#the dragon of bear island

[glitterstarly]

I was thinking about how to design the new eggy and I was like, "we have already a lot of cute designs for all the children, why not make the new one a little bit uncanny since this is cucurucho's kid?" and a new gate was opened for me.

this is Nacho, the official assistant of cucurucho and the nightmare fuel of (almost) every islander! when the bunnies watched how happy and engaged where their guests with their interesting children, they also wanted to surprise the white bear with one made 100% by them after a few months of investigation and collecting samples! what? the bear didn't like them instantly? no problem! we can modify them as many times as possible until reach perfection! after all, they were made for each other! :]

[allthatmay]

So, today my husband said, "Some people think Shanks is a radial leftist, but I think he's the most centrist character in the show. Dragon fills the role of the radial leftist/anarchist that people often attribute to Shanks."

And, huh, yeah. People do often talk about Shanks like he's an anarchist, but he's really not. I've always said that Shanks is a mediator, keeping a tentative peace between the pirate tribes and the government until the time comes wherein the One Piece can be claimed and the mysterious consequences can happen, but that means he is effectively playing the part of a centrist—straddling the fence, as it were. The key difference, I think, is that Shanks knows for certain that change is coming in the form of a rubber deity, and he is trying to guide it into place. All his work is done behind the scenes with very little violence if he can help it.

Now, it's easy to assume that Shanks' plans involve the complete dissolution of the government as it presently stands; that he is simply using his power & influence to mitigate harm for the many until the "real fight" can begin (and, with him having recently decided to chase the One Piece, now it has), but that might not be the case (and, even if it is the case, a lot of centrists use "mitigating harm for the many" as a reason not to take action against some truly heinous acts). The reality may be that Shanks doesn't see the need for the total collapse of the government, or perhaps he knows something about it that we don't (i.e. because he might be of Celestial Dragon blood). I don't really believe this is the case because, as far as I'm aware, Shanks hasn't ever shown any real support for the World Gov but he has shown, time and time again, that he believes in dreams, in people's personal willpower, and in the ability of anyone to become strong and change the future. But the truth is that we can't know his intentions for certain without Oda giving us more information, so my husband's assertion that Shanks is a centrist makes some sense.

In particular, Luffy is what makes this theory interesting: slap him in between Dragon and Shanks, and there's a very real dichotomy between the two "fathers" in his life. See, Luffy idolises Shanks and thinks of him similarly to a father, but he might realise as time goes on that he can't be like Shanks; he might realise that Shanks' ideals will only carry him so far. After all, what good is it to be a pacifistic when your enemy is a powerful government that is comfortable with mass murder?

(My rebuttal is that Luffy is the only one who can be like Shanks. He is effectively Shanks' dream: Shanks wants to be strong enough to do all the work himself, to suffer all the pain himself, and while he is one of the strongest men in the world, he simply can't do that; what he can do is only achievable through the support he has at his side. Meanwhile, Luffy has close support in his crew, and he has the Gum-Gum Fruit! He can literally become a godlike figure and shape the world around him! He can do everything that Shanks wants and needs and, as sure as I am that Shanks wishes he could have done it himself—I'm thinking back to his days with Roger here—he knows that it was never meant to be him.)

This is where Dragon comes in. Dragon, in direct contrast to Shanks, uses violence as a tool whenever he can. He's all about the greater good, for lack of a better term. His thinking is along the lines of, "People are suffering now and we can help, and we have no qualms in forcibly dismantling a government that uses slavery, genocide, and imprisonment to control its populace. We don't wait for the right time to act, we simply act." Do I think Shanks would approve of Dragon's goals? Yes. Do I think he would approve of Dragon's means in achieving those goals? No, but mostly because Shanks is very self-sacrificial and tries to take whatever suffering is necessary for change onto himself, relying only on his small, personal crew, whereas Dragon is happy to let other people martyr themselves for the rebel cause. He lets a small, amnesiac child join them, for crying out loud—something Shanks would never do, not even if the child proved very capable.

If anything is to come from this difference of ideals, I think it's that Luffy will learn from both of them and find his own way to the One Piece and into the world waiting beyond. Why? Well, because Luffy is all about freedom, and no one on the side of Dragon or Shanks is truly free. As for the world itself, it's hard to predict what will happen after Luffy's done with it because it's pretty dependent on Oda's philosophy. For instance, Oda seems to approve of monarchies, which is not something I would personally imagine remaining in a world without a governing body—but, hey, what do I know?

Of course, we all know that the true centrist in the show is undeniably Garp. He will let real, undeniable harm befall those he cares about in order to maintain the status quo, or to stop the government from toppling because [gasp] that would be the worst thing ever! He's a man who believes the government is essential and joins up in order to change it from the inside, only to fall short of his own expectations because he won't stand up when it matters most. Not even for the sake of his beloved grandson.

[meekosthemeparkphotos]

Maleficent Dragon

[saturnniidae]

I think we should have more httyd or rotbtd horror

[masoncarr2244]

[weirdero]

Dude what a shit summer for tv. What an absolute shit summer for tv. The bear season 3. just fine. Not good not bad just fine. House of the dragon season 3. forgettable. The boys season 4. okay. Went out with a bang at least. the umbrella academy season 4…………yeah.

No fucking joke. No fucking joke and I know everyone on fucking twitter and Reddit is make this joke but I’m genuinely not kidding

Season 8 of game of thrones flash backs.

And I know I know the writers strike the writers strike I know but fuck. YK shits gone bad when love island US was the tv show of the summer.

[fandomsbyladymelodrama]

@salzrand - <3 Jamais T'oublier, my friends <3<3 (which sounds like a goodbye but is really just another farewell-for-now but ajsalkdajkdjfkj WHY DO I ALWAYS FEEL SO SAD WHEN I WELL-AND-TRULY FINISH A FIC??? :'( and this is why writers leave epilogues for years, tbh XD) Hope you enjoy! Much love to all. Xo

[hauntingblue]

Sabaody time.... I am so fucking scared

FIRST OFF I KNOW THATS NOT WHAT HE SAID!!!!

Another one for the sanji faces hall of fame

Luffy should have stuck with the fritters.... I know the end of this........

More for the hall of faces (? Got confused)

OH FUCK HERE WE GO!!!!!!!!

AJDKAJSK TELL HIM USOPP!!!

AJDHAKSBIASNAOAJ!!!!!! COLD!!!!

Califa wearing jabra's shirt bc nami ripped all her clothes 💀💀 wild

Franky and usopp team up with the sunny

Usopp once again just telling the truth

Look at him... 🧍🏻‍♂️

Conqueror's haki tease..... yeah

This just..... yeah.......

GET A JOB!!! LEAVE THEM ALONE!!!

Is he clocking that sanji had to cross the red line so he sure as hell didn't do it with pirates bc he doesn't know how...... or am I reaching (yeah)

Incredible use of the gag here btw

Shakky.... my queen... why does rayleigh have a former amazon lily empress and kuja pirate hidden away in a nasty bar in sabaody.... how can he do that... girl.... that love sickness really got her bad... and the man is gay for a dead man. Damn. WAIT A FUCKING SECOND

SHAKKY WHAT IS GOING ON!!! WDYM HE HAS A GIRL!!! RAYLEIGH WHAT ARE YOU DOING???? open relationship???? What is their deal. I am so curious now ajdhajnsns

Luffy is looking at the camera (?) Like he is wondering what their deal is too... he gets me

Also am I crazy to think that killer would uave been related to the shandians just by the way he looks.... the pants like wiper wears and the long hair like kalgara... also introduced fighting urouge who is a skypiean.... do you see my vision.... maybe oda went naaah with this and that's why his design changed after the timeskip but here??? Idk

Look at this fucking loser..... AHDJAHSKA

I so want to know what is going to happen to kid because he has been doing terrible things to people but we never get into that... maybe shanks was the consequences.... but anyways he is right here lmao... "aren't we kinda cute killer??"

They want each other so bad.... "and he's got bad manners 😏😈"

AN OLD MAN WHO WHAT also haki introduction hello 👋🏻 so I was right about luffy and the bull ALSO CHAPTER 500!! CRAZY!!! ONLY 630 MORE TO GO

Sanji smoking three cigarettes akdjsisjl he is STRESSED

Nami once again not having enough money to save someone she cares about we should all kill ourselves

Hachi blaming himself for being a pirate when even nami is worried about him right now.... we need to kill the celestial dragons

The fucking cover for this volume..... do they know....

Look at these fucking freaks

Usopp landed butt first into the tenryuubito 💀💀💀 Here we fucking go...

[papabear85artist]

Cassie the rude, nasty, spoilt, greedy, selfish, arrogant, self-absorbed, narcissistic, scheming, cunning, whiny, avaricious, short-tempered, manipulative and loud-mouthed Pink Dragoness from the desolate planetoid Medievilonia 😈 is one of Kairh's most trusted servants and Kudmilla's loyal assistant. She will stop at nothing (not even mud in The Pig's Pen) to locate then obtain most of the remaining Dragons Gold from the basement of The Castle if Heaven aka The Heavenly Castle. She hates Jodie the giant 40 foot Pink Heavenly Whippet due to her being Queen after obtaining most of The Dragon's Treasure, despises Georgette thanks to her successful Ice Cream and Yoghurt business and loathes Queen Kong because of her being much stronger than her. In addition, Cassie is also quite envious of Leila the Big Boar mostly due to her having all the warmth, comfort and the love of her life (Papa Bear) that she will never have. She plots to steal The Dragons Gold, The Heavenly Castle, Georgette's Ice Cream and Yoghurt Co, Queen Kong's massive strength and Papa Bear all for herself usually with the alliance if The Wolf, Coyote, Ferret, Weasel and Raccoon Bandits, Seiya the Dragoness Witch, Spyra the spiteful Purple Dragon, Cyndra the Black Dragoness, her master Kudmilla or sometimes by herself. But her plans almost always backfire due to her own ignorance, often always gets chased away by angry Cows, Pigs, Sheep and Goats before being thrown into a mud pit of The Pig's Pen (much to her disgust) as humiliation then being hurled over one hundred yards away by being butt-bumped by Queen Kong, Georgette, Jodie or Leila into the distance. However, even after every defeat, Cassie is still determined to get what she wants🐻🐮🐷🐕🐲🦝🐗🐶🐄🦍🦆🐘

[tronodiferro]

House Mormont of Bear Island Here We Stand

GameOfThronesFanatic-Knjiga

[genotama]

i hate when my roomie leaves for work (evening shift) when im still working (9-5) and i know she has plans after work so im not going to see her today. like 24 hours w/o my beautiful codependent collocatrice. the fuck am i supposed to do with myself until tomorrow

[dunmeshistash]

Dungeon Meshi World Map

REGIONS (Descriptions taken from the Adventurer's Bible)

WESTERN CONTINENT

Description: Bears the most scars from the ancient war. It has many monsters and ruined dungeons, and although it's vast, there are surprisingly few habitable areas. Most of the inhabitants are sturdy, short-lived races and demihumans. Elven culture has had a strong influence here. Characters: Kabru and Kuro Places of Note: Utaya Dungeons of Note: The Utaya Dungeon, The Dragon's Lair

NORTHERN CENTRAL CONTINENT

Description: The continent that is home to the largest nation, ruled by the queen of the elves. The term "Western Elves" mostly indicates elves from this region. It's the safest area and life is easy here, but its shrinking population has dangerously weakened it. Characters: Mithrun (and the Canaries) Places of Note: Western Elves's Royal District, Canarie's Headquarters. Dungeons of Note: Central Watchtower

SOUTHERN CENTRAL CONTINENT

Description: The area with the second-largest elf nation. It has more inbound immigration than the Northern Central Continent and a rather disorganized atmosphere. While it's in an alliance with the Northern Central Continent, they really aren't on good terms. Characters: - Places of Note: - Dungeons of Note: -

EASTERN CONTINENT

Description: Home to the largest gnome nation. Once dwarfs and gnomes made up the majority of the inhabitants, but in recent years there has been an influx of short-lived races from the Northern Continent and Eastern Archipelago, and the population is growing rapidly. It's a melting pot where various cultures are jumbled together. Characters: Chilchuck Tims (Kahka Brud), Senshi (Izganda) Places of Note: Magic School, The Island/Melini, Kahka Brud, Izganda, Dozahk, Bonnario, Sadena Dungeons of Note: Island, Brud Dungeon Cluster, Budou Pit, Tower of Night Cries

NORTHERN CONTINENT

Description: A severely cold continent where over half of the land is covered in perpetual snow. The majority of the inhabitants are short-lived races, particularly tall-men, but the population isn't large to begin with. It has been strongly influenced by dwarf culture. Characters: Laios & Falin, Marcille Places of Note: - Dungeons of Note: -

EASTERN ARCHIPELAGO

Description: An area where short-lived races live. As a result of a pact, there has been no interference by long-lived races for a very long time. The effects of the ancient war are slight, and they have almost no trouble with monsters or dungeons, but there's constant strife among humans. Characters: (all from different Islands) Izutsumi, Shuro and his Retainers, Rinsha Fana (Not shown) Places of Note: Island of Wa Dungeons of Note: -

SOUTHERN CONTINENT

Description: Home to the largest dwarf city. Gnome and dwarf nations often build down rather than out, and the innermost layers are extraordinarily deep. War still erupts frequently, and there are never-ending disputes near the borders. Characters: - Places of Note: - Dungeons of Note: -

If you're interested I've found a post on pixiv with the map outlines and some more info (in japanese) (edit: translated here)

I'll make a post about the dungeon descriptions later (here) but here they are, there's a little more info about Kahka Brud dungeons on my last map post

1 The Island, 2 Budou Pit, 3 The Brud Dungeon Cluster, 4 The tower of Night Cries 5 The Utaya Dungeon 6 The Dragon's Lair 7 The Central Watchtower

Map Outline

[byfulcrums]

been rewatching rtte

toothless is called T multiple times, but the letter T doesn't exist in the alphabet of this world

i think hiccup was also called H???

hiccup went to the wedding of the man who tried to kill him and his family multiple times. no wonder he thought he could change drago's mind

snotlout is canonically a theater kid

"you're so small and cuddly" "please never say that again"

the twins are really smart, but they're also just stupid

hiccup straight up disappears when he's working on something

heather had a super noticeable crush on astrid

fishlegs got a love interest!! a plus size main character actually has a cool, badass love interest!

it was super hetnormative but it was cute

there was an island full of flying women who were implied to regularly commit cannibalism

hiccup taught all the riders how to fly with toothless, that's so sweet

everyone is a flat earther except for the twins

hiccup almost directly killed a lot of people

and killed a LOT more when destroying their ships

“scalding– cal..ding--" "toothle, plama bla!" was pretty much the funniest part of the entire series

dagur was bullied as a kid by a guy 8 years older than him who literally tattooed an imagine of him beating up little dagur in his arm??? What was that all about

actually we need to talk about how messed up everything about dagur is and about how the things that could've/did happen(ed) to him may be the reasons why he's Like That

just why was he imprisoned by the outcasts??? he didn't do anything to them directly

oof my brain is spiraling. "he loved you" "ig now we'll never know" what do you mean he didn't know if his dad loved him

there's a technically musical episode

tuffnut became hiccup's defense attorney and immediately got him the death sentence

hiccup regularly jumps off cliffs

he also jumped off a boat, with his arms tied and without toothless. just where did he think he was going

snotlout's annoying attitude is actually because spitelout pressures him too much and he feels like he has to be perfect for his dad :((

THE 'HICCUP'S EVIL MIRROR' VILLAIN THEME DONE RIGHT YESS!!!

viggo is the best httyd villain change my mind (you can't, swords at sundown, you may bring backup but i will win on my own)

skrill comeback skrill comeback SKRILL COMEBACK!!!!

"COMEEE TO DADDY"

what is a boar pit???

oh my god i had missed this series so much. it has no right to be this funny

this was my childhood. it has forever shaped the way i am

berserker heather the unhinged >>>

actually good disability rep! yay

hiccup complains about his peg leg pinching him

he straight up cannot walk without it and it is shown many times

"well, there are the benefits of a metal leg" after it got caught in a bear trap

funny moments, like snotlout trying to steal it to use it as a weapon

the jokes!! toothless laughing at the jokes!!! hiccup being so fucking done with the twins, who are always making the jokes!

there's an episode where everyone is so sleep deprived they actually start spiraling

astrid becomes a happy go lucky girl, hugs snotlout and tells him he's handsome

the fucking mood swings snotlout got were insane

the twins were straight up just hallucinating

"i sent them to wash their dragons, how could they mess that up?" cut to heather falling on her face with a bucket full of water in her hands

fishlegs becomes so paranoid, he's yelling at everyone all the time

"don't you know the trapper's trap can trap the trapper?? ...oh gods, i must be losing it, i'm quoting dagur"

YOOOO VALKA!!!! it's so nice to see her

hiccup tried to murder dagur to stop him from getting to toothless, which is scary bc it shows just how far he's willing to go for his bff, but also funny because hiccup. that was not going to work

oh the hiccstrid slowburn, how i have missed you

the twins's made up language

there was a beach episode turned murder mystery and a musical episode held at gun point

hiccup has a whole little speech that he periodically gives astrid to remind her that the twins serve a purpose

[queers-gambit]

Give Every Man Thy Ear, But Few Thy Voice

title citation: Hamlet

prompt: similar to Penelope Featherington, you overhear your best mate's choice words about you after dancing at a ball.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!Tyrell!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

collection masterlist: The Truth Will Out collection masterlist: Clingy Baby

word count: 18.3k+

note: SLUTTY ANGST CLUB, COME GET Y'ALL JUICE!

warnings: not edited. heapings of angst, hurt and no comfort, fuck your feelings. tweaked timeline, cursing, Bridgerton influenced, Aemond's both a bestie and an outstanding, fucking asshole - so is this vilified Aemond? eavesdropping trope, nicknamed reader, insecurity, insults, betrayl, abundance of ye ol' misogyny, self destructive tendencies; a single, non-graphic line that alludes suicide as an unserious threat to convey displeasure. there's men being men, men being gossipy little bitches, and the most random Lord of the Rings quote that kinda breaks the fourth wall?

Bridgerton - available to watch on Netflix 🍒 this fic was written before season three premiered

Jacaerys Velaryon version: coming soon

Tonight was a celebration that echoed across the entire Realm. Lords and Ladies alike with their service maids, House guards, any available singletons flocked to King's Landing for the courting season. They did this annually. Three solid months for eligible singles to make a match and attempt to secure their bond in matrimony.

Ladies wore layers of multicolored fabrics. Lords dressed in embellished tunics. Ladies tied on tight corsets to push their breasts to their necks. Lords shaved their facial hair, appearing "cleaned up". Ladies smelt of exotic perfume and Lords stood in shiny boots. All wore sparkling, gaudy jewelry.

While the Starks of Winterfell and the Umbers of Last Hearth traveled over a month to reach the capital, your family, the Tyrells from Highgarden, had a much more comfortable commute. Greyjoys and Mormonts sailed in from the Iron Islands and Bear Island, Tullys from Riverrun, Royces and Arryns from the Eyrie. Single, available, eligible Hightowers returned under Queen Alicent's sponsorship, Lannisters prowled in from Lannisport, and select few Martells arrived in gorgeous, gloriously golden carriages from Dorne.

Everyone who was anyone descended onto the Red Keep, eager to earn King Viserys' stamp of approval - being that he only granted one couple his presence at their ceremony. It was the highest of honors, a prize to be won, a chance to show off and show out; giving the two bonded families bragging rights until the next season. Plus there's a superstition that all weddings the King attended were prosperous, healthy, and long lasting marriages. There was a buzz in the air, a static of excitement and mystery; tension brewing when the members of court arrived and sized each other up for that first week. You thought they were silly for this energy, akin to strutting peacocks, treating their own like competition, treating bloodlines like currency.

You never realized how many purists there were.

While the other Houses had to travel, you were most lucky to already host residence in the Red Keep. Your uncle, Evin Tyrell, had once been in line to assume lordship over Highgarden, but after losing his son to the War of the Stepstones, Evin turned away from his inherited responsibilities; forcing it onto your father's shoulders. You had several siblings, both younger and older, and eventually got lost in your bustling, busy, arguably large family. Evin had no more children, wife long departed from this life, and was excited by the prospect of being a guardian; insisting you come with him to King's Landing, where he accepted a tutoring position for the King's children and grandchildren.

You were absolutely romanced by the idea of existing among the royal family, telling your father it was your one chance at a decent, higher education - an opportunity to study under the Targaryens being once in a lifetime. Truth be told, you're not entirely sure Lord Tyrell even processed your words, approving with a distracted grunt and a wave; gone by the next morning without even breaking your fast with your family. Evin hooked both your beloved horse and one of your father's young stallions to a wooden cart you shared, using the journey to King's Landing to prepare you for the life you were soon to live.

You had always been a little wild child, so, Evin felt it necessary to remind you of your manners; brushing up on your etiquette, quizzing you on members of the Royal Family, explaining what would be expected of you now that you were a guest to the royals.

For well over a decade, you were the single wildflower blooming through dragon fire, earning the moniker Rose of the Realm; living under Queen Alicent's good grace. She seemed to like you well enough, going as far as to invite you to family events after noticing the bond between you and her openly favorite son, Prince Aemond. Years ago, when you were fresh and new to the Capital City, your uncle brought you to attend Lady Laena Velaryon's funeral on Driftmark at the King's invitation. You already had a friendship with the young royals; keeping Helaena company, trying to sneak Aegon's chalices of wine out of his grip, and when the time came, rushed off over the sandy dunes with your best mate after he told you his plan to lay claim on Lady Laena's dragon, Vhagar.

After the King's heir, Princess Rhaenyra's (rumored) bastard son, Lucerys, slashed Aemond's eye from his socket, you became incredibly close. Impossible close. Like unbelievably close; being thick as thieves, joined at the hip, magnetically pulled towards one another before clicking into tight place. You were his pillar of support, his anchor to reality; and he was your salvation.

You realized you were in love with him when you turned ten-and-six. It was something strange, the two of you studying together in the library and when you looked up from your book to meet his eyes, you just understood. Something in your brain clicked, heart cemented in knowing, guts twisting in sudden realization, words caught in your throat and only letting out an inaudible gasp. Ever since that day, you were acutely aware of anything the Prince did; from the way he would caress the back of your head at each embrace, to his eye darting to look at your lips during conversations. From how he took almost every meal with you, to the way he insisted upon your invitation to family, public, and / or royal events. From the way he absorbed your secrets and opinions, to the way he shared his own - getting back what you put forth, forever mutual.

Being friends - best mates, even - with Aemond was easy. So easy, in fact, that nobody ever batted an eye when they saw the two of you unchaperoned. Your friendship was wholesome, endearing, supportive, enlightening, and pleasurably challenging in the sense that Aemond liked pushing your envelope; testing your boundaries. He set new standards and helped lift you to meet those goals, made you think harder, consider new points of view, expand your humanity.

What more could anyone ask for?

About half way through the current season, your uncle sent for you to join him for afternoon tea in the gardens. "Do you recognize these?" He asked when you arrived at the pavilion he sought shade under, admiring the bushes of florals surrounding the bannister.

"Of course," you smirked, hands behind your back as you stood at his shoulder, "they're honeysuckle."

"Native to only Highgarden, just like I called you in your youth," Evin added, plucking a bloom to admire. "Do you know why they're planted here?"

"I imagine through pollination?"

"A sound guess, but no," your uncle handed you the flower. "These were imported years ago, but have only bloomed now."

You nodded, sucking the bud to extract its honey-sweet taste, asking through puckered lips, "Imported by whom?"

"Do you remember your 17th nameday?"

"Oh, yeah, I guess, it was only a few years ago. You weren't here, you were on some diplomatic matter, right?"

"Inna way. After I concluded my affairs, I returned to Highgarden. You see, Prince Aemond confided in me how he wished to do something special for your birthday and knew you missed home. He asked me to bring these seeds back."

"Aemond asked you to plant honeysuckle?"

"Specifically here," Elvin grinned, "so they were within easy reach."

"So why have they only just now bloomed?" You tried to keep the jittery excitement out of your voice; baffled yet giddy from hearing about Aemond's kind gesture.

"There's an old legend," Evin gestured you to the patio table and chairs that was dressed for your social visit. "It's said, when the honeysuckle is gifted from lover to lover, they will only bloom when love surrounds them. I believe they have come to life this season as a portent to an impending match to be made."

"You spend too much time with Otto, Uncle, you're starting to sound like him - veiling your words and talking in riddles. Tell me why you called me here, Uncle, I know it's not for a botany lesson. Out with it, please, for the sake of my sanity."

Evin chuckled, watching you lean forward to pour two mugs of tea. "I was wondering, sweet niece, what the nature of your relationship is to the Prince Aemond?"

"Oh," you blinked, adding a sugar cube to your brew before stirring in a bit of milk, "well, I hate to disappoint, but I don't know what to tell you, Uncle. We're friends, nothing more or less."

"You seem real chummy."

"We're close, yes."

"Romantic?"

You scoffed, "Uncle, please - "

"Tell me the truth of it."

"Nothing inappropriate or unseemly nor nefarious has occurred between us, Uncle, I promise you. The Prince and I are just friends."

Evin sipped his tea, nodding slowly, "Well, humor me. If I asked who you would marry, who would you choose?"

"Well, as of right now, I'd choose myself since I don't know the men at court yet, only rumors and whispers."

"And if the offer of marriage presented itself, would you marry the Prince?"

"I would do my duty to our House, no matter the suitor."

Evin nodded slowly, "If I said I had struck a pact with the Queen and Hand, what would you say?"

"That despite what I've just said, if you marry me off to Aegon, I'll pitch myself from a window."

Your uncle's head tilted back as he belted short laughter. "I would never condemn you to such a fate, honey girl! Have more faith in me. I speak of Prince Aemond - it's why I asked about him."

"Uncle, speak plainly. Have you attempted to make such a match between the Prince and I?"

"Pending a few logistics, the Crown's interested in the match."

The words echoed in your mind on an obnoxious repeat for the weeks to come, surely living a dream. The longer you dwelled on the impending match, the giddier you felt; a secret smile brightening your features, small spring in your step, an air of positivity hanging around you that even the tiresome Rogue Prince wouldn't be able to taint. The One-Eyed Prince has long been your best mate for a decade, surely, this match would've been offered sooner or later; it was a smart choice, the definition of compatibility.

Some might've referred to this elation as "cloud nine", though you'd say it was cloud 10, 11, 12, 100! You were flying high, feeling good, and mistakenly allowing your hopes to heighten while imagining what marrying your best friend would be like.

You prepared for that evening's courting session with a dreamy, dazed look in your eyes. Even your ladies-maid picked up on your joyful spirit; questioning through her smile, "What's got you so distracted, my Lady? You've been staring off into nothing with that smile for an hour now."

"Huh?" You met her eyes through the vanity mirror, the woman standing behind you to intricately braid your hair. "Oh, no, no, nothing, I'm only lost in thought."

"Which thought?"

"It doesn't matter, it's just a thought. When it becomes a notion, I'll tell you, my friend."

She repeated with a grin, "'Yeah? When's that? Are you expecting good news?"

"Perhaps."

"Fine, fine, keep your secrets," she playfully tugged your hair. "Do you know which dress you'd like to wear tonight?"

"The lilac one," you answered, lips stretching your smile.

"You mean the dress that matches Prince Aemond's eye perfectly?"

You both giggled girlishly.

When you arrived at the Throne Room, there was already more than 75% of guests in attendance; getting a jump on their mingling. You greeted several familiar faces, locating your best mate standing at the side with his arms crossed and shoulder leaning on a pillar. "Well, you certainly look happy to be here," you teased when at his side, leaning on the other side of the intricate column.

"It was Mother's idea, Rosie, you know I do not dance," he frowned. "She's not given up the hunt to make me a match. She's adamant this is the year."

"Perhaps if you participate, you could organically meet your future wife."

"Hmm," his eye rolled, thin lips quirking in a smirk; gaze turned on you, watching you scan the room.

There was another 20 minutes of mingling before dinner was called, laid out on tables that stretched the entire length of the Throne Room. Naturally, like every single day, you and Aemond took side-by-side seats together at a risen table that hosted the royal family which provided an incredible view of those in attendance this eve. With your elbow, you nudged Aemond's bicep, making him lean over instantly so you could speak in his ear quietly. "Looks like Lady Fell and Lord Blackwood are gonna jump each other's bones," you mused, smirking, adding, "though I heard she's already hiding a growing belly and is trying to nab herself someone more mature in age with the intent to trick the Lord into thinking she's having his baby."

"No," he scoffed in amusement.

"Yes!"

"That's diabolical. Blackwood's the father? Truly?"

"I'm pretty sure."

"Good for him, good for Blackwood - didn't know he had it in him." He paused to take a pull from his goblet of wine, continuing, "Hm! Look, look," he grinned coyly, "do you see what I see?"

"It's packed in here, so... No, I don't see whatever you're seeing."

He snickered, "Lady Mormont looks smitten with Lord Greyjoy, looks like she wants to eat him."

"I thought he was romancing Lady Redwyne?"

Aemond hummed in amusement, "Perhaps he is considering options, courting more than one lady. Are we taking bets this season, again?"

You grinned, "Of course."

"Lay out the criteria, what're the parameters?"

After thinking a moment, you answered, "The pairing and timeline of impending weddings?"

"The stakes?"

You just shrugged, "Bragging rights?"

"Oh, c'mon, Rosie," he tisked.

"Fine, uh, how about... 10 Gold Dragons?"

"Both our families have enough money."

"Then you decide the rewards."

He lowered his voice, ensuring his family couldn't eavesdrop, "If you win, I'll go to Highgarden with you next time you visit. But if I win, you have to come flying with me on Vha - "

"No," you snapped instantly.

Aemond smirked, "Those are the terms, my Lady. Do you accept? Or will the Rose of the Realm shy away from challenge?"

Well, when you put it that way...

"Fine," you relented. "You're eager to lose so bad, let's do it. Who do you think will couple first?"

"Does it count if I get at least one correct? Such as, if I predict Lord Umber and Lady Lannister, but Umber marries Lady Tully, does it count that I still predicted Umber?"

You mulled his idea over, humming, stabbing a piece of roast goose from your plate to place in your mouth and chew thoughtfully. "Hmm, no, no, you gotta get the couple completely correct."

Aemond nodded, accepting your terms, "You really don't wish to go flying, do you?"

"What gave me away?"

Sharing a chuckle, Aemond finished, "All right, Rosie, bring it on."

When dinner concluded, once more, patrons were allowed to mix and mingle; dancing to the live band, drink spiced wine to their heart's desires. Like the common wallflowers you were, you posted at the side of the room with Aemond, content to watch the sea of vying adults trying to establish and rush courtship. It was the most comfortable you could be at these events, being anxious in judgmental crowds and seeking salvation from Aemond's domineering aura.

"Lady Tyrell," Jason Lannister purred as he approached you with his chest puffed out, "I was hoping to hold your ear tonight. Your father was telling me about your love to ride horses."

"Oh, my father said that?"

"That's who he said he was - "

"My father's in Highgarden, my Lord," you corrected, knowing for fact that Evin always described himself as your uncle.

"Ah, well, right," Jason cleared his throat in embarrassment. Did this pompous arsehole just lie about talking to your father to give the illusion he was an honorable man? That your father approved of the golden headed Lannister? "Perhaps you would honor me with a dance?"

"Perhaps not," Aemond cut in sharply, bringing the tension to focus.

"My Lord," you distracted, on behalf of Aemond's anger, "uh, thank you for asking, that's very kind of you. Though I'm afraid, I'm all, uh, danced out. I won't be on my feet much longer."

"Means fuck off, Lannister," Aemond growled, appearing positively murderous at the honey blonde's audacity.

Jason eyed Aemond, stiffly bidding, "I see. My Prince, my Lady, enjoy your evening."

You bid the older widower the same, Aemond chuckling the moment the lion was swallowed by the crowd. "As if you'd ever dance with a Lannister, let alone court him," he mused, looking down at you. "But he had the right idea, you need to dance at least once. Shouldn't waste this dress standing on the side with me."

"I'm quite comfortable here with you," you shrugged off, seeing your uncle at the royal banquet table exchanging hushed words with King Viserys and his Queen, Alicent.

"C'mon," he held his hand in offer, palm up.

"What? No, no, Aemond, I'm not dancing - I've two left feet!"

"You can break every toe on my feet and I'd still ask you. Just one dance. With me, Lady Tyrell."

"You don't dance!"

"Perhaps the mood has taken me. C'mon, petal."

Your head turned from left to right as if looking for someone spying on you. The moment your hand laid daintily in his, you melted right there on the spot, not having any coherent recollection about how you ended up in the middle of the overzealous contenders. You realized you'd follow this man anywhere.

Beating off your immense anticipation and overwhelming excitement to join The One-Eyed Prince for an intimate activity, you kept your composure amongst everyone else. But, my Gods, did you want to scream in delight the moment he placed one hand on your waist and the other clasping yours to raise in the air at your side. But in this position, you could feel the ridges of his stomach - making you briefly feel embarrassed, wondering how you must've looked to the members of court.

"You sure about this?" You whispered nervously, but you had a feeling that was due to the intense concentration he pinned you with.

"We'll be fine, Rosie, just breathe and follow my lead. I got you."

So launched your dance with Prince Aemond Trgaryen, second son of King Viserys. You couldn't divert your gaze from his porcelain, angled face to save you from overthinking your dancing skill - or lack there of. A few times, he'd smirk and whisper how good you were doing, mind flashing to an image of you and he, married, tumbling in bed sheets together while he praises you. Everything he did became sinful to you; every touch, every glance, every smile, every private studying session setting your skin on fire and heart to beat rapidly.

It was a longer song, string instruments creating a pleasant, ideal, slow-paced, soft environment. Yet you couldn't hear the music, too focused on Aemond's single piercing eye and quirked lips. It was as if the two of you existed outside of time and reality, forgetting the people packed in the stuffy room. Aemond told you softly, "See? You're not so bad at dancing - you just need the right partner."

You wanted to be partnered every single dance from now until your death with Aemond.

"I thought you couldn't dance?" You coyly questioned.

"I said I don't dance, not that I couldn't."

To your idle shock, Aemond gave you a few twirls that made your hair and dress fan around you in an angelic motion. Dare you say it, you even laughed with mirth when you found yourself enjoying the courting season more than ever before - all thanks to your best friend and hopefully, soon-to-be intended. You were acutely aware of his hot and heavy hands holding your flesh, knowing this feeling would burn into your skin to remind you of his closer-than-close proximity. To remind you of his gentleness, to remind you of this dance and the way he gave you his complete and undivided attention.

When the musicians concluded the song, you were grinning authentically while joining in the applause to show appreciation towards the artists.

"Gods," you panted, "that nearly winded me. Think I'm out of shape."

"And you said you had two left feet," he mocked with a scoff, head shaking, but the smirk on his lips told you he wasn't serious. "You're a natural, Rosie."

"You're not such a bad dancer yourself, my Prince," you complimented, the applause subsiding as a new song began. "Though you'll have to excuse me while I get a drink."

You parted way in search of two empty goblets and one of the servants carrying decanters of spiced wine. After being served, you rocked on your toes to try and gaze over the heads populating the room. You were unsuccessful, so, you backed up to the edge of the crowd and moved around the involuntary empty loop along the wall, behind the pillars. There was no reason finding the white haired prince with an eyepatch would be this difficult, yet, you got more than halfway around the room before finally locating him.

Once again, he was leaning on a column, but he wasn't alone. No, there was a gaggle of Lords around him, all exchanging chatter about the Ladies they had to choose from this season.

"Well, c'mon, what about you, Aemond?" Cregan Stark pondered. "Things with The Rose look like they're escalating - congrats. Are wedding bells on the horizon?"

Hearing your name, you quickly scurried behind the same pillar, just out of sight but able to still listen. Look, eavesdropping was highly frowned upon, you knew it was bad manners, but if you heard men gossiping about your name, you would've done the exact same!

Aemond scoffed in pure amusement, "Come off it, Stark."

"No, c'mon, mate, I saw you two," Cregan continued, "dancing together, pressed all close."

"You two make a handsome match, logistically speaking," Paxtan Florant labeled. "Could marry someone abundantly worse, I think you two are quite the pair."

"Handsome and logical as it may look, there's no possibility I'd court the Lady Tyrell, let alone marry her," Aemond declared with a chuckle, your heart stalling and brows wrinkling together. "The Tyrells only just obtained their name in court, they're still too low born for a prince to entertain. Peasants like that are uneducated, prominently not intelligent enough to be my counterpart; uncultured, unwise, unable to retain most information we study during lessons."

You blinked in shock. If anything, you were Aemond's ONLY intellectual counterpart!

"So, she's not as smart as you, mate, so what?" Cregan cocked his head. "You don't need smart, you need fertile and capable."

Though he was attempting to defend you, Cregan's words made your skin prickle. How could they think you weren't intellectually on their level? Was it because you were a woman? You read the same books, attended the same tutoring sessions, was questioned on the same material they were and hardly ever answering incorrectly! And yet now you're reduced to your reproduction system?

The Prince scoffed, "Think about it, if I married a Tyrell, their lowly standing would taint the Targaryen bloodline."

"So, it was all an act?" Paxtan snickered, "C'mon, mate, you two looked dazed, all enamored with each other. Can't convince us there's nothing there, not after that."

Aemond chuckled, "You want the truth?"

"Lay it on us."

"I shared a single dance with her because I pity her. Don't any of you? The way she all but repels suitors? Surely, you've noted her dresses as well? They're terribly revealing, unlike anything a proper lady would don. No self respecting woman nor future princess of mine would wear something like that. It's as if she's so desperate for attention that she has to flaunt her flesh just to get a man to look at her since her personality surely doesn't reel suitors to her."

The men laughed, your mouth dropping open in offense. You're not chasing men away - look what happened with Jason Lannister! It was Aemond who told him to fuck off! After years of friendship, was this truly what Aemond thought of you? How did it come to this - the man you loved, the man you considered your best mate, slandering your name to any able ear willing to listen? How could he speak such calamities about you? Was this entire friendship a folly, just a cover for his pity? Was he only your 'friend' to entertain his own selfish boredom?

Was everything just in your head?

"I don't know, I like how she dresses," Tyler Lannister mused, the teenaged son of Tyland Lannister, Jason's twin brother.

"None the less, I find desperation unattractive in a woman," Aemond rejected, tears gathering in your eyes to silently stream down your cheeks. "Besides, Lady Tyrell isn't my type, she talks far too much. Truly, there's never a moment of silence, I cannot even hear my own thoughts when she's prattling - and it's never anything of substance, just useless nonsense. It's as I said, it was a pity dance, I felt sorry that she has little to no suitors."

"Seriously, mate, have you considered the reason she has no suitors might be because of her proximity to you? They might stay away because they feel threatened by your friendship, thinking she's spoken for - and trust me, no man here would dare compete against a prince for a lady's affection," Cregan scoffed, mildly disgusted by Aemond's choice words.

"The courts know there's no affection shared between Lady Tyrell and I. We are simply friends - no more or less - and that's as far as our relationship will ever progress."

Cregan hummed, nodding his head sarcastically. Then his curiosity questioned, "Answer this: are you attracted to her?"

"Truthfully, I just don't think she's... Attractive enough to be my wife. She's a pretty lass, I'll admit, but if she's called the Rose of the Realm, I fear to learn the appearance of other ladies from Highgarden." A few lads chuckled. "Additionally, there will be public outings I must attend, and as my wife, the people will expect to see someone alluring - someone qualified and fit for the position as a princess of the Realm. Someone stunning and worthy of the title, able to fulfill royal responsibilities."

"Gods, why're you so against this match? You're being terribly superficial, judgmental, and defensive - she's your friend, after all. Wouldn't this be a love-match? Do you know how rare those are?" Luras Arryn snarled, sounding genuinely distraught and jealous.

"And if you're so against her, why do you constantly escort her to formal events?" Arnas Blackwood tacked on. "It creates the illusion that you're courting, my Prince, surely you're aware of that."

"As I stated, her blood isn't pure, but she's also criminally clingy. She's always lingering around and I feel awkward not inviting her to royal events - since she's right there, all alone, in front of me. I only invite her out of obligation. Again, I take pity on the girl, knowing when she leaves the Red Keep, she'll never experience this life again."

"Well, if not the Rose of the Realm, who do you have your sights on?" Luras Arryn asked stiffly.

Aemond's smirk was clear as day, answering swiftly, "The Lady Floris Baratheon is appealing enough."

The lads obnoxiously cheered in supportive approval, directing the conversation in a new direction about how bloody gorgeous Floris was - one of them even mentioning she deserved the nickname, Rose of the Realm.

You heard enough, more than enough, more than you ever wanted to know in an entire lifetime; rightfully insulted past belief and violently nauseated, feeling cold and mechanical. As swiftly as you could, you rushed to set the goblets down and speed walk towards the doors, shoving past both individuals and couples; not wanting to linger where you're clearly not wanted. Where you were apparently not welcome. After making your inconspicuous getaway, tears fell faster than earlier, mind replaying Aemond's words while sprinting to your chambers.

Describing you as clingy, desperate, unattractive, not his type. Dubbing you an improper lady who lacked self respect. Thinking you talk too much - that you prattle nonsense. Labeling you unworthy and unqualified to be his wife or assume the title princess with all the relating responsibilities. How he pities you and doesn't ever want to be more than your friend; thinking you're uneducated, uncultured, unwise. Declaring House Tyrell peasants who would taint his family's pure bloodline. How you 'have' to flaunt your flesh to attract suitors - since your personality did you no favors. Marking you a friend out of obligation...

Were you even friends? Did you even understand the definition of a friend? Have you been operating in a delusion this whole time?

In the words of King Théoden: how did it come to this?

Feeling utterly humiliated, you ran away from your peers; lungs heaving, huffing and puffing, panic ready to overflow. You burst through the wooden door, fully sobbing by now, engaging the iron lock and dropping to lean your weight against it.

Most, if not all, of your insecurities were aired out like soiled bedsheets for all eligible bachelors to know. Aemond might as well have hung a painted wooden sign around your neck: DESPERATE AND CLINGY LOSER - DO NOT ENGAGE.

Nothing about this situation felt normal, it all felt terribly impossible; absolutely heartbreaking and vile, like it was some kind of bad dream. But everyone woke up from dreams. You'd never wake up from this, you'd be forced to remember and relive it day after day. Tonight would haunt you, cast a dark shadow around you as if a thick, temperamental, torrential storm. Yet every storm eventually breaks, but tonight, there was no remedy, no shelter, no protection - you had to weather this alone.

It felt foreign, enduring anything by yourself. For years, Aemond was your partner, always at your side, level headed, insightful and wise; supportive, protective, calming, and something like a safety net when you faced trouble. Now, he's left you devastatingly alone; where after tonight, the very idea of being in the same room as him made you nauseated and anxious, fearful and small.

In that moment, your brain screamed that you were no longer welcome in the Red Keep - Uncle Evin's position be damned.

You sat on the stone cold floor for the better part of half an hour before your bottom turned painfully numb. After sluggishly hiking up your dress skirt, you removed your shoes and tossed them aside, standing to swollen feet to unhook your jewelry and place everything in their safe and proper place. Then, a particular necklace made of red rubies set in a thinly crafted Valyrian Steel chain caught your eye and mocked you. It was Aemond's gift on your ten-and-eighth nameday, laid in a plush velvet case for adequate preservation. This simple piece of jewelry was your absolute favorite in your collection, a treasure beyond words of appreciation that you greatly admired, now rusting in salty tears.

Being gifted this necklace had once convinced you Aemond might've felt the same for you as you do him. You remember even trying to rationalize it as a sign that the One-Eyed Prince was at a loss and didn't know how to confess his feelings. That he was shy, perhaps afraid to ruin your friendship if you didn't feel the same.

Angry tears of betrayal fell like acid over your cheeks, gritting your teeth, clenching your jaw as you snapped the velvet box closed and with a barbaric grunt, hurled it (with impressive strength) across the room. You felt so confused, so lost; deceived, lied to, and puppeted - and then the anger flared again when you realized what family you were angry with.

Why bother being upset, emotional, distressed? You had no right because your feelings truly didn't matter - not in the grand scheme of things. Nobody cared about your trivial feelings! You were just a Tyrell and by comparison, a peasant nobody who never deserved, earned, warranted, or was bestowed respect. In fact, to the Targaryens up on their mounted pedestals, none of you mattered - not a citizen in all Seven Kingdoms.

In fact, it was almost treated as a curse to not be a Targaryen. Some kind of punishment for daring to exist amongst the privileged royals as a lowborn - which, despite your family's newly established status in court, you were still characterized as. In their eyes, anyone NOT a Targaryen was lowborn; deemed unworthy to the white haired bloodline, being merely tolerated for the sake of politics, strategy, and reproduction. It was a sick game, and the Targaryens always won.

They do what they want, when they want, with no consideration towards other people's safety, emotions, wellbeing, stability, or comfort. The Targaryens were always stationed above everyone because, after all, they were closer to Gods than men; entire family spoiled, entitled, narcissistic, holier than thou, avoidant of any and all consequence.

They're legendary. Untouchable and worshipped.

And you? You're just a Tyrell, the tiny beetle trampled under the God's boot. Beetles were essential to any ecosystem, similar to the Tyrell's providing to the Realm productions of wheat, grain, barley, and corn. Similar to your family, beetles are also disposable - meaning the Targaryens might tolerate you, but they never need respect you. They could stomp you into the ground whenever they wanted because where one beetle died, three more takes place. Where one House might falter and fall, become doomed, eradicated, or subcomes to tragedy, others step up in an effort to establish their usefulness; prove their House's necessity to the Realm's ecosystem, attempt to diminish the threat of being razed to the ground by dragon fire.

Why be so upset with the Targaryens when they can do no wrong? What right did you have? And how could you ever think a Prince of the Realm would remotely be romantically interested in you?

You felt delusional and pathetic, crying over a man who was never in your league. Yet betrayal gutted you like a fish, a bright reminder that your friend would expose you like that; offer loud disrespect, speaking hatefully, to finally voice hidden malcontent. It felt impossible to stomach that your first friend, your favorite person, secretly hated you.

Because how could he not? You did not love anyone you could speak so lowly of.

Sobbing harder, you yanked pins out of your hair, working at break-neck speed to strip from your gown, then freezing when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the vanity mirror. The reflection looked distraught with exhausted red eyes; glowing in defeat, in a desperate need for a long, hot soak in the washtub. With shaking hands, you tossed a spare blanket over the mirror, despising the sight of yourself as Aemond's words continued to ring on a loop in your ears.

Clingy, desperate, unattractive, not his type. Improper, lacks self respect, talks too much, lacks suitors. Unworthy, unqualified, pitiful, never desiring to bloom past friendship - which is constructed around obligation. Uneducated, uncultured, unwise. Unfit, tainted, lowborn blood with a lowly personality. Revealing, tempting dresses.

Your mind, heart, and head screamed that no matter how hard you hoped, prayed, and tried, you'd never have a place among the Targaryens. Yelled that Aemond's right: you're ugly on the inside and out; damaged goods, undesirable - all because you were not born amongst fire and blood. Bellowed about your lack of quality, purpose, contribution. Reminded you that the one person you trusted unconditionally never truly wanted to be your friend; that he spoke horrendously on your name when absent, didn't value who you were - and never did.

He took every insecurity you confided in him and weaponized it; used it against you, made it into a joke with people you didn't trust nor want to know about you...

You sunk into the bath water, submerging as if to hide from your own thoughts.

The knock at your chamber door didn't surprise you. Servants and your uncle had been coming and going since you first refused to leave the morning after the ball. You figured Aemond would come around eventually, too curious for his own good and still under the impression he had to play "friend", thinking his deceit was unknown to you.

Aemond called your name through the door, asking, "You awake? Could I come in?"

You didn't answer.

He sighed, "C'mon, I know you're there. You haven't been seen in four days, you have to eat. You should get some air, feel the sunshine."

Silence.

Aemond frowned, "When you're ready, come find me, petal. I'm worried about you."

You wiped the tears off your cheeks, pulling your knees to your chest. For four days, you couldn't stomach the idea of running into the Prince, just wanting to avoid anyone or anything that would remind you of what Aemond said. You understood there were several decisions left to be settled, lost in an endless rampage of confusing emotions, maids bring you full trays of food and removing them with more than half still left.

Humiliation knotted in your chest, the harrowing thought of punishing yourself for being so stupid something you couldn't fight. All you registered was the feeling of betrayal, something that inked into every single thought you had, but with it came sinking realization that you were done. Simple as that.

On the sixth night, you sat with Uncle Evin, forking through your full plate and blurting, "Don't do it."

He paused to finish the bite in his mouth, "Do what, honey girl?"

"Don't - Don't make a match with Alicent and Otto. Don't make the arrangement with Prince Aemond."

Evin nodded slowly, washing his bite down with a mouthful of wine. "There a reason for your change of heart, love? The Queen thinks it's a handsome pairing. Just before, you seemed content with the match - dare I say, you seemed pleased?"

"Things change, Uncle," you spoke evenly, "and I can't shoulder this responsibility. In fact, I... I do not think I'm capable of making my own match. I will be stepping away from courting for the time being."

Your eyes seemed distant and dark, proving serious. So Elvin agreed easily, allowing you to withdrawal from the current season officially. He understood something was deeply amiss and didn't want to make worse whatever turmoil you teetered in. He didn't want to upset you and make things worse - you obviously had enough going on.

Aemond knocked again the next day, "Petal? You awake?" But you didn't answer. He sighed, "You've been missing lessons, love, and I just... I brought you some books. Thought maybe you'd like to catch up?" When there was no answer, he ended, "I'll just leave them here for you, petal... I'm not sure what's wrong, but I hope you're all right in there... I miss you."

You scoffed quietly, wiping your tears.

Ten days after withdrawing from the courting season, you left your chambers for the first time. But it wasn't like anything changed - it was still as if you were invisible, like a ghost. Losing your best mate turned you silent, refusing to attend lessons and since Aemond was your source for solace, had turned to seeking shelter at the Sept. It was the easiest way to avoid everyone - mostly Aemond.

He had shunned the religion the older he got, though respected his mother's devotion to it in trying times. He couldn't remember the last time he was in the Sept... So, it was perfect for you; a safe space.

You were no longer seen in the library - a once daily occurrence. If you ever wanted to read, you sent your ladies maid to collect content for you; but the drive to learn and read had abandoned you as swiftly as Aemond's loyalty. The stables grew cold in your absence, refusing to ride; something that troubled your uncle gravely. No longer did you take meals with family or Aemond, always seeking solitude to eat alone in your room or the physical kitchens; the Red Keep growing dark over your lack of sunshine - that had shone so brightly in the previous weeks. Even then, when you ate, it was in small quantities to only sustain yourself; mostly feeling nauseous when food was put on your stomach.

The first time Aemond saw you, you were returning from the Sept in a dress that reached close to your pulse point of your neck. He tried to get to you, but you slipped through the cracks of the Keep and disappeared when he dodged around a set of Kingsguard. Yet it was still a comfort to him to know you had left your room finally.

He knocked on your door about half an hour later, but like usual, you didn't answer.

"Rosie?" Aemond called, sighing. "I know you've not been feeling yourself, but, uh, tomorrow's Helaena's nameday. We're having dinner for her on the terrace..." He waisted, not hearing a single thing from within your chamber. "You're invited, as usual, petal. Your uncle said he'd attend, wanted you to know you're always welcome at our table."

But you didn't show up, you couldn't bear to see any of them.

You didn't eat that night, you were far too anxious and spiteful against yourself that you refused to allow yourself to indulge in celebrating your companion.

Despite withdrawing, you still heard rumor of all the matches being made and the courtships established through your ladies maid. A cord struck in your gut when you heard the couples you had bet upon were public and engaged, but so were Aemonds... Which meant you both won; and if things were different, would mean a flight on Vhagar to visit Highgarden. On nights of merriment, you would sit alone in the Godswood sometimes; attempting to connect to the Old Gods, but they never spoke back. They never connected with you.

Tonight, you were under the blood red leaves in earnest curiosity; quiet, just as you had been since the day you found out Aemond's betrayal and discouraged your uncle from making a match. It was there Elvin found you, frowning as he took a seat beside you in the grass.

"The Old Gods do not speak to me," Elvin offered softly.

"Nor I," you whispered.

"Yet I always feel at peace here," he nodded, sighing deeply. "I must ask you something, honey girl."

"Hmm?"

"Do you... Do you wish to depart? From King's Landing, I mean?" He questioned. "I ask because I intend to ride for Highgarden, your father's nameday nears. Your mother intends to throw him a grand celebration, since turning 50 seems such a milestone."

"You ride for home?"

"Tomorrow morning."

You paused, then answered, "I would like that... There's nothing left for me here."

Aemond's words had done irreparable damage, making you feel worthless and alone. Bitter. Damaged and unworthy of any such match; forever worrying if your best friend could harbor such ill will and hatred for you, surely, a husband would as well. Yet you were not new to being a woman; you knew the role you were to play, how marriage was strategic and calculated. Political. You could be a wife, you were so sure of it; but would you ever feel worthy of love? You feared you never would.

"We will stay a few weeks."

"I don't know if I would like to return, Uncle."

He offered a sad smile, "I figured as much. But should you want to, feel able to, you may return. You, my sweetling, are always welcome at my side."

You leaned into his shoulder, sighing softly. "I should thank you," you whispered in the wind.

"For what?"

"For taking care of me all these years," you lifted off him to meet his eyes. "You didn't have to, but you wanted to... And you've shown me a father's love when I thought it gone from my life. Thank you, Uncle."

He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, humming, "Don't tell the others but you were always my favorite. I consider it a great pleasure to raise such a gorgeous young lady - and I mean that, honey girl. Inside and out. Now," he pulled back and found his feet, offering his hand to you, "come, we've packing to complete."

"Of course."

However, while in the midst of packing, you felt a jolt in your heart. This had been your home of a decade or more; these people were who you grew and learned with. Who influenced your life in the best and worst of ways; they did not deserve to read your praise and thanks for friendship in a letter... So, you swung a cloak on and ventured out of your room.

Otto was first since he was the easiest to say goodbye to. He was gracious of your parting words of thanks; telling him how much you appreciated his wisdom and riddles.

Aegon was next. He insisted you share a last goblet of wine together - since you did not intend to delay your parting. It turned into a bit of a drinking game with his mates, but you didn't mind; far too used to the company of these debaucherous lechers. Dare you say, you enjoyed yourself.

Helaena was after, your words harder to say as your emotions strangled you. She was a sweet girl, an endearing companion, constant and dependable, albeit a bit strange and unorthodox. But you loved her all the same and cried tears of sadness when hugging her tightly as a last ditch effort to convey your gratitude for her authentic and generous friendship.

You only offered Ser Criston Cole a soft, "Farewell."

Alicent was perhaps hardest to say goodbye to. After Aemond, you were probably closest with the matriarch and found her wisdom and lessons a privilege to learn. She was kind to you; usually with a stern hand, but that was because she could recognize the little girl you once were who missed her mother tremendously. She introduced you to religion, another common bond. She encouraged you, supportive and curious; sharing affinity for the histories, often reading to one another for moments of peace.

Saying goodbye to Alicent hurt. You both shed tears of sorrow, the Queen wishing you the very best and insisting you return for her nameday and other celebratory events. She told you to write, told you to keep in touch; insisting if and when a match was made, to invite her since she would love to attend your wedding. Truly, Alicent considered you one of her own and to know you were departing in pain wounded her.

King Viserys was last. He was already in bed, half-asleep, a Maester at his side; but still, he accepted your audience. You thanked him for his hospitality and kindness - especially to your uncle. You thanked him for hosting you, for allowing you residence at the Keep and the for the years living under royal privilege. You told him you'd not forget his generosity.

You returned to your chambers after that and finished packing. You didn't sleep.

When morning broke, you stood in the courtyard with Elvin; packing the wagon you would use, your horse tacked and waiting as you both intended to ride. Alicent and Helaena came to see you off, hugging you tightly one last time before the Queen offered you a handheld velveteen case. "Just a little something to remember us by," she smiled lightly.

"Oh, as if I'm in a hurry to forget you?" You mused. "My Queen, this is too much, I cannot accept."

"You have not opened it."

"I do not need to, I know you," you smirked. "Your leadership these years is enough gift, my Queen."

"I'm not taking it back, you might as well accept it," she insisted. "Helaena and I picked it out together..."

You lifted the case lid, blinking in shock and gasping lightly. There laid a gorgeous chain necklace of Valyrian Steel, a dragon pendant dangling from front with gems of bright emerald - surely a representation of the Hightower side.

"Thank you, Your Grace, my Princess," you breathed, closing the case and caressing it to your chest. "It's more generous than I deserve but will treasure for the decades to come."

Queen Alicent nodded and pecked your forehead, leaving you alone with Helaena to speak with Elvin. The moment her mother was gone, the Princess asked, "Did you say goodbye to Aemond? I'm surprised he's not here."

"No," you spoke softly, "I cannot, Helaena, it is too painful to even look at him - let alone share words of parting. I have nothing left to say, no more words for him."

She frowned, "You know... I don't think he meant what he said. He says things he does not mean when anxious or feeling as if he's cornered."

Your head cocked, "What? H-How do you know what's been said?"

"I saw it - in one of my dreams."

You sighed, "I know you mean well - "

"I just do not wish for you to think that is his honest opinion about you."

"If it wasn't, he would not have spoken so loudly for so many to hear. Your brother has never sounded so sure, Helaena, I do not wish to relive it."

She sighed and nodded, "Will you write?"

"Every week," you promised, the two of you meeting foreheads and breathing as one. "Take care of yourself, Helaena."

"You, too, Rosie," she smiled, letting you depart. Alicent clipped your new necklace in place and gvae you a final hug, watching you mount your horse, stare at the pair for a moment longer, then follow your Uncle Elvin out of the courtyard.

As you rode down the streets, Aemond came sprinting out of the Keep in a blind panic after running into Aegon in the hall. Normally, Aemond wouldn't have bat an eye at his hungover brother, but he had said something about you drinking him under the table and demanded to know what Aegon meant. Upon hearing you had "left", Aemond sprinted to your bed chambers and didn't even knock - just burst in.

Never before had the Prince felt such anger as when he learned you had left King's Landing without saying goodbye. Without a single word to him - as if the past decade+ hadn't meant anything! He needed to know, Aemond needed to see for himself the truth because surely, someone was mistaken. His brother, surely still drunk and misremembering because there was no possible way you could've left! Not without Aemond! Not without a word! He refused to believe it.

He panted, tears gathering in his eye, finding your room bare and stripped. Aemond's breathing picked up in panic, hands shaking as he stepped into your room; looking, desperately, for any sign of life. But there was nothing... Nothing, save for a letter addressed to him left on your table with the ruby necklace he gifted you for your 18th nameday.

Gingerly, Aemond reached out and plucked up the necklace. He frowned, petting the jewels in disbelief; noting the way a few were missing, some loose - evidence of your anger. Slowly, Aemond sunk into a chair and with the necklace still in hand and his heart hammering in his chest in a rattle, opened your letter.

Aemond ― I know you'll be the one to find this, of that, there's no doubt. Sooner or later, you will learn of my departure and come looking, and for that, for being unable to say anything in person, I am sorry. Though this might come as a shock, it shouldn't as I would hate to give you the satisfaction of being right by burdening you with a desperate goodbye. I would hate for you to think I am clingy, even after our friendship died. So, I figure a letter is better than nothing. Goodbye, Aemond. Though all a lie and dedicated ruse, thank you for the years of friendship. You made time in the Red Keep pleasant enough. ― Rosie

Aemond sprinted to the courtyard, flinging open doors and shoving past patrons; desperate to find you, understanding you overheard him all those weeks ago and needing to apologize. He needed to explain himself, the confirmation now that Aemond was the cause of your pain and reclusion? His heart was about to burst. He skidded to a halt in the dirt, turning left and right and in a circle as he realized the gates were open and you were not in sight.

"Aemond?" Helaena questioned softly, Alicent taking to her side. "Brother?"

"Wh-Where is she?" He panted. "Rose - Rose - Rosie, where is she? Where is she!?"

"She's gone, Aemond," Alicent frowned, shaking her head slowly; startled by his desperate tone, "gone with her uncle back to Highgarden."

"When? When? When did they leave!?"

"She's gone, brother," Helaena snipped, sending him a look of disappointment; ears ringing from her dream, repeating what he had said to you.

Aemond swallowed harshly, asking his sister, "She heard me, didn't she? I know you know, Helaena, please, tell me. She heard me?"

The Princess nodded and walked away, the One Eyed Prince turning to his mother in desperation and for the first time in 10 years, perhaps more, he collapsed in her arms. Emotion clawed at his chest and into his throat, starting to tremble, sniffing heatedly; his mother's arms tight and comforting.

"I love her," he whispered.

"I know," Alicent answered, "but she should've been the one you told." A pause and her hand lifted to caress the back of his head, just like when he was a child. "It's too late now, Aemond. She's gone."

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

does this count towards the Clingy Baby collection? since Aemond technically calls her clingy amongst other things?

[httpvomitello]

Cold Heart *⁠.⁠✧ (part 4)

cregan stark x targ!reader

WARNING: angst, not a happy ending (?)

(part 3) (part 5 final)

Cregan Stark had never been a man of impulsive decisions. The North had taught him patience and calculation, but the weight of your absence gnawed at him like a frostbite that would not heal. Days turned into weeks, and yet the void left in Winterfell remained as vast as the snow-covered fields beyond its walls.

The letter he had written to you sat untouched in his study, a silent witness to his regret. But one night, as he stared at its folded edges, the memory of your face—tear-streaked and full of anguish—became too much to bear.

The next morning, Cregan prepared for a journey south. He left Winterfell in the capable hands of his bannermen and took only a small retinue, determined to face you and your family alone.

The ride to Dragonstone was grueling. The North’s bitter cold gave way to the damp chill of the Narrow Sea, and by the time the island fortress came into view, Cregan was weary but resolute.

The gates of Dragonstone opened to him reluctantly, its guards regarding him with suspicion. A raven must have flown ahead, for he was escorted immediately to the grand hall where Rhaenyra awaited him.

The Queen sat upon her makeshift throne, her presence as commanding as the dragons that roamed her skies. Beside her stood Daemon, his hand resting lightly on Dark Sister’s hilt. The air in the hall crackled with tension as Cregan approached, his steps echoing against the stone floor.

“Lord Stark,” Rhaenyra said, her tone icy. “To what do we owe the honor of your presence?”

Cregan inclined his head respectfully. “I have come to speak with your daughter, Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed. “You mean the daughter you cast aside like a broken sword? The daughter who returned to me in tears, bearing the scars of your indifference?”

Daemon smirked, though his grip on Dark Sister tightened. “You’re lucky we didn’t send Caraxes to greet you instead.”

Cregan held his ground, his gaze steady. “I will not defend my actions, for they were indefensible. But I am here to make amends, if she will allow me the chance.”

“You should have thought of that before you broke her heart,” Rhaenyra snapped, rising from her seat.

“I know,” Cregan said, his voice heavy with regret. “But I cannot leave without seeing her.”

Rhaenyra regarded him for a long moment before gesturing to a guard. “Fetch her. If she agrees to speak with him, so be it. If not, you’ll leave Dragonstone today.”

You entered the hall minutes later, your expression guarded. The sight of Cregan standing in the center of the room made your stomach twist. He looked worn, the proud Lord of Winterfell reduced to a man carrying the weight of his mistakes.

“Why are you here?” you asked, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging within you.

“I came to see you,” he replied, taking a step closer. “To tell you what I should have said long ago.”

Rhaenyra and Daemon remained silent, watching.

You crossed your arms, your chin tilting up defiantly. “Say what you came to say, then.”

Cregan drew a deep breath, his grey eyes locking onto yours. “I was a fool,” he began. “I let my grief blind me to what I had in front of me—a woman stronger and more loyal than I ever deserved. I pushed you away, not because I didn’t see your worth, but because I was too afraid to let go of the past.”

Your throat tightened, but you refused to let him see the tears welling in your eyes. “And now? Why now?”

“Because losing you made me realize the depth of my mistake,” he admitted. “Winterfell is colder without you. Rickon asks for you every day, and I have no answer for him. I miss you, Y/N, more than I thought possible.”

You shook your head, stepping back. “You miss me now, but where was this when I was begging for you to see me? I gave you everything, Cregan, and you gave me nothing in return.”

He flinched at your words, but he didn’t look away. “I can’t undo the pain I caused, but I want to try. I want to be the man you deserve, if you’ll let me.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Rhaenyra watched you carefully, her expression unreadable, while Daemon’s hand hovered near his sword. He wouldn't mind going to war with the northern people to defend his daughter.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I even want to.”

Cregan’s shoulders sagged, but he nodded. “I understand. And if your answer is no, I will leave and never trouble you again. But I had to come, had to tell you the truth.”

You turned away, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The love you had once felt for him had been buried beneath layers of hurt and resentment, but the faintest ember still burned.

“Give me time,” you said at last, your back to him. “I can’t decide now.”

He bowed his head. “Take all the time you need.”

Without another word, you left the hall, leaving Cregan with the weight of his confession and the choice that lay ahead.

[novaursa]

Legacy (strings of time)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: dark wings

- Next part: long live the king

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi

The air on Dragonstone was heavy with the scent of salt and sulfur, the volcanic island shrouded in an eerie mist that clung to its ancient stone walls. Melisandre stood alone in the shadowed chamber of the Painted Table, her crimson robes flowing like molten fire as she chanted in the guttural tones of her native Asshai. The flickering flames of the surrounding braziers cast dancing shadows against the walls, the light refracting through the ruby at her throat, which pulsed like a heartbeat.

Before her, a small brazier burned with an unnatural intensity, fed by oils and powders she had sprinkled into its depths. The fire danced and leaped, responding to her incantations, its flames twisting into shapes that seemed to defy the natural world. Faces appeared briefly—shadowy, indistinct forms that flickered in and out of existence like ghosts.

She was searching, reaching across the vastness of Westeros for her target. The former Targaryen princess, now Lady Lannister, was an anomaly to her visions, an enigma that refused to be revealed fully. Melisandre’s lips moved faster, her voice rising in urgency as she pushed harder against the veil of the unseen.

But then, something shifted.

The flames, which had been obedient and malleable, suddenly roared higher, blazing with a white-hot intensity that forced Melisandre to step back. A wave of heat rolled over her, searing and oppressive, and she raised her hands to shield her face. The ruby at her throat flared violently, its light so bright it painted the chamber in crimson.

“No!” she hissed, her voice breaking. “Show me! Reveal her to me!”

But instead of clarity, the fire erupted in a burst of chaotic energy. A deafening roar filled the chamber, echoing like the cry of a great beast, and a sudden force slammed into Melisandre, sending her sprawling to the floor. Her head struck the cold stone with a sickening crack, and the room spun as she struggled to regain her bearings.

The flames in the brazier had turned black, writhing and twisting as if alive, and from within the inferno, a shape began to emerge. It was dark and indistinct, but there was a sense of immense power emanating from it—something ancient and wild, something that defied her control.

The ruby at her throat burned like a brand, and she cried out, clutching at it as a searing pain shot through her body. Her connection to the flames, to her magic, was being turned against her, and she felt the power she had called forth recoil like a snake, striking at its master.

“No!” she gasped, her voice a mix of pain and desperation. “This cannot be!”

The shadowy form in the flames surged forward, and for a moment, Melisandre thought she saw the outline of a dragon—massive wings and a serpentine neck, its eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. The roar came again, shaking the very foundations of the chamber, and the flames exploded outward in a wave of force that extinguished the braziers and plunged the room into darkness.

Melisandre lay motionless on the floor, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The ruby at her throat had dimmed, its light flickering weakly, and the room was deathly silent except for the faint crackling of the dying fire. Her hands trembled as she pushed herself up, her vision swimming.

“What… what was that?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

A faint whisper echoed in the darkness, a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. It was deep and resonant, carrying a weight that made her blood run cold.

"You meddle in powers beyond your understanding, priestess."

Her breath hitched, and she looked around wildly, but the chamber was empty. The fire in the brazier had gone out completely, leaving only smoldering ashes. The ruby at her throat gave one final, weak pulse of light before dimming entirely.

Shaken, Melisandre staggered to her feet, clutching the edge of the Painted Table for support. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what had happened. She had sought to pierce the veil, to uncover the truth about the Targaryen woman who had eluded her visions, but instead, she had been struck by a force far greater than anything she had encountered before.

“She is protected,” Melisandre whispered, her voice trembling. “By what, I do not know, but she is not alone in this world.”

Her gaze turned to the darkened brazier, the lingering scent of burnt oils still heavy in the air. She felt a pang of unease, a rare crack in her unwavering confidence. Whatever power surrounded the Targaryen woman, it was beyond her control, and that realization sent a chill down her spine.

With unsteady steps, Melisandre left the chamber, her mind reeling. She would have to tread carefully now, for the game had become far more dangerous than she had anticipated.

The warm glow of the mid-morning sun streamed through the arched windows of the Red Keep as you walked with Ser Barristan at your side and two of Tywin’s personal guards trailing close behind. It had been one moon since the shadow had invaded your bedchamber, and the increased protection around you had become your constant reality. Every step you took was measured, every moment scrutinized, and yet, the weight of unseen threats lingered.

As you rounded a corner leading to the gardens, soft, muffled sobs reached your ears. Your steps faltered, and you exchanged a glance with Ser Barristan, who instinctively moved closer, his eyes scanning the area for potential threats. But it wasn’t danger that awaited you—just heartbreak.

There, beneath the shade of a tall ash tree, you saw Sansa Stark crumpled on a stone bench, her face buried in her hands. Her delicate shoulders shook as she wept, and beside her sat Margaery Tyrell, her arm wrapped around Sansa’s trembling form, whispering words of comfort.

Concerned, you quickened your pace, your gown trailing behind you as you approached. “Sansa?” you called softly, your voice filled with worry. “What’s happened?”

Both women looked up, Sansa’s tear-streaked face breaking your heart. Her blue eyes were swollen and red, her expression one of utter despair. Margaery, ever poised, gave you a faint smile of greeting, though her own eyes carried a shadow of frustration.

“My lady,” Margaery began, her voice smooth but tinged with sadness, “it seems the council has made a… decision this morning. One that has upset Sansa greatly.”

Your stomach tightened, dread pooling in your chest as you looked between them. “What decision?” you asked, your tone sharpening as your gaze fixed on Margaery.

Margaery sighed, brushing a strand of Sansa’s auburn hair away from her tear-streaked face. “They have decided that Sansa is to marry Lord Tyrion. The arrangement was finalized this morning.”

For a moment, the words didn’t register. When they did, your breath caught, a rush of disbelief and anger flooding through you. “Tyrion?” you repeated, your voice low but incredulous. “This was not the plan. The Tyrells promised she would marry Willas, did you not?”

Margaery’s smile faltered, replaced by a look of resigned frustration. “We did, my lady, but Lord Tywin is not a man to be countered easily. It seems he was… persuasive.”

Sansa let out a quiet sob, shaking her head as she clung to Margaery’s arm. “They’re using me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I have no choice. They’re… they’re taking everything from me.”

You knelt before her, gently taking her hands in yours. “Sansa,” you said softly, your tone firm yet filled with compassion, “look at me.”

Reluctantly, she raised her tear-filled eyes to meet yours.

“This is not fair, and it is not right,” you continued, your voice steady. “But you are stronger than you know. Tyrion is not like the others—he is not cruel. If this is to happen, you will not be alone in it.”

Sansa’s lips trembled, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t love him. I barely even know him.”

Your heart ached for her, and you squeezed her hands gently. “Love is rarely a luxury afforded to those of us born into noble houses,” you said softly. “But you have survived worse, Sansa. You will survive this too.”

Margaery glanced at you, her expression thoughtful. “You speak with such certainty, my lady. Do you truly believe this will be a kinder fate for her?”

You met her gaze, your own eyes shadowed by the weight of your experiences. “I know Tyrion,” you replied quietly. “He is flawed, yes, but he is not heartless. He will not harm her.”

Margaery seemed to consider this, her lips pressing into a thin line before she nodded. “Then perhaps there is some hope,” she murmured, though her tone lacked conviction.

Sansa sniffled, her tears slowing slightly as she clung to your words. “What if… what if they change their minds again?” she asked, her voice trembling. “What if they decide something even worse?”

You shook your head firmly. “Then I will stand by you,” you said, your voice unwavering. “No matter what happens, you will not face it alone.”

Ser Barristan, who had remained a respectful distance away, stepped closer, his presence a quiet reminder of your own precarious position in the court. You rose to your feet, glancing back at him briefly before returning your focus to Sansa and Margaery.

“Stay with her,” you said to Margaery, your tone soft but commanding. “She needs someone who can keep her steady right now.”

Margaery nodded, her expression solemn. “Of course.”

You reached out, brushing a strand of Sansa’s hair away from her face. “Take the time you need to grieve this, Sansa,” you said gently. “But do not let it consume you. You are a wolf, and wolves endure.”

She nodded faintly, her tears slowing as a flicker of determination began to creep into her expression. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

As you turned to leave, Barristan fell into step beside you, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. “You spoke well, my lady,” he said quietly. “But this court is filled with vipers. You cannot save everyone.”

You glanced at him, your expression hardening. “Perhaps not, Ser Barristan,” you replied, your voice low. “But I can try. And I will not let her be devoured by them.”

The weight of your words hung between you as you walked away, your mind racing with thoughts of how to protect Sansa in a world determined to break her.

The chamber where Tywin and Olenna Tyrell sat was austere. The Painted Table between them was littered with scrolls, maps, and the remnants of a freshly poured pot of tea. Tywin, ever composed, sat upright in his chair, his steely gaze fixed on Olenna, whose sharp wit and relaxed demeanor made the tension in the room almost seen.

"You do understand, Lady Olenna," Tywin said in his measured tone, "this arrangement is not up for negotiation. Sansa Stark will marry my son, Tyrion. It is the best way to secure both her claim to Winterfell and the loyalty of the North, should Roose Bolton’s efforts falter."

Olenna tilted her head, a sardonic smile playing on her lips as she sipped her tea. "Yes, yes, Lord Tywin, but you can’t possibly expect the girl to be overjoyed at this prospect. A Lannister wedding is hardly a maiden’s dream these days. You’ve quite the reputation, you know."

Before Tywin could reply, the door opened abruptly, and you stepped in, your gown trailing behind you as Ser Barristan lingered in the doorway. The room grew heavier as both Tywin and Olenna turned their gazes toward you, the latter looking more intrigued than perturbed by the interruption.

“Forgive me,” you said, though your tone carried little contrition. “But I need to speak with you, Lord Tywin.”

Tywin arched a brow, his hands folding neatly in front of him. “We are in the middle of a discussion, Lady Y/N,” he said, his tone cold but measured. “Surely it can wait.”

“It cannot,” you countered, stepping further into the room. Your gaze flickered briefly to Olenna, who watched with unabashed interest. “This is about Sansa Stark.”

Olenna’s brows rose slightly, and she leaned back in her chair, clearly pleased to witness the exchange.

“What about her?” Tywin asked, his voice edged with impatience.

You clasped your hands in front of you, your posture straight and unyielding. “I’ve just spoken with her. She’s devastated by this decision to marry her to Tyrion. She was promised to Willas Tyrell. You’ve taken her hope and replaced it with something she cannot understand. She is a child, Tywin.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed, his composure hardening further. “She is a Stark, and she is a key to securing the North. Her feelings are irrelevant.”

You stepped closer, your voice rising slightly. “Irrelevant? You would sacrifice her peace of mind, her future, for your ambition?”

Tywin stood, his towering form casting a long shadow across the table. “Peace of mind?” he repeated, his tone cold. “You speak of peace as though it were a luxury afforded to those in power. It is not. Sansa Stark has a duty to her family and to the realm. Just as you do.”

Olenna smirked, sipping her tea as she watched the exchange unfold like a play meant for her amusement.

“Duty,” you snapped, your voice sharp now. “Always duty with you, Tywin. Did you ever once consider the weight of what you demand from others? Or is everything and everyone simply another puppet to be moved around when it suits you?”

The room fell silent, the air crackling between you. Olenna’s eyes darted between the two of you, her smirk growing wider.

“I fail to see why this concerns you so deeply,” Tywin said finally, his tone softer but no less commanding. “You’ve made your point, Lady Y/N. Now leave the matter to those who understand it.”

You crossed your arms, tilting your head slightly as you replied, “If you understood it so well, Tywin, you wouldn’t have to deal with me right now.”

For a moment, it seemed as though Tywin might argue further, but then a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He shook his head slightly, his expression shifting into something almost amused, though his voice remained firm. “Very well. I’ll speak with Sansa myself and ensure she understands her duty. You may go.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden concession, but you refused to let it show. Nodding curtly, you turned on your heel and left the room, Ser Barristan falling into step beside you as the door closed behind you.

Olenna chuckled softly, setting her teacup down with a satisfied clink. “Well, that was entertaining,” she said, her sharp eyes glinting with mischief. “I must say, Tywin, I didn’t think you had it in you to yield so gracefully.”

Tywin exhaled slowly, lowering himself back into his chair. “It wasn’t yielding,” he replied, his tone clipped. “It was strategy.”

Olenna leaned forward slightly, her grin widening. “Oh, is that what you’re calling it now? Strategy? I’ve never seen you so…” She waved a hand, searching for the word. “Accommodating.”

Tywin shot her a warning look, but Olenna merely laughed, clearly enjoying herself. “I like her,” she said, nodding toward the door. “She has spirit. A dangerous thing to allow in your wife, but entertaining nonetheless.”

Tywin didn’t respond, instead turning his attention back to the maps before him, though the faintest flicker of amusement lingered in his eyes.

The echoes of your footsteps on the stone floor were accompanied by Ser Barristan’s steady presence behind you. The corridor felt colder as you moved toward your chambers, the weight of your conversation with Tywin still fresh in your mind. As you rounded a corner, a familiar figure appeared before you—Cersei, her golden locks framing her smug expression. Her arms were crossed, and the glint in her emerald eyes told you she had been waiting for this encounter.

“Well, if it isn’t the Lady Lannister herself,” Cersei drawled, her tone laced with condescension. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?”

You stopped, your expression calm but guarded. “Cersei,” you greeted, your voice civil. “What brings you here?”

She took a step closer, her eyes flickering briefly to your midsection before returning to your face. “I was merely curious,” she said with a practiced smile. “How is the pregnancy progressing? My father must be… overjoyed.”

Your hand instinctively rested on your growing belly, though your face betrayed none of the irritation her words stirred. “It progresses well,” you replied evenly. “Better than Grand Maester Pycelle expected, though I doubt his predictions are ever worth much.”

Cersei let out a soft laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Yes, Pycelle has a way of overstating his usefulness. But how fascinating that you’re handling it so well. I wonder, is it because of your Valyrian blood? Or do you simply thrive on being the center of attention?”

You met her gaze steadily, refusing to rise to the bait. “It’s neither, Cersei. Perhaps I’m simply stronger than you give me credit for.”

Her smirk faltered briefly before she recovered, stepping even closer. “Strength is important,” she said, her tone softening, though her eyes remained calculating. “Especially when surrounded by people pretending to be something else. You should remember that.”

“I do,” you replied, your voice calm but firm. “And I’ve learned that strength comes not from tearing others down but from knowing when to rise above them.”

Cersei’s lips tightened, but she masked it quickly with another smile. “How noble of you,” she said archly. “I imagine you must be feeling quite sad about all of this.”

You tilted your head slightly, curious. “Sad? About what, exactly?”

Her smile widened, her tone turning syrupy. “About poor little Sansa, of course. Such a sweet girl, isn’t she? So naive. It must pain you to see her traded like a pawn in a game she doesn’t understand.”

You allowed a pause, studying her carefully before replying. “It does pain me,” you said softly. “But not for the reasons you think.”

Cersei arched an eyebrow, her amusement flickering with confusion. “Oh? Do enlighten me, then.”

You stepped closer, your gaze steady and unflinching as you lowered your voice. “It pains me, Cersei, because I see so much of you in her. A young girl, trapped in a world she cannot control, used and discarded by those around her. But where Sansa may still find hope, you…” You let the sentence hang, your tone laced with veiled courtesy. “You’ve lost yours.”

Her face hardened, the smugness draining away as she stared at you. “What nonsense is this?” she demanded, her voice low but sharp. “I’ve lost nothing.”

You offered a faint, almost pitying smile. “Haven’t you? You wear your crown of bitterness like armor, Cersei. But all it does is isolate you, even from those who should stand beside you.”

Her jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing. “Careful, Lady Lannister,” she said coldly. “You may be my father’s wife, but that does not grant you the right to lecture me.”

“I have no intention of lecturing,” you replied smoothly. “Only to remind you that strength comes in many forms. You may believe yourself untouchable, but even the tallest towers can crumble when their foundations are weak.”

Cersei’s gaze burned into yours, her hands clenched at her sides. For a moment, it seemed as though she might lash out, but instead, she forced a tight smile. “You think yourself so wise, don’t you?” she said, her voice dripping with venom. “But wisdom won’t save you from this game. You’ll see that soon enough.”

You inclined your head slightly, the gesture both respectful and dismissive. “Perhaps. But for now, I must prepare for the rest of the day. If you’ll excuse me, Cersei.”

You moved past her, your steps measured and composed, leaving her standing alone in the corridor. As you walked away, you felt her gaze burning into your back, but you did not look back. Ser Barristan fell into step beside you, his expression stoic but his presence reassuring.

“You were bold,” he murmured quietly. “She will not forget that.”

“She doesn’t need to forget,” you replied softly, your voice steady. “She only needs to think.”

Tywin sat at the head of the table, his posture as straight and imposing as ever, his hands steepled before him as he continued listening to Olenna Tyrell with a mixture of patience and calculation.

Olenna, for her part, seemed perfectly at ease, perched in her chair with an air of casual authority. Her sharp eyes danced with amusement as she studied Tywin, her teacup cradled delicately in her hands.

“Lord Tywin,” she began, her tone laced with a sly edge, “you and I have had many discussions about alliances, strategies, and, of course, the peculiarities of your family. But today, I thought we might delve into something a little more… personal.”

Tywin raised an eyebrow, though his expression remained stoic. “Personal, Lady Olenna? I was under the impression that our discussions were strictly political.”

“Oh, politics and personal matters are often one and the same,” Olenna replied breezily, taking a delicate sip of her tea. “Especially when it comes to you, Lord Tywin. You’ve built your house on both, haven’t you?”

Tywin’s gaze sharpened slightly, though his tone remained cool. “If you have a point, Lady Olenna, I suggest you make it.”

Olenna set her teacup down with a soft clink, leaning forward slightly as her expression grew more pointed. “Very well. I’ve recently had the pleasure of reconnecting with an old acquaintance—someone who, let’s say, remembers the court of King Aerys rather vividly.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, but he said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

“This acquaintance of mine,” Olenna went on, her voice smooth and unhurried, “mentioned something quite interesting about you. Specifically, about your… ambitions during those years. A certain proposal you made to the Mad King regarding his youngest daughter.”

Tywin’s expression didn’t change, but there was a faint glint of something in his eyes—irritation, perhaps, or caution. “And what, pray, does this acquaintance claim to know?”

Olenna’s smile widened, the corners of her lips curling with satisfaction. “Oh, nothing too scandalous. Just that you were rather… eager to secure a match between yourself and the young princess. A match, it seems, that the Mad King outright rejected.”

Tywin’s gaze darkened, his voice low but measured. “That is old history, Lady Olenna. If your intent is to dredge up ancient slights, I suggest you focus on matters more relevant to the present.”

“Oh, but it is relevant,” Olenna countered, her tone sharp as a blade. “After all, here we are, decades later, and you’ve finally achieved what you wanted, haven’t you? A Targaryen bride, the union of fire and gold.”

Tywin’s jaw clenched slightly, though he refused to rise to her bait. “What happened in the past is of no consequence to the decisions I make now.”

“Isn’t it?” Olenna pressed, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I find it fascinating, really. You’ve always prided yourself on being a man of logic and control, yet here you are, married to the very woman whose family’s rejection you’ve surely never forgotten. One might wonder if this is about more than just strategy.”

Tywin leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a cold, measured tone. “You would do well to remember, Lady Olenna, that I do not allow sentiment to cloud my judgment. My marriage to Lady Y/N is a calculated move—one that ensures the stability and legacy of House Lannister.”

Olenna chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Oh, Tywin, you’re as predictable as ever. Always so quick to dismiss anything that might suggest you’re… human. But you forget, I’ve known men like you all my life. You can claim strategy all you like, but I see it for what it is. You wanted her. You’ve always wanted her.”

Tywin’s gaze bore into hers, his silence heavy and deliberate. For a moment, something unspoken was in the room, the air thick with unspoken truths.

Finally, Olenna broke the silence, leaning back in her chair with a satisfied sigh. “Well, whatever your reasons, I must admit, it’s all rather fascinating. The Mad King’s refusal, your patience—or perhaps obsession—and now this union. I do hope it works out for you, Tywin. It would be such a shame if history repeated itself.”

Tywin’s voice was as cold as steel when he finally spoke. “I appreciate your insights, Lady Olenna. But you would do well to remember that my choices are mine alone. If you wish to continue speculating on my motives, I suggest you do so elsewhere.”

Olenna smirked, rising from her seat with a regal grace. “Oh, don’t worry, Lord Tywin. I have no intention of causing trouble. But as I said, I find it all very… enlightening. Good day.”

With that, she turned and swept out of the room, leaving Tywin alone with his thoughts. For a moment, he sat in silence, his hands steepled before him once more. His face betrayed nothing, but his mind churned with the memories Olenna had dredged up—memories he had long since buried.

The memories unfolded in Tywin’s mind like pages from an old, worn book. The vivid colors and echoes of King’s Landing during the height of Aerys Targaryen’s reign came rushing back—though the stench of paranoia and decay that lingered in the Red Keep overshadowed its grandeur. It was the day Tywin had laid out his plans to the Mad King, the day he believed he would solidify the ultimate alliance between House Lannister and House Targaryen.

The throne room was alive with dread, its gilded splendor marred by the unsettling presence of Aerys on the Iron Throne. The Mad King, even then, exuded a sense of menace, his long, unkempt hair cascading over his gaunt face, his violet eyes burning with deranged delight as he listened to Tywin.

"You think," Aerys had said, his voice high-pitched and mocking, "that I would tie my daughter—the blood of Old Valyria, the dragon's line—to you, Tywin? To a lion? A beast of the field?"

Tywin had stood at the base of the Iron Throne, as unflinching as he had been when he first took up the position of Hand. He had chosen his words carefully, keeping his tone steady and devoid of the sharpness that often accompanied his temper. “Your Grace,” he began, “a union between House Lannister and House Targaryen would strengthen the realm immeasurably. My daughter, Cersei, is young and beautiful, a match fit for Prince Rhaegar. And I—”

“You,” Aerys interrupted with a cackle, leaning forward on the throne, his fingers twitching against the jagged edges of the swords that surrounded him. “You would take my daughter as your wife? A dragoness for a lion?”

Varys had been there, lingering in the shadows, his expression inscrutable as his keen eyes darted between Tywin and the Mad King. Several courtiers stood nearby, including Lord Chelsted and Lord Merryweather, their faces betraying thinly veiled discomfort at the volatile mood in the room.

“I would,” Tywin continued, ignoring the ripple of murmurs that spread through the chamber. “Lady Y/N is a princess of royal blood, but she is also young and unwed. A match between us would unify the crown and the wealthiest house in the realm. Such a bond—”

“Enough!” Aerys’s voice boomed, and he rose from the throne, his movements erratic. He descended the steps slowly, his robes trailing behind him like blackened fire. “You think to bind me with your gold, Tywin? To cage the dragons with your lions’ claws? No. Never.”

Tywin remained composed, though the heat of anger burned beneath his skin. “Your Grace, I seek only to serve the realm and secure the future of your house. A union with House Lannister—”

“Would be an insult!” Aerys snarled, his voice echoing off the walls. “The blood of the dragon is pure, untainted by the likes of you. Lions have no place among dragons. They belong in the dirt, clawing for scraps.”

Laughter erupted from Aerys, high and shrill, as he turned his back on Tywin and ascended the steps once more. “Perhaps your daughter can find herself a kennel,” Aerys continued, his voice dripping with malice. “And as for you, Tywin, you forget your place. You serve me. Do not presume to dictate terms to your king.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the courtiers, though it was hesitant, wary. Varys stepped forward then, his movements as fluid as a shadow. “Your Grace,” the spymaster said, his voice silken and unassuming, “perhaps Lord Tywin’s offer was made out of his deep respect for your house. A rare moment of… misjudgment, surely.”

Aerys turned to Varys, his expression shifting from contempt to suspicion. “Misjudgment?” he repeated, narrowing his eyes. “Or treason?”

“Never treason, Your Grace,” Varys replied smoothly. “Lord Tywin’s loyalty is beyond question. But he is ambitious, and ambition often blinds even the most loyal servants.”

Tywin’s gaze flicked to Varys briefly, his jaw tightening. He knew the eunuch’s words were calculated, a subtle way of defusing the situation while also keeping Aerys’s ire focused elsewhere.

The Mad King waved his hand dismissively, his attention already waning. “Begone, Tywin,” he muttered, sinking back onto the Iron Throne. “And take your golden dreams with you. My bloodline will not be sullied by yours.”

Tywin bowed stiffly, his mind churning with barely restrained fury as he turned and left the chamber. The laughter of Aerys echoed behind him, a sound that would linger in his memory for years to come.

Back in the present, Tywin’s jaw tightened as he recalled that day, the humiliation of being so openly dismissed. Aerys’s madness had only grown after that, and the rift between them widened beyond repair. It was a lesson he never forgot: power was not given—it was taken, seized with unrelenting force.

And now, decades later, he had what Aerys had denied him. The Targaryen princess was his, bound by marriage and bearing his child. Tywin’s lips thinned into a faint smirk. Aerys had laughed at him, but the Mad King was long dead, his dragons reduced to ashes, while Tywin Lannister remained unbroken, building his legacy one calculated step at a time.