#this holy mary is fire

[i-bvrn-th1s]

Georgia, Kutaisi.

"Gubernski" prison cell.

[trinits]

flames consumed the sanctuary, but she remained intact.

[camlyee]

an event that changed several lives forever.

↓ lore dump below ↓

Note: transcript for the images will be at the bottom of the post (sorry for the messy handwriting!)

Gitriea-II — the planet of isolation.

I wanted this piece to highlight the cataclysmic event that took place at Gitriea-II’s church that altered the lives of hundreds, though most didn’t know that that night would be their last. Only few survived to recall the tragedy.

TW for vague mentions of abuse, death, and religious trauma.

(so please read with caution)

I won’t go into extreme detail about every character, I’ll probably make separate posts deep diving into each character more and give them the attention they deserve. I’ll briefly mention each character in order (top to bottom) and their present faction.

- Gabriel — Genius Society as an assistant, but pursues architectural studies through the Intelligentsia Guild

- Eve (left) — Intelligentsia Guild (cousins with Gabriel and Shiloh)

- Shiloh — Astral Express member (Gabriel’s little sibling)

- Mary (red hair) — Astral Express member

- Elijah (in Mary’s arms) — Stellaron Hunter

Gabriel and Mary had been planning on wedding, as throughout their youth they were hopelessly in love with each other (it was a kind of puppy love, one slipping the other gifts or gentle hand touches). They hadn’t done anything out of line for two teenagers planning on marrying one another, until they shared a kiss. It was sweet, but it was forbidden. You were expected to reserve your chastity until you were wed, as that was how the Church functioned. Any kind of forbidden acts would lead to punishment, and Gabriel was more than aware of that. As every time he would answer a question wrong or was out of line, the Mothers would ‘redirect’ him with force. He always kept his sleeves rolled down because of it. Mary was already known to be a ‘defective’ child, as her parents went against the church and were ostracized. Mary’s bright red hair and vibrant yellow eyes matched her mother’s and father’s respectively, so there was no hiding her roots. She was a slightly rebellious teenager, though. She knew little about her parents, but remember how much they loved each other, and how she wanted to share that love with Gabriel. Gabriel was scared, though. The paranoia took over him and clawed at his throat, and he was truly afraid of the consequences of loving too much before marriage.

Gabriel would’ve never expected what would’ve happened to Mary when he told the Mothers about what they did. Searing wax poured on her gentle and soft hands, scorching the skin and forever altering both her mind and her flesh. She would never be able to love with her hands again, that’s what the mothers said. After days of her recovery, Mary had approached Gabriel, a smile on her face with hope that things between them wouldn’t be ruined. She didn’t know he was the one that told the mothers. As she asked about how he was, she was met with a cold and unforgiving gaze, a scowl curled on his lips with venom. He told her to never speak to him again, and the whiplash of cruelty brought tears to her eyes. He was never like this before, why was he being so cruel now? Was she truly never meant to love anyone?

With a broken heart, she respected his wishes and left him alone, and not long after, he left to do his missionary work. Maybe he’ll find a woman that can love him, she thought. It took a while for Mary to navigate her tasks with the state of her hands now. But, eventually she was able to do her work with minimal accidents. She worked hard, though being told plenty of times that she was ‘defective’, she wanted the approval from the mothers. She wanted to become a mother and make people proud of her. So she worked. She worked so hard.

One night, she had been cleaning around one of the prayer rooms. She often worked at night so she wouldn’t have the urge to talk to anyone, as it often resulted into an uncomfortable end. She did still experience issues with fine motor skills, especially with her fingers and wrists. The prayer rooms often had plenty of lit candles, as it was one of the primary ways the Church remained lit during the night. Mary reached over with her rag to gently dust an area near the candles and consequently knocked one over. The embers didn’t take long to travel up the cloth hanging over the alter and up the walls. There were dozens of lit candles, and they all began to fester into a large flame. She hurriedly ran out to get help, but it was too late by the time she had gotten to one of the boys in the church, Isaac. The embers quickly engulfed the church, and Mary was only able to pull one other person out, a small child, Elijah. She had no idea there were other survivors.

By the time Gabriel returned home from his missionary duties, it was far too late. The church was nothing but ashes. He couldn’t believe it. Everything he had cared about was gone, and he was sure this was his God’s plan for divine punishment. It has to be. He let out a distraught cry and fell to his knees, the bitter cold snow engulfing him in an icy hug. He sobbed and sobbed until all his senses went numb and everything went dark.

holy shit yapfest over, i hope y’all enjoy some of this writing stuff.. i didn’t even talk about Rory and Isaac, but they’re not in this piece sooo..

Elijah, Shiloh, Isaac, and Rory all belong to @sawnday and he also was a writer for a lot of this lore so.. credit :)

Transcript for the image: (left to right)

> Home to a large church orphanage that follows the Abundance (Yaoshi)

Notes:

- Two Moons

- Below Freezing most of their calendar year

- Minimal daylight

Gitriea-II

- An isolated planet that suffers from a near-frozen climate due to distance from any sun/star.

- Very minimal life, but a few human civilizations call it home.

- Minimal outside influence, but ships can be seen occasionally departing this planet.

- Not much is known about the origins of the planet.

[myremnantarmy]

"𝘐 𝘣𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘏𝘰𝘭𝘺 𝘚𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘵."

[daily-table21]

Video: FL Man in SoCal: Ben's Birthday

Status: Public

Link: FL Man in SoCal: Ben's Birthday - YouTube

Date Posted: January 21st 2023

[defensivelee]

i don't know how much of a stretch it is to say this, but since the erins (the authors of warrior cats) are british, i feel now and then like some of the plot points in the two earliest series are HEAVILY inspired by the misadventures of our stuarts. there might be some other stuff from history they've taken inspiration from, but obv i've only ever caught this stuff bc i unfortunately do like the stuarts best. tragic i know

even if they're not directly inspired by it, some events feel uncannily similar to history, as well as some character arcs! there's no super obvious direct parallels, but i will say that, just maybe:

-Tallstar, the leader of WindClan, has a whole situation in The Prophecies Begin series that kind of echoes the English Civil Wars and the subsequent Restoration with how he and his loyal Clan are driven out of the forest, but then return, and Tallstar has to fight to keep his territory and prove himself to the other Clans.

-surprisingly, Tallstar has TWO Charles II moments! as he lies dying, he names someone else deputy, meaning he chooses someone else to replace him after he dies... which obviously makes the former deputy, Mudclaw, furious. he'd been preparing to replace Tallstar, he had served him well as deputy, and now some other cat gets the honor? now this would be kind of a tenuous link to how Charles refused to make Monmouth his heir, but he didn't decide that on his deathbed... however he DID decide to become a Catholic, in a sense taking his brother's side, as always, in the end. it's just... the parallels of some odd decisions made right before you die.

-now Mudclaw gets his own Monmouth arc! like Monmouth, he ends up forming his own little army and rebels against the new leader of the Clan, Onestar-- only to fail and then get killed in the process. tho Onestar did not personally have Mudclaw executed. if i'm remembering correctly, a bolt of lightning hit a tree and fell on Mudclaw, which everyone interpreted as Onestar having the approval of StarClan (the kitty deities) to rule. essentially, divine right!

-now we veer off here to speak about some earlier plots... personally I think Brokenstar's, and then Tigerstar's, quests to rule the whole forest are kind of Louis coded

-even the personal feud between Tigerstar and Firestar, the main character who is an ORANGE CAT, kind of feels like the whole 'mortal enemies' thing with Louis and William respectively.

-however! Tigerstar himself has a few James II moments/arcs. I think the most notable one is when he is exiled from his birth Clan by being defeated by Fireheart, said orange cat (a warrior at the time), and is forced to join a Clan across the Thunderpath (a road). from there he works to get revenge on Firestar and waging war using his new Clan. obviously this feels a lot like the Glorious Revolution, where James is exiled and flees across the water to France, where he consistently tries and fails to get his throne back. the only difference is Tigerstar became leader of his new Clan.

-Tigerstar actually had an alliance with the old leader of his new Clan, Brokenstar, to get back at the Clan that exiled him, which reminds me of the James-Louis alliance. things do obviously work out a little different here... which is good, bc i do not want to think about Louis being blinded and murdered and James taking over France, as metal as that is.

-Tigerstar's arc in the afterlife in which he tries to influence his children in his birth Clan by walking in their dreams reads a bit like James' relationship with his daughters, particularly Mary.

-now... I hesitate to compare Mary to Brambleclaw, the son that Tigerstar manipulated, bc I FUCKEN HATE THAT GUY, but they check off everything! Brambleclaw struggles with his admiration for Firestar while also wanting to learn from his father. this is all while Firestar doesn't know if he can trust Brambleclaw bc he is his enemy's son. their relationship is more like father-son here, but it does feel a bit like William and Mary. Mary does genuinely fall in love with William, but she still feels guilty after driving off her father... and ofc we can't forget that at first, William was more distant towards her (understatement of the century but the point still stands). eventually Brambleclaw decides to turn away from the influence of his father and remains loyal to Firestar and his Clan, much like how Mary loved William enough to feel like she could ultimately handle anything with him at her side.

-so Tigerstar actually had two mates... much like James had two wives. with his first mate, Goldenflower, he had Brambleclaw and Tawnypelt, like James had his first two daughters with Anne Hyde. with his second mate, Sasha (a former kittypet), Tigerstar had two more kids! well actually he had three but one died in a flood. the two kids that survived are Hawkfrost and Mothwing. a bit like how James had James Francis Edward Stuart and Louisa Maria with Mary of Modena! a key difference here is that Goldenflower did not die, she was alive and well, raising her children when Tigerstar (then Tigerclaw) was exiled. he literally just left her! and then he was rather abusive towards Sasha... who was rlly unhappy to find out about all the atrocities her mate has been committing. quite unlike Maria, who stuck around anyway (tho it wasn't like she would have had a choice).

-Hawkfrost himself, Tigerstar's son with his second mate, doesn't actually feel so much like our alleged warming pan baby. like yes, his character follows the path of someone trying to reclaim the lost glory of his father, and rule the forest simply because he believes he has a right to after all the ways Tigerstar was wronged... but also, goddamn he's just too cartoonishly evil!! and he dies in a horrible way, killed by our Mary-equivalent Brambleclaw, which actually would have been kind of metal historically, two half-siblings duking it out.... ANYWAY. surface level, at least, it is very similar. that is, if BOTH William and Mary had lived to see James II die and then to fight his son off.

-i will say this about Firestar, our supposed William parallel: Firestar is IMPOSSIBLY kind and everyone likes him, also he's allegedly very handsome. he may be an orange foreigner who follows a closely similar arc but oh god he acts NOTHING like William. to find someone like William i say we look at someone else in a completely different Clan, going through his own completely separate troubles, away from the main story-- that would be Crookedstar. his whole arc is quite different from William's real story, but i think the basic pieces are there: disabled, generally unlikable cat grows up believing it's his destiny to rule his Clan, and, as a result of that destiny, he ends up losing everything he ever loved. they both still manage to find a few joys in between all of the despair, but their whole life is kind of tragic tho at times you kind of want to throw them in a river (Crookedstar at least would be able to swim out, as the leader of RiverClan, not so sure about William).

that's all i can think of rn, if you read wc and also like the stuarts and find something i didn't catch, lemme know i wanna hear!!

[dithorba]

For the character ask game, 5 and 13 for Altena!

5. What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them? - Depends if its more personal to Altena, or within the context of Jultena but I think Spanish Bombs by The Clash captures the feel that often informs how I think of her.

13. What's an emoji, an emoticon and/or any symbol that reminds you of this character or you think the character would use a lot? - 🤎

[stelashe]

I may be petty but so is god

[pollenallergie]

the one good thing about getting covid the week before easter… not having to go to easter mass tomorrow morning. thank you and goodnight.

[indigocavernsblog-blog]

[charliemwrites]

Part 7

Content: Injury and Recovery, Care, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Washing, Self-Blame/Self-Hatred, Codependency

Hell, Nikto thinks, is not punishment for sin. Not a lake of fire or eternal torture for earthly misconduct.

No.

Hell, he’s just discovered, is the absence of god. It’s the black, empty space where the divine used to shine.

It’s your blood soaking his gloves. The scent of your fear creeping past his mask. The single diamond tear that slipped down your scraped cheek when you told him you’d be okay. Your labored breathing and cracked voice. The scream that echoed, echoed, echoed through the stairwell and into his useless skull, rattling against bone walls and too-fresh memories.

Hell has become a hospital room with blank walls and shiny tile. How does that story go — that the deepest layer of hell is frigid? This hospital may not be dusted in frost, but it’s cold enough. You look small and chilly on the thin cot, entangled in wires.

Alive, despite everything.

You don’t feel alive to Nikto.

You’re too still, too washed out. Even when you nap with him, you tend to twitch, eyes flickering beneath your lids. Flushed with warmth in sleep and peaceful-looking. But you don’t move now; barely look better than you did fresh off the helo, unconscious and still bleeding, bleeding, bleeding—

It’s Nikto’s blood in your veins now. His unworthy, corrupted blood turned holy in the chambers of your heart. It wasn’t possession that made him offer his own arm for the transfusion, but rather atonement. The bare minimum he could repent for his utter failure. To offer up even a fraction of his own life in exchange for yours.

He’s been holding vigil by your side ever since, even if he doubts his place there. Waiting for your awakening to decide. Waiting for your judgment. Like a sinner at confessional, though he knows no Hail Mary will cleanse him.

He’s not even sure if you can this time. Not when it’s you he’s wronged.

The change in your breathing is what alerts him.

His eyes have hardly left you since they let him in. Even when his weak body surrendered to sleep, he would face you, so that you would always be the first thing he laid eyes on. Now, though, he searches your face with earnest, searching for any signs of consciousness.

The squeeze of your eyelids. A light furrow in your brow. Your mouth twists as you groan a bit, head drifting before you get control of your neck muscles.

Your eyes blink open slowly, flinchingly. He gives half a mind to breaking one of the overhead bulbs to ease the glare. But he would never risk the shattered glass over your head, or startling you with the noise. So he shifts and waits desperately for you to adjust.

Then you take a deep breath and focus on the ceiling. Seem to take stock for a moment, confusion smoothing into recognition, remembrance.

You tilt your head and meet his eyes.

“Nikto,” you breathe. The long, long hours of unconsciousness have taken a toll though, and even that causes you to cough. You wince a bit at the pain in your side while he reaches for the little plastic cup of water a nurse left. His name alone has brought you pain. It aches through his bones like condemnation.

You make a breathy noise, struggling to sit up. So he eases closer, supports your back to help you sip little doses from the full cup. It’s room temperature, but he knows from experience it’s better that way.

You don’t fuss when he regretfully has to pull it away, mindful of the instructions the nurses left him with. Lays you back as gently as he knows how as you sigh in relief.

He doesn’t feel worthy of touching you and tries to pull away. But you twitch, catch his wrist with the arm attached to an IV. He freezes.

“Nikto.”

There’s voice to the word this time, not just a dry puff of air. It takes Herculean effort to drag his eyes up to yours.

You look tired.

Tired, but all too aware, all too knowing. Sniper he may be, he knows better than to try to wait you out.

“I’m sorry.”

A thousand unspoken apologies crowd on his tongue. All the remorse he never felt compounded onto this one monumental failure.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Your brow furrows but you don’t interrupt. Don’t try to stop him. Just tug him in to huddle against your uninjured side. Let him prostrate himself over your bed, forehead pressed to your hip.

“I’m sorry,” he babbles, “I should have been better. I should have protected you. I almost— I almost…”

The words jam in his throat and then evaporate. No combination of syllables or sounds will be adequate.

Your nails draw gentle circles on his shoulder, then draw in towards his neck. Slip your hand under the collar of his shirt and jacket, just beneath the various trappings that hide his identity. You find skin. The vulnerable, damp nape of his neck. You lay your hand there, cool and dry.

“I forgive you, Nikto.”

“Y-you—”

“I do,” you affirm, giving him a little squeeze. “And it’s my choice to do so.”

He can barely pull himself away, but he has to see your face. Has to know what unconditional forgiveness looks like.

You’re half-lidded, soft. Eyes warm, blinking slow. You’re relaxed, understanding in every curve of your features. For all the world you could be divinity in repose instead of frightfully human, injured and frail.

“Punishing yourself from now on wouldn’t be noble,” you continue, tilting your head knowingly, “it would be martyrdom. And you are not my martyr, Nikto.”

He has not cried in… well. Long before his mind was torn apart and stitched back together wrong. Doubts he even knows how to, now. But his eyes burn as he presses his face into your hip again and shudders hard.

How foolish. To think he had any grasp of what forgiveness is. To think he understood what atonement was. When the only one who could set the bounds for damnation is you.

“I almost left you.”

“‘Almost’ and ‘would have’ are poison. You can’t convict on an almost. An almost is a warning, nothing to hang yourself for.”

You squeeze his neck again, unfailingly gentle. Unfalteringly steady.

“You stayed. I’m alive. Let’s focus on recovery now.”

He nods, hands clenched tight in the once-smooth fabric of the hospital sheets. It comes away wrinkled, but still clean.

—

You’re released from hospital two days later.

The wound, while dangerous in the moment, was a relatively easy fix once you had medical care. A clean shot, only just chipping off a bit of rib and grazing your large intestine. Everything is sewn and medicated and healing now. You’re uncomfortable, but KorTac isn’t as stingy with pain management as a normal military outfit — especially not with Nikto looming over your shoulder.

And you, his precious angel, are an absolute trooper.

You let the medical staff poke and prod and peal your bandages without fuss. Sit up with little more than a grimace and a hiss. In good spirits, all around.

Nikto carves your care instructions into the walls of his mind, a New Testament — temporary though it may be. The nurses send you in a wheelchair down to the ground floor, but after that, you’re allowed to walk.

Nikto doesn’t like it. He’d carry you to the edge of the Earth if necessary. But you just wave away his concern and grab onto his hovering arm for stability as you stand. A bit unsteady, terribly uncomfortable, but determined.

He gets you back to the barracks, you cursing with every movement that’s not a smooth step on even ground. Nikto lets you lean most of your weight into him and tries to keep his aching heart steady.

You sigh when you reach the barracks. Let him lay you down and get you comfortable before giving you another dose of pain meds. He busies himself collecting things and rearranging the room.

Making sure there’s not so much as a sock between you and the restroom. Getting your computer, phone, and respective chargers within easy reach. Filling a cup with water and arranging your soft blankets over your legs.

He’s just finished with that when there’s a knock at the door. Konig, delivering a meal. Not just any meal — takeout from your favorite little restaurant in town. Complete with sweets.

You call a thank you to the Austrian, who expresses his best wishes, and then Nikto shuts out the rest of the world again to let you rest. You don’t seem to mind, beckoning him back to your side.

Sharing the food, the blankets and pillows. Get him to set up your laptop with a movie — the meds kick in halfway through, leave you drooling a bit against his sleeve.

Nikto does not care. You may have forgiven him, and therefore it is not his place to repent for this anymore. But caring for you has never been atonement. It is his reward for putting his loyalty where it belongs.

—

The next day is worse. Your mood has dipped a bit, the soreness catching up. Not that you snap at Nikto or anything of the sort. But he knows you, and can tell from the tension in your body and wincing expressions when you think he isn’t looking.

You brighten a bit when he finally remembers to take his mask off. He even lets you babble when the meds make you fuzzy and overly-complimentary. Nearly falls asleep to you absently mapping the ugly scars that score deep into his hairline.

At some point though, the misery seems to catch up to you.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if I could just… wash up, I guess,” you grumble, looking ready to throw something.

The nurses did what they could, of course, but their focus had been on fixing you and then keeping your wounds clean. Enough hygiene to avoid infection. But you’re still grimy in uncomfortable places and you hate being in bed feeling “icky.”

Nikto instantly sets to work correcting that. He digs out one of his clean shirts, your favorite sweatpants, a soft pair of underwear. You watch him curiously as he takes it all into the restroom. The shower is standing room only, unfortunately — and besides, you can’t get your stitches wet for a while still. But he can at least help you freshen up.

“Come here.”

You take his arm, let him sit you up and then guide you to the restroom. When you see the cloth on the edge of the sink you get a bit misty-eyed. He lets you sniffle for a moment, patient while you wipe your eyes and mumble a “thank you.”

Then he helps you strip to your underwear and sits you on the towel he’s placed on the toilet lid. He kneels and starts from the top, a little dollop of soap on the facecloth and hot water.

You offer up an arm, careful not to overextend, palm up and fingers lax. Nikto works from your shoulder down to your fingertips. Smoothing over bruised muscle, stale sweat, scrubbing away dirt and crusted blood at the nail beds. Rinses the cloth, wipes away the excess soap, and repeats the process on the other arm.

The bathroom is silent save for the falling water and your shared breaths. You tilt your head to let him caress over your neck, down to your chest. He pauses, unsure of his welcome here, but you mumble that it’s fine either way. His touch is perfunctory but careful over your breasts, though he marvels privately at the plushness, the warmth. Politely ignores the way your nipples harden as the water cools in the air. Even if he’s so… so tempted to provide care in other ways.

You don’t so much as twitch; he can feel your gaze upon him from above. Yet he cannot force his eyes away from his work. Each gentle sweep of the cloth feels like restoring a temple, like holy work. Like paying his dues more directly than any church’s offering plate. You are such delicate work, his attention cannot afford to waver.

At your ribs, he starts on your uninjured side. Counts as his fingertips bump along them. You hum when he reaches the soft tissue of your stomach, a little shudder going through you.

“Ticklish,” you explain when his hand jerks back. “I’m alright.”

He feels one side of his mouth tug when he dips the cloth into your navel and you snort a bit. The other side of you is still bandaged, clean and white. No damning spots of red. He avoids the medical tape to get what he can and then continues down.

More bitten off giggles at your hips. He indulges in arching his bare thumb over the bone, just to feel the warmth and silk of your skin. Then continues his work.

He braces your foot on his thigh as he swipes the cloth over yours, minding the pressure on the sensitive inner skin. Over your knee, down to the ankle before switching to the other leg. You lean back and sigh, knock your knee gently into his ribs. When he glances up to see if you need anything, you just smile. Soft and a bit drowsy.

Only then does he scrub your feet, making you twitch and laugh a bit, complaining that he’s doing it on purpose. He’s not, but he likes the sound of your laughter; he thought he’d never hear it again.

He washes the cloth out one more time and helps you stand, lathering circles into your back while you press into him.

You take over when he’s finished. This time he does turn away, though he aches to do so. But your hand is still on his back, using him for support while you finish cleaning up intimate areas.

“Done,” you murmur. He unfolds a towel and turns, keeping his eyes above your head as he wraps it around you from behind.

You hold it up while he pats over you, soaking up any droplets that haven’t dried yet.

Warm and clean(er), your mood seems much improved. He kneels again to help you into a new pair of panties, realizes he’s an absolute fool to put himself so close when you smell only faintly like the shared soap. The rest is you, and you smell delicious.

He swallows thickly and eases you into your sweatpants, split between longing and relief when he stands to put you in the shirt. If you notice the bulge in his own lounge pants, you say nothing — though he doubts you do. You’re nearly asleep standing, almost stumbling as he takes you back to bed. You reach for him weakly and urge him in with you.

“Thank you, Nikto,” you murmur into his shoulder. “Love you.”

And you’ve forgiven him, despite everything. So he allows himself just this one thing — and presses his lips to your temple.

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[nicksolemnlyswears]

hi! i just saw the ask you answered about leaving aemond out and i giggled.

if i may offer an idea, what about if reader finds out where aemond goes to find comfort (the brothel) and is upset because she thought differently of him but maybe he confesses what he actually does there (tittie suckin and therapy) and she offers aemond her own comfort. maybe reader looks more like their mother and it's exactly what aemond wants/needs. he's such a broken boy with horrible mommy issues.

this is not me at all telling you that you NEED to write a fic about this. i just had this idea jumbled around in my head and i don't know how to write it myself. 😂

thank you for your fics. they are truly wonderful. 💜

pairing: aemond targaryen x hightower!reader

word count: ~8.3k

warnings: 18+, cursing, spoilers of s2 of hotd, talks about brothels and prostitutes, fingering, p in v, lactation (milk play? i don't even know what i did), nipple play, slight mommy kink (or a lot depending how you see it), talks of infidelity, slight somno, riding

a/n: it's funny that this ask was sent cause i had something similar in mind. so this came super easily to me. i added some fire to the reader cause after ep 4 of hotd i was so angry at aemond (and still am). i can't believe he did that to aegon (he's my boy of the season) not to mention what he did to queen meleys and queen rhaenys. i'm not sure if i'd be able to forgive him. @heybank i hope this is somewhat like what you had in mind!

it came out a little longer than expect but nonetheless i hope you all enjoy! also aemond is stubborn in this fic but an equally stubborn reader and i love her for it. the reader and aegon are lowkey besties because i only want the best for him lol so don't mind that. i am ecstatic for the next episode and see the fall out of ep 4.

do you know the struggle i had to find aemond's whore's name. omg most difficult part of this oneshot.

after this fic i think i need to go to church and confess. i'm sure the priest will douse me in holy water and make me pray a hundred holy marys or something.

enjoy!!

It slipped out in the midst of their endless teasing and banter. The one secret Aemond never wished for you to find out. You're strong enough to know about the others; you recognize who he truly is at his core: an ambitious, envious man, but this one secret? This one he prayed you never knew about.

Aegon and you had been indulging in the sweet wine imported from High Garden. A delicacy that made your head fuzzy and your body loose. After finding you strolling all alone through the gardens, he insisted on drinking with you. If someone were to appease him by complaining about matters of the council, it would be you.

Those meetings drag on for hours on end on multiple occasions during the day as ravens fly in to share news of the brewing war. It robs you of your husband's attention and robs Aegon of his will to live as they tell him what to do and say, completely ignoring any input he might have—as idiotic as it may be.

You meet your distant cousin midway, complaining about how boring the meetings are and how uptight everyone is, including your husband. You offer the new King honest advice disguised as flippant comments, hoping he'll accept it even if he thinks of it as his own.

"It's not like I'm the only one who indulges in the pleasure of the street of silk. Every nobleman loves to get their cock wet by those whores," Aegon mumbles as a response to being reprimanded for his escapade late last night with his guards.

The charitable King paid for the villager's drinks and entertainment for the night. It was a prosperous night for the brothel. The 'ladies' will do just about anything to get coin. Who says the King doesn't aid his subordinates in need?

You stifle a laugh with the back of your hand and shake your head at him, "Yes, but you're the King now. It's not about laying with a commoner. It's about security. There are people who would do just about anything to gain Rhaenyra's favor, including hurting you, Aegon…"

Reasoning with Aegon is a challenge. His mind spins in ways you will never comprehend, but you try to keep your cousin safe while appeasing the council.

If Aegon values something, it's his life. If he knows there is danger out there, he will hold back, even if it's for a night or two. Her duty as his friend is to keep reminding him of all the danger lurking in the dark corners of the silk street.

"I suppose you're right, dear cousin. Guess we'll have to bring them here," he laughs as he thinks of the pandemonium it will cause. "I'll have Thalia and Margery or perhaps Dorothy. Hell, why limit myself? I'm the King! The guards can have their pick of the lot, Aemond will have his old reliable, and Lord Lannister can have the beautiful Sarah."

Aegon tips his goblet, drinking the last drops of wine to quench his dry mouth, failing to notice his slip-up.

Aemond's name sends a burning chill down your spine, and your mouth turns to cotton as it dries up. As you repeat Aegon's words, your heart promises to break out of your ribcage. Surely, you misunderstood his words.

"Aemond's old reliable?" You laugh to keep Aegon at ease. Grabbing the pitcher of wine to fill both of your cups, urging him to drink more and get his tongue looser. He won't remember your interrogation by morning.

"Ah yes, the first woman he fucked. Thanks to me, might I add. He still loves to visit her. I'd say her tits got him all enamored."

Just like the women in court, Aegon prattles on and on about everything he knows about Aemond and his whore. Including how he found him laying with her just last night—naked as the day he was born, blue sapphire glinting freely under the candlelight.

Blinding hot fury courses through your veins, lighting you up in flames from the inside out. Aegon will assume your reddening face and chest are from the wine and his vulgar words. There is no use in correcting him as you urge him to continue talking.

By night's end, you are equally as drunk as Aegon. The Guards escort you both to your respective chambers, watching amusedly how you argue with Aegon about whose dragon is strongest, Sunfyre or Dreamfyre. In reality, you were plotting which sibling would aid you in yelling dracarys in Aemond's direction.

You wish the alcohol would make you forget, but the sad truth is you will remember every single detail. The pounding headache you'll have in the morning will be a painful reminder of the secrets spilled over red wine.

For a fortnight, you sit and think about the valuable information Aegon shared with you. Anger burns ardently inside of you as it has nowhere to go. As a lady of the court, you're not allowed to train with the men, and as a Hightower, you have no dragon to channel that anger through.

If your fury were to be caused by any other reason, you'd find release in Aemond's arms. His aching cock stroking your drenched walls fervently. His sweaty skin sticking to yours. His fingers digging into your curves to find purchase. The low tone of his voice in your ear whispering words you'd never dare repeat and shamefully make you peak around him.

The thought makes you sick. How many times has he fucked her in such a way? Is it different? Does he let go and fuck her harder as he's not afraid she'll break?

Thinking is your worst enemy. As you imagine every possible scenario, your insecurities rise from their hiding spots. Does he love her? He laid bare with her; he must feel something if he allowed her to see him in such a vulnerable position.

The memory of the first time he took off his eyepatch in your presence pains you. So many conversations and stones of trust had to be set to get to that point, yet he did it with her. A common whore that dares ask for coin to please him with her presence.

You are different from the other ladies of the court who accept their husbands sleeping around with unknown women. You are jealous and territorial, something Aemond knew when you married. Under the eyes of the seven, he swore that his loyalties lay solely with you.

Alas, all men do is lie. Not even the noblest of men can be trusted. All you asked for was a good husband that would not embarrass you. How foolish of you to believe Aemond would be it.

Your fury grows and manifests as you observe Aemond and his whereabouts. It's hard to keep your anger at bay, but he's too busy plotting with Criston Cole to notice your withdrawing nature and emotional distance.

Visiting his quarters nearly every night tells you all you need to know. In that fortnight, you find him missing a multitude of times. There's no doubt he's in the brothel. Where else might he be deep into the night as the world sleeps?

When you ask about his location, the guards hesitate and stumble over their words. They try to save their necks by lying because the Prince continues to slip from their grasp time and time again. They are not as skillful at lying as your husband.

Having had enough, you wait for Aemond's return in his quarters. A goblet of wine is balanced between your fingers. The red liquid swirls along the rounded goblet, mimicking how your anger swirls around you.

You observe the map laid out on the wooden table. His plans are incredibly different from Aegon's. You pity the King as his most trusted advisor and Hand do as they please behind his back.

You've barely drank the wine. The goblet is merely a distraction from your fidgeting hands. You do not need the courage it provides; your anger fuels your intentions.

Old stone rumbles and sets behind you. Turning on your seat, you find Aemond emerging from one of Maegor's tunnels. This is how he sneaks out so damn easily.

"Wife," Aemond greets, keeping his composure, but his tense posture reveals shock. Your husband tends to wear a relaxed stance in your presence. You're the last person he expected to be waiting for him.

"Husband," you reply. The word is bitter on your tongue.

"What brings you in so late? You should be resting," Aemond speaks, taking off his cloak and approaching your seated figure.

Your eyes lazily move up to meet his. "Rest," you chuckle humorlessly. "I haven't been able to find rest in weeks."

"Does something ail you? Should I call a maester?" He asks, giving you a once over. Other than the dark circles around your eyes, there seems to be nothing out of place.

You're still you. Beautiful copper hair that easily identifies you as a Hightower flows down your back, and big brown eyes that resemble his mother's look back at him, although contempt has replaced the unconditional adoration that typically resides there.

His worry sickens you. His existence is an annoyance like a pebble in your shoe. You've harbored this anger for too long, and simple distaste can quickly transform into hate.

"Where were you?" You ask, raising an eyebrow. He's not going to get out of this. He must face the consequences of his actions. You will not live in bitterness while he runs around doing as he pleases.

"Conducting some business for the King." Aemond tilts his head, observing your posture and the set of your eyebrows. There's an electricity around you that shoots warning signs at him.

"Where. Were. You?"

"I'm afraid it is none of your business," Aemond says with a sharp exhale. He steps away to avoid your glaring gaze, unbuckling his sheath and setting it on one of the many desks that litter his room.

"I didn't realize we were keeping secrets from each other." The goblet's thud on the table is as loud as your unspoken fury. Wine splashes on the map like blood will spill in battle.

"There are always secrets. I have them. You have them," Aemond answers, leaning back on the desk.

Your hands smooth down the fabric of your dress as you stand. Finding his calculating gaze, you say, "So that's what you call your whore over at the silk street? A secret? I thought her name was Sylvi?"

Aemond freezes, and his muscles tense. You can't possibly know. He's entirely still as if the action would stop time and give him a chance to come up with an explanation, a lie. "I do not know what you speak of," the hesitancy of his voice unveils the cruel truth.

"Spare me the lies, and do not treat me like a naive maiden, Aemond. You know how much I loathe being made a fool," you snap loudly.

Aemond takes three long strides to reach you. Reacting, you take a step back but have nowhere to go. He doesn't touch you, but Aemond towers over you as he glares back. "Who told you? Was it Aegon?" He hisses.

"Please," you scoff. "The maids talk, the guards talk, husband. It was only a matter of time. Did you think I'd never find out? Are you truly that dense, Aemond?"

Your glare is sharp enough to cut him. He fell in love with that look when directed at others, but now that it's looking straight at him, he finds it's the one thing he might hate most.

All people around him have looked at him like that at some point. Aegon. Daemon. Jacaerys. Alicent. All except for his sweet sister and you, his beloved wife.

That look alone makes him regret stepping into the brothel many moons ago.

You should've never found out about Sylvi. It was meant to be a fleeting moment, but the war takes a toll on everyone, including Aemond.

Alicent's disapproving attitude towards him after Lucerys' incident led him to the whore more times than he can count as he sought the comfort Alicent never gave him and he craved.

"What is it that whore gives you that I do not?" You maintain eye contact as your chest presses against his. Your stubbornness will not let you back away from this argument. You deserve an answer.

You thought you were a good wife. Because of you, Aemond has two sons. You provided male heirs, a nobleman's dream. You warmed his bed whenever he asked and even when he didn't. You confided in him. You chose him.

"Talk, damn it. Your scheming plans won't get you out of this one," you yell, slamming your fists on his chest. Picking a fight is the only thing you have left. You want to scream at him until your voice turns raw.

"There is nothing to say. She's a quick fuck; that's all she is," Aemond seamlessly lies, grabbing your thundering fists. His thumb rubs over the back of your hands, hoping the calming gesture will tame your anger.

"A quick fuck? I could've been queen if I tolerated Aegon's quick fucks. The option was right there, and I chose you because I stupidly believed you'd make a better husband," you scream as your cheeks turn an unbelievable shade of red.

"Wife, please," Aemond pleads as you remind him.

The choice to wed you was not his to make. It was entirely yours. Each night, he prayed you'd choose to marry him. A woman of incredible smarts and hypnotizing beauty deserved to be with a man who acknowledged those attributes, not a blundering man like Aegon, who would only use her for her body.

"Do not touch me," you spit, tearing your wrists from his grasp and pushing him back with all the muster you could gather. "How dare you try to touch me after you've laid with her? After you fucked her? You repulse me."

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you spew your words. Aemond stands there, taking it all of your fury—he deserves it. What you hate the most is that he does nothing to defend himself, as if all of your words are the maddening truth.

"It was not my intention to hurt you," Aemond swallows as tears fall down your cheeks.

"These tears do not stem from hurt. They are from humiliation. You embarrassed me, Aemond. Do you know how many hours I've spent praising you in front of the other ladies of the court, speaking about how perfect of a husband you've been these past two years?"

Your pride might be bigger than his, and he's done the worst thing he could ever do— wound it. Such a prideful woman will only forgive him if there's a good enough reason and with lots of begging.

At his silence, you push past him and reach for the door. "I've made my duty as your wife and given you two sons. Do not expect more from me. Go to your little whore and see if she'll perform the wifely duties you asked from me." With one more glance towards your husband, you slam the door.

It is no mystery why Aemond is in a mood from that night forward. Guards stand straighter with him around, Aegon's so-called friends keep quiet, and Criston Cole bears the brunt of it all as Aemond calls him to spar. Each passing day becomes more brutal.

You have stayed true to your word and kept your distance from Aemond. You've never felt as far away from him as when you sit by him during meals. You no longer place your hand on his thigh when Aegon throws jabs at him or smile his way when he says something worth admiring.

If you must address him regarding the children, you do so but with a straight face and without awaiting his answer. The Red Keep has turned grey as you no longer pull him through the halls between duties to find a dark corner to kiss or touch him. Fleeting moments he truly cherished.

He's losing you, and he doesn't know what to do to fix it. He's sure that you will never look at him the same if he comes clean with the truth. It will burn whatever thread is left of your marriage.

"Aemond, what's the matter?" Alicent asks. They're in her quarters discussing one of the many plans to prepare for war, and yet he's not paying attention.

"Nothing," he says softly, eyeing the map in front of him. We should send our men to the east."

Alicent tilts her head and sits across from him, studying him closely. "Is this about your wife?"

The glint the young Hightower carries is missing. Her constant search for Aemond throughout the day has ceased abruptly, startling Alicent and Helaena. She rarely mentions him, only speaking about him when asked, and even then, her words have bite.

Alicen believed her son could do no wrong regarding his wife. Aemond adored you. He pinned after you from the moment it was announced that you were searching for a husband.

Alicent was hesitant at first. Marrying inside the family was a queer Targaryen custom, not a Hightower one, yet Otto insisted. Another Hightower in the Red Keep meant more power. He pushed you to marry Aegon while Aemond asked Alicent to consider him instead. She left it in your hands. It was only fair that you made the choice of who you shared your life with.

Aemond is silent momentarily, "She's upset with me." His words are short as he avoids talking about the subject.

"What did you do?" Alicent sighs disappointedly, leaning back on her chair. Why must her sons ruin all good things in their lives?

Alicent's reaction causes him to close back up just as quickly. Yes, it is his fault, but his mother's lack of faith is disheartening. Once upon a time, Aemond would've confided in his mother, but recent events have severed that trust. "My marital problems are none of your concern."

"Then how am I to help you fix this?" She asks in a knowing tone. Alicent feels the weight of her house on her shoulders. She's responsible for keeping everything together.

"I don't recall asking for your help, mother." Aemond ignores her judging eyes, moving the metal pieces around the map. He was here to make war plans, not talk about his feelings.

"Very well," Alicent clears her throat, moving farther away from her son. The gods are punishing as each one of her children drift away from her.

Unlike Aemond's mother, you take your duty as a mother quite seriously. Your children are all you have, and you cherish them equally. You refused a wet nurse when you birthed your first, and when the second followed a year after, you proceeded to do the same.

Feeding them from your breast brings a wave of emotion that is impossible to describe. The bond that forms between mother and child is strengthened by this natural action. Why do the other ladies in court not do the same? All they do is gossip and indulge in the luxuries of the keep. They have no responsibilities other than to please their husbands and care for their children.

The loud cries of your youngest filter through the door and echo throughout the halls of the keep. The babe has been incessantly crying for the past hour for no reason. Feeding and changing his nappy did nothing to ease his discomfort, leaving you overwhelmed. Nonetheless, you continue to soothe your child because if you didn't, what kind of mother would you be?

You ignore Aemond as he steps into your chambers, bouncing the eleven-month-old in your arms. He must've followed the cries. "There, there, Baelor," you coo, placing your hand on the back of his head, brushing through the thin strands of pale silver hair.

The babe continues to sniffle and release weak cries. The poor thing is exhausted yet refuses to sleep. He hangs onto his mother's dress and hair, opening and closing his chubby fist.

Aemond approaches you, extending his hands to take him from you, "May I?"

You cannot refuse him. Baelor is his son, and while he seeks the pleasure of common whores you know he adores his sons.

Baelor is fuzzy and complains when he's taken away from your warm embrace, but he immediately settles in his father's hold when he recognizes him. The smell of Aemond's leather clothes offered him the comfort he was searching for.

Baelor missed his father.

"Clearly, you're his favorite," you murmur, settling down in the chaise that faces the fireplace. You're worse for wear. It's hard to find rest when questions remain unanswered, and you've lost the person you love most.

"Only till it's time to feed," Aemond says to lighten the mood between you.

You scoff, removing your jewelry and tossing it on the cushion beside you. "Great, I'm a glorified cow, only used to feed."

Aemond falters, his hold on his son tightening as he curls closer into Aemond's neck. Baelor's soft breaths tickle his neck. "That's not what I meant, wife."

You continue to stare into the fire as tears line your eyes. "I know," you whisper. It's been a difficult day.

Had you not been betrayed by Aemond, you would've sought his attention and spilled all the thoughts running through your mind so he could tell you you were being unreasonable.

He would reassure you that you're intelligent, beautiful, a wonderful mother, cunning, captivating, and a dream come to life.

You're punishing yourself. You decided to distance yourself, and came to the horrid realization that it is much harder than you bargained. You underestimated what three years of always being together would do to you.

Aemond catches on to your apprehension and puts a sleeping Baelor on the cradle the nursemaid left by your bed. He returns to your side and kneels on the floor right by your feet.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes for the first time since that night. It's been a long, difficult four weeks without you by his side. He misses all the little things you did for him.

All the check-ups throughout the day to make sure he's broken fast or slept well. Brushing his hair at night before he takes you to bed and shows you his gratitude. Your eyes meeting his across the room, suggesting he takes you elsewhere for a stolen private moment away from everyone else.

He misses you telling him about everything Baelor and Rhaegar got up to in the day and about every new milestone they hit, suggesting they are as healthy as they can be. He misses the late nights spent tangled together, talking about what the future holds for you both, the idea of having a baby girl for Rhaegar and Baelor to protect.

"What do you apologize for now?"

"For betraying your trust. I made an oath and broke it, and for that, I apologize. It is my biggest regret in life," Aemond says, reaching for your hand. "Please, forgive me."

"Then why do you continue to lie?" You whisper as a tear rolls down your cheeks.

"That's the only truth there is," Aemond whispers breathlessly. You give him a pitiful chuckle and tug your hand away from his despite wanting to hold onto it forever.

Your nose burns as more tears spill from your eyes. Insecurity wrapping you in its arms. "Please, do not lie. Why do you want me to believe you went to the brothel for a fleeting pleasure when I have always been here? Am I not good enough for you?"

Your anger has simmered down to a smoky sadness that envelops you. Aemond is lying to you when you're the person he's supposed to trust the most. If there is a chance of rebuilding this marriage, he must tell you the truth, even if it ruins you.

"Gods, you are everything I wanted and more, my sweet wife," Aemond speaks, cupping your face to wipe away your salty tears.

He's at a loss. He's hurt you, but the pain can be remedied if he speaks the truth. How can he allow you to believe you're not enough when you're the perfect woman. His endeavors in the street of silk stem from his own damaged soul, never yours.

"I am afraid," Aemond confesses, brushing one last tear with the pad of his thumb before he retreats his hands. You stare back at him, puzzled. "It is not what you believe. I have not laid with another woman since I married you."

"Then what is it, Aemond? Because my mind has conjured up the worst of scenarios."

"You will not think of me the same," he says, ashamed, hanging his head to avoid your hurt gaze.

"Is that such a bad thing?" You ask aloud, and without awaiting his response, you continue to speak, "Until you work up the courage to tell me the truth, things will remain the same. No matter how much it hurts."

Standing, you leave Aemond kneeling on the floor to prepare for sleep. You glance over your shoulder and watch Aemond stare deep into the fire. When you step out of the privacy screen, he's gone.

It takes another week of agony for Aemond to come to a decision. He cannot bear having you so close yet so far away. He misses you and greatly underestimates how much happier you make him.

He hasn't been to the brothel since the night you confronted him. He barely spares it a thought nowadays. You are the only person wreaking havoc in his head.

He fucked up his marriage, and now he has to pay his dues, even if it means coming clean about his intentions with Sylvi. It was barely sexual, he hasn't fucked her since he married you, but he couldn't let go of the comfort she provided, and Alicent withdrew.

He's smart enough to know it's a farce. The women in the brothel will do just about anything if it means they are paid. But Aemond deluded himself into believing Sylvi cared about what he had to say and told her things he hadn't spoken to anyone else. She played the part well, giving advice freely and reassuring him with soft touches and softer words.

When the guard opens the door to Aemond's chambers, allowing you to enter, he instantly stands, approaching you to ask for your hand and kiss the back of it.

You raise an eyebrow at him but allow him nonetheless. The press of his lips to your skin sends a spark up your arm and down your spine.

"Wife," he greets, guiding you to sit.

"Aemond," you reply, not quite giving in to his sweet actions. Aemond summoned you with the promise of the truth. That is why you're here.

"How does the day find you?"

"Aemond, please," you plead. You came for the truth, and niceties won't do anything to soften the brunt of his words. Prolonging this won't help anyone.

"Very well," Aemond sighs, gesturing you to sit. His hands remain on his lap where he opens and closes them anxiously. "I met her when I was three and ten. Aegon forced me to the brothel because he thought it was time I…became a man."

You dare not speak as Aemond justifies his actions. You need to know the truth before your nerves consume you.

This is the tricky part of his story. After a brief pause, he clears his throat and continues, "She was far older than I was and offered something I lacked in the Keep. Comfort, solace, familiarity, whatever you want to call it. I continued to visit her throughout my youth, although it wasn't always to find release rather than someone to listen and give me what my mother never could."

Aemond avoids looking at you, afraid of what he might find written on your face. Perhaps disgust, shame, or disapproval.

He owed you the truth, so he spoke about all the details of this affair. How he liked the intimacy of lying naked with Sylvi, suckling at her breast. How she would hold him in her arms and touch him. The advice she would offer. The things they spoke about. How he rejects her when she makes any advances, thinking that's what he wants. He admits that he is completely vulnerable and free for those hours because she will have his side no matter what he says.

"Do you have feelings for her?" Your voice is barely above a whisper. It's terrifying to think he might harbor feelings for her. Such intimate acts easily allow feelings to infiltrate one's being. "Aemond, look at me."

Hesitantly, Aemond meets your eyes. Your face is blank, devoid of emotion that may indicate what you now think of him.

"No, and I never will," Aemond says, swallowing the lump in his throat. He chooses his words carefully, "She was an escape, someone to listen to the tragedy that was my life. She knew what I wanted and gave it unsolicited. I know it is not real, wife, but I was foolish enough to seek more."

The emotion that surfaces in your face is not directed at him; instead, it reflects the insecurities you have about yourself. "Did you not think I could give you what she did and actually mean it?"

Insecurities of his own rise up and make themselves shown, "I thought you would see me as a weaker man."

You're both so young with so much to learn, yet if there is one thing you're certain about, it's the love you share. That love would never make you see Aemond as weak; it would transform that quality he refers to as weak into something totally different and positive.

"You are not weak but a fool," you shake your head, reaching for him. It is your turn to cup his face to force him to focus only on you. "I know of those feelings you hide firmly, Aemond. I spent most of my childhood here in King's Landing. I watched while Aegon and the Strong boys teased you. I was here when you returned from Driftmark without an eye. I heard your cries of pain. You come off as this stoic man to everyone else, the fierce Aemond, but I know the real you."

"I am ashamed." Aemond is truthful. No more lies weight his beating heart.

"Do you swear to never look for her again? That you will come to me instead?"

"I swear it by the old gods and the new. I swear it by the seven. I swear it by my life," Aemond promises. "Will you return to me, wife?" He asks hopefully, placing his hands over yours, afraid your touch will leave him.

"Yes, husband," you nod, pressing your forehead against his.

Your lips find his as the last word you speak is uttered. It's been far too long, and his dragon blood is calling for you. Aemond is quick to react, moving his lips desperately against yours and pulling you to his lap.

He comes to you late at night once there are no more council calls or responsibilities to tend to. It's around that time when he has nothing to busy himself with, and the ache in his chest makes itself known.

It's a constant reminder that he is far from invincible. Pain and hurt live within him, ready to resurface at the most unexpected times.

"Husband." You greet him with a bright smile when he steps into your chambers.

"Wife," he speaks quietly, standing uncomfortably by your door. While he's agreed to come to you in his times of need, Aemond is unsure how to approach the situation.

"What is the matter?" A pout adorns your lips as you walk over to him. It's genuine concern.

Aemond stiffens when you approach him, tilting your head to assess him. You wrap your arms around his waist, searching for his gaze.

"Aemond?" You call to him softly.

"Please," he whispers with shaking hands that he places on your hips. The expensive material of your night shift is soft against his palms.

The tone of his voice and the reserved behavior tell you what he's asking for. You nod wordlessly and grab his hand, guiding him to your bed.

This is unlike those moments when passion takes over and desperate need forces you to tug and tear his clothes away. With patience and delicate fingers, you calmly help him undress.

Unbuckling the clasps of his leather doublet, you slide it down his arms and throw it to the side. The tunic that covers his chest comes off next, exposing the strong panels of his abdomen and the ropes of muscle of his arms. All a result of his extensive training.

Featherlight touches to his skin make his breath hitch as they slide down to his breeches, where you agilely untie the laces. You don't meet his eyes as you do so, giving him some resemblance of modesty, but Aemond watches intently how you treat him with such care.

You gently push him to sit on the bed, where you kneel to take off his boots and socks. Aemond allows his breeches to fall to the ground, leaving him completely naked, except for the eyepatch he wears like armor.

It protects him from the disgusted expressions people shoot him with because of the deformity he acquired as a child.

It never stops hurting.

You've never been repulsed by his missing eye. On the contrary, you're fascinated by the scar and the sapphire embedded in the empty socket.

Reaching around his head, you unclasp the leather and place the eyepatch with the rest of his clothing. You offer him a delicate smile while placing your hand on his cheek, and he leans into it.

Your touch on his raised scar eases the pain.

Withdrawing from him, you tug in the lacing of your night shift and shrug it off your shoulders to uncover your body. You had promised to offer him the same care she did in that wretched place.

The bed is covered by pillows and blankets to protect you from the cold of the incoming winter, and you mentally thank the maids for preparing the fire before they left you to rest. You lie over the furs, extending your hand towards Aemond to welcome him in.

Aemond's timidness is present, but he pushes it to the side as he climbs onto the bed and settles across your lap. Your skin is soft and warm against his, and your soft curves, molded to accommodate his children, bring him comfort.

As you brush through his hair with your fingers, you gently untie the band holding half of his hair up. You massage the silver tresses, his scalp prickling from the release of tension. He hums quietly, enjoying the feeling of your fingers on his hair.

"What troubles you, my Prince?" You finally ask.

Aemond's head rests on your shoulder, his breath hitting your collarbones. One of your hands rests upon his back, drawing figures across the expanse of it, feeling every bump and curve of his spine and muscles. The other grasps his hand, pulling it to your lips to press a reassuring kiss to the palm of it.

"That title. Prince." He murmurs sadly, taking a deep breath.

That familiar scent of oils invades his senses. It's a smell he remembers from his childhood when Alicent still cared for him. In turn, his body relaxes, and he closes his eyes momentarily.

"It is a stepping stone in the hierarchy," you reply, recognizing what he implies. Aegon does not have what it takes to rule a kingdom, while Aemond years to sit on the throne.

Aemond reaches up to grasp at a strand of copper hair. The same shade as his mothers. He twists it around his finger while shifting to make himself more comfortable. "I thought all of my achievements would be more fruitful," he ponders.

It seems that ruling a kingdom falls on the eldest male heir, even if they are not fit to rule. Aegon sits on the throne, yet the rest of the council rules on his behalf. This puts the Targaryen name to shame; the fool barely speaks High Valyrian.

"Patience is key. Aegon shows no signs of changing. He will be his own downfall," you respond thoughtfully. You hate thinking about Aegon in such a way, but it's the truth. He wants to prove himself so badly but goes about it all the wrong way.

Copper hair leads to naked skin the same shade as his mother's, and for once, he can imagine himself in his mother's embrace. It brings tears to his eyes as he curls further into you, and his nose brushes against your skin.

With the pillows propping you up and Aemond curled on your lap, you press a kiss to the crown of his head. Your touch runs all over his skin, from his face to his feet.

Aemond continues to speak his mind, and you offer the perfect responses to his dilemmas, calming him when his emotions get the best of him and tears spill from his eyes.

He should've come to you sooner. You're a high-born lady who knows much more about life in court. There were always warning signs with Sylvi. She tried to manipulate him into thinking about the common folk and their ailments more than once. She would never understand that while House Targaryen is at war, there is no space to think about the well-being of its subordinates.

When silence ensues, Aemond allows himself to look up at you. You're serene as you hold him close to your body without an ounce of impatience. The resemblance to his mother is there, but he got something much better.

He got a woman who loves him unconditionally, flaws and all.

Lacing his fingers with yours, Aemond closes his eyes and melts further into your touch. You hug him close and whisper your affections. This is how it was always meant to be.

That night, Aemond sleeps in your chambers. It would be wrong for him to leave after you've treated him with such tenderness. You are no simple whore from the street of silk. You are his wife, and as such, you are meant to be treated with utmost respect. Something he had failed to do but no more.

Breathy whines, wake him before the sun rises. Recognizing your voice, he wakes, looking at his surroundings for any danger. When you whine once more, he glances over at you.

You squirm in your sleep, seemingly uncomfortable. Something bothers you, but your exhaustion prevents you from waking. One of your hands reaches for your chest, and another whine spills from your lips.

Aemond's eye is drawn to the action. He reaches for the sheet covering your body and pulls on it to find the cause of your discomfort. His breath hitches, and his cock aches.

Your breasts are swollen and tender from being filled to their capacity, causing beads of milk to leak from the stiff peaks of your nipples.

Aemond briefly remembers you mentioning how Baelor has been fuzzy lately, and Rhaegar is getting older and doesn't seek you as often for food, yet you continue to produce copious amounts of milk. He has been blessed with a perfect wife and an excellent mother who produces enough sustenance for his children.

Aemond's pointer finger traces a path down your neck to your left breast. They are calling to him as his finger follows the curve of your breast up to your puffy areola and tip of your nipple. A slight press to the taught skin prompts more fluid to leak down your sides, and you hiss in discomfort.

Bringing his finger up to his lips, he licks the whitish liquid. Perhaps it's a mistake, as he's left wanting more. Aemond uncovers the top half of your naked body and leans over your chest. With one look towards your beautiful face, he wraps his lips around the plush flesh of your breast.A surge of liquid fills his mouth.

You have the sweetest milk he has ever had the pleasure of tasting. Aemond moans at the saccharine taste. It is so much better than the farce he had in the brothel. This milk comes from his wife, who nurtures his healthy sons.

A loud, sultry moan spills from your lips as some of the pressure is alleviated. You're now between sleep and awareness. Your hand cradling the back of Aemond's head.

Aemond's cock is painfully hard as it presses against your thigh. He's been driven into a frenzy, your milk serving as an aphrodisiac. His hand brushes against your inner thigh to answer a rising question.

Careful fingers find your wet slit, proving his theory right. He's not the only depraved person in the room. Your body is responsive to him even in altered states of consciousness.

Your cunt is absolutely drenched, making it so easy for Aemond to push a finger in. It's enough to fully wake you from your slumber. "Ah, Aemond." You throw your head back in pleasure.

It takes you a second to take in the entirety of Aemond's actions. The pleasure coursing through you, overwhelming your senses. A loud moan tears through your throat at the realization that Aemond is not simply teasing your breasts. Aemond feasts on your aching tits.

"Have your fill, my prince," you beg as that ache in your chest is pleasingly soothed.

Aemond is eager and rough. The light stubble of his jaw sends a current of electricity down to your cunt where you clench around his fingers.

"My Aemond, good boy." He responds to the praise why sliding another finger into your tight cunny. The slick sound of your arousal accompanies the suckling of his lips.

You squeeze your other breast to alleviate the tightening discomfort and drops fall on your hand. Drawn to it, Aemond switches, and you squeal as his teeth scrape the sensitive skin of your nipple.

Aemond ruts into your thigh as he quickens the pace of his fingers intruding on your cunny to part through your walls. The vibration of his quiet moans stimulates your swollen peaks.

If this is not heaven, he doesn't wish for it.

Your fingers tangle in his silver hair when you arch your back to offer yourself to him. His eye meets your hooded gaze and sets himself to give you whatever you please. His thumb circles your pearl expertly, and he curls his digits to hit your spot more firmly.

You cry in pleasure with your hips, riding his fingers until you come with a shudder and his name on your lips. Your walls clamp down on his fingers hard enough it is hard for him to retrieve them.

Aemond rises from your chest and pinches your cheeks with his fingers that remain coated with your slick, prompting your mouth to open. A stream of your milk falls from his mouth to yours as he gives you a sweet taste.

You believe another orgasm rips through your body as his lips press against yours to share a sweet tasting kiss. His tongue invades your mouth, allowing you the pleasure of tasting yourself on his tongue.

"Please," you beg for him, spreading your legs wantonly.

One to indulge his wife in all pleasures, Aemond pulls you on top of him, "Take what you desire."

His cock is fully erect and begging for attention. The tip is swollen and flushed a deep pink as it leaks pre that beads down his shaft.

Aemond acknowledges you've reached your limit when his beautiful wife, who adores worshipping his cock on her knees, grabs his length and sinks onto him without a preamble.

"Go on, my love, you can take it," Aemond hisses as you try to lower yourself to take all of him. His hands grip your hips tightly, urging you on. He swears your walls continue to contract from your previous peak.

"Aemond, husband," you moan lewdly. Your hips tentatively begin bouncing on him, and your tits follow to Aemond's delight.

He's mesmerized by them and how they continue to leak. Aemond mouths one more aggressively, teasing your nipple with his tongue, nipping at the surrounding flesh to leave his mark. His hand massages the other, allowing droplets to fall down your abdomen and onto your cunt.

"My perfect wife, such a good mother," Aemond mutters, praising you, "Pretty tits always full and her cunny always wet."

You hold onto Aemond's strong shoulders, your nails leaving marks across his back. Your hips grind on him deliciously as your clit rubs against his pelvis.

"Aemond, please," you beg, quickening your pace. You're on the verge of yet another delicious peak. "I want another." You'll have as many as he wants as long as he treats you with this much attention.

Aemond kisses up your neck and growls in your ear, "I shall give you as many as you'd like."

Swiftly, he turns you so your back is to the bed. He hikes your thighs up around his waist and snaps his hips fiercely. You first the bedsheets around you as Aemond holds bruisingly against your hips and thighs.

He's close to his own peak as well. Aemond manages to hold back because of all the attention he's giving your tits, but his cock cannot take anymore, especially with how deliciously your walls wrap around him.

Aemond admires his perfect wife. Your hair fans out on the pillows, and your facial expression morphs into one of pure ecstasy as you come once more. Your breasts are less swollen, but your stiff peaks remain puffy and flushed from his attention. Your cunt chokes his cock, knowing exactly what it takes to please him.

His rhythmic thrusting begins to falter, so with a couple more jerks of his hips and a groan, he paints your insides white. "There we go, all for you."

"Thank you," you lilt, biting your lip at the sensation of being filled.

You giggle when he leans down to kiss all over your face, a laugh of his own reaching your ears.

The door creaking open wakes you up, bringing the sheets to your chest, you sit up. Aemond lets the bedsheet fall to his lap, ready to scold whoever dares interrupt his time with his wife.

A small blonde head peaks in, and a big grin unleashes on its lips when he sees his parents. Young Rhaegar toddles into the room, and his head is barely seen as he stands on the edge of the bed. His tiny hands try to grasp the edge, but he's still too small to get himself up.

Aemond reaches over to bring him up, pressing a kiss on his head, but Rhaegar happily crawls over Aemond and falls into your waiting arms.

Aemond's exposed sapphire earns no reaction. In fact, the eyepatch tends to catch his son's attention more. Aemond ensured that when his sons came into this world, he would greet them as he truly is.

You pepper kisses all over Rhaegar's face, and he giggles, squirming on your lap. While Baelor favored his father, Rhaegar was entirely yours. "What are you doing here, little dragon?" You ask him sweetly.

The nursemaid stepping through the open door answers your question, "Prince Aemond, Lady Hightower. My apologies, he scurried away before I could-"

"It is alright. You may leave us," Aemond says, waving his hand to dismiss her. The young girl bows her head, hiding her blushing cheeks, and scurries away without saying another word, aware of the compromising position of the Prince and his wife.

"My sweetest, why are you up so early?" You coo, threading your fingers through his messy hair that sticks up in all directions.

Rhaegar hides his face on your chest, mumbling, "Missed you."

You gasp dramatically, facing the young boy with a surprised expression. "You missed me? I missed you!" Your son laughs and presses a wet kiss to your cheek.

"What about me, little dragon?" Aemond asks, tickling his belly.

Rhaegar cutely shakes his head with a mischievous smile, squealing loudly when Aemond reaches for him and takes him into his own arms to tickle him.

"Mama!" Rhaegar's childlike laugh pierces the air as he asks for your help.

"You're going to get me in trouble," Aemond grumbles, playfully glaring at his son as he continues to tickle him.

"Mama!" Rhaegar repeats, pushing Aemond's hands away and waiting for you to scold Aemond or something.

You watch the interaction with a wide smile. It's nice to see Aemond this calm. "Give me back, my little dragon, or there are no more kisses for you," you threaten Aemond with a furrow of your eyebrows and a pout. Aemond abruptly stops and loosens his hold on the toddler.

Rhaegar laughs and throws himself in your arms, hugging your neck. His giggles never cease. Aemond winks at you and pulls you to lie on his chest.

"How about we go see Vhagar later?" Aemond asks Rhaegar who calmed down to a drowsy state. It's still very early for him to have been up. He must've had a bad dream.

"Sunfyre?" Rhaegar gasps, looking up at his father. Aemond rolls his eyes and nods. He guesses he can invite Aegon so his son can see the golden dragon.

"That's your favorite, isn't it?" You ask him amusedly, although you agree. Sunfyre is a beautiful dragon and much friendlier than Vhagar.

Rhaegar nods enthusiastically as he babbles about the pretty dragon. You lay with your back to Aemond's chest as he envelops you both with his arms.

At that moment, Aemond realizes he feels fulfilled with his little family by his side.

it was not part of the plan to let this oneshot be this long. there is something about the complexity of aemond's character that doesn't let me write something brief.

nonetheless this was a super fun oneshot to write. it took me the whole week because i was so busy but i had been thinking about it nonstop. i think i overdid it with the lactation part but oh well!

if you enjoyed this oneshot please don’t forget to like or comment (i accept aemond's sapphire, rhaenyra's crown, criston cole slander, emojis, words of encouragement, a lot of praise, virtual hugs and gushing about sunfyre and aegon) and if you want more of it feel free to let me know!

-nikki 🖤

[newtonsheffield]

Kate Sharma (Trouble) and Anthony (Edmund), Viscount Bridgerton in I fell in love with the fire long ago by Moomin_94 (newtonsheffield)

In some ways Kate had been lucky. In a lot of ways she’d been lucky in truth, even if it didn’t quite feel that way. A lot of people might not see it that way. They might not think it was lucky to have nothing but the middle name of a man who’d had so much sadness in his eyes when you’d sat down beside him in a bar with at least three empty glasses already in front of him. He’d barely looked towards her at first, which she’d been thankful for. There to have a quiet drink alone to celebrate the promotion she’d sunk so much time into that now felt a little hollow. He looked at her when she ordered, his eyes burning into the side of her face and she’d felt her stomach drop as she’d taken him in. A muscle clenched in the corner of his jaw and his hair was falling over his eyes as he stared at her.

“Are you commiserating or celebrating?”

His voice was like rough gravel and she found herself swallowing, “Celebrating. I got… exactly what I wanted, I guess. Got a promotion. I’m a solicitor.”

He nodded, “Congratulations.” He looked over to the bartender, “You can put it on my tab. Someone should be happy tonight.”

“Thank you.” Kate cleared her throat, “That’s nice of you.”

“Not really.” The man chuckled darkly, “Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m doing here?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious you’re commiserating.”

His laugh was much brighter than it probably should have been as it echoed through the bar, “I have a good reason to commiserate.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Kate settled in, enjoying the strange dynamic she was striking up. “Come on, what happened.”

He took a sip of his drink, “Today is the anniversary of my father’s death.”

Kate’s heart sank, “I’m so sorry.”

“I told you it was good.”

“That is cause for commiseration.” Kate agreed, “I really am sorry.”

“This promotion pretty big?” He was changing the conversation and she knew it but she let him do it.

“Yeah. Sort of. Just became junior partner.”

“Well, congratulations. I’m very excited for you, random beautiful woman.”

“I’ll tell you my name if you tell me yours.”

He frowned for a moment, “Why don’t you call me Edmund?“

“Edmund.” Kate found herself frowning, weighing it on his tongue, “You don’t look like an Edmund, it doesn’t suit you.”

“That’s what everyone says.” He inclined his head, “It’s my middle name. And you are?”

There was something about his gaze flicking over her that made her feel more and more bold as she took a sip of her own drink. “What do I look like.”

His teeth bit into his lip for a moment and his voice was even deeper, “Fucking trouble in that skirt.”

“Trouble it is then.”

They’d agreed in the morning, as they’d eaten breakfast awkwardly in the restaurant of the Savoy Hotel that neither of them were in the position for this to be anything. So she’d left with just his middle name and nothing else to go on with no idea that a month later she’d be staring at a positive pregnancy test with no way to contact the father of her child. Maybe that wasn’t lucky. Maybe it wasn’t lucky that she’d had nothing to give her son of his father but that name. Edmund, Neddy. But she felt lucky to have Neddy. Nearly three years old now and so beautiful it made her heart clench to look at him. she was lucky to have him. In some ways lucky that there was no traumatic break up to have dragged them all through even if Neddy was already asking questions about his Dad.

The very last place she expected to find Neddy’s father was sat on her mother’s couch with Neddy on her lap half paying attention to a viscount trying to build a new library in his constituency.

“Well, you see Rachel-”

Kate froze at the sound of his voice, her mouth falling open as her eyes fell on the man that had occupied so many of her thoughts the last three years.

Anthony, The television said. Viscount Bridgerton.

“Holy Fuck.”

“Bad word!” Neddy said as Edwina and Mary both stared at her.

“What?”

Kate swallowed, the words choking in her throat. “That’s N-E-D-D-Y’s D-A-D.”

This is probably the most unlucky she’s ever felt, walking into the office of her former one night stand turned unsuspecting father of her child armed with nothing but her diligent google search from the night before. He had a right to know. Kate told herself again. Even if he didn’t want anything to do with them, she wasn’t looking for anything from him anyway. He should know that he has a child.

“Can I help you?”

Kate tried to smile at the receptionist. “Hello, yes. I was wondering if I could… speak to the Viscount? Please?”

The woman’s eyes flicked over her. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I… I don’t but it’s… very important.”

The woman frowned, “Are you a friend of his? Does he know you?”

Kate swallowed, “I… He might not remember-”

A door opened down the corridor and footsteps made their way towards them. He looked almost the same, other than his suit being much neater and his hair not a mess. He was just as handsome as when he’d hugged her before she’d left the restaurant and his eyes lit up as his smile grew into a slow, lazy thing.

“Hello, trouble.”

Kate’s laugh was a choked little thing. “You have no idea”

Now on Ao3

[myremnantarmy]

"𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭, 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮."

[dacreshoney]

AUSTIN BUTLER X FEMALE READER

just a little bit obsessed with this man…. so I needed to make a fic, been sooo long but wanting to get back into it and seeing all these fanfics at the moment just got me in such a frenzy😂

Really hope you enjoy this:)

austinbutlersFansforever

liked by AustinBfans, y/nfan4 and 77,063 others

did everyone see the chemistry y/n and Austin butler had at the Dune conference this weekend, I ship this 😻

view all 65,022 comments

y/nfan4 how good do they look together!!! I stan them

butlerfans4life haven’t her and dacre split, it after they filmed elvis together??

y/nupdates yeah she confirmed they had both split but on good terms, you can totally see the chemistry between these two though 😻

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butlterfanupdates

liked by y/nfans, butlernews, E!news,yourusername and 67,988 others

E!news release new BTS vanity fair photos of Y/n and Austin butler, more rumours are flying about about the co stars! Do we think this is the look of love? I certainly do 😻

view all 67,922 comments

butlernews just look at them both, I can’t

y/nfans22 she just looks so happy, she really deserves someone who will cherish her, dacre certainly hasn’t, rumours he cheated on her🧐

Y/nfanXxfreya don’t y/n confirm that her and dacre are on good terms though?

ausfan12 just look at aus’s smile,looks like she really brings that cheeky grin out he’s been missing x

hater24 she really does live on quick doesn’t she???? 🙄

y/nshipper these haters^😂 BUT DID ANYONE NOTICE Y/N HAS LIKED THIS POST

aus22 OMGGG

yourusername

Liked by zendaya,kaiagruber,Austinbutler and 677,098 others

Austin got a little peckish during todays shoot

view all 500,062 comments

Ynfans234 SHITTTT this is hot

Aussy224 OBSESSED WITH YOUT BOTH I CANT

Austinbutler you just smell and taste so good x

Zendaya replied: austin man😂

Austibutler replied: too much?…🤔

austinbutlernews HOLY FUCK^ Austin with the kinky comments 😩

y/nlife25 I think I’m going to pass out…

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E!news

Liked by yourusername, austinbutler, bazlurmhan,dacremontgomery and 799,000 others

It’s official, the couple we’ve all been waiting for y/n and Austin butler have confirmed they are an item and tonight’s golden globes, with Austin picking up his award he dedicated his speech to the wonderful y/n. His direct words were:

“ there are so many people i wanna thank tonight, Lisa Marie, Priscilla, I love you and thank you so much for letting me portray the most important man in your lives,I also want to thank my family,my mom who I know is smiling down at me always but The most special to me, my love y/n, I am I love with you, your support throughout this entire journey is something I will try reciprocate the rest of our lives. Your dedication and love is what has got me through, our journeys were meant to cross and I couldn’t imagine doing this life without you by my side, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for the love you give me, so this is for you”

We truly are so happy for the new couple. view all 623,000 comments

Y/NFan23 FINALLY, anyone noticed dacre has liked this post? Jealousyyy

austinbutler my love 💞 @yourusername

yourusername replied: always x

Zendaya thank god the cats out the bag, love you guys

Ashleytisdale waiting for the wedding, in awe of you both 💍🩵

Austinbutler replied: I definitely won’t be keeping her waiting💍…

Austinfans4life was this a dig at dacre^ shots fired 😂

[useless-catalanfacts]

Did you know that there is a European republic that bans entry to women and female animals, and until 2005 also banned entry to Catalan people?

This place is the Monastic Republic of Mount Athos, a theocratic autonomic republic in Greece. It's an Orthodox Christian religious centre that covers about 33,000 hectares and is inhabited by around 1,400 monks in 20 monasteries. In the 16th century, it had reached 30,000 monks in population, and right before the First World War it still had 9,000.

It was founded in the Early Middles Ages, and has been given autonomy since the times of the Byzantine Empire. Since the very beginning, in the year 1046, their laws have forbidden entry to any woman, child, and female animal with the only exception of egg-laying chicken, because they consider that women and female animals must be kept out to preserve the holiness of the site and to keep the male inhabitants away from temptation.

The reason for banning Catalans dates back to the Middle Ages, too. In 1303, the Byzantine Empire was being invaded by the Ottoman Turks. They needed help to fight against them, so the Byzantine emperor Andronikos II asked the Sicilian king for help. The Sicilian king sent him the Great Catalan Company, an army of 4,000 Catalan and Aragonese mercenaries (almogàvers) and 39 ships, led by the commander Roger de Flor. The Byzantine emperor already knew Roger de Flor, because Roger had served him when he was a Templar knight. Roger was a very respected and admired fighter with an impressive career, and he also spoke Greek. The emperor and Roger reached an agreement, Roger was nominated Megaduke and married to the emperor's niece, Mary of Bulgaria.

The Great Catalan Company was successful in their job: they fought off the Turks and gave all the land the Turks had recently taken back to the Byzantine Empire. But not everything went well: the Byzantine emperor did not pay the mercenaries what they were promised, and the mercenaries were cruel to the population. In 1305, the emperor's son Michael (co-regent of the empire) called all the mercenaries to Adrianopolis, bringing together 9,000 men of different origins. Even though last year Michael had refused to meet him, Roger de Flor went to pay homage to him again. This time, Michael welcomed him and invited him to a banquet with the leaders of the two other mercenary groups. During the banquet, following Michael's orders, the leader of the Alan mercenaries assassinated Roger de Flor and all the men who accompanied him, and dismembered Roger de Flor's body. It is said that Michael ordered exterminating all the members of the Catalan Company.

Obviously, this caused a scandal among the surviving Catalan-Aragonese troops. They answered this betrayal by declaring war against the Byzantine Empire, and sacked many parts of Greece, murdering and setting fire to many places they found on their way to Constantinoble. This terrible event became known as The Catalan Revenge. The revenge was particularly cruel against the rich monk communities, who the mercenaries brutally attacked to steal their riches and then set the monasteries on fire. The monks of Mount Athos say that the Catalan mercenaries burned 26 monks alive. The horrible revenge left a mark in the memory of Greek and Albanian people. In Albania, the word for "Catalan" became the word for "monster". Meanwhile, the theocratic government of Mount Athos banned any Catalan person from entering their territory.

Albanian book titled "Catalan", based on an Albanian folk story that depicts Catalans as monsters.

The mercenaries' cruelty only stopped when the influential Catalan doctor and intellectual Arnau de Vilanova and the Catalan king James II begged them to stop.

Mount Athos' law prohibiting Catalan people lasted for 700 years, until 2005. That year, the Government of Catalonia apologized for the events that their fellow countrymen did 700 years ago. The Catalan government paid 240,000€ for the reparation of a Mount Athos monument that had been destroyed by the mercenaries' revenge, and sent an embassy to Greece to have a reparation ceremony, which was welcomed by the Greek government, too. This way, the law was abolished.

Sources: UNESCO, National Geographic, newspapers from 2005.