill. Olivia's youngest was close in age to Greyson, and Spencer wanted their families near as they raised their own sons.

"I never realized how much I needed you until we unpacked our bags," Spencer admitted to her mother in the family room, while Jett snuggled with his grandpa Eric on the sofa. "Hopefully now that I'm home I can stop second-guessing everything I do as a mom."

Alice looked at her daughter with a generous smile. "You didn't need to come all the way home for us to know you're a good mother. Your boys love you, and we love them almost as much as I know you do."

Spencer dearly loved her sons, but she worried her ambition was too obvious. That maybe her sons knew she itched to fly to Selvadorada and immerse herself in her work, thousands of miles away from them. The way her sons and her job competed for her time left her overflowing with guilt, but now that she was home, she was more hopeful about the future than she'd been in years.

Everett's grandmothers, Agatha and Agnes Crumpcakes, were getting older. He was glad to be closer to help his father and stepmother take care of them. He felt a responsibility to his family as the eldest of his siblings, even if he was only five minutes older than Malia.

She was going to have a baby, Kash lived in Brindleton Bay with his husband, Wolfgang (Munch!), and Elizabeth was still in high school. Leaving his church and parishioners in Oasis Springs had been difficult, but being home with his family, and at the pulpit of his hometown church, felt like the choice he should have made when he and Spencer married five years earlier.

Everywhere they went they saw familiar faces, and their return began to heal Everett and Spencer's marriage even further.

They were home again, just in time for their dear friend Heather to bring Conrad to Henford to meet her loved ones... ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: The baby is Jett, Heather and Everett's biological child that she delivered as a surrogate. So far he looks like Heather. He even had her hair colour, but I darkened it because I'm already sick of it repeatedly showing up in Neal's descendants.

NOTE 2: Three days without Conrad and today without Heather, I know that's bold strategy, but I wanted this post to stand alone because a) I had to set up why they left the desert before Heather visits, and doing it in the same post was a little too verbose, even for me, b) that gorgeous church build needed to get some featured screen time, and c) we haven't seen Jett since he was born and the pic with his Aunt Malia above is the clearest one I have of him as an infant. Heather and Conrad (and Ash!) are all back tomorrow!

WCIF Henford's Church: Escombe Church in the Sims 4 Gallery by @simstruhistory/TeaWithTash (beautiful build, cc-free, and there's more historical content at their page!) This is a historical recreation of the real Escombe Church in England and I think it's got a perfect Henford vibe. It doesn't actually fit in Henford in my main save but I want to use it again to stage some funerals in the future and maybe weddings, too. I've referenced the 400-year-old church in Henford a couple times but never showed it because it didn't exist (*whispers*I didn't wanna build it) until I saw this one showcased here on simblr!

I'm so, so grateful to creators with build skills, mod skills, CAS skills, all skills, saving me time to do the Sim stuff I really enjoy. 🤗

(Also I'm not a spiritual person, but I have Lumpinou's Rambunctious Religions mod installed because I was playing Ultimate Decades for a while, and just because I'm not religious doesn't mean some of my sims can't be!)

[authorspirit]

Rachel Ito (née Lambert)

Geek, ex romantic turned romantically reserved, goofball, loyal, cheerful.

Beach life.

Rachel Ito's story is one of trying to be seen. Born third to Dahlia and Tommy Lambert, she is the unseen princess after the twins Aria and Kellen and before the last unexpected baby Jay. To be seen, she fled Newcrest and was welcomed in Mt. Komorebi, far from what she had imagined her life to be.

It's hard to make a name for yourself when you are after the great Aria, the spare to the spare and not even the last baby. Growing up, Rachel was not forgotten, but never really stood out. Her older siblings were twins, close to each other. Her little brother arrived late in her life. She became closer to her cousins, Yolanda and Branden, even if they were younger than her. Yolanda felt like the little sister she never had and Branden the annoying little one with whom she shared the wish of travelling around the world. The catalyst to the realization of her travelling dreams was a family winter holiday to Mt. Komorebi. At the time, one must admit Rachel was a bit boy crazy. As soon as she laid eyes on Kiyoshi Ito, she knew she wanted to get close to him. The coldness of their first meeting did not bother Rachel and she kept trying to befriend him until he finally warmed up to her. But that was at the end of her stay and she already had to go back... But their story did not stop there. They kept contact and became each other's confidante. Through their exchanges, Rachel realized that gaining Kiyoshi's love would probably never happen, as he already had a girlfriend - sort of. Time passed and the days of young adulthood were looming. While dreading the princessly duties, Rachel became a pillar in Kiyoshi’s life. Her external point of view on his life was always welcome. Her support became crucial to him as Kiyoshi’s mother decided to leave husband and children. What she could not foresee was the reaction from Naoki Ito, Kiyoshi’s father. As he learnt the relationship between Kiyoshi and Rachel, in the hopes of having his own son settling down to become his official successor, he invited Rachel to Mt. Komorebi. Rachel knew what it meant and Kiyoshi and her had a mutual agreement. A sort of arranged marriage, but he would rather be with her than with a complete stranger picked by his father. This marriage was a sort of escape from the endless comparisons to her siblings back in Syncretia. Rachel’s parents were surprised but happy for their daughter. In the end, love arrived with time. Being passionate in bed definitely helped. From this union, three sons were born. Emery, Magnus and Thomas. Rachel had settled to a life far from the public and she became a happy stay-at-home mother. Now that her boys are growing, she is also eagerly waiting for grandchildren. Unbeknownst to her she is already a grandmother. Will she be the voice of wisdom for her eldest Emery and accept the secret child in the family? Or will she condemn his actions?

[esther-dot]

Cinderella

Cinder-Jaehaerys 5k by @wendynerdwrites

A gender-flipped Cinderella Story

Lavender's Blue 4k

Once Upon A Time, in a faraway kingdom, Sansa Stark was humming a song while she swept the floors of Winterfell. Her face was covered in dirt and ashes. Her hands were dry and wrinkled from washing clothes and doing the dishes. But her hope and kindness had not been damaged by all those years of being ordered around by Ramsay Bolton and his girlfriend of the week.

The Weirdwood, the Wolf, and the Glass Slipper 5k

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a girl who loved her father very much….A Cinderella version of Jon/Sansa, mixing elements from the Cinderella stories as told by the Brothers Grimm and the film Ever After.

Together All the While incomplete 28k

Sansa Stark wanted to keep her household together. She borrowed a dress. Prince Jon wanted to escape his fate. He stole a horse.

Cinderella gifset by @yenstarkofrivia

Allerleirauh

Past Our Satellites 140k

Inspired and loosely based on the tale Thousandfurs (from Allerleirauh: All-Kinds-of-Fur) and Cinderella by the Brothers Grimm Rough summary of the tale for those who are unfamiliar with it: "A king promised his dying wife that he would not marry unless it was to a woman who was as beautiful as she was, and when he looked for a new wife, he realized that the only woman that could match her beauty was his own daughter." (from Wiki)

Princess Furball 9k

When Sansa's father announces his intent to marry her, she attempts to trick him out of it, demanding impossible gifts. When her father inexplicably succeeds in fulfilling her requests, Sansa fakes her death and flees her father's kingdom in a coat of many pelts. Sheltered by her trusty direwolf, Lady, Sansa is found by the prince of a foreign realm, who christens her "Furball". The former princess hides out working in the king's kitchens as a curiously humanoid animal as war looms. But things change when two kings and a prince die…

Swan Princess

The Little Bird Princess 18k @captainbee89

When Rhaegar defeated Robert Baratheon on the Trident, he only spared Ned out of love for Lyanna. And on the condition that Stark's eldest daughter would one day wed his son and quell the fighting between the North and the Crownlands for good.

This isn't my idea (this is my idea) of fun 10k orphaned

Their eventual marriage is meant to strengthen the Northern/Southern alliance, but Jon Targaryen and Sansa Stark can hardly stop bickering long enough to make peace with each other, let alone their kingdoms. But it only takes a few meddling parents, suggestive friends, and a jealous sorcerer's magic spell to show this couple that what they've been dreaming of has been there all along.

Moodboard and ficlet by @otp-that-was-promised

Every summer since they were children, Princess Sansa and Prince Jon are brought together in hope that they will fall in love and marry, uniting their two kingdoms. When they meet for the first time, the royal children take an immediate dislike towards each other, but as the years pass they gradually fall in love.

Snow White

Younger More Beautiful Queen 1k by @captainbee89

If the rumours were true, Jon Snow would be Sansa's cousin, a suitable match in both name and blood. Together, they could bring the whole of the seven kingdoms together peacefully. With Jon, Sansa would be Queen. As Queen, Sansa could order the death of Joffrey as revenge for Ned Stark's death. And what of her other children? Tommen and Myrcella would be taken from her, labeled as bastards and stripped of all their prospects. How dare this silly little girl be the more beautiful Queen she had feared? She would not have it.

The Dragonknight 7k

The day that Sansa got her moonblood, Queen Cersei's magic mirror named her the most beautiful woman in the world. There was only one thing to be done with the imprisoned Queen of the North... the child had to die. Cersei hadn't counted on her twin's soft heart or the wolf in the woods.

Little Red Riding Hood

Throw me to the Wolves 2k

Winter had been hard on Old Nan and everyone in the village worried about her, so it was decided that Sansa should make the trip to her cottage on the other side of the woods to bring her some bread and ale. On her way there, she meets a stranger…

In the Company of Wolves 10k incomplete

Fair of face and kissed by fire, Sansa Stark is a force to be reckoned with—with a feisty spirit to match the flare of her flaming hair. Still, there’s no shortage of suitors vying for the hand of the eldest daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark—but despite all their clever plans, Sansa vows she will only marry for love. A chance encounter with a mysterious stranger in the woods, sets her on a path of passion and dangerous intrigue. Is Jon her salvation or her damnation? Perhaps he is both.

Red Riding Hood Gifset by @dcbicki

The Steadfast Tin Soldier

Tin, Paper, Snow 17k incomplete

“Brave soldier, never fear. Even though your death is near.” The flames danced as high as a dream in a million, billion colours- scarlet, orange, purple, even blue, casting rich shimmering shadows on their faces and their hands and their hair. He steadied himself, stood upright, held onto her for dear life. "Would that we were made of glass," he thought. "Tin doesn't do well here. Nor paper." Higher and higher, the flames rose, crackling, singing. Tin, Paper, Snow, they whispered. It's time to let her go.

12 Dancing Princesses

Drifting through the halls with sunrise 3k

They were selfish girls, it was their choice that sentenced these men to death, month after month. The cycle would continue, soon the girls behind her would forget about the man on the stone steps, they would don their masks and new shoes and dance until the sun rose over the Narrow Sea.

The Little Mermaid

only a salt kiss remains ficlet by @flibbertigiblet

He was drowning, and then he was not. (He hears her before he sees her, his angel.)

wish i could be 10k by @theshipshipper

"Oh dear, you look cold," Queen Cersei said softly, floating next to her. "Come, come. Let's get you inside." The Queen led her into the dark cave, offering her a seat. "Now, then. I'm told you're here because you desire to be with your Prince?" She flicked her hand and an image of Prince Jon erupted from thin air. "Hmm. I see now... Quite a handsome fellow." Sansa couldn't help but smile at the sight of him. She'd wondered how he was faring after the shipwreck and ached to check for herself. She was relieved that he seemed alright. "My sweet summer child, you have it bad," Queen Cersei informed her, a smile in her voice. She blinked. "I -- what?" "You're in love," she clarified with a laugh before swimming towards a tall shelf in the corner. "I know exactly what you need."

Mermaids Have No Tears ficlet

Little Mermaid AU, specifically the Hans Christian Andersen version.

Gifsets: Part of Your World by @tatesharon The Little Mermaid by @swainlake The Little Mermaid by @dcbicki The Little Mermaid by @sardoniyx

General

Jonsa fairytale ficlet and gifset by @thewindsofwolves

Even though Sansa is now fourteen, she still feels a special enthousiasm for magic. And as Jon likes nothing more than pleasing Sansa, he shares the same enthousiasm. Then, as they are both bored during the great annual Christmas party hosted by Sansa’s dad, she asks her cousin to make one of his trick so the night can be less boring. Taking her outside, he brings her to the well, and asks her one of the ribbons she wears in her hairs. He asks her then to close her eyes and make a wish, before dropping the ribbon into the well. I wish we could go into an adventure.

The Snow Queen and the Huntsman Gifset by @dcbicki

Jonsa x Disney gifset by @amandapeetshusband

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALE - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON SIX - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY -- next week -> POLITICAL MARRIAGE/MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE

[blueshistorysims]

Mrs. Walsh at her home in Malvern Hills, 1938.

Rebecca Isabella Walsh (Nee. Kingsley) was the only child born to Mr. Kingsley, an attorney, and Mrs. Kingsley in the small country town of Newcrest. Growing up, the Kingsleys were very close to the Walsh family as her father and Edwin Walsh were partners in their law firm. Rebecca and Mr. Walsh's son Peter became very good friends until she went off to finishing school, and the pair lost touch. Rebecca and Peter reconnected while the latter was in university, and the pair fell in love over exchanging letters.

The couple began engaged in 1887 and married that July due to Mr. Walsh and Peter's younger brother David being deathly ill with typhoid fever, both dying later that summer. After Peter passed the bar in 1888, Rebecca quickly acclimated to being the wife of an attorney and the couple had four children: twins Edeline and Alexander in 1892, Byron in 1895, and Giselle in 1900.

Initially, Rebecca and the teenage Edeline clashed against one another due to her more conservative views, but she eventually let her daughter be the first woman in their family to attend university, where she met her husband Montgomery, marrying in 1915. The outbreak of the Great War would take her eldest son's life, devastating her family, and Peter never fully recovered from it. After losing Edeline and the love of her life Peter to the Spanish Flu, Rebecca became very clingy to her younger children, especially to Byron, who looked the most like Peter. However, after witnessing her son's choices in both of his marriages and the realization her daughter is a homosexual, she withdrew.

After the Crash, Rebecca lost all of her money, so she went to live with her son Byron until she learned of his sexuality and "affair" with Montgomery MacGregor, disowning him and her daughter, moving to her father's hometown in Malvern Hills. However, when she started dying, Rebecca had a change of heart toward her living children, asking for forgiveness which Byron happily gave but not Giselle, though they made some amends. She died surrounded by her two younger children and their families.

Rebecca was kind and loved her children more than anything, though like Peter, Alexander was the object of her favoritism. As she got older, however, she became more cynical and judgemental, standing strongly in her convictions, which led to the estrangement of Giselle and Byron. She greatly enjoyed being a grandmother and while flawed and misguided, Rebecca truly believed she was trying to do what was right for children until her death.

Rebecca is survived by her son Byron, daughter Giselle, daughter-in-laws Eleora and Francesca, and grandchildren Simon-Elliot and Amalia.

Rebecca was the longest-lasting character in my legacy so far. Even though she lowkey was a mega homophobic bitch and had A LOT of internalized misogyny, I did really enjoy writing her, and part of me wishes I could go back to the 1880s and 1890s to write more about her, but I am satisfied with her story, it feels very appropriate for a woman of her age and time. Fare thee well Rebecca!

and now to be more sad, here's photos of her since 1880s :(

[asa-do-your-thing]

The rainbow trout

Robb Stark x Frey Reader 18 + MINORS DNI WC: 5,1k Warnings: forced marriage, mentions death, alcohol, dubcon, angst

You knew you weren't his first choice. You also knew what would happen, should Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, not accept your hand, so you did everything in your power to convince him to marry anyone of your female relatives. You sent him coded messages, diguised yourself and warned his pregnant lady... You did everything in your might to persuade him.

That was why it hurt you even more that when he came to the Twins and told you all to stand in a big semi circle ordered by your ages - you stood almost at the farthest end, having only just flowered - and he walked over to your aunts and older cousins, all past the ages of five and twenty. Everything within you itched to call out to him - King of the North, 'tis I who saved you!

But Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, was a man known for his honor and duty. He gave each woman a polite nod, exchanged pleasantries and, with a hint of discomfort in his eyes, moved along the line. You watched him as he went from your eldest aunt, Lady Amarei, a stout woman with greying hair and a face that had lost the battle with age long ago; to your cousin Alyx, then onto Waldene and Wylda - all older than you by several years and already mothers to their own broods, though you supposed it was pleasing for him to see their fertility.

The air in the Great Hall was thick with expectation as the Young Wolf made his way down the line of eligible Frey women. The flickering light from the hundreds of candles gave an ethereal glow to the scene, casting dancing shadows along stone walls adorned with the ancient heraldry of House Frey. The wheels of your father's great wooden chair creaked as he shifted his weight, watching his potential son-in-law examine his flock.

As Robb Stark drew closer to you, your heart pounded in your chest. Despite your best efforts to maintain decorum, your hands were clammy against the lush fabric of your dress. When he finally stood before you, his azure eyes met yours with an intensity that stole your breath away. His face was unreadable; he made no comments about your youth or offered any compliments as he had done for some of your relatives.

He nodded once before moving on to your younger sister - a girl who barely even knew how to keep her hair out of her soup bowl - and then carried on down the line. You could feel the disappointment welling up and looked up in amazement when he went back up to his previous spot. He... knew what would happen should he not accept any one of them? What was he doing?

Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, turned back to look you in the eyes. His gaze caught yours in a strange dance, akin to two foxes circling one another before withdrawing. He thanked your father, Lord Walder, for his hospitality and the introduction to his lovely daughters and nieces. His voice echoed along the stone hall, each word punctuated by silence from the gathered Freys.

"Before I proceed," he announced, raising an eyebrow as if he had just been struck by a sudden thought, "I would like to ask a question about a small rainbow trout." The hall fell silent.

Your heart leapt into your throat. The 'rainbow trout'. The code you had used so many times in your letters to him. You had used it as a symbol of danger, warning him of impending peril. And now he was using it back at you.

The question Robb asked was incredibly mundane in its nature for anyone else. Yet behind those words, there lay a hidden realm of understanding known only to Robb and yourself; its context spread across a plethora of secret letters exchanged between you two under various pseudonyms over the years. The audience stared at him blankly while your mind raced to pick up the hidden message in his query.

Just then, your innocent little sister nudged you and whispered in your ear right below a breath. "Has King Robb gone coo-coo?" You could hardly suppress the laughter that bubbled within you at her naive words. She didn’t understand what was passing between Robb and yourself and for that, you were both relieved and eternally grateful.

"No dear one," you whispered back, patting her small hand. " he's simply curious about our streams."

A hushed murmur passed through the crowd as they tried to comprehend the Young Wolf’s peculiar question. Lord Walder, from his high seat, let out a puff of irritation. "Is this a jest, Stark?" he asked gruffly.

The Young Wolf looked at him, his eyes hardening. "Not at all," he replied sternly. "In fact, it is rather important."

You noticed the subtle change in his demeanor and felt your heart flutter with anticipation. Robb turned his gaze back to you, the hardness softening once more into a look filled with intent and secret understanding.

"Your rainbow trout seems quite interesting." The Young Wolf finally spoke in his clear voice, echoing through the hall, carrying a message for you alone amongst the throng of confused onlookers. His words were enigmatic and carried an underlying layer of significance that no one but you could decipher.

The corners of your lips curled into an involuntary smile as you met his gaze and nodded subtly. You understood what he was trying to say, what he had so bravely alluded to in front of all your family members.

"And what would such a trout want?" asked Lord Walder impatiently. His sharp gaze pierced through Robb Stark who merely smirked and shrugged lightly.

"That’s for the trout to know," replied the Young Wolf cryptically. Before anyone could question further, he bowed courteously towards Lord Walder and then swept an arm towards you in an elegant gesture. "Perhaps your young lady there can provide me an answer?"

"Walderette?", your father croaked out and raised an eyebrow.

A big rumble went through the hall and you blushed up to your roots, not used to being stared at. This was pressure and you needed to handle it quickly and well - so well that your old, disgusting flea of a father would forget about this instance.

"Yes, Father?" You responded, managing to keep your voice steady, despite the thudding of your heart. Your eyes slipped towards Robb who looked at you encouragingly.

Your father huffed, "You'll entertain The Young Wolf's humor about our trout?"

"Of course, Father," you replied softly, your gaze locked with Robb's. An understanding passed between you two, an assurance that somehow he would make things right.

You then cleared your throat and addressed the hall in a voice far more confident than you felt. "Rainbow trout," you began, glancing at Robb who nodded subtly as if urging you to go on. "Is a delicacy in our rivers. It’s versatile and can thrive in different environments. It can be elusive yet it can be caught if one is patient and diligent."

The room was quiet as everyone watched you curiously. Your father squinted his eyes at you while your younger sister nervously bobbed up and down on her feet. He didn't dare suspect anything, or else your fate would be just the same - being slit open by your family.

"It is very good when smoked and lasts long, and it is easy to transport. It goes well with pickles-"

Lord Walder raised his hand and shrugged. "Yes, Wald... Walderette your name was, right? Rainbow trout is good." He looked at Robb, who gave him a relatively neutral look. "And you are sure you want... her? I have girls with prettier faces, bigger tits and that talk less nonesense."

Robb didn’t flinch under Lord Walder’s crude remarks. Instead, his gaze seemed only to harden, a touch of steel flashing in his eyes as he coolly met the old lord's gaze. "Aye," he said, holding your gaze again with a softness that contrasted sharply with the icy tone he had used for Walder.

"I'm sure." His blue eyes glittered with certainty and warmth. Your heart fluttered, nearly missing a beat at his declaration. To have him, Robb Stark, The Young Wolf, choose you in front of everyone felt as surreal as it was exciting.

Lord Walder grumbled something incoherent under his breath, shifting uncomfortably in his high seat. His gaze oscillated between you and Robb before finally settling on the young king with a grudging acceptance. He sighed heavily and grunted out a curt, “Very well.”

A murmur rippled through the hall, turning into excited whispers that echoed around the stone walls. This was unprecedented; a Frey girl chosen to be betrothed to the King in the North!

Your sisters looked at you with wide eyes, surprise and envy coloring their expressions. You could almost feel their piercing stares burrowing into your back, but you didn’t care. Robb had chosen you. And even though this was part of a grand scheme that remained secret from most, an indescribable joy surged within you at being chosen by him.

Robb then leaned slightly towards you, his voice barely audible above the hushed chatter. "I hope I picked the right trout," he murmured to you, a glint of worry in his eyes.

"There is only the one, my King," you reassured him with a small smile and breathed out once everyone went back to their seats - even the women, which gave you the greatest hope of there not being a massacre tonight. "Though if I find out anything that will hurt you or your... uh, friend, I will give you a signal and lots of likeminded trouts will help."

Robb nodded, his gaze fixed on yours. His eyes were the color of a stormy sky - deep, chilling, and deadly if challenged. Without breaking the eye contact, he whispered back, "I am looking forward to seeing what a school of like-minded trouts can do, thoug I hope I shall never feel the need to see them."

A hush fell over the room as Lord Walder straightened in his chair and clapped his hands together sharply. "Enough of these fish conversations," he barked, his voice echoing throughout the hall. "It's time to sit down for the feast. You're to be wed! My grandson shall be a King!"

As the guests began to shuffle towards their seats, you took Robb's arm and led him to the high table alongside Lord Walder and his newest wife. The woman, who was no more than a year older than you, was beautiful in a fragile kind of way. Her honey-coloured hair was bound up intricately with tiny pearls gleaming in between her locks. She shot you an encouraging smile as you both took your seats.

Throughout the feast that ensued, she would lean towards you from time to time, whispering coded words in your ear between bites of her meal or sips of her wine. "Remember," she once whispered casually as she spread some butter on her bread, "the pickles are of a dangerously spicy sort."

"Just the pickles?" You asked just as casually, keeping your gaze focused on your own plate.

She nodded subtly in response before turning her attention back to her own meal.

The night wore on with laughter and merriment filling the air beneath the vaulted ceilings of the hall. Everyone seemed at ease - even Robb appeared more relaxed now. However, underneath the surface, you were still fully ready to run. Your father was everything, but a honest man and nothing could fully guarantee your safety.

As the feast came to a close, Lord Walder rose to his feet with all the grace of a prowling cat despite his advanced years. "May I have your attention!" he bellowed, effectively silencing the chatter throughout the hall. He nodded his approval at the sudden quiet before turning his steely gaze towards you and Robb.

"It seems to me," he began, his voice carrying an uncanny edge that made the hair on your neck stand up. "That we're forgetting one important detail of this evening."

His gaze intensified as he continued, "These two lovebirds are yet to be wed!"

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. You felt Robb stiffen beside you, but your father's newest wife pressed a reassuring hand on your arm. It was, after all, part of their ploy.

A frail old septon shuffled forward from among the crowd. The wrinkles on his face gathered into deep crevices as he smiled warmly at you and Robb. He held out a red silken ribbon - your symbol of unity in this farce of a marriage.

You found yourself whispering vows under his quiet instruction, your voice choked by anticipation and fear while Robb's steady and firm words only added another layer to your pounding heart.

"And now," Walder announced gleefully once you'd both spoken your vows. "Seal it with a kiss."

Robb hesitated for a moment before leaning in, his warm lips brushing against yours in a chaste but lingering kiss. The hall erupted in cheers, and for a fleeting moment, it felt real - like true love had finally found your side, yet you knew that this'd be a farce. But then again, what would a loveless marriage be against dozens of dead innocents?

"Take the lovers away! Undress them!", croaked Walder and grinned implishly as a mass of Frey girls came and picked Robb up. Silencing his prostest with the smallest of nods, you, in turn let yourself be carried by some Stark men.

The crowd of Stark men was like a sea of shadows, each figure blurred into the next by the dim candlelight. The soft murmur of their voices was punctuated by the occasional chuckle or whisper as they carried you away through a labyrinth of stone corridors. The cold, rough-hewn stones beneath your feet were a stark contrast to the warmth and merriment of the feasting hall. The ancient walls echoed with tales of grandeur and battle, each echo ringing in your ears as an ominous forewarning.

With each step, you felt your heart drumming wildly in your chest - this was unchartered territory, a dance with danger and uncertainty. You stole a glance at the jumbled mass of Frey girls disappearing with Robb into another corridor, his eyes locked onto yours for an infinitesimal second before he was swallowed by the throng.

You were ushered up a winding staircase, its spiralling steps leading you to a chamber high above the ground. The door creaked open to reveal a room bathed in soft moonlight. It wasn't chained and barred like the dungeons you'd feared, but rather adorned with silken tapestries depicting intricate hunting scenes.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you entered. The room felt strangely comforting with its high vaulted ceiling and large canopy bed draped in furs. A lone window overlooked rolling meadows bathed in silver moonlight, their serene beauty belying the uncertainty that lay ahead.

The Stark men began to undress you, their roughened hands deft yet respectful on your garments. Your heart pounded in your chest like a wild bird trapped in a cage and only stopped once Robb came into the room, dressed only in a sheet that was held up by your giggling sisters. He quickly excused his men and gave the girls the same, stern look.

"Good night, little fish!", "Have fun!" and "Make sure that you'll make a king tonight!" were their parting words as the filed out, giggling.

The heavy door shut behind them with a reverberating thud that echoed in the silence of the chamber. The echo faded, leaving only your heartbeat to fill the quiet space. You turned to face Robb, his striking blue eyes filled with an uncertainty that mirrored your own. The bronze-toned light of the hearth danced across his features and played in his hair, casting him somewhat divine in your sight.

His broad shoulders lifted and fell in a heavy sigh that seemed to shake the very air around you both. The silence hung between you two like a tangible veil as he slowly approached you.

"We needn't…" he began, his voice gravelly and low – softer than you'd ever heard it. Suddenly, all of his kingly stature seemed to melt away, leaving behind only a boy burdened by expectations.

"I know," you quickly cut in, eager to relieve him of his discomfort. "I could just…" You trailed off, suddenly aware of the crude absurdity of your plan. But you pressed on, forcing out the words as your cheeks burned with embarrassment. "... just scratch myself open…"

Robb's gaze flickered downward before snapping back up to meet yours, a horrified look crossing his face.

"I mean... people just want some proof… or else... or else there will be talk... we could pretend…” You stumbled over your words, unable to keep eye contact with him anymore.

A moment passed where only the crackling flames dared break the silence. Then Robb let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly before he met your gaze again.

"You remind me why I chose you for this alliance," he said with a warmth in his voice that took you by surprise, his hand reaching out to gently cup your face. "You're willing to hurt yourself just to protect our farce, and the people we're sworn to protect."

His thumb swept across your cheekbone, drawing a shiver from you. There was honesty in his eyes - a rarity in this world of duplicity and deceit - and it was startling.

"You don't need to do that," Robb continued, the corners of his mouth curling up into a small smile. "We'll find another way. A better way." He let his hand drop, but the warmth lingered on your skin, spreading like wildfire through your body.

"Robb…" You began, but he cut you off with a shake of his head.

"No need for formalities," he said with a small grin, trying to lighten the mood. "We're married now, remember?"

He was attempting light-hearted banter – an attempt to alleviate the tension hanging thick between you two, and it was surprisingly endearing. Still though, unease crept back into your heart. After all, what other way could there be?

"But they will expect…" You started again.

"We'll be careful," he interrupted once more. "And we'll be smart. Let them think what they will."

A knock resounded at the door then – a single, harsh rap that echoed in the chamber and made both of you jump.

"Shall I pour the wine?" A thin voice floated in through the heavy oak door, belonging to an old servant woman probably sent by Lord Walder himself to see their progress.

"Yes," Robb called back after sharing an understanding glance with you.

The Lady came in and hobbled her way towards a small table, filling two cups with a cheap red wine, one that smelled more like a tincture than a lovely Dornish Red. To add to that, she set down a small dish of pickles. "If you do not manage to do your duties tonight, your Lady sends this dish to bring you back to your senses.

You began to panic slightly and nodded at her, doing your best to mime an innocent. Walking over to the small table, you dismissed her and quickly gave Robb his glass. As soon as the Lady went away again, you stripped and gulped down the beastly drink, positioning yourself on the bed like a bitch in heat.

Robb, for his part, wore a look of sheer surprise as he followed your unceremonious actions with wide eyes. He took a deep breath, setting his own glass down on the table beside him before he turned back to you. His cheeks were flushed a delicate pink - a stark contrast to his usual pale complexion - and he looked almost boyish under the soft candlelight.

"Please," he started, his voice rough in the quiet of the room, "You don't need to do this. Not like this." His gaze was steady and honest as it met yours, and his words tugged at your heartstrings.

But your mind was filled with vivid images of Lady Catelyn's tear-stained face and Rob's pregnant girlfriend - their lives hanging by the thinnest of threads because of you. You swallowed hard, pushing away the comforting warmth of his words. "We can't risk it Robb," you insisted. Your voice wavered despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his mop of auburn hair. But he made no move to stop you from lying back against the bed – your back cold against the rough fabric beneath you. He looked at you then – really looked at you – taking in your determined expression and your trembling hands.

For a moment, all was silent in the room - save for the crackling flames.

Then, without another word, he began to disrobe himself with an air of solemnity that felt too heavy for the occasion. He moved carefully, meticulously even, stopping momentarily to kick away his modesty sheet before he joined you on the bed.

"Lie on your back, Walderette. I needn't take you like an animal," he whispered solemnly as he made sure to keep his eyes on your face.

His voice was low and gentle, a tender lullaby whispered in the quiet of the night. It was an unexpected sweetness that only made your heart hurt with more force, your guilt gnawing away at you like a starved beast. But you nodded, complying with his request and shifting position, your heart pounding in your chest like a war drum.

A silence descended upon the room as he settled down beside you, his broad form dwarfing yours. His muscled arms propped him up as he leaned over you, his gaze never wavering from your face. You closed your eyes, your breath hitching as you felt the cool touch of his hands against the bare skin of your sides.

He stayed silent as his hands began to wander, their slow and deliberate movements adding an excruciating tension to the silence. He explored without hurry; his fingers ghosting over every rise and fall of your body as if committing it to memory.

You could feel the heat radiating off him – a feverish warmth that made goosebumps rise on your skin. Any other night, under any other circumstances, the feeling would've sent pleasing shivers down your spine.

"I…" you choked out, opening your eyes to find Robb hovering over you. His body pressed against yours in an almost comforting manner but it did nothing to dampen the guilt-ridden fear gnawing at your insides. "I… don't know what I'm doing," you admitted softly.

Robb's eyes darkened slightly at your confession but he gave you a small smile nonetheless. "It's alright," he whispered back reassuringly. "Neither do I, really. I've never... had to... take someone."

You blushed and gave him a shy smile. "I am not completely against it. Just... do whatever needs to be done and if we will not manage to create an heir, I am sure we will be able to do this... everything, under better circumtances."

“Are you sure about this?” he asked again, his voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes met yours, the steady gaze filled with an equal measure of fear and determination.

"Yes," you answered just as softly, your heart pounding in your chest. Despite your fear and uncertainty, you knew there was no other option. The lives of those you cared for were at stake. This was a small price to pay for their safety.

Robb nodded, his face a solemn mask. His eyes held yours, a lingering connection in the quiet room. He moved closer, laying his body against yours in a slow, deliberate manner. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, the rapid beats of his heart echoing your own.

"Close your eyes," he whispered, and you complied without question. His lips found yours then, a tender kiss that tasted of wine and apprehension. His lips moved against yours gently, coaxing you into a rhythm that was as haunting as it was comforting.

His hands moved up your sides, skimming past the sensitive skin of your torso to rest at the sides of your face. He pulled back slightly from the kiss, his breath warm against your cheek as he began to whisper words meant only for you. They were soft promises of safety and care; sweet nothings that melted your worries away like morning fog under the sun's rays.

In spite of the circumstances, the tension in the room dissipated at his gentle ministrations. Your body relaxed under his touch, fear and uncertainty replaced with a sense of security.

Then he was moving again, inch by agonizing inch. The heat of him was all-encompassing now; a comforting weight pressing down on you with each passing moment. You let out a gasp when he finally pushed forward – a soft sound drowned out by the crackling fire and rustle of fabric.

It was not painful nor pleasurable - merely an odd discomfort that became more bearable as Robb began to move with slow rhythm, whispering soothing words into your ear. His hands never left your body – one rested on the small of your back, the other cradling your face. His thumb stroked your cheekbone in small circles, drawing out a soothing pattern that almost lulled you into a trance.

The room had become warmer, or maybe it was just the heat radiating from Robb — every inch of his bare skin touching yours, filling your senses with his presence. You clung to him, hands clenched on his broad shoulders, fingers digging into his flesh as he moved with quiet determination. You kept your eyes closed, taking in every sensation, every small sound he made as time stretched thin between each heartbeat.

He smelled of wood smoke and winter air. A hint of the strong drink you both had shared still lingered on his breath mixed with the warm scent of his skin. Each breath he drew was a low sigh against your ear, a soft symphony playing under the rustle of linen and crackle of fire.

His movements remained slow and deliberate — no rush, no urgency. He was careful with you, maintaining a rhythm that was mindful and tender. His touch was gentle but firm, holding you close yet giving you space to breathe. His lips found your forehead once more, pressing a soft kiss there.

"Are you all right?" he asked softly once again, pulling back slightly to look at you. His voice was barely audible over the slow rhythm of his body and your combined breaths.

You opened your eyes to meet his gaze. His eyes held an intense mixture of concern and uncertainty, but also a strange form of peace, as if in this moment he had found some sense of purpose.

"I... am," you answered truthfully – Your body was tingling from the strange experience but there was no pain or discomfort anymore - only an odd sense of warmth... and maybe even something akin to contentment.

His gaze held yours, his expression softening at your words. A sigh of relief escaped him as he lowered his lips to meet yours again. His kiss was languid, unhurried, a complete contradiction to the rapid beating of your hearts.

He whispered your name between soft kisses and gentle touches, turning it into a sweet lullaby that danced with the crackling flames in the hearth.

Gradually, your world shrunk until it was made up of Robb alone—the rhythm of his breaths matching your own, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, and his whispered words filling the silence. Time seemed to stretch on endlessly; seconds turning into minutes and minutes into hours as you lost yourself in him.

When he finally pulled back after depositing his hot spend in you, it was slow and deliberate. You felt a pang of loss as the warmth of his body disappeared only to be replaced by the cool air of the room. His fingers lingered on your skin for a moment longer before he moved them away too. He didn’t look at you as he rolled onto his side, putting some distance between you two.

It was understandable, you thought to yourself. His true love was outside, in th tents, worrying about her lover, the father of her babe.

For a long while, there was only silence in the room. You could still hear the faint sounds of Robb's steady breathing and feel his warmth beside you, but there was a sense of melancholy in the air that you couldn’t ignore.

The embers from the fire were slowly dying out and you knew that dawn was approaching; still, neither of you made any attempt to speak or move.

Eventually, Robb broke the silence, "I'm sorry..." His voice was barely audible over the dying embers. He turned towards you again, worry etched on his face, quickly wrapping the towel around himself.

"I don't know why I did that... I shouldn't have..."

His words hung in the air, heavy with regret. You turned your gaze to him, seeing the anguish painted across his face. The light from the dying fire cast a soft glow on his features, emphasizing the shadows of guilt etched deep within his eyes.

"It's okay..." you whispered, laying a hand gently on his arm. "It was necessary."

But even as the words left your lips, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. You were both trapped in a situation neither of you wanted to be in. Each decision made out of obligation, not desire. It was a cruel reality, one that seemed determined to tear you both apart.

He looked at you then, his eyes searching yours for any sign of resentment or pain. When he found none, he let out a sigh, heavy with relief.

"I wish things were different," he said after a long silence, his voice barely audible over the crackling embers. "I wish we could choose our own paths."

You chewed your lower lip, contemplating his words. You knew what he meant. Your lives were dictated by forces beyond your control-- duty, responsibility and a looming war that threatened everything you held dear.

"We can't change what's already happened," you said quietly, meeting his gaze. "All we can do is move forward and make the best of what we have."

He nodded at your words although his expression remained pained. He reached out to take your hand into his own larger one and gave it a comforting squeeze.

"Thank you," he murmured softly, getting up and handing you your dress.

"No, thank you, my King," you said with a small smile. "Let us leave this horrid place."