#the squires landing

[sunshineandlyrics]

Louis, Oli, Riccardo and Jadelyn and their son at The Squire's Landing, The Rocks, Sydney, 8 February 2024

[vox-anglosphere]

Conor Lynch

[oxoxsilly1pearsxoxo]

Spoilers for one of the following properties

Round one 

Jeff the land shark(Marvel) and Bark  (Rainbow billy and the curse of the leviathan) 

Violet (The plucky squire) and  Violet (Red leaves, game) 



[venfx]

screencaps of comments from the montage scene that absolutely no one asked for

(+ a bonus continuity error– when ambrosius texts ballister, it looks like the confession video actually lost views??)

[asoiafreadthru]

A Game of Thrones, Arya I

“You see Prince Joffrey?” Jon asked.

She hadn’t, not at first glance, but when she looked again she found him to the back, under the shade of the high stone wall. He was surrounded by men she did not recognize, young squires in the livery of Lannister and Baratheon, strangers all. There were a few older men among them; knights, she surmised.

“Look at the arms on his surcoat,” Jon suggested.

Arya looked. An ornate shield had been embroidered on the prince’s padded surcoat. No doubt the needlework was exquisite. The arms were divided down the middle; on one side was the crowned stag of the royal House, on the other the lion of Lannister.

“The Lannisters are proud,” Jon observed. “You’d think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. He makes his mother’s House equal in honor to the king’s.”

“The woman is important too!” Arya protested.

Jon chuckled. “Perhaps you should do the same thing, little sister. Wed Tully to Stark in your arms.”

“A wolf with a fish in its mouth?” It made her laugh. “That would look silly.”

[casuallyanidiot]

Yandere knight who wants you instead of the princess.

Sequel here

Dead dove Do not Eat Tw. For noncon, MDNI, Fem pov

Yandere knight who has been training in the palace for a very long time. It's an honor for a commoner like him to even set foot into the castle walls, so he works earnestly.

Yandere knight who's been catching glimpses of not only the lovely princess throughout the years, but her handmaidens as well. You're a daughter of a somewhat lesser noble house, and therefore you have essentially been given to the royal family until you're eventually married off to another courtier.

But of all the noble ladies, who often ignore him, he finds you to be the most approachable and kind to him and the other squires. He's developed a bit of a crush on you over the years, and he eventually found it in himself to express his feelings. They were innocent and pure then, and he stood there blushing and awkward waiting for you to accept or deny. He would've taken a no from you. Really, he would have.

But then that pompous bitch got in the way.

The princess had you pulled away by her other attendants before you could answer, and she all but sneered at him.

"My maids are not for common rife like you to sully," she spat, a look of disdain carved on her delicate features.

Yandere knight who was deployed to the battlefront soon after. He spent years in misery knowing it was that royal woman's meddling that had both sent him here and stopped him from knowing how you truly felt.

Yandere knight who carved through foe upon foe with the flash of his sword while thinking of you. He would wipe blood from his face and wonder what it would take to have you. He resolves to become so renowned that he could have you and the respect he deserved all those years ago anyways.

Yandere knight who comes back as the hero of the nation. A parade is thrown for him upon his return, and flowers are thrown at his feet by the masses of people. He is awarded a noble title, a duke (impressive), a territory of land to manage, and the blessing to have the hand of any eligible lady in the land from the king.

The implication was for him to go for the princess, sitting there in a gown befitting of an engagement party. She wasn't the heir to the throne, and having a young, impressionable Duke to have and father a potential crown prince or princess was certainly a draw for her to act so sweet and lovely despite her previous attitudes. He had to use all the will in his body to hide his disdainful glare towards her. Instead, he strode up with a near giddy grin, breezed past the waiting royal, and knelt before you.

"[Name], I shall have you as my wife," He says with a beaming smile. You try to protest, but he's already sweeping you into his arms. The king seems surprised by his choice, but as he stares between Yandere Knight, lovestruck and beaming, and you, squirming and utterly shocked, he realizes that he cannot simply go back on his word. The king waves his hand, and your fate is sealed.

Yandere knight feels bad for not giving you a proper wedding. In fact, he feels bad about not taking you to your new home before he's pulling up your skirts. He's a dog, he knows, but you're just so tempting now that you're all his. He shoving you down onto the plush upholstery of the carriage seats, and you let out a startled cry.

Yandere knight who cannot claim he's chivalrous. He wishes he could, but he loves the way your breasts look pushed up so tightly in the laced bodice of yours. He lets out a groan, petting your hair and shushing you as you whimper under his wandering touch. Button after button becomes undone.

"Love, you'll never wear such stifling clothing again. You hear me? All robes and lace from now on. None of this nonsense," He murmurs into your skin. He pulled your corset and chemise from your body, and he pressed fervent kisses to the crook of your neck. He grasps at your breasts, kneading them experimentally. He's had time to experience women on the battlefield. A fling or two in some field on the outskirts of a freshly liberated village. He would think of you the whole time and imagine what he was latching his lips around the stiff peak of your nipple while a random girl cried out underneath him. But this was real. Your warmth beneath his much heavier form was on of the most beautiful feeling he had ever had the pleasure of witnessing.

He parted your legs, and he could feel you shy away from him. He laughed. As if you had a choice. He knew you would love him eventually, but for now you can't blame him for how ravenous he was as he felt between your shaking, parted legs. He smirked as his lips met yours. His fingers slid against your folds, gathering slick arousal on his digits with a curious hum. He grinds his thumb against your clit as he slowly pushes his way into your warm, spongy walls.

"Oh? Is it good there? Or here? Where, love? You gotta use your words," He teases and licks the tears rolling down your cheeks, peppering your soft skin with kisses. He feels you pulse and stretch around his hand, and he relishes the way your back arches when he curls his fingers just right against that sweet little spot. Desperate noises tumble out of you, and he smiles.

He pulls his fingers out, and you cry out at the sudden sensation. Your chest is heaving with small moans, and your pretty pussy is drooling onto the carriage cushions. He pushes your legs up to your chest for a better grip, and his shudders at the way your twitching feels against the head of his cock.

Yandere knight knows that, as he thrusts into you, he's going to enjoy the luxury of finally having you both under his body and under his control.

[enchanted-by-fae]

I Love You (and That’s All I Really Know) - Azriel x Reader

Pairing: Knight!Azriel x Princess!Reader

Summary: You were his princess, and he was just a knight. Azriel was ready to prove he's worthy of your love.

4.2k words

Warnings: Jousting (nothing graphic), fluff, slight forbidden romance, angst kinda, author knows nothing about swordplay or jousting, Az doesn’t have his shadows, Eris is a bad guy in this, low key this is just adorable.

A/N: This is my first one-shot so hopefully you guys like it! The title and the story itself were influenced by Love Story by Taylor Swift. I was also kind of inspired by the first episode of House of the Dragon and the movie A Knights Tale

Azriel knew it was wrong. You were his princess and he was just a knight. The grand tourney would be held on the morrow and Azriel was ready to win. Not just the tourney but your affections as well. He needed to prove that he was worthy of loving you. 

The knight had been in love with you for years. He was best friends with your brother, Rhysand. They grew close as brothers, training together to one day become the greatest heroes your world has seen. Alongside their other best friend, Cassian, the three were inseparable. 

Azriel still remembers the day he first met you. He was still just a squire and didn’t even know who you were at first when he saw you. All he had seen was a girl chasing a rabbit on the grounds and he couldn’t help but be curious as to what you were up to. He saw you run into the forest after it, leaving him to chase after you. He would’ve felt responsible if something had happened when he could’ve prevented it.

“Hello?” he called out, not wanting to admit he actually was quite afraid to enter the forest alone. He had rumors as a child that sprites and faeries occupied this land and he wasn’t ready to learn the truth just yet. Azriel waited at the edge of the forest for your response but he never heard one. 

“Okay Az, man up,” he spoke aloud to himself. He took the first steps into the forest, looking for a sign as to where you could've run off to. “Sprites, if you live here then I beg you to please leave me alone,” he rambled. Azriel was able to find his bravery the further into the forest he ventured. He was going to be the world's greatest knight after all. After searching for a while Azriel began to question if you even ran in this direction. “Miss? Are you there?” he called again. 

He stopped for a moment to take in the surroundings, “where did you go?”, he pondered. Most people thought Azriel hated talking, in reality he just didn’t like people brushing him off. He found that the less you talk the more people pay attention when you actually have something to say. Of course, he never was like that with Rhys or Cass. His best friends were the only people he could truly be himself around. Another time he loved talking? When he was alone. He loved talking to himself. Who better to listen to him than- well, him.

“Okay,” he sighed out, “this better not be some game. I’m starting to get freaked out.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” a soft voice said behind him. Azriels eyes practically sprung out of his head as he completely stilled, scared to death at the mystery voice.

“Oh, sorry. Did I scare you again?” a girl. It was a girl speaking. Az let out a massive sigh of relief, finally being able to breath again, and turned to face the person he’s been searching for. You were the princess. He hadn’t recognized you as such when he saw you run off.

“You’re highness,” he immediately bowed. You just stood there, giggling. Azriel couldn’t help but be annoyed at that. “I came looking for you, not wanting to see you in trouble,” he explained. 

“Trouble? What kind of trouble?” you questioned.

Az thought that surely you couldn’t be serious, “well the forest is a dangerous place. It’s rumored that sprites and faeries live here.”

“Oh, well I haven’t seen any sprites. And I don’t think I’ve seen any faeries either,” you beamed. “I just came to help a rabbit friend,” Azriel thought at that moment you must be insane.

He looked at you quizzically, “a rabbit friend?”

You nodded your head, “yes- well, I mean that we’re friends now. He had a thorn stuck in his paw and the poor thing was in pain. We get along quite well now!” Azriels brows furrowed and you just giggled at him. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” you laughed. He had never heard such a lovely sound before. If he could, Azriel would only listen to your laugh forever.

“I’ve just never heard of someone having a rabbit friend before,” he reasoned. 

You just gave him a small shrug before starting the walk back to the palace. “I’m not crazy, just so you know,” you told him. Azriel just looked at you, in hopes of an explanation. “I just think that animals deserve the same respect and love as people. We did invade their homes after all.”

Azriel had never thought of it like that before but he supposed you were right. There’s something so beautiful about nature but then people came along and built palaces and villages. Taking over the land. He admired the way your brain works.

“Hey, you’re my brother's friend aren’t you?” you inquired. 

“Yeah, Rhysand and I are pretty close,” he answered. 

You looked at him with a smile, “he has good taste in friends then. Thank you for coming after me,” you gracefully inclined your head in gratitude.

Azriel offered a smile in return, “of course, princess.”

“Please, call me Y/N,” you asked him.

“Of course, Y/N,” he corrected. Just then he remembered he hadn’t told you his name, “you can call me Azriel.”

“Azriel,” you tried it out. “I like it!” you proclaimed. Now Azriel was offering you a chuckle of his own. He couldn’t remember the last time someone who wasn't Rhys or Cass got him to laugh. In fact, he couldn’t remember when someone who wasn’t his friends got him to talk this much. 

The two of you made your way back to the palace, chatting the entire way back. 

“Well, Azriel, I should get back to my lessons. I’m sure my tutor is having a fit,” you explained. “Thanks again for the escort,” you then started the journey to your study and Azriel just stood there watching you walk away.

“My pleasure, Y/N,” he whispered to himself. 

—

The two of you maintained a steady friendship throughout the years. You grew into a lovely young woman. Always compassionate towards your people, and you still cared a great deal for animals. You also were pretty brilliant. Azriel found himself amazed at some of the things you came up with. Your mind was one of the things he loved most about you. 

As you and he got older, he found himself falling more and more in love with you. He almost confessed it to you just a few months ago at your nameday celebration, but he chickened out at the last moment. He was just a knight. They typically didn’t marry princesses, especially bastards like him.

He did have a plan, however, to make his love for you known. The king was throwing an upcoming tourney to celebrate Rhysands marriage to Lady Feyre. The champion prize was having a wish granted by the king. He planned to ask you for a token of luck before he was to joust and when he won, that will be when he asks for your hand.

—

“Princess Y/N,” Azriel greeted as he found you roaming the gardens, guards lingering behind.

A graceful smile bloomed across your face, “Az, please just call me Y/N,”

Azriel shook his head, a smile of his own appearing, “I just like to tease you.”

“Well don't! It’s not nice to treat your princess that way,” you justified.

“You just said to not call you princess!” he exclaimed. He loved it when the two of you had these playful arguments. They made something in his stomach pleasantly twist.

You were trying to remain serious but couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, “you should still treat me as a princess.”

If things went his way tomorrow, he would treat you as a princess everyday for the rest of his life. He just slightly bowed his head towards you, “of course prin- Y/N.”

You gave him a playful head shake at his correction. “Are you ready for the tourney tomorrow,” you changed the subject. 

Azriel tries not to give away his plans for tomorrow regarding you. He wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise. “Of course I am,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

You turn towards Azriel, who's now walking beside you in the garden. He watches as you study his face slowly, looking for any signs of deception. Azriel has known you for a long time but you've known him for a long time too. You know all of his tells just as well as he knows yours. Yes, you were definitely onto him.

“That's great Az,” you say finally. He lets out a silent breath of relief.  “I’m sure you’ll win, the only other real competition is Cass,” you add.

Az paused, he completely forgot Cassian was jousting too. He should tell Cass of his plan to propose to you. His friend was enough of a romantic that Azriel was sure that he could get him to throw the competition. 

Cassian married Lady Nesta just a few months ago and they were disgustingly adorable. Lady Nesta was the eldest sister of Rhysands new wife, Feyre. He thought it was nice how his brothers found sisters to wed. He was even happier to have you all to himself now that Cass was out of the way. There were a few years where all Cassian could do was flirt with you. Azriel had never been more jealous in his life. He eventually snapped and let his brother in on his affections for you. His friend backed off after that.

“Oh, I’m not worried about “The Lord of Bloodshed”, or whatever he wants to call himself,” Azriel teased. Cass had started to call himself that after the first battle the three of them fought together. Az had never seen anything like it, he was almost demon-like out there. It was strange as Cassian was much different when he was with his friends.

You just giggled at Azriels teasing, “You’re not worried about perhaps the greatest knight this kingdom has ever seen, Sir Azriel?” Az couldn’t help the fluttering of his heart as you used his proper title. 

“Trust me, sweetheart, if anyone here is the greatest then it's me,” he confidently replied. Azriel didn’t miss the flush of your cheeks at the term of endearment used. 

“Then I wish you luck,” you curtseyed, “I shall see you on the morrow then?” 

Az gave you a bow and took your hand in his, placing a delicate kiss to your knuckles, “you shall.” Your face flushed to deep crimson before pulling your hand back and stalking off back towards the palace

—

Azriel found Cassian in the training yard, and he wasn’t alone. He found his two best friends in an intense sword fight. Both of them were very good. Az found peace in knowing Rhysand wouldn’t be competing tomorrow, as the tourney was to celebrate his marriage. That just left him to deal with Cassian, who at that moment knocked his opponent on his ass, leaving Rhysand as the loser. 

“Well, well, well, look who decided to show his face at training,” Cassian called out to Azriel, helping pull Rhys back to his feet.

“Nice fight,” Azriel turned towards Rhysand, “sorry you had your ass handed to you.”

Cassian let out a chuckle, “he sure as hell did.” Rhysand was not amused, scowling at them both. “Oh wipe that face off, Rhys. You’re probably just tired,” Cass smirked, “Feyre wearing you out?”

Rhysand just looked at Cassian with a devilish grin, “something like that.” 

Azriel just stood there, laughing at his friends. “Cassian, could I speak with you about something?” he asked. Cassian just looked at him with a quizzical brow.

“Why do you just need to speak to Cass?” Rhysand questioned, “I am your prince, after all.” Azriel was starting to ponder if pulling rank was a family trait. 

Azriel never actually told Rhysand about his love for you. He didn’t want to make him uncomfortable but he supposed it would be nice to have both his best friends backing him up tomorrow. 

Azriel took a deep inhale before speaking, “I’m going to wish for Y/N’s hand in marriage when I win tomorrow.”

Rhysand and Cassian dropped their swords simultaneously, staring at Azriel.

“You- wait my sister?”

“Finally!” The two exclaimed at once. Cassian wrapped his arms around Azriel, “you have my congratulations, brother,” he beamed.

“You knew about this?” Rhysand questioned Cass. 

Cassian let out a sigh as he backed away from embracing Azriel. “yes, Rhys. I knew,” his response laced with guilt.

Rhysands confusion grew deeper and deeper. The only thing holding Azriel together was that he didn’t seem angry. “How- how long have you been in love with my sister?” Rhys asked.

Azriel shit his eyes, breathed, and reopened them, “since the day I met her.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Rhysand seemed more hurt than the fact his best friend was in love with his sister. 

Azriel felt guilt coursing through him, “I didn’t know how you’d react. I thought you’d be angry,” he confessed.

Rhysand just blew out a sigh, “Why would I be angry?” It was now Azriels turn for confusion. “I honestly couldn’t think of a man more deserving than you to marry her,” Rhys informed.

“You truly mean that?” Az couldn’t contain the small grin he had.

Rhysand nodded, “of course,” he walked over and clapped Azriel on the shoulder, “she’d be lucky to have you. And you’d be lucky to have her.”

“Does this mean I have your blessing then?” Azriel queried.

Rhysand gave him a wide grin, “of course, although it’s not mine you need. How do you plan to convince the king?”

“I have a plan,” Azriel told his brothers before bringing his attention back to Cassian, “I need a favor.”

“Anything,” Cassian responded. Azriel informed his brothers of just how he’ll gain your fathers approval.

—

Azriel was set to fight his first match against a knight he had never heard of until before today, he was good. Not as good as Azriel, however. Azriel beat opponent after opponent, the crowd cheering his name. He loved the rush of the sport but if he was being honest with himself, he only cared if you were cheering his name. Which you were.

Azriel picked out your voice instantly, as it was the loudest. He looked at the royal box where you were seated on the left of your father, Nesta on your other side. When you weren’t cheering for Az, you were conversing with the lady. Azriel thought it was sweet how well you got along with her and Feyre. The latter of whom was seated next to Rhysand, on the opposite side of your father.

Soon Azriel found himself going against Cassian. During the conversation they had the day prior, his friend had agreed to lose. He felt bad asking it of Cass, but Azriel needed to win. 

Azriel saddled himself on his horse once more and did a quick canter around the arena. He stopped just below the royal box.

“Princess Y/N” he called, using your formal title considering how public you currently were. His heart skipped a beat as you appeared before him.

“Yes, Sir Azriel?” you questioned, a mischievous smile gracing your face.

“Might I have a token? For luck,” he raised his lance high enough for you to bestow your favor. You nodded your head before you darted off to your seat to grab your gift.

“For you, good sir,” you came back with an intricately weaved wreath of flowers, placing it down on his lance. You leaned over the balcony just enough for Az to hear, “Win my heart, Sir Azriel.” You smiled at his dazed expression before returning to your spot besides the king. 

Azriel just sat there on his horse, amazed at what you had just said. He finally snapped back into reality and rode back to his starting position. He was ready to win your heart. 

—

Azriel was at his end of the fence, waiting for the signal to face off against Cassian. You were so close. Finally, Cassian emerged from his end of the barrier. Azriel looked towards his friend and noticed that he was riding a different horse. Then he noticed that the suit of armor was not the one Cass wore. And the killing blow was when the knight took off his helmet and revealed the face of Sir Eris.

Azriel called for a time out before the joust could begin, needing to check what happened with Cassian. He took off on his horse towards the opposite end in search of answers.

He arrived towards his new opponent, “Sir Eris, what has happened to Cassian?”

Eris let out a scoff, “you mean that idiot?”

Azriel glared at him, “yes, him.”

“Oh, well you see,” Eris began, “he lost.”

That wasn’t right. Cassian doesn’t lose. Especially to fools like Eris. Azriel never liked him. He was always full of himself. Thinking he was better all because he was to be the king of his own kingdom someday. Rhysand was in line for his own throne, and his friend still maintained humility.

“I doubt that is the truth of the matter,” Azriel defended. He hadn’t seen every tournament today, he was busy competing on his own as there were multiple tournaments being held. It was all meant to lead up to this, the grand finale. Azriel hoped that Eris was just making a show of himself, rather than telling the truth.

“Oh but it is,” Eris smirked, “I knocked him down myself. See for yourself.” Azriel followed to where Eris’ line of sight went, the royal box. 

There he sat, next to his wife. Cassian was hanging his head in his hands, upset by the defeat and that he wouldn’t be able to help his brother any longer. Nesta rubbed comforting circles on his back and you moved to sit at his feet in hopes of cheering him. 

“I wish you luck, Sir Azriel,” Eris mockingly bowed his head before placing his helmet back on.

Azriel galloped back to his end of the arena. He took a few deep breaths, thinking everything through. He knew he could take down Eris, but it would’ve been helpful if he had the guaranteed win he had with Cassian. If he lost, he’d never be able to marry you. He had to clear all the negativity from his mind. He would win. He could do this. Azriel would do as you told him and win your heart. 

The signal went off for the grand finale to begin. Eris galloped down first, charging with might. Azriel followed almost instantly, securing his helmet. Focus. He needed to focus. Azriel, with direct precision, aimed for Eris’s shoulder. It would earn him a few points if the blow landed. 

It didn’t. The blow just missed Eris and instead one landed on Azrael's shoulder. One point for Eris.

Their squires handed each of them a new lance, set to begin round two. They began their gallops down again. Eris landed another blow on Az on his shoulder. Eris now had two points on Azriel.

The third round would be the last if Eris landed another blow. The first to three points wins so that meant Azriel had to get at least one point, in hopes of continuing longer with a chance of a comeback. He had another option as well. If he knocked Eris from his horse then he would automatically be declared as the winner. 

Az blew out a breath, “okay, I can do this. Just knock Eris on his ass,” Azriel rambled to himself. He never could break the habit. “Easy enough,” he confidently whispered.

Azriels squire handed him his final lance, desperate to get this over with and to make you his at last. The two nights began their descents towards each other, lances ready to deliver their final blows. 

This time Azriel aimed further in, closer to Eris’ chest. He galloped and galloped. He had something to fight for. Someone to fight for. You. All he could think of was just how lovely you are and how he so desperately wanted to you to be in his arms.

Azriel landed his blow. Eris missed. He missed and was immediately knocked off his horse. He had done it. Azriel won. He removed his helmet and let out a laugh. Not because it was funny, but because he gets his wish and Eris gets nothing.

Azriel trotted over towards the royal box, ready to face your father. He got off his horse smoothly and there you were, looking at him in a way he had always hoped you would.

“Sir Azriel,” the king started, rising from his seat, “it seems as though congratulations are in order.”

Azriel kneeled before his king, “thank you, your majesty. The honor was mine.”

“You do understand what you receive for your victory, yes?” the king asked. 

“Yes, one wish granted,” Azriel nodded breathlessly. He could hardly contain his nervous excitement. 

The king took a moment, “that is correct.” The king began walking towards Azriel until there wasn’t much space left between them. “Stand,” he ordered. Azriel did as he said, rising to meet his king's eyes. “What is it you would wish for?” he asked.

“I would like to ask for the hand of Princess Y/N,” he nervously asked. Azriel took a fleeting glance towards you, making eye contact. He wanted to spend forever looking into your eyes. Azriel lost his nerves completely, knowing you were looking at him with such admiration. 

“I wish to make her my bride. I wish to make her happy for the rest of her life. I wish to love her, and to hold her. I wish for Y/N, my king” Azriel requested in his most authoritative voice. 

The king's face was one of indifference, “are you not a bastard?”

Azriel won the tourney. His birth status should not matter anymore. He was tired of the obstacles in his way. He felt his temper bubble to the surface. That was when Az felt a gentle hand place itself on his forearm. He looked to his side, and there you were.

“Father, the rules stated the winner would have any wish granted to them,” you came to his defense. 

“Yes but, Y/N, he’s a bastard,” the king justified.

“I love him, as he loves me,” you proclaimed. Azriel had no idea that you truly returned his feelings. Of course he suspected, that was why he had done all of this after all. Hearing it from you made his chest thunder with excitement. You loved him. 

The king looked between the two of you, “you truly love him?” he asked his daughter.

“Yes father, I do. Please grant him this wish,” you began to plead. 

Your father looked towards Azriel now, “you truly love her?” he asked Azriel, repeating the same question he had for you.

“I do,” Azriel said without a second thought. “I love her and wish to make her my wife,” he continued, looking down towards you. 

You felt his gaze upon you and turned to make eye contact with him, giving him a smile he had never seen you wear before but he somehow loved this one the most. “Please, father” you begged once more.

The king examined Azriel once more, then brought his gaze to you. “Very well, the two of you shall be married,” he declared loud enough for most of the arena to hear. Soon enough applause and cheers filled the open space, the crowd rejoicing in the news. 

With that the tourney came to a close, the king and his royal guard taking their leave. Azriel spared a quick glance to his friends as they left with Feyre and Nesta, presumably to give him a moment alone with his fiancée. He loved that he could call you that now. And soon, you'd be his wife.

When everyone in the royal box left and the two of you were as close to being alone as possible, he went to gently take your face into his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me you love me?” he asked you.

“Well, why didn’t you tell me you love me?” you retorted. 

Azriel let out a chuckle, “you have me there, princess.”

“I’m sorry I never told you. Truthfully,” you removed his hands from your face, pulling them close to your chest, “I’ve loved you since the day we met.”

Azriels eyes bulged, “you- you have?” You just gave him a shy nod in response. “In the name of honesty,” he breathed out a laugh. He couldn’t believe you loved him just as long as he did you. “I’ve loved you since that very day as well,” he confessed.

You giggled, “we’ve both been rather foolish, haven’t we?”

“Yes, my love, I’m afraid we have,” he giggled with you. Azriel wasn’t planning on wasting one more second. He removed one hand from yours, taking it to place back on your cheek. His thumb softly stroked the skin there. He leaned down, hovering just above your lips. “I love you, Y/N,” he breathed out.

“I love you, Az,” you whispered back just before he closed the distance. Finally, after years of waiting, he sealed your lips with a kiss. He had won your heart just as you had won his.

—

A/N: I've had this idea in my head for a little while now so I'm very happy I finally got around to writing it! You are all so amazing, I really appreciate all of your support 🥰❤️

[thekinslayed]

Dragons of the Same Fire

summary | Escaping to Harrenhal after the Blacks take King's Landing, you are unhappy to learn that the rumors surrounding Aemond rang true.

pairing | aemond targaryen x older sister!reader (helaena's twin)

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! unprotected sex, jealousy, rough sex (like rly rough), dom!aemond, subby!reader, lots of arguing, Criston wants no part of this ..but has a favorite child, mentions of aemond x alys, choking, spanking, breeding kink, incest, too much lore w these two omfg

wordcount | 6.7k

note | hope u guys don’t mind another canon aem fic :) this has taken the longest to finish, and i am so happy to finally have this out!! had to make reader hate alys for the plot, sorry mommy 💔

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

“Rider approaching!”

A swift flash of darkness passed through the gates of Harrenhal when the first sprinkle of dusk painted the sky. The sun was only beginning to set behind the dark castle, rays of red bleeding through the blues of the horizon. Archers quickly presumed their position upon the intruder’s presence, their bows nocked as they awaited the command to shoot. The horse halted to a stop right by the castle’s entrance, prompting the soldiers to stand even more wary when its rider dismounted. The Lord Hand, Ser Criston Cole rushed out of the fortress, sword drawn to approach the unknown figure. 

“Reveal yourself,” the knight barked.  A gloved hand is raised to halt the archers, the Dornishman taking cautious steps forward. The dark cloak is pushed back, revealing mud-stained silver waves and purple eyes.

“Princess?” 

The Dornishman visibly relaxed at the sight of Queen Alicent’s second daughter. As his sword lowered, so did all the bows that pointed at you. Your shoulders visibly relaxed as you let out a relieved sigh, a twisted smirk adorning your lips when you approached the knight. “Quite a warm welcome from my brother’s troops. I hope you haven’t missed me too much, Ser Criston,” you greeted him, bumping his shoulder playfully before walking past his stunned figure to enter the dark castle.

Aemond had been at the campgrounds approving arrangements for their next move when the news came. He refused to sit idly by while his half-sister and uncle kept his family prisoners and forged a plan to lure their dragons out of the capital. A squire from Harrenhal had rushed to inform him of your arrival, causing him to return to the fortress in haste. He all but burst through the castle’s threshold in search of you, frightening the knights standing guard at his thunderous arrival. The prince regent was directed to the bathhouse, where he found you leaning your head back while dipped in one of the great stone tubs. Your eyes were closed as your muscles relaxed in the steaming water of the bath; your body tortured with aches from the grueling journey you had taken to escape King’s Landing. 

Your ears perked up at the sound of the door opening, listening to the quiet footsteps that approached where you sat. A soft smile spread on your lips when you recognized his familiar gait, though you made no move to face him.

“Is that you, my beloved?” you asked, tone relaxed and smooth. Aemond couldn’t deny the thumping in his ears at the sight of you. Steam billowed around your naked figure, and your skin glistened in the warm glow of the torches hung on the pillars. You called out to him like a siren in the middle of the dark ocean, your voice alluring the usually headstrong prince. Your younger brother approached the side of the stone to get a better glimpse of you. Flushed like a blushing rose in the sweltering air of the bathhouse, your eyes opened and turned to Aemond, your smile widening at the sight of him.

“Sweet sister,” he greeted. His lone eye was blown wide as he stared at you, visibly astonished. “How… They had told me you disappeared,” the prince said dumbfoundedly. You let out a sigh, beckoning him closer. Aemond sat on the tub’s edge, bending down when you reached up to cup his jaw to plant a kiss on his cheek. Your eyes sparkled when they stared into his good eye, chest fluttering upon seeing his handsome face up close once again. Before you could pull your hand away, Aemond’s larger one covered yours when he leaned into your touch. His eye flickered to your chest, where your perked nipples had peaked through the surface of the water when you sat up higher to face him, before meeting your eyes once more. A spark ignited deep within him, a familiar tingle coursing through his skin at the sight of you. He called out your name in a whisper, earning a hum as a response from you. “What happened? How did you get here?” he queried.

You gave him a rueful smile, pulling your hand away to hug your knees into your chest. “When Rhaenyra and Daemon started to descend to King’s Landing, mother urged me to flee with Aegon. Larys Strong had gotten us out, but I asked him to spare me a horse so I may ride to Harrenhal. I had to see you, I had to let you know we are unharmed,” you explained, studying Aemond’s reaction. He exhaled deeply through his nose, looking away from you as shame coursed through him. “They are safe, my sweet.”

“How is our mother safe in the hands of those vapid cunts? And Helaena, after all they have done to her?” he asked angrily. The prince was enraged at his foolishness, having let his family be so easily captured while he led his army away in a desperate attempt to lure his uncle into battle. He vowed to take King’s Landing back to his power with fire and blood, unleashing Vhagar’s full might if he had to.

You placed your hand on his wrist, squeezing it softly. “They are being held in chains in their chambers, yes, but Rhaenyra will not kill them. It would be a foolish decision that will cost them everything,” you reassured him firmly, watching as he clenched his jaw in frustration, still refusing to look at you. The image of your twin’s haunted look before you left her flashed through your mind. Since Jaehaerys had been killed before her own eyes, Helaena refused to let anyone touch her, often growing distressed and panicked when approached by her own family. However, she had let you, her only sister, hug her tight on the day you left. You remembered the scent of rosemary in her hair as you buried your face in her neck, whispering the promises of your return as you kissed her cheek. Your heart had shattered when you cast a last glimpse at her and saw a lone tear run down her cheek, having to be all but dragged away from your twin before you slipped through Maegor’s tunnels.

Aemond ran a free hand in frustration down his face, taking deep breaths to will himself to calm down. “And Aegon?” he asked quietly. Through the leather of his doublet, he felt how your thumb rubbed at his wrist soothingly, your touch warming his skin.

“Fret not, he is safe, and so is Jaehaera,” you answered though you doubted your own words. Leaving your wounded eldest brother and his remaining child in the hands of Larys Strong perturbed you, wary of the man’s conniving nature, but your king had sent you away to Aemond, leaving no room for arguments.

“He needs you,” Aegon had croaked out, before being whisked away in a simple, unassuming carriage. 

Mud had been rubbed into your hair to conceal the stark brightness of your silver tresses before you journeyed to Harrenhal. You rode through the dead of night, only stopping to grant your horse a moment’s rest. An ache in your heart made you long for your dragon still kept in the Dragonpit, having no choice but to leave her lest you raise suspicions of your whereabouts. 

As you passed through the endless woods, your senses were on high alert, careful of any nearby threat. A dagger had been your only weapon, and what little fighting skills you retained from when Ser Criston had taught you in your youth were certainly not enough to defend you, but the gods had blessed you when you saw the ominous sight of Harrenhal appear through the horizon at the break of dawn, the terrifying sight of the burnt fortress bringing you an immense amount of relief at the end of your journey. It was only when you had seen the face of the Dornishman you considered your father figure that you finally allowed yourself to let your guard down fully. 

Aemond sighed, closing his eye when he bowed his head. A disappointment at his actions throbbed in his chest. He was a scholar, a trained warrior, he had prepared for battle all his life, and yet when the moment came he had let himself act so irrationally. He knew he was better than this, smarter than all of them, but he was a fool all the same. 

Your features softened while you took in the sight of your younger brother. You had always been fiercely protective of him, especially since he lost his eye, and you had been the proudest when he had evolved into the prolific prince who stood before you today. Seeing your dearest brother this way ached your heart, prompting you to rise to your knees and call out his name.

“Look at me,” you urged him, cupping his jaw again. When he had not, you dipped your head to meet his lowered gaze. The air felt cooler on your now exposed chest compared to the heated water. Gooseflesh rose on your skin while your nipples pebbled, though you paid them no mind. Your hands were a welcome warmth on Aemond’s face, which turned to you, unable to resist your sweet voice. “We still have time, Aemond.” You whispered, thumb rubbing at the edge of his scar. “They will pay, for everything. We will get our family back… together.”

Aemond nodded in a trance, lost in the amethyst hues of your orbs that called out to him. A large, calloused hand squeezed your shoulder, a sign of his silent gratitude. He resisted the urge to move his hand lower to your chest, the open view of your flushed mounds tempting him to feel the supple flesh against his palm.  A flame started to course towards him, one only you were able to stoke. 

Your forehead pressed against his. A nudge of your nose on his. A sweet smile on your lips when his shoulders finally relaxed. Two purple eyes met his good one, and something shifted between the two of you. 

There it was again, the stirring in your belly every time he stared at you with a softness he reserved only for his sweet sister. You tried to ignore the aching in your core that started to pulsate, but you suddenly felt so exposed as you sat bare in the stone tub while he was fully clothed. His gaze fell on your pink lips, soft and enticing. Your head tilted ever so slightly toward his, just a hair away from meeting his lips, when the door to the bathhouse opened, which startled the both of you.

You pulled away to look at the woman who had entered, carrying linens for you to dry yourself with. She assisted you upon Cole’s orders, but you asked her to leave when she had properly washed your hair to get a moment alone. Long, raven-colored hair draped across her back, and a pair of emerald eyes matched the green of her dress. Her appearance was striking, and she carried herself with the air of a woman who knew much more than she let on. Alys, she said her name was. 

Aemond cleared his throat and stood up from the tub's edge, stepping away from your space. The air prickled at your skin with the loss of his warmth, making you sit back down to dip your exposed flesh into the steaming water. A wary curiosity sparked as you studied how Alys’ eyes met Aemond’s, looking between the pair of them while they seemed to communicate with their gazes. Something burned in your chest at the sight, one that quickly rose to your head as some sort of perturbation. The prince regent is then informed of the council meeting that was due to start soon, and he sighed, before turning to you. 

“Sister, I am afraid I must leave you for some matters that require my attention,” he said, to which you nodded at him in understanding. “I shall leave you to the care of Lady Rivers.” 

The prince leaned down to plant a parting kiss on your cheek, which would have comforted you if it weren’t for a pair of green eyes that watched you closely, the weight of her stare unnerving and prickly. You felt wary of being left alone with the mysterious woman, but you merely smiled at Aemond before he turned to leave the bathhouse. 

The clinking of fine utensils and cups echoed through the dining hall while you supped with Ser Criston, who sat right across from you, and Aemond, seated at the head of the table. Before your arrival, matters between the prince regent and the Hand were tense with their contrasting opinions on their next course of action, but your presence brought a certain lightness into the dark cavern of the stronghold that granted a momentary peace between both men. Light conversation flowed across the dinner table, mostly from you while Criston responded, and Aemond offered some short responses and hums now and then. 

“So, Larys left a Rivers woman as Lady of Harrenhal?” you asked, feigning a casual tone in your voice despite the curiosity that urged you to learn all about this bastard. Your eyes shifted from Aemond to Criston, catching how the knight’s gaze flickered to his prince before taking a sip of wine. 

“She is a Strong by blood, princess. One of Lyonel’s bastards,” the older knight informed you.

“Oh, I was unaware there were more of them,” you mused, ignoring the look Aemond gave you. As if on cue, Alys entered the dining hall with a fresh jug of wine. Your eyes looked her up and down while she went around the table to pour wine into your cups. When she reached the head of the table, you did not miss the way she stood a little too close to the prince to be considered appropriate. You watched her green orbs meet Aemond’s good eye, giving him another glance that held the same energy you witnessed at the bathhouse, the sides of her thin lips lifting.

Your jaw ticked in annoyance at the smirk the older woman gave Aemond, who seemed to be entranced at her display. His good eye had flickered down to the swell of her breasts when she bent to pour his wine, causing your eyebrows to raise in contempt and to turn to your father figure across from you. Criston hid the way his lips quirked up behind his cup at the look you gave him, shaking his head. 

The presence of this mysterious woman left an odd feeling in your chest, even more so around your blood. He always had an affinity for older women, as per Aegon’s words. Back in the Streets of Silk, Aemond would apparently ask for their older madame, turning away the younger whores Aegon would call upon. Was this the same deal? Is this what he truly liked, someone… motherly? You couldn’t even gauge how you felt about it, let alone speak with him about this matter as you sat in his chambers late into the night. 

A cup of wine is nursed by your side, its rim traced by your fingertip. Mindless hums reverberated from your chest as Aemond informed you of battle strategies, and what was to come. He was hunched over the map, his back to you, laid on his chaise. Harrenhal was cold as it was barren, haunted by darkness lurking in every corner. You had stolen one of his robes, trading it for your smaller one, wrapping it around your nightgown-clad figure. 

“If we stay high, we can patrol over the Crownlands without getting detected,” Aemond said, glazing over the map with an outstretched hand. 

“And how do you propose I do that without a dragon?” you asked, taking another gulp of your wine.

“We will find a way,” he promised. His brow raised when you snorted, the early telltale signs of your diminishing sobriety making themselves known. A buzz started to make the top of your head feel lighter, your tongue a little bit looser, and your face warmer. You had mindlessly consumed more than half of the jug of wine, while Aemond had taken mere sips.

This is where you differed, while the younger preferred to keep his mind unmuddied by liquor, you spent a good amount of your nights trying to outdrink Aegon. Aemond had seen you stumble through the halls one too many times, had held your hair back as you spilled your guts all over the flowers. “Easy,” your brother scolded, taking the cup far from your grasp. He sat on the armchair with a sigh, rotating his neck. It clicked with a lean to the side, making the prince grunt.

A silence passed over the two of you. It was deafening, awkward, riddled with an unspoken tension. It irked you, it never used to be like this. Your tongue itched to speak, while your heart panged, silently begging him to say something, anything. You craned your head to take a peek at him, and your younger dragon had his eye closed. His head rested on the back of his seat, legs spread wide, and shoulders relaxed. He looked older, you realized. The war had been harsh, on all of you, but to him especially. Where his cheeks used to be plump with youth, it now was well-defined, sculpted.

“What is it?” he whispered, unmoving. His good eye stayed closed, yet you knew he could see you well all the same. He was always the most perceptive out of all of you, the smartest. You couldn’t hide anything from him.

You fiddled with the strings of the robe, his robe. “There have been some curious whispers about you in your absence,” you muttered, feigning indifference. His eye cracked open only a hair’s inch, the dazzling purple of his eye peeking through his lashes.

“Whispers?”

“Of you and that Rivers lady. They say she had tempted you to her bed so greatly you had no wish to leave Harrenhal to return to your family.” A subtle twitch in his upper lip was the only reaction you were bestowed.

“Tell me, who utters these whispers within our walls?” He’d sat up now, the rigidity in his spine returning as he regarded you. Your gaze was stuck on your fiddling thumbs, willfully ignoring his burning gaze behind you.

You shrugged. “The rats hear all and more, curious little things they are.” An unamused huff left your brother’s lips, though you barely spared him a glance as you rose to your feet, maintaining your casual unconcern. Your half-filled cup of wine was still by his side, and you approached to take it from him, but he had moved it away, teasing, as you reached for it.

“Rats. You of all people would know better than to believe such folly, sister.”

From where you stood, your face was almost level with his. He studied you just as you did him, searching… calculating. You reached for your cup again, brushing against Aemond’s fingers before he let go. The wine was a welcome sting to your insides when you took a big gulp, a calming reprieve from the sudden fluttering of your gut.

“The rats have given us much trouble. Helaena was right, perhaps we should be fearing them more than we do dragons,” you replied, turning away to walk around the room. Aemond was silent behind you, merely watching as you took in the darkened stone of his chambers. It was drab, its austere appearance dampening your spirits, though you figured there wasn’t much designing to do on a castle that was mostly burnt. “You don’t deny it?” you asked him, mentally swatting away the budding swarm in your chest as you awaited his response. Your fingertips ran across the embroidery scattered about, a rather sad attempt at livening up the place. You turned back to Aemond, who was still silent as ever.

“What I do behind closed doors is not of anyone’s concern.”

An odd pang in your chest rendered you unable to retort a clever answer, resorting instead to another gulp of liquid courage. It was odd, the way this conversation was affecting you. What was growing over the years was starting to make itself known, but it cannot be, not yet.

“Not even your own blood?” you whispered.

“I do not appreciate my sister sticking her nose into my endeavors, especially not while we are still stuck in this hellish war.” He was starting to grow peeved, evident in the way his nostrils were starting to flare when he stood. Aemond’s piercing gaze followed you as you continued to pace around. He watched you, caught exactly when you spotted the familiar weapons stored aside. Your brows furrowed in realization, approaching where Blackfyre and Aegon’s catspaw dagger sat. The embellished dagger was hefty in your hand, heavy with the implications of what brandishing it meant. The Valyrian inscriptions glinted in the dim glow of the room as you tilted the metal.

Aemond made no move to take it from you, still cautiously watching. There was an almost accusatory gaze you held when you looked up, confusion and astonishment clear as day in your features.

“When our brother fell from the skies and his armor melted into his skin, it seemed that you had some agenda of your own. Is that not of my concern too?” Aemond’s brows raised in question at the implication of your words, his thin lips lifting into a serpentine smirk, before dropping into a purse of his lips. He shook his head at you, unbelieving at what you were implying. Slow, steady steps were taken towards where you stood, his approach menacing, almost like a hunting predator. You gripped the edge of the table tight, swallowing the growing lump in your throat.

“You question my loyalty? After everything I’ve done for our faction, our family,” the regent spat, earning a frown from you in response. Your blood ran hot in your veins, the same way it did in Aemond’s, thrumming thunderously in your ears. The hairs on the back of his neck stood as he infiltrated your space, hot breath fanning your flushed face.  

“Haven’t seen much of it since you’ve taken this cursed place. Tell me, has your loyalty been redirected somewhere else then? I am not here to question your tastes, you know that,” you taunted. You held your ground as he chuckled darkly in your face, gritting your teeth when he caged you in between his towering figure, his hands settling on the table behind you.

“A fool you are. Why else are you here for then? To chastise me as though I were still a boy?”

Whatever snarky remark you wanted to bite back at him died on your tongue when his face neared dangerously close to yours. You pushed against his chest, but he was a wall against your weak nudges. With a grunt, Aemond took your wrists into his larger, calloused hands, pulling you flush to his chest.

“Let me go,” you seethed. “Aemond!”

“What? Not so smart now, sister?” he provoked, thoroughly enjoying watching you struggle against his strength. You managed to free one of your wrists off his vicelike grip, quickly grabbing your father’s dagger and pointing it in defense.

This was becoming all too amusing for him, you realized. Aemond merely stepped forward, pressing his chest into the dagger’s sharp tip. His head subtly tilted towards you, taunting.

He wanted to see you break.

The dagger fell to the floor in a clank, no regard for its importance when you grabbed his doublet, pulling him close. Your lips smashed against his in a mess of teeth and tongue, your hands grabbing his silver tresses tight. You brought him in closer by wrapping a leg around his waist, while he clutched onto the back of your head. It was dizzying, you were growing much more lightheaded than you already were. Your knees were starting to grow weak, making you resort to leaning on the wooden table to keep yourself up.

He tasted divine, a taste so addicting yet inexplicable, only slightly tinted by wine. A growing stiffness was poking into your hip, proving this was affecting him just as much as it did with you. Your hand descended with a mission, cupping his bulge. Aemond thought similarly, fondling your perked breast in his larger palm.

All too sudden, a knock kicked you out of your stupor. Aemond pulled away with a curse, turning to voice his wrath at the interruption when the door opened to reveal Alys, a tray of steaming tea in hand.

“My deepest apologies, my prince, princess. I have brought his grace’s nightly tea,” she explained, lacking any actual remorse in her tone. You scoffed in disbelief, dismantling yourself from Aemond’s grip. He had tried to get you to stay, but your scowl let him know that the moment had passed.

“Sister,” he whispered.

“I shall take my leave,” you made known, refusing to look at his pleading look. “Enjoy your tea.”

You avoided Aemond like the plague in the days that came. He had only missed you by a minute when he came to see you in your chambers after returning from the campgrounds, off to gods know where. You took your meals alone, bathed alone, untrusting of the raven-haired woman charged with the care of the castle. 

At night, however, the somber melancholy of your isolation found you. You had chosen to seek company with Cole instead, spending more of your time in his chambers when you needed a companion. Aemond had caught you there one night, when he had come to talk strategy with the Hand.

“What is she doing on your bed?” the prince questioned, his tone already raging the moment he entered. You faked sleep while Cole merely sat unbothered as he read the latest parchments.

“Your sister longed for some company, said her own chambers were too lonesome. She welcomed herself into my chambers and finished all my wine,” Criston replied, cocking his head toward the empty jug. You willed yourself to stay still and keep your eyes shut, just until Aemond left, at least.

You had flashed your mother’s lover a sheepish smile when the younger finally left, to which he replied with an unamused shake of his head.

“I dare not ask what scheme you are concocting in that prickly head of yours, but you know I wish to take no part in whatever strife you have with your brother. We have more pressing matters to attend to.” 

You didn’t know how to face him after that night, nor did you even want to try to figure out where you stood moving forward. His affections were never hidden from you, quite the contrary. Aemond was always stuck to your skirts throughout your youth, though you always considered them a kinship. In time, you saw the change in him.

It was after that night, when Lucerys had slashed out his eye in the caves of Driftmark. He had grown all too quick afterwards, harsher, smarter, yet his love for you stayed the same, only ever blossoming into a devout adoration. You dismissed his romantic advances as fleeting affections every boy felt when he was reborn a man, but he had persisted. He had nothing to hide from you, not when you had always held his heart. You failed to realize how his faithful attention had been a constant in your life, and with it gone, directed to someone else, it troubled you. It shouldn’t, but it did.

Over time he had spurned odd twinges in your chest, pulling on the strings of your wary heart that left you perplexed, your skin tingling with the beginning embers of a growing fire. You had once dismissed it a sisterly love, familial, but such affections meant little difference to that of a love of man and wife to people like you and him. You were Targaryens after all, you were meant to burn together.

It had always been there, this you were well aware of, simmering beneath the surface of your conscience, but you had refused to let it bubble over. To let it consume you meant to break your own heart. It would never be, your grandsire always told you. You were promised to a Hightower cousin, and Aemond had asked for the hand of a Baratheon girl, bestowed a kiss on all of Borros’ thunderous storms before taking his pick of the litter. You had visibly rolled your eyes at the news of such display, sneering at how insignificant girls would surely giggle and boast of being bestowed a kiss from such a prince. 

But now, that cousin whose face you scarcely recalled had perished under the rain of dragonfire, while the Baratheon girl was promised to Aemond no longer. He was yours for the taking, but another obstacle stood in your way.

He had found you after three days, in a place he least wanted you to be. Aemond marched through their military encampments with the intent of surveying their situations after having just returned from patrolling the skies. There you were, sat by a fire with his soldiers. You were surrounded by a good number of them, having offered your support to the men fighting your cause. They were elated to catch a glimpse of their princess, approaching in haste to speak with you. A bubbling laugh echoed through the open air when one of the men had made a jest, unnoticing of your brother’s furious approach. He had dragged you back to the keep, sending you straight to the bathhouse with the instruction of not letting you leave.

To rid yourself of all their muck, Aemond had spat out.

“These are our troops, Aemond. They fight for us, the least I could do is show my face and make them remember who they march for, not hide like some cowardly damsel who chooses to live in the ignorance of her reality. This is my battle just as much as it is yours,” you argued, angrily scrubbing on your reddening skin. He was pacing, taking deep breaths through the damp thickness of the steaming baths. The regent barged through the bathhouse after barking orders to Cole to oversee his duty in the meantime, locking the door behind him.

“A fool’s gesture that was, sister. Our uncle can rain fire on these lands at any moment and I shall not have you out there when the moment comes,” he berated, taking big strides to stand before your submerged form. “You are not to leave the castle, not unless it is with me or Cole.” You rolled your eyes childishly as he pointed a stern finger at you, rising promptly from the water. There was little concern in your mind for your bareness, ignoring the way Aemond had snapped his head to the side to avert his gaze. You reached for a cloth, wrapping yourself, grumbling. The dragonblood in your veins still ran hot, having been granted no chance to simmer down since the twat didn’t spare you a moment alone.

“If I had known mine own brother would be treating me like a prisoner I never should have come here,” you muttered grimly.

“Then why did you?” 

Droplets from your hair splattered on Aemond’s face as you briskly whipped around to face him, startling the warrior. “Our king is lost to his burns and milk of the poppy, our sister is haunted, plagued with the grief of her loss. Our family is slowly being torn apart and I cannot lose you to this madness!” you stressed, jabbing a finger into his firm chest. He huffed in sarcastic amusement, shaking his head at you, unbelieving. “I came here because I couldn’t go anywhere else, I didn’t want to go anywhere else. I need you, Aemond, I dare not think of an end to this where you are not by my side.”

Your words struck him, making him turn to you in disbelief. He stared at you, with your flushed face, and wide eyes. Hot tears had started to prickle the corner of your amethyst hues, glazing them over. His hand twitched to cup your face in his, yet he restrained. “You have scarred me, burned me deep with your indifference. You do not need me, you have made that very clear from the many times you have turned me away,” he retorted venomously, making your lips quiver into a frown. How could he be so cruel to you now? Here you were, laying your heart before him, bare and vulnerable, yet he refused to see you. This was all he hoped for, had begged the gods for.

“Of course I need you, I always will! You are my blood, my flesh. We are dragons born of the same fire, the gods have deemed no other bond will be stronger than you and I,” you uttered, pulling him straight into your chest for a kiss. You clung onto him, lest he were to be taken from you again. He was yours, he always had been.

Aemond responded in earnest, gripping the dampened cotton around your waist. He pulled it off of you in one motion, turning you around to press his front into your bare behind.

“Is this what this was, then? Doing all of this for my attention?” he asked, dripping a taunting venom into your ear. He gripped your breasts in his gloved hands, squeezing them in a matter that bordered on pain. You whined as he pinched your nubs, subtly pressing your hips backward. “Were you jealous I had taken another into bed, sister?”

“You are mine,” you stated bitterly, before turning to capture his lips again, biting down hard to the point of bleeding. Aemond grunted, pulling away to bend you over the edge of the great stone tub. His grip was painful as he held your wrists in one hand. You gasped when he delivered a harsh smack to your plump rear, the blooming sting warming your flesh.

“A brat you have always been. You have always found amusement in my torment, have you?”

The prince delivered several smacks afterwards, making you wince at each one. The skin had grown hot from his assault, yet you couldn’t deny the tears of arousal that dripped down your slit. You heard a dark chuckle behind you, his smoothing caress on your reddened arse a welcome reprieve.

“You enjoy this,” Aemond leered, running a gloved finger along your weeping cunt. It was soon replaced by something thicker, hotter. You gasped when his cockhead began to breach you, having been too dazed in pain to notice when he untied his breeches.

His hips snapped into you in an unforgiving pace from the start, giving you no chance to get used to his length. You had stammered to be granted a moment to catch your bearings, but the younger only tutted in refusal, thrusting relentlessly.

“Take it, fucking take it,” he spat out. It was a painful sting to take a cock his size, your body forcefully producing lubrication to ease his intrusion. The rough stone dug into your hips painfully, and your neck strained to keep your head from dipping into the steaming water, but soon enough a warm blossom in your belly started to make itself known, giving way to pleasure. Your pained whines soon morphed into moans, echoing through the vast bathing chambers. “I’ve always known you enjoyed being treated like this. Like a whining whore.”

The memory of his beloved sister being devoured by her sworn knight’s mouth was burned into the back of Aemond’s memory like an itching scar. He had found you at the library then, hidden behind an aisle no one ever frequented, except for him. He was hurt beyond belief, yet the image of your beautiful, blissed-out face was something he would always remember. It was the same look you had now, as he picked you up and fucked you against a stone pillar.

Your mouth hung open as your sweet sounds fell freely, and your breasts bounced in front of him. You clung onto his shoulders for dear life, while his hands left his mark on your thighs. It was utterly debauched, animalistic, the way he was still fully clothed while you were bare as day. Aemond had no regard for who would walk in, or who could hear, better yet, he hoped they would all hear.

“Fuck, Aemond, don’t stop!” you whined, your release drawing near. He felt it too, with the way your walls began to tighten. All too sudden, he stopped, making you let out a sob as the bubbling rise in your belly dissipated. He smirked devilishly at your pouting face, biting on your ear.

“Not yet, princess. Do you think you deserve it so easily? After all you’ve put me through?” he taunted. You wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him close, peppering desperate kisses across his face while subtly moving your hips for any sort of stimulation.

“Please, my love, I’m sorry! Please, please, I need it,” you pleaded so sweetly for him. A triumphant pride swelled in Aemond’s chest. Gone was his headstrong, indifferent sister. He had finally broken you to his will, had realized how much you wanted, needed him. It was all he wanted for so long, for you to stop seeing him like a boy and to start treating him like the man he was. It was all for you, he knew it from the start, he wanted to become the man fully deserving of a woman like you. And here you were now, begging for his cock. At long last, the gods have granted him his wish. He wanted to relish in the moment longer, wanted to tease you a little more. Aemond figured he deserved to do so, after many years you had dangled your affections in front of him like a dog.

He carried you over to a bench situated off to the side, sitting you upon his lap. His body was damp with sweat underneath his leathers, and his breeches were sure to have a mark from the remnants of the bath water you had dripped all over him. It was no matter, not when you eagerly started to bounce on his cock when he prompted you to with another smack upon your rear. “Show me how much you want it then, make yourself come.” The second son had long lost sight of reaching the Seven’s idea of the heavens, but he was sure it didn’t come close to this bliss. Your walls swallowed his length perfectly, a tailored fit just for him. You were babbling nonsense, tears streaking down your cheeks as you continued to ride him.

Alys was no match for you, nor the woman in the brothel he used to blindly stumble into. No, they were placeholders, a temporary soothing to an ache he couldn’t swallow down. It had always been you; it always will be. Everything started to feel right for Aemond, the end to the gods’ grand design was starting to unfold.

You were perfect for him, in all his flaws and his darkness. It was evident in the way you clung to any part of him, had taken hold of his hand to urge him to wrap around your throat. You were made for him, his harshness.

You spilled around his cock after a harsh squeeze on your windpipe, shattering in his arms with a moan of his name. The prince had laid you on your back, knees pressed your chest as your feet dangled over his shoulders. Your mind was far gone as he pounded into your cunny, chasing his release.

Aemond had managed to pull another release from you before his own, spurting hot seed into your walls. He uttered a silent prayer for it to reach your womb, and perhaps then you would truly be his, round with his child. A mixture of your fluids spilled from your slit when he pulled out his softening cock, but he had pushed it back in. Your lover chuckled when you whined tiredly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You were unsure when he had cleaned you or carried you back into the bath. Your mind was clouded with the lingering haze of your coupling, only starting to clear as you leaned on his bare, firm chest in the steaming water. The kisses Aemond bestowed upon you were grounding, reminding you that you were present, and you were his.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

“No,” you replied, snuggling closer into the crook of his neck. “You can never hurt me; we are made of the same fire after all.”

[enchantedbat]

Let’s talk potential: the specialists. 

Why isn’t the potential of the boys explored and they go different routes? Surely, the Red Fountain doesn’t teach each the same and produces what we have now? Why are they different but end up doing mainly the same? The Specialists are not all the same guy with the same skills and aspirations. Let’s talk about some ideas I had.

Timmy. He is a technician, an inventor and a scientist. Among his skills are providing new technology, knowing enough about weaponry to easily build it and planning strategies for even the trickiest of situations. Mainly uses long-ranged weapons. 

While appreciative of magic and impressed by the instincts of the others, he is going with logic and technology. He is responsible for upgrading but is also a walking arsenal. A multi-tool able to be easily transformed into a weapon of choice.

Timmy usually mans the aircrafts or uses higher grounds to attack. He knows his weaknesses and has created a battlesuit, similar to D.va, Iron Man or the Brotherhood of Steel armors. 

Carries his multi-tool, a drone, a ranged weapon that can go from bow to rifle, special glasses to scan surrounding and a watch that activates his battlesuit. 

Brandon. From the beginning, we know that he is a squire. His goal is to be a knight. One day, perhaps even the champion of Eraklyon (or Solaria?). His path started at the age of 7 where he was made a page in the court of Eraklyon. He was quite promising leading to him being trained by the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Together with Sky, of course. At 14, he graduated to being a squire. His good grades, extraordinary skills and close relationship to Sky got him a place at Red Fountain. A man made for the battlefield, Brandon seeks to be an elite soldier. 

To win against every opponent and be prepared no matter what, he possesses a basic degree of familiarity with all weapons and fighting styles. However, he concentrates and specializes on one weapon as well as mastering one combat technique to perfection - staying loyal to his phantoblade and sticking with swords. 

While Brandon himself has no issues with magic, he had the goal to be a Knight of Eraklyon which means he uses non-magical weapons. (Perhaps Radius or Luna give him a legendary sword of Solaria with the power of the sun, stars and moon as an engagement gift) He is physically the strongest of the specialists (berserker-like strength) and resilient to certain kinds of magic using the force of his body. 

Sky. He is a future king. Therefore, he is taught the basic fighting skills and such, but the main focus of his curriculum is diplomacy and strategy. One day, he will be the highest commander of military and security in his land solely by being the leader of said country. Knows the strength of the boys inside and out. Versatile but not as powerful as the others. Regularly training how to handle situations such as kidnappings or assassinations attempts. He can’t be as strong as the boys, he missed out a lot of training due to his classes on Eraklyon and state visits. 

Sky is not useless. He is meant to lead this group and that’s what he does. Not by running first into action but knowing who is able to do what and when. Of course, he can defend himself but his girlfriend is literally the strongest fairy known and he is surrounded by the best of the best. Besides his sword, he has his hoverboard, his shield and his boomerang. 

Riven. A survivor who had to rely on being cunning and stealthy. Who analyzes the vulnerabilities of his enemies to hit them hard and hides his own well because of that. But he also adepts fast to his surroundings. Maybe not one with nature but knowledgeable enough to hide himself and find others. With the help of Nabu, he finds himself positively connected to magic and knows that it is the magic user, not the power itself. That said, Riven uses magical weapons. He prioritizes subtleness and rather strikes once but hard. Keeps using a scimitar, but has a bunch of daggers hidden. His belt is full of smoke bombs, his bolas, toxins and even some explosives (like Batman). Interpret it however you want, but he mainly uses shadow-based and darkness-based magical weapons. That makes him a tiny bit proficient in this type of magic. 

While Brandon knows the most fighting techniques, Riven has a broad range of skills. Picking locks, climbing, disarming traps, improvising weapons, detecting traps, becoming one with the shadows, tracking beings and such. 

Helia. Related to one of the greatest wizards, Helia has a strong connection to magic. He also spends a lot of time with himself and mediating. The harmony between his body and mind helps him channeling his magic into attacks and more importantly: defense techniques. He stays true to himself and will always choose defending himself and others above attacking. That includes restraining and disarming enemies. Helia is trained in all martial arts and only has basic knowledge of weapons. Replacing his glove with a magical rope which is like the lasso of truth (Wonder Woman) but also a dart rope and a whip of sorts, because it can sense his intentions and emotions transforming into what he needs. Furthermore, his knowledge of the energy in his own body helps him to strike beings in the most powerful way like Ty Lee’s Chi-blocking (Avatar). Hitting the right weak point of a magical being can block their magic for a while or stop spells/attacks/whatsoever. 

Nabu. He is alive and well. 

Like fairies and witches, wizards share a scholarly approach to magic. Depending what path they choose, they can focus on their own affinity or master as many spells as possible, that’s what Nabu does. Reading about abilities, he can practice them and later use them. Some are connected to artifacts, books or scrolls. While his staff amplifies his natural power, it can also help channel his magic. 

Simply said: He can do almost anything. However, he often needs a source for it. Nabu’s powers are illusion-based, which means the source for those abilities is literally him. If he wants to use a spell of another element, he has to find a magical source of it. Funnily enough, the Winx count. Often in fights, he will grab Bloom’s shoulder and scream “Fireball!”. His staff is a source too but I haven’t decided what type of power it carries - this  needs continuation (and he needs a revival). 

Specialists. They have their own dragons still but I would like them to have different dragons. We only see them with their own dragons at Red Fountain and I would like them to have these as practice and later tame their own - which should be different types! It doesn't need to be a dragon. It could be a griffin or even a hydra! It could differentiate specialists between magic and technology user.

(if you think, they are all very similar to DND classes: that’s what I based it on. Timmy is an artificer, Brandon is a fighter, Riven is a rogue/ranger, Helia is a monk and Nabu is still a wizard. Sky exists? I am sorry, Sky-fans. He is a king at least?)

[branwinged]

Will you accept a mad dany arc if grrm does it in a different, more sensical way or would that always narratively suck for you?

it has nothing do with my personal feelings regarding the character. i dislike speculation of dany having a downfall arc because it reveals a misreading of the text and the narrative role she plays within it. i don't believe it can be done in a satisfying way because she was always intended to be a heroic character. the 'mad dany' reading relies on certain initial assumptions about her character that are being problematised within the story—which is difficult to discuss because grrm's intent regarding dany is at odds with the orientalist framework he employs in the construction of essos, but i'll try to be comprehensive about it. so dany is an exile, homeless and perpetually seeking a home. she was told by viserys that westeros is "our land" but she's not culturally westerosi the same way the rest of our cast is because she's also never known westeros. all she has are second hand, romanticised accounts from viserys (These places he talked of [...] they were just words to her). dany has lived her entire life in essos and absorbed their cultural norms and slavery is normalised in most of essos (There was no slavery in the free city of Pentos. Nonetheless, they were slaves), it's especially apparent in her first chapter which pointedly draws attention to the various slaves serving at illyrio's manse, something dany doesn't express any moral objection to, because nobody has taught her this is wrong. and that understanding only comes after viserys sells her to drogo and she personally experiences a similar loss of autonomy.

Do you know what it is like to be sold, squire? I do. My brother sold me to Khal Drogo for the promise of a golden crown. Well, Drogo crowned him in gold, though not as he had wished, and I . . . my sun-and-stars made a queen of me, but if he had been a different man, it might have been much otherwise. Do you think I have forgotten how it felt to be afraid? DAENERYS II, A Storm of Swords

and when mirri reveals to dany that her act of 'saving' her was no saving at all. rescuing her through the offer of a place in drogo's khalasar is a meaningless gesture since it does nothing to address the systems that have enabled mirri's enslavement in the first place. yeah, she's fourteen and possesses no power in her own right and is not complicit in drogo's crimes but mirri's presence in the story is meant to teach her that lesson. dany does not arrive already possessed with a political consciousness that opposes slavery, she learns and reorients her worldview just as jon did once he became familiar with the free folk. this is an important detail because without it her crusade in slaver's bay is no longer a story about a former enslaved and sexually abused girl being provided the means to begin a revolutionary counter-struggle against a culture of dehumanisation, but about a civilising mission where a culturally westerosi (westeros, where slavery is outlawed. westeros which is clearly imagined as the occident to essos's orient) character with superior ideals travels to foreign lands to educate the barbarians—which would've made her a straightforward white saviour figure. this IS undermined by the way her storyline is rife with orientalist tropes and i'm getting to that, but my main point is that dany's character is very deliberately written to be someone who is stateless and doesn't belong anywhere. she is an other. which is compounded by her targaryen heritage—the targaryens are narratively imagined as white enough to co-exist with the rest of westeros but they're also being othered because they're a family originating from the east with 'depraved' inbreeding and blood magic practices (practices that are reviled throughout the whole continent), which simultaneously makes them too other to ever fully assimilate despite the family being culturally westerosi in all the ways that matter. this especially comes through in the coin quote, every house has had occasional despots for rulers but people only bother to pathologise the targaryens and that's because they're foreigners. "the gods flip a coin" is presenting this dichotomy of targaryens as either mad - violent barbarians from the east, or great, in which case they're exoticised as otherworldly, above the laws of gods and men. and the final thing that serves to other her is her association with the dothraki. the dothraki are initially introduced as violent savages, but that view has been challenged since then as dany adopts dothraki customs and comes to love their people as her own and even sees herself as more of a khaleesi than a queen. and i must emphasise that this is no way done well because a) the dothraki are constructed out of offensive stereotypes about steppe cultures b) five books later grrm hasn't bothered to give any of them interiority because he clearly doesn't care about the dothraki, they're an afterthought in his narrative about dany and c) i think the subversion of their introduction as the inferior racial other basically amounts to "they're noble savages".

so you see all this at work when in-universe those who revile her speak of alleged violent tendencies, that she's coming to burn the continent down, that she hatched her dragons through foul blood magic and that she tricked her khal husband into murdering her brother and has acquired an army of savages, that her court is made up of foreigners and 'honourless' westerosi men (jorah, barristan, and soon tyrion), while others talk of her supposed otherworldly beauty ("The last of her line. They say she is the fairest woman in the world.")—the mad dany reading of her is taking all this at face value, it's falling for that in-universe narrative her enemies have come up with, which associates her and her allies' foreignness with moral depravity. (this is also what the show did, which i said "achieved her s8 ending by fully leaning into the horror of the savage oriental horde come to oppress the civilised westerosi landowning class" and that hysterical randyll tarly speech "at least cersei wasn't a FOREIGNER"). a very early example of this is in the first book. robert wanted a teenager dead because she was a targaryen: aerys's daughter, rhaegar's sister, because she married a khal and adopted dothraki customs as her own. and it was ned who put up a fight against this. ned is flawed in my ways but do you suppose the narrative will diminish ned's legacy in this, in his stance against dehumanisation. and asoiaf is primarily about that, every major character has had experience with being othered (cripples, bastards, and broken things is about this) and within this narrative dany is meant to be The Other who is working to end institutions of otherisation. her upcoming invasion of westeros is not playing into the the threat of the foreign invader but raising questions of whether westeros is also in need of some reform (at one point tyrion directly compares a serf to a slave, something that might be narratively painting westeros as not culturally superior at all for having outlawed slavery). the problem, of course, being that the way grrm subverts the image of essos as the inferior racial other is by first populating it with orientalist stereotypes. he parallels some of the violence found in ghiscari culture and the dothraki raid of the lhazareen village with ramsay and amory lorch and gregor clegane et al operating in the riverlands in acok but the ghiscari are also portrayed almost as a monolith, as uniformly morally suspect individuals because our only introduction to them is through the slavers. it's the way dany is the only active abolitionist with a narrative voice in essos (there's the shavepate. but he's also a scheming violent extremist so), i said her story is not a civilising mission but when you fail to give any of the ghiscari oppressed a voice it doesn't result in great optics. and it is undeniable that the story is About Westeros, dany's great narrative destiny lies over there, when the long night arrives—an apocalyptic threat meant to affect the entire world—the battle for the dawn will also take place over there, i doubt the essosi will play a role in that.

[remusjohnslupin]

♦ AEREA TARGARYEN: Balerion’s shadow swept across the yards and halls of the Red Keep as he came down, his huge wings buffeting the air, to land in the inner ward by Maegor’s Holdfast. Scarcely had he touched the ground than Princess Aerea slid from his back. Even those who had known her best during her years at court scarce recognized the girl. She was near enough to naked as to make no matter, her clothing no more than rags and tatters clinging to her arms and legs. Her hair was tangled and matted, her limbs as thin as sticks. “Please!” she cried to the knights and squires and serving men who had seen her descend. Then, as they came rushing toward her, she said, “I never,” and collapsed.

[l-uminescent]

˚⁀➷｡˚GOD OF OLD VALYRIA ━━━ DAERON TARGARYEN X FEM! READER

synopsis: cregan stark's sister (reader) is sent to king's landing in order to find a suitable marriage arrangement. after a year however, you start to lose hope at finding a betrothed. that is, until the king announces the arrival of his youngest son daeron targaryen.

notes: hello! i have yet to see many daeron one shots or fics so i’ve decided to try. and as usual, i have aged him up to about 19/20. requests are also welcome bc i’m running out of ideas 😭

warnings: don’t think there is any apart from my rusty writing bc i have not written anything in years and most likely some spelling mistakes

word count: 1.8k

BEING CREGAN STARK'S YOUNGER SISTER PROVED ITSELF TO BE BOTH A BLESSING AND A CURSE. with the death of his wife arra, and being left with a son to raise by himself cregan struggled to find the time to find a suitable suitor to have as your lord husband as you came of age. the result of this, meant you being sent off to king's landing in hopes that the queen  consort, could provide help with finding you a husband. it's not like you minded being sent off to the capital, you were keen to explore the south after having lived in the north for the entirety of your life. but after being in the red keep for almost a year, you were becoming less and less confident at the queen's promise to your brother that she would find you a betrothed.

however, that was all soon to change with the arrival of daeron targaryen from oldtown.

it was his elder brother aemond, who informed you of daeron's arrival from oldtown after having been sent away years ago to squire for the hightower family. despite aemond's  intimidating aura and the obvious anger he holds within, you two often found solace with each other in the library as it appeared neither of you had many friends around the castle. tucked away, reading books on the history of the north, and that of the previous targaryen kings and queens, aemond often sat near, as he too enjoyed your presence as much you he.

today, he explained that there was to be a feast held in the throne room, at daeron's arrival as he had not been in the red keep for quite some time. your presence was to be required at the feast for some reason unbeknownst to you (but not to aemond's, who was aware of his mother's plotting).

rushing back to your chambers after waving your friend goodbye and thanking him for the information he told, your stomach began to knot as the feeling of nervousness took hold. you had heard stories of the youngest targaryen, of his beauty, how his silver hair fell shorter than his brothers, barely covering his eyes. you often heard gossip that the price frequently made the girls of the realm swoon if they were to ever encounter the boy in oldtown. if the rumours that circled around the red keep were to be believed, than it was also said that daeron targaryen was the most popular of the king and queen's sons. as well as his beauty, you had heard that he was an outspoken and witty boy, a skilled swordsman and returned the kindness that was given to him.

brushing away these thoughts, you began to wash  and paint you face with many creams and serums, until doting yourself as presentable to the targaryen family. you called on a maid to help you with your hair and dress. no matter the time you spent in the south, you were never one to forget your northern roots which often reflected in the clothes you wore and the hairstyle that adorned your head. black dire wolves, were subtly sewn onto your grey dress, a direct nod at your stark lineage, showing how proud you were of it and your hair was twisted and braided until it reflected that of what you so commonly wore in winterfell.

as the maid finished helping you ready, the nervous feeling once again made home in the pit of your stomach. deciding it was time to make your  way to the feast, your hands found themselves fidgeting with the rings on your fingers that were lovingly gifted to you by your mother father and brother, (family heirlooms that once again showed your pride of the north) in an attempt to calm your anxiety.

you still could not fathom where this sudden wave of nervousness came from. you had met the other two targaryen boys, even the three velayrons that had moved away to dragonstone a mere week after your arrival,  and this skittish demeanour was nowhere to be found back then.

taking a deep shaky breath and swallowing, willing your hands to stop fidgeting you walked through the doors to where the feast was to be held, making a beeline straight to where you usually sat. ignoring the piercing glare of a pair of indigo eyes that you were unused to, you bowed to the king and queen before taking your seat, still refusing to meet  the eyes that looked upon you intently.

"it is my greatest pleasure to announce the return of my youngest son daeron" king viserys announced. even in his sickly state the pride he had for his youngest son was not mistaken, making it painstakingly obvious who the favourite child was (second to rhaeynra of course.)

as he continued, you could not help but notice the soft look alicent had gave you. you had heard the rumours of how unkind the woman was before your arrival yet, she did everything in her power to make you feel comfortable during your stay. almost as if this was her second shot at motherhood.

you did not need to wonder for long what she had meant by the look this time before viserys continued his speech. "and to announce his betrothal to the lady of house stark."

at that moment you did not care if the shock in your face was evident  as your mind raced at a hundred miles an hour at the news. feeling your heart pump faster, a bright crimson appear on your cheeks as the entire table had turned to look at you. the  embarrassment at the attention you faced had soon turned to rage at the thought of your brother cregan not warning you of the news to have allowed yourself to mentally prepare. you cursed your brother for that. yet it soon faded and was once again replaced with anxiety as you remembered the boy beside you was the man you were now betrothed to.

you could not help the thought of this being failing marriage, one that was doomed from the start. your northern customs differed heavily from that of the royals in the south and you were afraid that it would offend your betrothed. you barely knew the man, there was no telling that he was as kind as you had heard, for all you knew one simple argument and he could feed you to his beloved dragon tessarion.

willing yourself to calm down, you took a shaky breathe before twisting your head to the side, finally allowing yourself to look at the boy that had been the cause for your nerves the past few hours. you had to hand it to the gossips of the court, the boy was handsome. with a sharp jawline and piercing indigo eyes staring into your plain ones you felt your face heat as his eyes continued to hold yours. taking in his features you noted that his hair, fell perfectly to his eyebrows, and a small scar ran down the left side of his lip. he was absolutely mesmerising. you had always been skeptical at the idea of targaryen's being closer to gods than men, but in that moment you believed.

daeron targaryen looked as if he was a god from old, straight from valyria.

you found the knot in your stomach grow and tension find it's home in your shoulders at this revelation as you struggled for words to say to your betrothed,  feeling unworthy in the presence of true targaryen beauty. your belief of the old gods wavering in favour of the valyrian ones, every time your eyes caught his.

you only prayed he was as kind as he was good looking.

━━━━━━━━━━ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ━━━━━━━━━

"mother, i will accompany lady stark back to her room." it wasn't until the meal had ended when you had heard his voice for the first time. if you weren't nervous before than by the  gods you were now. with your heart rate elevated your fingers found the rings adorning your hands again, fiddling with them as you stood to be guided back to your chambers by the youngest prince. his voice perfectly matching the god like features of his face, melting like honey as every syllable reached you ear. you were truly enamoured with the targaryen boy.

with a bow to both the king and queen you and daeron had left, an awkward silence following as the words you wanted to say dying on your tongue every time you glanced out the corner of your eye at him. once again, blood rushed to your cheeks as the boy turned to you. "you don't have to be scared of me you know, my lady." he smirked. by the love of the gods, you prayed the answer that left your mouth did not make the embarrassment you felt worsen.

"i believe i have a right to my fear, my prince, seeing as your dragon lays only a hill away from where we stand."

at this, daeron let out a laugh, wondering where the shyness from the feast had gone. "well my lady, tessarion isn't as scary as she seems. maybe one day we shall go out riding."

"i would like that indeed my prince." you returned, smiling at the thought of him allowing you to meet his most precious creature. you had always wondered what a dragon had looked like up close, let alone to ride. the mere suggestion of it showed that maybe this marriage wasn't doomed after all. "well here is my chambers. thank you for walking me back."

the two of you turned to face each other now, allowing you to take in the entirety of his face. and by gods you were even more starstruck than before. in the torch lit corridor of the red keep, he seemed even prettier — truly a god of old valyria.

"goodnight my lady." daeron breathed out, seemingly as entranced as you were with him. the piercing indigo roaming about your entire face as he believed you would disappear if he even for a moment looks away. he had encountered many beautiful strangers in his time at oldtown, had read many history books that described creatures as beautiful as gods and angels. yet no matter how many detailed accounts he had read of valyria, how enchanting those who had lived before the doom were, and how he had inherited this fairness from his ancestors , in that moment he swore he had never met anyone as more beautiful as you. how you took pride in where you came from with the northern rings and stitching on your dress. how your hair was held with clips that were clearly heirlooms of the stark family. he was in awe.

"goodnight my prince." you whispered, pressing a small tender kiss to the side of his porcelain skin before turning to your chambers.

to daeron targaryen, you too were a god of old valyria

[asoiafreadthru]

A Game of Thrones, Sansa I

As she neared the center of camp, her distress was quickly forgotten.

A crowd had gathered around the queen’s wheelhouse. Sansa heard excited voices buzzing like a hive of bees. The doors had been thrown open, she saw, and the queen stood at the top of the wooden steps, smiling down at someone.

She heard her saying, “The council does us great honor, my good lords.”

“What’s happening?” she asked a squire she knew.

“The council sent riders from King’s Landing to escort us the rest of the way,” he told her. “An honor guard for the king.”

Anxious to see, Sansa let Lady clear a path through the crowd. People moved aside hastily for the direwolf.

When she got closer, she saw two knights kneeling before the queen, in armor so fine and gorgeous that it made her blink.

“The king is gone hunting, but I know he will be pleased to see you when he returns,” the queen was saying to the two knights who knelt before her.

[yourlocallunatic]

My Lady.

podrick payne x Lannister f!reader

18+

summary: Bastard daughter of Jamie Lannister you’ve stayed in the Red Keep as a ladies maid without your family's knowledge, after Jeoffrey dies it’s no longer safe for you so your father sends you with his new ally.

warnings: smutttt! piv sex, oral, m & f receiving. lovey dovey shit. lannister trauma. probably some typos….sue me.

WC: 7.4k

The commotion during the week after your cousin's death was something you hadn’t seen since the former King Baratheon died and the ‘usurper’ Ned Stark was beheaded. They were questioning you, you knew they would—you had been working for Sansa Stark ever since she arrived in King’s Landing, of course, her ladies' maid would know something of her disappearance as well as her new husbands. You and Shae had been asked to testify against Tyrion in the trial, you knew you couldn't testify against your uncle without revealing your true lineage. Not many knew of it, but your uncle was one of them.

You'd been waiting in your chambers silently for days, sneaking out only to steal food from the kitchens. When your door busted open suddenly you thought the worst, Cersei had found you out, or even worse Lord Tywin, he wouldn't think for a second before killing you. A bastard in his family. How shameful.

"My daughter, come with me now," you were shocked to see your father, he didn't engage with you unless absolutely necessary. As devastating as it was that you hardly ever saw him, you knew it was for your safety. You glance down to his now golden hand, having only heard from the other maids and squires of what happened to him. "Come, quickly now, pack a sack we don't have much time." what were his plans now though? He'd only just gotten back.

"What are we doing?" you began to slowly gather a couple of dresses and slips, but Jamie was clearly in much more of a rush, tearing a long, grey cloak from your cabinet before unbuckling a golden, lion-pommeled dagger and tossing them in a bag.

"You mustn't use this unless you need to. And we aren't doing anything you are going away."

"But you told me it was safer here, where you are!" you picked up the pace, tying your bag together as your father draped your cloak and hood over you, nearly completely concealing your face, "I can't see anything! Can't you just tell me what's happening?"

"Keep your voice down please," he whispered grabbing your hand before tearing into the hallway. "I'll explain in a moment I promise." You huffed quietly—annoyed—but following him anyway. What else could you do but trust him? You had no one else to trust.

Winding through the halls you came to an abrupt stop outside the back entrance of the Keep. And there stood a woman you'd never seen before, she was beautiful in a way you'd never expect, tall, impressive, mighty, her eyes a striking blue. This had to be Brienne of Tarth, the woman you had heard brought your father back to King's Landing.

"Brienne please," you had never once heard your father plead. "This is the one favor I'll ask of you," he speaks to Brienne as you walk to the edge of the forest where there are three horses and two men waiting. "And here he is, your last gift," he says smiling as he pulls one of the men next to him. You knew his face. Podrick Payne. He was your uncle's squire. You two had often seen each other in passing once Tyrion and Sansa had gotten married, he was a quiet boy, but always spared a smile and a nod towards you. And you had noticed just how gorgeous his smile was. You pull your hood over your face a tad more, not knowing if you could really trust him yet.

"I don't need a squire. She'll slow me down enough already," Brienne scoffed and nodded her head in your direction.

"I won't slow you down ser-... my lady," Podrick quickly fixed his mistake before promising to serve Brienne well. The other man, Bronn you think his name was, a friend of Lord Tyrion's handed Podrick an axe before rushing him off to ready the horses.

"I trusted you to get me back to the Keep, and now I'm trusting you with my daughter. She's safest outside of King's Landing." your father glances at you and then back at Brienne, "she's been found out. If not yet then at tomorrow's trial. I can't have her killed." You look at him before grabbing his golden hand.

"Please don't. She said it herself, I'll slow her down! I can find a better place here, in the city so you can keep an eye on me!" You beg.

"You know I can't darling," he brings his hand to your face stroking your falling hair away from your eyes, "You know how jealous your aunt can get, and how protective your grandfather can get of our family. They'll find you here." you may not have known him well enough but he was your father, the only family you'd had for years. Tears welled in your eyes before you wrapped your arms around him. He held you tight, it was the first you'd been held in years, and you relished the moment. "I trust Brienne, and if you trust me, you'll trust her, Podrick's a good lad too! You know him, they keep you safe." you pulled away from him and sniffed, wiping your tears away.

"The horses are ready my lady," Podrick walked back towards you and Brienne.

"Very well. Get the lady on her horse and we'll be off soon."

"Yes, my lady."

"I'm not a lady, get her on the horse," she says sharply. You gave one more look to your father before walking with Podrick, leaving your father and Brienne to talk.

"Have you ever been North, my lady?" Podrick strikes up a conversation as he ties your bag to the back of the horse, securing the saddle before kneeling before you and setting his hand out to help you on the horse. You hadn't seen him his close before, freckles scattered his cheeks and his warm chocolate eyes stared into yours as he recognized who you were. His brows furrowed but he didn't ask questions. The loyalty of a squire.

"Never, I don't suppose I'll like it though. I'm not fond of the cold," you answer, smiling slightly to try and lighten the mood. Your hand rests on his broad shoulder as he lifts you to the horse. You let out a small yelp as you went, not expecting the strength he had, you quickly tried to play it off "Gods I hate horses, haven't ridden one in years, and last time I did I nearly got stepped on." He chuckles at you as he adjusts the stirrups for you.

"Well I'm sure he could teach you to ride," Bronn comes from the other side of the horse, patting Podrick on the back roughly as Podrick glared at him. Giving you the impression that he was often teased by the older man.

"Not sure I'd help, I haven't ridden in a while either," he turns back to you, giving you a shy smile as Brienne and Jamie start back towards you.

"Wasn't talking about horses," Bronn smirks and ruffles the top of Podrick's head, the younger man trying to push him away. "See, this lad's got a magic cock, all the girls in King's landing want him now, three whores turned away a load of gold 'cause he was that good."

"Shut up!" Podrick growls as he walks away to mount his horse, redness growing on his cheeks. You knew your face was growing hot too at the image. You'd heard plenty of stories from the other ladies' maids about what intimacy was like, and hardly ever did you hear of it being good, let alone good enough to turn away money. You adjust yourself on your saddle, a warmth quickly settling in your belly.

"Better make sure your daughter watches herself around that lad!" Bronn walks past your father patting him on the back. Your father's eyes now stare darkly at the squire who looked absolutely humiliated.

"I hear anything about you touching my daughter I'll have Brienne chop that 'magic cock' off in your sleep," Podrick looked utterly shocked, his daughter? But it was quickly replaced but fear. "You hear me, boy?" Your father's hand moved to hold the handle of the sword at his side.

"O-of course, Ser! I would never, I-I'm a gentleman, I've always respected your daughter." A blush begins to form at the tips of your ears, respect. You look to him to give him a reassuring smile and nod, just like the ones he'd give you every time you saw each other.

"Keep her safe, Brienne. Keep your oath." and that was the last you saw of your father for quite some time.

----------------------

Traveling with Brienne and Podrick had actually been somewhat enjoyable. Minus sleeping outside every night and enduring Brienne's constant grumpiness you were actually getting used to it. You and Podrick just grew closer and closer, each telling one another stories of your squiring and maid days.

Once, he questioned your lineage, and you gave him the truth. "My mother died when I was young, she was a Lady of the Court, Jamie didn't know I was his child until right before she passed. And well... you know the rumors about him and the Queen...she wouldn't have taken well to knowing he had a child that wasn't hers. Foul of them both honestly..."

"What happened after that?" Podrick urged on gently, looking at you from where he rode next to you on his horse, you could tell he was trying his best not to pry but was too curious.

"Well, he had me raised in the Keep. I worked since I could walk, in kitchens, wait staff, whatever you could think of. He always made sure I knew who he was, hardly ever saw him though."

"Does anyone else know?"

"My septa, I'm sure Varys knows because Tyrion found out recently and who else would he hear it from?" you laugh at the absurdity of the thought that your uncle had a whole other niece living under his roof and he of all people didn't know. He smiles at your story, not a single bit of judgment in his eyes.

You too had learned so much more about the sweet man that squired your uncle, even hearing of the time he and Bronn had forced Podrick to tell them everything that had happened in Littlefinger's brothel the night the women turned away the gold. That story had been told after one evening you three had spent quite a while in a tavern, seeking the warmth from the rain with fire, and probably too much ale. He had been so embarrassed the next morning when Brienne told him to stop bragging about how good he was in the bedroom.

"What are you talking about? I didn't brag about anything!" He'd said defensively as he readied your horses the next day, his face already going red. That was also the first time you heard Brienne laugh.

"If I recall, you said word for word," she said before deepening her voice to imitate Pod "'Oh Y/N, they just wouldn't stop asking! How many times am I supposed to say that I'm just good, it's all about receiving and giving.'" Podrick's mouth dropped open as he shook his head looking between the two of you.

"I-I, no I didn't say that!" he looked at you for a response and all you could do was shrug and give him an awkward smile that confirmed his fears. He looked down at his feet, ashamed, "Never let me drink that much ale again." and he was silent most of the day's ride.

As embarrassed as he was you were even more aroused. The man had grown on you, he was sweet, and always looked after you and Brienne before doing anything for himself. It didn't help that one evening he was without a tunic for a while as you washed it in the creek. He sparred with Brienne, he was getting stronger from his training, you could see it as you watched the muscles in his chest and abdomen ripple as the swords clanged together, or his arms tensing as he held defense against Brienne. He had caught your eye as you were looking at him, but you swiftly turned away in embarrassment, practically drooling. Then it had been you that didn't talk for most of the next day's ride.

Some weeks after that, you sat by a fire after the longest day you'd had. Sansa rejecting Brienne's protection, and her not trusting you for one second after she found out who you were. You'd been chased by some of Littlefinger's men, losing both Brienne and Podrick for some time. It was the first time you'd been in that much danger since Brienne defeated the Hound. Brienne slept a ways away, claiming she was too irritated with Pod to stand the sight of him. Your legs were tucked underneath you and you held your hands close to the fire.

"Are you cold, my lady?" his voice held a teasing tone, you'd told him many a time you weren't a lady, but he didn't stop, and you knew he called you that just to tease you. You were in no mood for it though, the girl you'd known and cared for for years now didn't trust you. Littlefinger had gotten into her head. You were angry, at her, at Baelish, at your father for leaving you, your mother for dying, at Brienne for picking on Podrick, and even at Podrick himself for running off without you and leaving you.

"Of course I'm cold, we're in the North now Podrick," You spat out at him. You know you'd regret your harsh tone later but right now, fuck it.

"Have I upset you?" he says softly, just the sound of his voice melting your heart. You close your eyes, all the anger and heartbreak you've had today began to swim in your eyes. "Y/N..." gods his voice couldn't be more perfect, it broke you. A sob left your lips and they didn't stop. "Whoa, woah, what's going on?" you didn't hear him stand up from his side of the fire and make his way to you before he put an arm around you. You fell right into him, he was too warm to resist, too gentle. He shushed you and rocked you in his arms until the crying stopped.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Podrick," your voice nasally from crying "I shouldn't be mad but I am. I cared for Sansa, she became a sister to me and now she doesn't trust me. I cared for my father and he sent me off, I cared for my mother and she died before I could even speak, I care for you and you left me, I know it wasn't on purpose but I was so afraid without you. I'm sorry, I don't want to be mad but I can't help it!" you choked out another sob before he looked at you and wrapped his arms around you again.

"No, no, don't say sorry, it's alright, it was a hard day, you can be mad. I-I hate that I left you...I promise I d-didn't mean to but the horse..." he trailed off pulling back to look you in the eyes. Gods you loved those damned eyes, his brows were pulled together as you stared each other in the eye, not a look of pity, just sympathy. You lean forward to rest your head against his chest, so worn from the long day. He smelt of fire smoke and evergreens. It felt so right you didn't even realize this was the closest you two had been to one another. His strong arms held you close and he rested his chin atop your head. You wondered if this felt just as right to him as it did to you.

"Pod?" you break the peaceful silence and he hums an answer in response not wanting to let go of you, "Do you care for me too?" these words made him let go, looking at you with a mixture of confusion and nerves.

"W-what?"

"I-um, said before that I cared for you, do you care for me too?" his mouth closed and opened like a fish out of the water as he searched for words, always so unsure of himself.

"Of-of course I do! I'm here to protect you." those weren't the words you'd wanted him to say.

"No, Podrick, do you care for me?"

What little remaining confidence he had left his body, he closed his eyes tightly gathering whatever courage might be inside of him before opening them and looking you in the eye, moving quietly to grab the side of your face, still wet with tears. "Yes. Very much." the tension left your body and a smile grew on your face. Your hands moved to grab behind his neck and pull his forehead to yours.

"Please, kiss me Pod, I want to know how you feel."

And he didn't even hesitate to smash his lips to yours and practically swallowing you whole. This Podrick was different, he was moved by passion and love and lust. He wasn't the clumsy boy right now, this was the broad-shouldered man you saw sparring (of course they were both just as good, they were both your Podrick). He took hold of your body and didn't let go, one of his hands was entangled in your hair holding the back of your head to pull you closer, and the other gripped your hips tightly, he was feral. You held the sides of his face and gently pushed him away so you could come up for air. You made eye contact and began to giggle at him, he let out a huff of a laugh before resting his forehead on yours.

"Sorry," he mumbled becoming the shy Pod again, "I've been wanting to do that for so long now."

"Me too."

----------------------

More weeks had passed and more things had changed. You and Podrick would sneak hidden hugs in the mornings and quiet kisses in the night when the dark had fallen. As much as you'd both like to believe you were keeping a good secret, Brienne could feel the change, she could see it in the glances and little smiles you gave each other. You'd continued to follow Sansa so Brienne could fulfill her oath. But when you came upon the aftermath of the battle between the Boltons and Stannis things went downhill. Everything was all over the place, and when you finally found Sansa she and the Greyjoy boy were being attacked by men from Ramsey's army. As Brienne and Pod went to take down the men you rushed to Sansa, you jumped off your horse and pulled her up from the ground. You watched from afar, the dagger your father gave you at your side. Your heart raced in your chest as you followed Podrick with your eyes, watching from every angle to ensure he was safe. He ended up on his back—swordless—with a man about to kill him, your body betrayed you, and standing from your safety you rushed right to him, "Podrick!" you screamed as you ran, hoping to reach him before the man struck. Your breath was stuck in your lungs but released when Theon struck the man from behind. The two men nodded at each other, Podrick's a sign of thanks.

"Oh gods," you rush to him the rest of the way and throw yourself on top of him, "I almost lost you!" you cried into his cloak.

"You won't lose me, my lady," he shoved you off of him and stood to help you up, "not now." he pressed a kiss to your forehead, not giving a flying fuck Brienne was watching. You made eye contact with her, looking away shyly and burying your face in Podrick's chest. You didn't see the small smile that graced her lips.

A few more days passed and you came to Castle Black, Sansa had apologized for not trusting you, and you gave your own apology for not telling her the whole truth. She was stubborn, it would be a slow rebuild of trust, but you could already see the young girl you first knew peeking through. Just before you reached the castle you and Sansa rode on one horse behind the two others. Podrick had looked back at you and you gave each other a shy smile. As confident as he could be sometimes, usually his nervousness won out, but so did yours.

"You love him don't you?" Sansa's voice rang behind you quietly.

"I really do," your voice sounded dreamy, something it never did. Perhaps something good might come out of this.

Jon and Sansa had reunited and things were calm for a moment. You were able to bathe, eat, and sleep in a bed covered with furs. The North was cold, you hated it just as much as you thought.

"My lady," Podrick came to sit next to you in the hall where you tried to keep warm by the fire. You immediately pull him closer trying to gather any warmth you could, "Why aren't you in bed?" he asks as he takes off his cloak to drape it around you.

"My room is freezing! I can't sleep in there! Thought in here I could at least sit by the fire."

"I don't like the thought of you here alone, the men of the Night's Watch, lots of them are dangerous...why haven't you just lit the fire in your room? That should warm you." he rubbed slow circles on your back, but your quick turn to look at him startled him back an inch.

"There is no fire in my room, don't you think I'd have lit it by now?!" the cold made you intensely irritable but you still snuggled closer to him. "Wait... Pod? You have a fire in your room?"

"Uhm...yes? You don't?"

"NO! I just said so! Ohh that is so unfair! I bet it's because I'm a woman, the fuckers."

"Hey it's alright," He says trying to calm you, "You can um, you can stay in my room if you'd like." He looks you in the eye and your gaze softens.

"Really?"

"'Course, the fire's already going, should be nice n' warm already."

"Take me there m'lord oh the chill has seeped into my bones! I need a big strong man to help me!" you faint into him dramatically. He laughs at your bad attempt at acting and helps you to your feet.

"Let's go then, my lady."

He was right the room was already warm and cozy, filled with his scent from the worn leather tunic resting over the chair. You immediately took off both of the cloaks that now rested on you and kicked off your boots, flopping into the bed and under the furs, kicking your feet as you inhaled his scent. From the door he smiled gently at you, seven hells he was head over heels.

"Goodnight then, my lady," He moved to open the door, his cheeks red as he watched you cuddling into the bed.

"Podrick? You're not staying?" the thought of him leaving had you on your feet and straight to him before he can set his hand on the knob. You pull his arm away and bring it to you.

"I don't think we should..." He looks away from you clearly very nervous about something.

"Do you not want to? I can just go back to my room, I just thought... maybe you'd want to be together, while we have the chance," you look up at him through your lashes, confused at why he'd want to leave.

"No, no, I-Just. I really don't think I could...is all," your brows pull together trying to understand, he sees the confusion and continues to explain as he moves to hold your face in his hands, "You. Lying next to me. In bed? I-I don't think I could control myself if I wanted to."

Realization flooded your expression and then you began to think. You. Him. All those stories he'd so stupidly bragged about, the thoughts of his naked chest consumed you. You'd wondered what he looked like below that too. You hadn't been with a man, not like that. A few kisses here and there but this? Something different entirely. And you wanted it. You wanted him to make you feel good, just as he'd said. So you plucked up the courage.

"Then don't," you stepped closer to him taking his hands and moving them from your face to your waist, "please Podrick? I trust you."

Every ounce of his self-control was now gone in the wind as you all but pleaded for him. "Fuck." he cursed pulling you into him and pressing his lips to yours. The Podrick you saw the night by the fire was here again, and he was hungry. You didn't hear him curse often but this, his raspy, needy voice felt like fire in your veins. You didn't think it was possible for him to hold you any closer as his face buried into your neck and his lips trailed down, nipping and licking and sucking. You'd never felt anything so heavenly.

"Pod, I... I want to see you," you pant out, beginning to pull at the strings of the thin under-tunic he was left in after he'd given you his cloak in the hall. He helped, finally pulling the top over his head and leaving his chest bare. You immediately began to trail your hands down him, feeling every single inch as you had so often dreamed of doing. "So perfect," you whisper, beginning to place feather-light kisses across the span of his chest.

"Y/N, you um, you need to tell me if you really want this, I don't want to take something from you if you value it," he spoke quietly and shyly as you continued running your hand all over him, feeling the strength of his arms, the broadness of his shoulders, the smoothness of his chest. How could you not want this?

"I want this, it is important to me, and I want you to have it," you look him in the eye, speaking your truth, "Show me, Podrick, I want it." You take your hands away from him and begin to undo the ties of your dress, wanting him to see you for all you are. He watches you intensely. Short, quick breaths leave him as he feels himself growing harder and harder within the confines of his breeches. You were magnificent, your dress slowly fell down your body and pooled on the ground by your feet. Podrick couldn't help but stare and stare and stare. The longer he did the more nervous you grew, slowly moving your hands to cover yourself.

"No," his voice was low, full of desire, "don't cover yourself, you're fucking breathtaking," he gasped out. He sounded confident, and dominant, but not in a demeaning way, in a way that made you feel loved and cared for. He reached out, grabbing your breasts in his hands and plucking softly at your hardening peaks. A soft gasp left you and he covered your mouth with his, slipping his tongue inside as he continued caressing you. His hands went lower and lower, reaching around to your backside and giving it a quick squeeze making you moan into his mouth. "You trust me, yes?" he asks, and you nod continuing to kiss him, moving to his neck like he had done to you. Shit. He tasted so good. "I want to hear you say it," he speaks, pulling your head away with the hand he now held on your cheek.

"I trust you. I love you. Do whatever you want to me," the desperation was evident in your voice and your actions as you couldn't take your hands off of him.

"Go lay down," he kissed your forehead softly before pushing you gently towards the bed. The back of your legs hit the bed and you fell back, leaving your legs hanging down. A stroke of confidence befell you and you opened your legs slightly, showing him your pussy on full display. He walked towards you excruciatingly slow and when he finally reached you he touched you so very lightly. He traced his fingers across your hip-bones, across the tops of your thighs and right down in-between, so close to where you needed him. "You've uh, have you touched yourself before?" a tremor of anxiety running through him. You meet his gaze as his hands grow closer to your center, you nod at him shyly, should you be ashamed? He quickly answers your question. "Yeah? Good." Then it happens, his rough, calloused fingers finally meet where you most need him. He's so slow it almost kills you, dragging his fingers up and down gathering your arousal on his fingertips before bringing them to your throbbing bud. He elicits the most desperate sound out of your throat. "Is that where you touch? Is that where it feels good?"

"Yes, yesyes. It feels so good," you didn't recognize your own voice so desperate and wanton. Your head falls back against the furs on the bed as he continues his work, then OH gods. You feel his soft, wet tongue touch your center. Your head whips up and you look him straight in the eye from where his mouth connects to you, as his eyes meet yours he lets out a groan, and his eye slip shut fully enamored with the taste of your pussy. You hadn't ever felt anything so perfect, but maybe he'd change your mind later. His fingers massage the insides of your thighs as he laps and sucks at you. For the sake of the Night's Watch, you try your hardest to contain your noises but when a finger slips up and starts circling around your entrance you lose it, slapping a hand to your mouth to muffle your moans. His finger slips in slowly—too slowly—and you buck your hips forward aching for more.

"Be patient, I want to make sure you're comfortable," Podrick mumbles against your pussy, you can barely hear him but listen anyway as he works you open. A second finger joins soon and he sucks and licks your clit while his fingers move in and out of you, steadily building up a pace.

"Oh Pod, please don't stop, it feels so, so, good," your hand moves down slowly working its way into his hair and holding firmly as he does as you say, not stopping for a second. You can see his torso rhythmically jutting forward, trying to grind himself against something—anything. That brings you so close to the edge thinking of him, just as desperate as you are. A couple more laps of his tongue against your clit and a single groan into your pussy and you're falling over the edge. You pant and squirm as his motions don't let up. "Podrick, Pod, I can't 's too much," He finally pulls away from you, taking his slick-covered fingers and sticking them in his mouth, sucking away your juices. A down-right sultry moan leaves your lips at the sight and you slap your hand to your mouth before falling back against the bed again.

"Was that alright?" he asks, his hair is tousled and he slowly kisses up your body stopping to lick across your nipples, tugging one with his teeth slightly.

"Alright? You're a god Podrick," you pull his face to yours kissing him deeply. "Does it feel that good for you too? Can I make you feel like that?" He chuckles at your eagerness and kisses you again.

"I imagine it would with your mouth, but I want you to feel good tonight," now laying beside you, you see the evident tent in his breeches. You reach your hand down and grip him through his pants, moving up and down against the hard length experimentally.

"Please, Pod? It's only fair," you grin at him and he nods quickly at you, the pleasure too intense for him to just ignore. You shuffle down the furs and untie his breeches, letting your fingers drag down the curls on his lower belly and groin as you do so. You remove his pants quickly, you are just as desperate to taste him as he is to feel you. You move your hand up and down his length, leaning down to suck the drops of him from his tip.

"Gods, fuck, Y/N."

"Tell me what to do," you look up at him, he was so needy and desperate to feel you around his cock, but he'd let you have your fun first.

"Spit on it," and you do just as he says, you let the spit dribble down your chin and fall right on his cock, "now keep going up and down." following his directions you stroke him at a steady pace. "You can use your mouth too," more of a suggestion than direction but you dive right in taking his length in your mouth, doing just what felt right taking him deeper and deeper, and rubbing what you couldn't fit in your mouth. Woah. Now that you had your mouth and hand around him you realized just how large he was, would he fit? Thoughts coursed through your head as you continued your ministrations. So caught up you didn't hear his voice till he pulled your head off of him with the hand that was weaved through your hair. "Stop, stop," you heard the gasps and immediately grew worried.

"Was it not good?"

"It was too good," he huffed, out of breath, "I want to fuck you before I finish." his words brought you to reality a small fear settling deep in your gut. Your expression must've betrayed you because his hand moved to cradle your face. "We-we don't have to, whatever you want to do, I won't make you, my lady," he pecks your cheek and looks you in the eye waiting for a response.

"I-just...do you think you're going to fit?" genuine worry laced in your voice. He tried his best not to giggle at you, this version of you was so different from your normal snarky self.

"I got you nice and ready for me, if it hurts too much you say the word and I'll stop, I promise," how could one man be so utterly perfect? He shuffled out from underneath you and in one swoop you were now beneath him. His shining eyes stare down at you in adoration. His hand moves down to mess with your pussy again, moving your slick all around to make sure you were nice and wet for him, all the while keeping eye contact and watching your face contort in pleasure. “you want me to fuck you?” his voice was laced with lust but also a genuine concern for you. You nod vigorously, not being able to wait another second. His hand drifted away from your cunt causing a whine to leave your mouth. Taking his cock in his hand he pumps it a few times before taking the head and rubbing it all through your slick.

“Please, please,” you moan out reaching for his shoulders to pull him into you, your nails desperately scraping down his back.

“Please what?” his voice was teasing and you could tell this was his way of taking back every time he had been teased, flipping it around to make you a frustrated, whiny mess under him.

“Ugh, please Podrick, I want you to fuck me! I want to feel you inside of me, please,” you’d never been so desperate for anything in your life.

“‘Course love, whatever you want, I’m gonna go slow, ‘right?” you silently thank him for his consideration, he knew you were nervous, but you knew he would take care of you, just as he always did. The stretch was magnificent. He slid into you, taking his time and watching your reactions. A small wince at the dull pain that made you feel so achingly full, and an open-mouthed look of pure pleasure as he fully sheathed himself inside of you. “this good?” he asked, you could tell he was trying his hardest to hold himself back for your sake.

“‘S good Pod, please keep going,” your hands were still in his back practically digging your claws into him. Then he pulled out and pushed back inside in one motion, a loud moan left your lips as he groaned out a curse. You were squeezing him so nicely. His pace slowly formed as he kept moving in and out, his forehead falling against yours and your hot breaths mingling together as you panted and moaned. He rutted into you as he held you close, closer than anything you’d felt, you were one.

“That’s it, love,” this new name had you keening your head back. “knew you could take it, take me.” his words were barely coherent and he kept thrusting into you. You felt so full, so good, it was everything you could've hoped for.

"Love you, love you so much," your words made him groan out a "fuck" and he picked up his pace, fucking into you like a madman.

"Love you so much, you're—oh gods, fuck—doing so, so well," you could feel the sweat dripping down his back from where you held and you knew he was holding himself back as best as he could. Podrick was a sweet man, probably the kindest you'd ever met, but what you felt now wasn't kindness, it was desperation, fierce desperation to fuck you and fuck you good and hard. You knew men got like this, so eager for sex, you'd heard the stories about how violent they could get, but you'd never thought about Podrick having the same needs. He wouldn't escalate to violence, not ever, but you could feel the hunger in his thrusts as he gripped your hips tightly. The warmth from before started growing in your belly again, winding up and ready to break; and it got even more intense when he moved a hand from your hip back closer to your center, putting his calloused thumb right on your aching bud and rubbing it in circles. Your needy whines grew more desperate and your nails dug harder into his back—undoubtedly leaving marks. "Feel good?" he asked yet again, constantly making sure everywhere he touched you brought intense pleasure. You nod against his shoulder and move your legs to wrap around him. "There you go, m' getting close love," he grunted out, his thrusts growing sloppier. You cry out as the intense feeling washes over you again and he continues rubbing your clit to work you through it. As soon as it's finished he pulls out of you quickly, spilling himself all over your stomach and tugging on his cock as his spend continues to leak out of him before grunting once more and flopping next to you. Both of you pant hard, trying to recover from the intense feelings. His seed pooled on your stomach stickily and you reached a hand to run your fingers through it before moving them to your mouth and sucking his flavor off of them. You wouldn't lie and say it tasted good, but it was his essence and that alone aroused you again. He looked over at you and smiled cheekily before kissing your forehead.

"Could you, uhm..." you say nodding downwards to where his seed lay cooling on you.

"Oh-oh, 'course, sorry," He jumped up from the bed, the shy Pod returning with a rag and cleaning you off. His face was red, all of a sudden nervous as he realized what you two had just done. "That was good, right? I didn't hurt you or anything?" he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand as he used the other to stroke up and down your thigh, comforting you.

"It was amazing," you smile at him, trying to be reassuring before a smirk grows on your face. "Glad I was able to feel that 'magic cock' after all," you poked his ribs.

"Gods, I wish Bronn had never said anything, I wish I had never said anything!" he whined, moving off the bed to put his breeches back on, turning his face away from you.

"Come on Pod! I'm just teasing, you know I love it," you sit up and cover yourself with the furs, your body growing cold again as your sweat dries. "Come lay with me please," you beg, "just be with me." He turns his head back to you his brows curving down in adoration, your braids became messy and your lips were flushed pink from all the kissing. You'd never have any idea of how much he truly did love you. He walked back to the bed and rolled under the furs, pulling you into him and holding you tight.

"Sleep. You should be warm enough now, my lady," you giggled as you nuzzled your head into his neck and fell into a dreamless sleep.

When you woke the next morning Podrick was gone. Your heart dropped as you thought of countless reasons as to why he would leave. Was he done with you now? Was he ashamed of you? You got dressed quickly and tried your best to fix the mess your hair was without undoing the braids you had from yesterday. You opened the door slowly, looking both ways making sure no one would see you leaving Pod's chambers. You made your way to the hall for breakfast, still seeing no sign of Podrick. You sat beside Sansa with your bowl of oats and pushed it around with your spoon.

"You, uh—you haven't seen Podrick have you?" you asked her quietly, still worried he had just up and left.

"Don't worry, I saw him walking with Brienne to go train," she gave you a cheeky smile. "he had quite the smile on his face too." you blush at the thought of seeing him so happy because of you. You hurry to finish your breakfast so you can make your way out to see him.

You stood on the upper level, looking down on the yard where Podrick was sparring against a new member of the Night's Watch, Brienne watched from afar, occasionally shouting directions out to Podrick. Even though his skills were improving he still had a long way to go to match Brienne's level, that being said you had never seen him win a match against her. But sparring against this boy, someone more his size and skill level, he was doing amazing. He'd knocked the sword out of the boy's hand and walked closer to him, pointing his sword directly at his chest and smirking at him. Wow. You really must've given him the stroke of confidence that he needed. A steady smile sat on your face and you looked around only to see Brienne already staring at you. Her gaze was hard and your smile fell, she moved her head in one short movement to signal you to come down to the lower level. You walked towards her gradually, slightly worried about what she might want to speak to you about. As you reach her side, Podrick begins another round against the boy, catching your eye and giving a sweet smile (for luck he would tell himself, but really it just distracted him).

"Podrick seems happy this morning," Brienne states, eyeing you sideways.

"Suppose he does yes," you feign innocently.

"You weren't in your room this morning," your face falls and a blush grows rapidly on your face.

"I-I was in the kitchens.."

"Oh don't play coy, I know very well what happened," she looks you in the eye, very clearly feeding off your nervousness. "Just be careful, and don't let your father know or he'd have me chop off his 'magic cock' just like he said before we left. And as much as I'd like to do just that sometimes..." she trails off and looks back to Pod fighting before smiling softly at you, "he really makes you happy?"

"Yes, he really does," you turn to watch the man you love continue his fight before disarming the other lad again and putting the sword to his throat. Seven hells, he grew more and more handsome by the day. You could see his stubble shining in the winter sun as he looked to smile proudly at you and his eye glowed with joy. Yes, he made you very, very, happy.

[too-many-rooks]

Because this exact sequence of events just happened to me in my playthrough, it’s entirely possible that, when Hans and Henry are at Trosky;

Hans watches Henry and Bartosch chatting and getting along very well when they’ve barely spoken in WEEKS and is fuming silently for reasons he doesn’t quite understand.

Hears Bartosch say he ‘dabbles in poetry’, which impresses Henry so much he resolves that he must seek out the finest poetry in all the land to impress Henry with (and to repay the favour for the time Henry memorised all that romantic poetry for him),

So he stomps off to the scribe’s chambers and asks for poetry, and he directs him to the one right beside him on his reading stand; Dissolutely Leisurely, a book of verses.

So Hans reads one suggestive poem about a knight and his squire and immediately goes into full gay crisis panic spiral and presumably stuffs it in his pourpoint and runs away with it to keep it hidden under his bed through the sequence of events that will end with him sleeping at the Devil’s Den with Henry.

[sansaorgana]

— BEDROOM HYMNS

PAIRING — Ser Gwayne Hightower x fem!Reader // Queen Alicent Hightower x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — Your sister-in-law wishes for you to become one of her ladies-in-waiting but you become so much more. Things complicate when your husband comes to visit.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — The title is from Florence + The Machine song. Alicent is a lesbian in this fic but she's also very conflicted about it. Reader is 100% bisexual. I wanted to write this fic for some time now because I have a crush on Alicent ever since Season One so yeah... Here we go... 😩😈

WARNINGS — cheating, homosexuality seen as something *wrong* (by Alicent), mentions of sexual activities (no actual smut – tiiiiny bit in the beginning)

WORD COUNT — 6,240

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

BEDROOM HYMNS

You moved away from between her trembling legs after a cry of pleasure muffled by her own hand that she had covered her mouth with. Alicent’s juices were dripping down your chin when you smirked at her and looked up to meet her big brown eyes. Those soft big brown eyes that you adored more than anything. You had always adored them. So full of sadness and softness and you had never wanted anything but to make her feel better.

“Have I pleased you?” You asked while peppering her soft inner thighs with your kisses although you knew the answer already. Her husband had no idea how to please her.

The Queen only nodded and looked away. Poor Alicent – she always felt bad and guilty after the peak had already been reached. The sudden realisation of her sin was soul-crushing but the tension and desire had been too great to ignore them. She deserved the relief and you did not see anything bad about it.

“How many times do we have to do this?” You sighed and lied next to her in her bed. Your fingertips caressed her sides and your lips attached themselves to the crook of her neck, smelling all the scented oils in her hair. She was The Queen of the Realm and she was pampered like no other Lady. “There is no shame in this.”

“There is a sin,” Alicent turned her head around to finally meet your gaze. She raised her hand to nervously play with the seven-pointed star pendant on her sweaty chest.

“Why?” You bit on your lip and caressed her auburn locks out of her face.

“It is betrayal,” she frowned as if she was getting frustrated with your lack of understanding.

“It would have been if you lied with a man,” you explained and kissed her cheek before laying on your back and staring at the ceiling.

“I should find your vague idea of morality perplexing,” Alicent pointed out and you couldn’t help but chuckle at her confession.

“But you do not and thank Gods for that,” you rolled your eyes with a smirk.

A silence occurred as Alicent kept playing nervously with the pendant between her fingers and you were staring at the ceiling and counting all the cracks.

“What kind of husband is my brother?” She asked suddenly and you turned your head around to look at her again.

“A good one,” you admitted, feeling nearly guilty for that because you knew why she was asking – her husband was not good. Not to her and not to her children.

“Why are you doing this then?” Alicent asked.

It was obvious why her brother was on her mind now. He would arrive at King's Landing any day now. You couldn’t wait to see Gwayne again after a few months of being apart and you only wished he had taken your son with him but he could not. Robyn was the eldest son and he was supposed to stay in Oldtown. He had just become a squire and leaving his knight for a few long weeks would not be advised, therefore you had to go on missing your boy. Day after day as if he was a burning hole in your chest. Mothers would always miss their sons, you assumed.

“To kill the time,” you shrugged your arms, not wanting to reveal how much Alicent meant to you and for how long. “And to help you. You are my friend and I love you,” you confessed.

Alicent always loved Princess Rhaenyra more. Your father was a Master of Coin in King Viserys’ Small Council and you were growing up together – three girls running around happily. Or rather – two girls following the Princess like two overjoyed puppies. Rhaenyra was the centre of everything for you and not only because she was the Princess but also because she meant everything to Alicent. No matter how much effort you were putting into making Alicent like you more, you were destined to fail for she always was choosing Rhaenyra over you.

It made you grow bitter towards The Princess but never towards Alicent. You were blaming yourself – you had to become more and try harder perhaps and maybe then you’d earn more than just leftover crumbs of her love and friendship.

You couldn’t understand your feelings back then – why was the attraction so strong, what was making you feel so attached to the young Hightower Lady. You were the same age and yet everything she said was like a command to you. Wherever she went, you followed. Even when you felt like a burden because she so clearly would rather be left alone with Rhaenyra. But Rhaenyra never minded your presence because to her you were only a pawn on the board, an ornament, an addition of no importance. So, you often witnessed the two girls laughing together, whispering, exchanging small gestures of affection. You were only watching. Observing as your heart ached.

During The Heir's Tournament you met Ser Gwayne Hightower, Alicent’s older brother. He was young then, eager to show off his abilities and make his family proud. Perhaps he did not have his sister’s big brown eyes but he had the auburn hair you loved so much about her and he had her softness about him. You were enamoured with him in no time and when he approached the royal box to greet his sister – he caught your eye and you caught his and for that moment when your eyes met, you felt butterflies all over your body.

Ser Gwayne Hightower received your favour on that day and the sparkles of joy in your eyes while you were throwing the wreath at him were very obvious to your father and to his as well. You could not know that then but they exchanged meaningful looks for a short moment.

Even though Gwayne lost the duel with Prince Daemon Targaryen, he did not lose your affection. In fact, witnessing him nearly winning and losing only because Prince Daemon chose to play dirty – it only solidified your feelings. Ser Gwayne was a righteous man, a chivalrous knight and a brave one, too. It took lots of courage to face Prince Daemon Targaryen himself.

Gwayne was carried away with his face covered in blood and dirt while his mind was filled with thoughts of you – of losing your favour and your interest. However, you hurried to his side right after the tournament ended to make sure he was fine. And at the sight of you – he truly was fine again.

You were only ten and five but you knew already that Ser Gwayne was the only man you could see yourself being married off to. Thankfully, your father saw that, too. Two years later you were sent to Oldtown and for the whole time in between you were exchanging letters. When Alicent was married off to King Viserys shortly after his wife’s death, you still felt bitter but not as much as you could because you mostly felt excited about your own upcoming wedding.

However, the sadness and anxiety on Alicent’s face on her wedding day were a sight you would never forget.

Years and years of the happy marriage had passed and you were still in touch with your sister-in-law because of the letters you were exchanging and her son that you and Gwayne were raising in Oldtown – Prince Daeron Targaryen. But other than that, you had your own life now to live, your own duties, your own offspring and Alicent was simply not occupying your mind as much as in your adolescent years. 

You were aware of King Viserys’ health getting worse and worse as Alicent was ruling the Kingdom in his name. The burden of responsibility was heavy and her marriage was getting more and more difficult. You couldn’t say the same of your own union – you loved Gwayne and he loved you. Just like every married couple you had your misunderstandings and disagreements but you were grateful for him every day of your life and you knew well that he felt the same towards you.

It was after breakfast on one of those days that seemed to be pretty typical in the morning and then they turned out to be life-changing for a person. Without a warning and without an ominous feeling deep in one’s gut, they just happened and changed lives.

A letter came to you from Queen Alicent and you expected nothing of great importance in it so you put it below the pile of letters you had to respond to this morning. You sat by your desk and dipped the feather in the black ink as you started to perform one of your duties as Lady Hightower, helping your husband to run Oldtown in his father’s name.

Letter after letter, until finally you were left with the last one. You opened it with a small yawn, which turned into a frown after reading Alicent’s plea and request.

“What is it?” Gwayne entered your chambers this very moment but his smile dropped at the sight of your face.

You folded the letter suddenly as if it was a secret or something dirty but it only increased your husband’s curiosity as he approached the table and raised an eyebrow at you.

“What is it?” He repeated the question and you pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to find the right words.

“It is from your sister,” you replied and looked up to meet his confused gaze. He knew about your friendship and for you to react this way at one of Alicent’s letters was simply unusual.

“Is he dead?” Was all Gwayne asked.

“No, Gods, no,” you shook your head and took a deep breath in. “Not yet,” you added.

“What is it then?” Gwayne lifted your chin up gently to make sure your eyes would still be on his. You swallowed a lump in your throat and finally decided to tell him what his sister had requested.

“Queen Alicent wishes for me to become one of her ladies-in-waiting,” you revealed and Gwayne’s confusion only grew. “She feels lonely in King’s Landing, she needs a friend by her side. Somebody she can trust.”

“It is out of the question,” Gwayne took the folded paper from your hands and read the letter himself, still standing above you as you nervously fidgeted with your fingers.

Your own feelings were chaotic at that moment. Something in your heart wanted to run to King’s Landing at this very moment because Alicent needed you and because you wanted to make her life easier and make her happy. You had always wanted nothing but her happiness.

But you had your own duties in Oldtown and you had your husband here and your children. You could not just leave like that, could you? Especially when Oldtown was so far away from King’s Landing.

“It is out of the question,” Gwayne said again and threw the letter on your desk. “Reply to her that your Lord Husband does not agree.”

“She is your sister,” you looked up at him, pleadingly.

“Yes and I have nothing but love for her in my heart but her request is selfish,” he clenched his jaw as he looked you up and down, visibly surprised that you were not agreeing with him on this. “Why does she want to take you away from me? You are my wife.”

“Your wife – not your property,” you reminded him.

“That is debatable,” Gwayne huffed and looked away but before you could scold him, he continued with more. “Living in a different city, different castle, so far away from me… Will you still be my wife?” He turned his head around in an attempt to try to read your emotions.

“I will forever be your wife,” you stood up and took his hand into yours before placing it on your chest where your heart was. “But she needs me, Gwayne. She’s all alone there with no one by her side.”

“Father is with her,” Gwayne interrupted you. “He always favoured Alicent.”

“You do know that being favoured by him is a burden, not a prize,” you reminded. “Please, let me go. For some time at least. Until The King dies. It should not be for long and I’ll take the girls with me,” you tried to convince him as your fingers caressed his hand on your chest. “Please,” you whispered, looking up deep into his eyes.

After a long moment of silence and hesitation, your husband nodded his head reluctantly.

A few months later, you found yourself standing in the courtyard of The Red Keep, awaiting your husband’s arrival. He had a business to deal with in The Crownlands and he wanted to spend a few days with his family, too. You were caressing the creases on your dress with your hands and your teenage daughter Margaery was fixing her younger sister’s hairdo. Little Wyllow had been missing her father the most and she couldn’t wait for his arrival. In fact, she had made you and Margaery wait there since early morning and at this point you were exhausted already but you didn’t complain since you couldn’t wait to see Gwayne again either.

Even though it also felt a little weird and awkward since your mind was being flooded with memories of his sister’s body tangled with yours underneath her royal silk sheets. Her plump lips parted and soft moans escaping them, her beautiful big brown eyes hazy and filled with tears of shame and pleasure…

You were trying to shake those thoughts and images off of your head when you were interrupted by the sound of the horses approaching the gate.

“Father!” Wyllow nearly ran straight under the horse if she was not stopped by Margaery.

Your older daughter gave you a scolding look and she was right to do so because it was your duty to watch over your children, meanwhile you were distracted by the memories of dirty acts instead.

When you watched Gwayne jumping off of the horse, your heart clenched in your chest at the sight of him and you suddenly realised why Alicent was so filled with shame and guilt because now you felt them, too.

His handsome face, his eyes sparkling at the sight of you, his auburn hair reflecting in the sun… He truly was the man you loved. You just couldn’t help the fact you loved his sister, too.

“Father!” Wyllow finally was free to run into his arms and he crouched down to hug her and kiss her forehead.

“I am so happy to see you, little bird,” Gwayne cupped his daughter’s cheeks and she giggled.

He straightened himself but Wyllow clinged to his left hand so he used his right one to caress Margaery’s face lovingly.

“You’re growing fast, my love,” he pointed out.

“I am trying my best, Lord Father,” Margaery nodded her head with a smile and then she took a step back to get out of the way and let him greet you.

“Lord Husband,” you gave him a nervous and soft smile. Gwayne tilted his head a little and your heart skipped a beat. He was a very observant man but there was nothing that would give you away, right? What could it be?

“Lady Wife,” he smiled at you and took two steps ahead to be able to kiss the palm of your hand. Whatever he had noticed, he pretended it was nothing. At least for now.

“You must be exhausted,” you pointed out. “The chambers have been already prepared for you and I’m going to tell the maids to fix you a bath.”

“Does it mean we are not sharing the same chambers during my stay here?” Gwayne raised an eyebrow at you.

Margaery cleared her throat and she took Wyllow by her free hand.

“Shall we go inside now? Let our Lady Mother greet Lord Father properly,” she dragged her protesting sister behind her.

“She is becoming a fine Lady,” you chuckled awkwardly. “I can’t help feeling that the air and water in King’s Landing are making her grow up faster. Perhaps she is spending too much time with women older than her,” you explained, clasping your hands in front of yourself as if you had no idea what to do with them. “Come with me, I am sure you want to greet your father and sister, too.”

“I do,” Gwayne followed you inside while some of the men he had taken with him were taking care of his luggage with the help of The Red Keep’s servants. “You still haven’t answered my question about the chambers,” he pointed out when you were in the staircase together.

“My darling,” you turned around abruptly, making him stop his walk. “Your chambers are close to mine, please do not get cross with me. Those past few months I have learnt to love my solitude,” you explained and Gwayne tilted his head again but he only nodded.

“Let it be then,” he only said.

With each one of your husband’s kisses and each one of his touches, each one of your reached peaks and cries of pleasure, you felt more and more purified of sin as if his body was washing away Alicent’s smell off of you. After months of not laying together, you were lost in each other for hours with caring very little about getting any sleep. You were watching the sun rise behind the window when you were too exhausted to go on as you were laying on Gwayne’s chest, drawing circles there with your fingers and his hand was playing with your hair, gently massaging your scalp.

“Have you been faithful to me?” You asked casually and you could feel his muscles tensing under you.

You had no right to ask that – but he did not know of it.

“I have,” he answered. “Of course I have.”

“And if I say that the whores count, too?” You looked up playfully.

“I have been faithful to my Lady Wife,” Gwayne shook his head and you spotted a slight irritation on his face. He did not like it when his honour was being questioned – he was a knight, after all. “Why do you ask? Have you not been faithful to me?”

A shiver went down your spine at his chilling accusation.

“How can you ask me that?” You gasped.

“You have accused me first.”

“Because you are a man,” you reminded him.

“I am. And I know what men are like,” Gwayne nodded his head. “They must all be following you around – a beautiful Lady far away from her husband is like an invitation,” he finally cracked a smile, revealing that he was only jesting.

“I do not want any man but you,” you assured him as the tension left your body because you did not have to lie about it.

“That is good to know, my love,” Gwayne kissed the top of your head. “You had me worried with your cold greeting and not letting me into your chambers.”

“Are you not in my chambers now, Lord Husband?” You teased him and placed a kiss on his chest where his heart was. “And if my greeting was cold, then I owe you an apology. I spend too much time around your sister and her husband and I keep forgetting that some marriages are happy. That mine is…” You wanted to look up to meet his gaze but you couldn’t as something inside of you was stopping you.

“That is a shame,” Gwayne only said.

“It is, darling, but you are here now to remind me.”

You were sitting in the same chambers as Alicent, embroidering side by side and even though you were using no words, you found each other’s company comforting. Your arms were brushing as you both were focused on creating beautiful patterns on the same piece of fabric to make the work faster. It was supposed to be a beautiful green blanket with embroidered little dragons. 

Princess Helaena was sitting nearby and embroidering spiders on her own piece of fabric. Her cousin, Lady Margaery Hightower was sitting next to her and teaching her younger sister the craft. It was peaceful, cosy and quiet – you loved those moments the most because it was nearly as if Alicent was your own Lady Wife and you were just enjoying the time spent together with your family, far away from all those loud and obnoxious men surrounding you everywhere. These chambers were your escape and your own queendom.

When the doors opened, everyone except for Helaena looked up with a slight irritation since the man entering this sanctuary was nothing but an intruder. Even if the man was Ser Gwayne Hightower, who was loved by every person inside the chambers.

He cleared his throat when you gave him a soft smile, your arm still brushing Alicent’s and you were sitting in a way that made sure you were facing each other. You had never thought about it before but it was quite intimate indeed. Your husband’s tilted head made you realise that he had just observed something and after a short while you understood what it was as you moved away slightly.

“Brother,” Alicent greeted him. 

“Lord Husband,” you nodded at him.

“Forgive me for interrupting. I would like to take Margaery for a walk around the gardens,” he extended his hand towards his older daughter as Wyllow looked up at him with pleading eyes. “It must be Margaery alone this time but I promise you, little bird, I am going to take you for a walk later, too. Perhaps we’ll walk to the bay and watch the ships,” he assured her and she sighed with relief.

“You can finish without my help now, I believe,” Margaery handed the fabric to her younger sister. “Do try, at least. If you face any challenges, Lady Mother or Helaena shall help you.”

Helaena looked up when her name was mentioned and she gave Wyllow a soft smile that encouraged her little cousin to keep going. When Margaery stood up and left the sofa, Wyllow moved closer to Helaena and The Princess did not seem to mind.

“Can you help me with the ladybug?” She asked and Helaena’s face lit up at that.

“Lord Father,” Margaery took Gwayne by his arm and bowed her head at you and Alicent before walking out of the chambers with her father.

“I am wondering what is the matter my Lord Husband wishes to discuss with Margaery,” you hummed to yourself.

“She is ten and five now,” Queen Alicent pointed out. “What is the only possible matter that fathers wish to discuss with their daughters at that age?”

You furrowed your brows at her words because she was right and you did not like the sound of that. It was a shame that she was right, too, and not only for your own daughter but for every woman in this Realm. 

You saw Gwayne again before dinner, on your way to the dining hall. He was walking down the stairs and you rushed to him to walk by his side. He offered you his arm and you took it.

“I have a question for you, Lord Husband,” you started, nearly aggressively and he raised his eyebrows at that fierceness.

“What is it, my love?”

“Are you planning to marry our sweet Margaery off so quickly? I do not wish for her to get wed too soon,” you told him, hoping he would understand your point of view because sadly, in the end, the decision was his to make for women had always been properties of men – once her father’s, then her husband’s.

Sometimes you wished you had become a septa.

“Not soon, no. But she is ten and five. That was the age you were in when we met,” Gwayne reminded you with a smile.

“Yes, indeed, my darling, but it was us both meeting and falling in love. That is different, you must admit,” you pursed your lips.

“I must, indeed. Do not worry, I am not willing to force anything upon our sweet daughter. I have only told her to start looking around for suitable matches… soon,” your husband explained. “I am sure King’s Landing is full of important young men.”

“I do not wish for her to get married here. This place is rotten and so are its people,” you sighed. “My greatest wish is for Margaery to marry a man from The Reach.”

“We all have wishes, my darling wife,” Gwayne’s answer was nearly mocking but he spotted your annoyance so he looked around to make sure you were not being seen before pulling you by your waist and pushing you against the wall to steal a kiss from your lips. “Gods, I missed this,” he whispered and you felt your cheeks heating up.

“Gwayne!” You scolded him playfully. “I missed this, too,” you added and caressed his cheek with your fingers.

But his smile dropped and eyes became serious all of the sudden. You stayed like that in a short moment of silence before he dropped the question that turned your guts inside out:

“What is the nature of your relationship with my sister?”

You were taken aback by his question and you moved your hand away from his face before taking a deep breath in, trying to steady your heartbeat.

“Alicent is my best friend,” you looked deep into his eyes, surprised by your own courage to lie like this…

But was it a lie? She was your friend, after all.

“There is intimacy between you two that I can only wish for between us these days,” Gwayne whispered and you bit on your lower lip.

“She is my main companion for weeks now,” you tried to explain.

“Are you still planning to come back home after The King dies?” Gwayne lowered his voice even more since talking about the monarch’s death could be seen as treason.

“Y-yes, of course,” you nodded nervously.

“Why the tremble of your voice?” Gwayne raised an eyebrow.

“What are you accusing me of?” You suddenly clenched your fists, trying to take another route of getting out of this awkward situation. “Your implications are indecent. You have been accusing me of obscenities ever since you arrived here. You wound me deeply, Lord Husband,” you straightened yourself.

“You have accused me first,” Gwayne reminded you.

“Without any reproach thrown at you. I have asked out of simple curiosity,” you informed him.

“You are right, do forgive me,” he reached for your hand to place a delicate kiss upon the palm of it. You sighed, feeling extremely guilty.

“You are forgiven,” you whispered, nearly inaudibly, because it felt wrong to be the one saying those words.

In fact, at that very moment, you promised yourself to fix everything. You promised yourself to invite Gwayne to your chambers again for the night and let his touch to purify you like on the previous night. And you would go to The Sept and you would pray the sin away, you would beg for forgiveness, you would be a better wife, perhaps you would beg Alicent to let you go back to Oldtown with your husband.

Yes, that was the plan.

In the early morning you couldn’t tell that you were well-rested. Your muscles were sore after the previous two nights and your head was hazy but you still got dressed up quickly when the sun was rising and creeping inside your chambers to shine upon Gwayne’s auburn hair. You leaned in to kiss his forehead and you left him sleeping to visit The Sept and be able to go back to The Red Keep before breakfast.

You had never been a devout but you were not a savage either. You believed in Gods and now more than ever you needed redemption.

You expected to be alone there at such an early hour but no – of course not. Queen Alicent was already there, kneeling by the stone table and lighting the candles. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath in. She was your greatest temptation and it was a cruel joke that the Gods had played on you to put her there at this time when you visited The Sept to pray her very own self away from your life.

Alicent looked up, surprised to see you. Her soft features were as sad as usual but at the sight of you she seemed to be a bit happier – relieved, in a way. Your heart clenched inside your chest. How could you ever want to leave her? You couldn’t. She was too dependent on you. Her happiness was and so was her sanity. Leaving her would be equal to killing her.

“I have not expected you in The Sept at such an early hour,” she commented as you kneeled next to her.

“I have not expected myself here either,” you smirked. “I came here to ask for forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness? Aren’t you always the one telling me that what we do is no sin?” Alicent furrowed her brows.

“I have lied to my husband. That is a sin,” you confessed and Alicent did not say anything to this. “I… I will have to go back to Oldtown, I think… I can’t… I can’t go on like this,” you looked down and Alicent remained silent but you didn’t have to look at her to know her big brown eyes were filled with tears. “I miss my son and I miss Oldtown… King’s Landing is corrupt and I do not wish for my daughters to grow up here. I… I miss Gwayne, too. I love him, I love him, I love him…”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Sudden, harsh question made you look up to meet her teary gaze.

“I’ve been loving him ever since I saw him during the tournament. You were there, sitting by my side,” you reminded her.

“You love him because he is my brother but your life has always revolved around me,” Alicent pointed out and you felt your cheeks heating up.

“You… You knew?” You only asked.

“I was blind to choose Rhaenyra because she was never for me to reach. She was The Princess and you were equal to me, so devoted. Blindly, very often. I took you for a fool and only after losing you, I realised. When you were sent to Oldtown, I suddenly understood that my only friend had left my side,” Alicent explained. “My only friend and the only person who has ever… Who has ever loved me – except for my mother.”

“Gwayne loves you, too,” you pointed out.

“Does he? He took you away from me,” Alicent’s jaw clenched and your eyes widened. She was not being rational but you knew why – she was scared of losing you again. In fact, she was determined to make you stay by her side.

“You will not let me leave, will you?” You whispered.

Alicent opened her mouth to say something but then her face softened and she stood up rapidly to walk away.

“I am sorry… I do not wish to… Act like this… I do not recognise myself,” she admitted with her voice full of shame. She raised her hands up to her mouth as she nervously bit on the soft skin around her fingernails.

You didn’t answer because you were too lost in your own thoughts. Was she right again? About you loving Gwayne only because he was her brother? You had never thought about it before. It would mean your whole marriage was a lie, an illusion – or rather a delusion.

“When I’m with him, I don’t imagine you,” you stood up as well when the realisation hit you. “But when I’m with you, he doesn’t exist to me. It’s as if there were two of me.”

“I do not understand,” Alicent shook her head. “To me, there is only you,” she confessed and laid her eyes on you.

You didn’t know what to answer. You swallowed a lump in your throat instead.

“I am flawed, poisoned…” Alicent continued. “I can only feel this way towards other women. I felt this way towards Rhaenyra until a certain moment and then… Then my whole life was about you. I have spent hours inside this Sept, trying to pray this away,” Alicent’s silent tears streamed down her cheeks.

“I do not have such a conflict. I can love both men and women,” you told her. “I can love you and I can love Gwayne…”

“I do not wish to share you!” Alicent interrupted you and then she hid her face in her hand as she sobbed.

“Women are not their own property. I am not the one to decide if I can be shared,” you answered diplomatically.

You felt sorry for her but you also felt sorry for Gwayne that he was being betrayed behind his back by his own wife and sister – two women he loved the most except for his daughters. He would die for you both, he would kill to protect you or to defend your honours – even though none of you had an honour anymore. He was the real victim here.

But one more look at Alicent’s sad eyes was enough to break you again. You approached her to cup her face and kiss her softly. She protested in the beginning since you were inside The Sept but you didn’t give a fuck about it anymore – you would go to Seven Hells anyway.

“I shall not leave you,” you promised her.

When you came back to your chambers, Gwayne was dressing up in front of the mirror. He raised an eyebrow at you entering the room.

“Where have you been?” He asked.

“In The Sept to pray,” you answered truthfully.

“Has my sister turned you into a devout like her already?” He chuckled.

“She has a great influence on me,” you nodded and walked up to him to kiss his cheek.

“You even smell like her,” he said and your heart skipped a beat.

“I am fond of her scented oils and she allows me to use them,” you answered.

“It feels weird when I’m fucking you, I have to admit,” Gwayne chuckled awkwardly and so did you.

“You shall fuck me more then,” you pointed out quietly.

“Even more, Lady Wife?” He shook his head with another chuckle.

“Until her scent is gone,” you explained and looked out of the window.

Gwayne did not say anything to this but his smile disappeared. From the corner of your eye you saw his reflection in the mirror and you realised that he had finally understood what was going on behind his back.

After a while, which felt like forever, he cleared his throat:

“It is a putrid place indeed.”

“You must take me far away from here,” you turned around to grab his arm and your heart broke when you felt him flinch a little. “You must save my soul and take me home,” you pleaded despite the promise you had given to Alicent earlier but that promise had not been given sober. You had been intoxicated with her.

“You must come back home yourself, my love,” Gwayne smiled sadly at you and caressed your hair gently, “for I do not wish to force anything upon you. You are always kind enough to remind me that you are not my property, aren't you? And I agree,” he nodded, “this decision is for you to make.”

And you didn’t know what to say or do because there was no decision that felt right and no decision that didn’t feel wrong either. Gwayne was your duty and your sacrifice and Alicent was a self-indulgent sin but you loved them both so much that you cursed the whole Hightower bloodline for existing because your life would be so much easier without them.

You knew what Gwayne was expecting of you – he expected you to choose your duty because – just like his sister – he was all about honour and decency. But you didn’t want your husband to feel as if you were choosing him only because of your marriage vows – you wanted him to know that you cared for him, too, even though he wouldn’t believe you now.

But there was only one choice for you anyway, wasn’t it? You couldn’t just stay with Alicent and pretend that it was the right thing to do. You couldn’t abandon your family and your duties for her and she had to understand it.

You looked deep into Gwayne’s eyes and your own filled with tears at the sight of all the pain and sadness in his. You dropped your hand down from his arm to intertwine your fingers with his.

“I do not think of myself as flawed or poisoned for feeling the way I feel,” you explained to him. “But I do not wish for my nature to spoil our union. If anybody can save me, it would be you,” you whispered. A plea. A desperate cry for help. “I am a mother, I am a wife, I am Lady Hightower and my home is in Oldtown.”

Your heart, however, would forever be divided; torn and bleeding. The deep, burning hole was forever to stay there for one reason or another.

MASTERLIST