#ulf stark

[nooowestayandgetcaught]

hotd characters + "can you buy me pads" meme (1/2)

[hopestrope]

Poll of the Dragon #27

[kjwaikiki]

Hotd Jace centric idea:

Jace did not react to Ulf and Hugh Hammer well and I can understand why. Also I know what they do in the books so while it looks like the tv show is making them more nuanced and palatable to the audience Jace is still my #1.

That being said I have an idea. Jace is a big brother, in my mind that is a very big part of who he is, and now one of his brothers is dead and the rest have been or will be sent away. He is effectively alone being kept away from the war with only Baela for company, but even Baela can’t be there very often as she has to patrol.

This brings me to my idea. Ulf and Hugh need someone to teach them how to be dragon riders and with no one else available it falls to Jace. Jace is not very happy about this but he is dutiful so he will do it. However, Jace is not the most patient teacher and often snaps at Hugh and Ulf when they don’t pick things up very quickly. Eventually Ulf and Hugh get sick of this and impatient to actually mount their dragons (Jace has mostly been teaching them Valyrian, how to direct their dragon, and the history of House Targaryen). Somehow they are able to mount Silverwing and Vermithor but things start to go wrong. Hugh can’t control Vermithor and Ulf is hanging onto Silverwing by a thread and bloodying his hands in the process.

Jace comes to their rescue and is able to corral Silverwing and Vermithor to land. He goes off on Hugh and Ulf berating them for being so stupid and lecturing them on how they could have been killed or killed someone else and how dragons are not pets or tools. He ends the lecture by telling them to show him their hands. Jace is not pleased to see Ulf’s bloody palms and while Hugh’s hands are better off (he has more callouses than Ulf) they are still scratched up. Jace goes to his saddle bags, pulls out some ointment and bandages and treats their wounds.

This shifts something in their dynamic as Ulf and Hugh are surprised that Jace is taking the time and effort to take care of their wounds. Jace is mostly just annoyed at the two men’s foolishness but doesn’t see anything odd about looking after them as they are his responsibility. Before he is done Jace states that he will not tell anyone what they tried to do and he’ll make the necessary excuses to the Queen but he expects them both to never do something so foolish again and for them to actually pay attention to their lessons now.

Ulf and Hugh do go to lessons now and are a bit bolder with Jace now. This means that they are both more likely to ask questions now than they were before. Ulf because he now believes Jace will help him and Hugh because he is no longer afraid Jace will report him to his Queen mother for every grievance. Jace answers all their questions even if some of his answers are curt.

I imagine their relationship shifts even more when one of them asks Jace why they need to learn this. If it’s Ulf he is asking out of genuine curiosity and if it is Hugh it is because he is annoyed and slightly confrontational. Jace gives them two answers the first is that the Queen has accepted them as dragon riders and this has accepted them into House Targaryen, they will have an education worthy of House Targaryen (Rhaenyra did not mean to do this but I think Jace would have a little better perspective on this matter, he would know that after the war they can’t just send them back to what they were before). The second reason is that they will be going to war and as Crown Prince he will see them prepared, he will not allow another dragon rider to perish to Vhagar’s jaws.

This makes both Hugh and Ulf look at Jace differently. Suddenly they don’t see an arrogant and perpetually annoyed princeling, instead they see a young man who has lost his brother and is desperately fighting to keep what remains of his family alive. For a moment they see how afraid Jace actually is but they also see how determined he is, at that moment they swear their is fire in the prince’s eyes.

Ulf is much more willing to listen and follow Jace after that and sings his praises to anyone who will listen. This causes Jace to soften a bit towards Ulf. However, Hugh is still wary of Jace. The big revelation their relationship is when, for some reason, Ulf, Hugh, and Jace get drunk together. Ulf is passed out so it is just Hugh and Jace still drinking. Hugh has some liquid courage in him so he asks if the reason Jace doesn’t like them is because of their silver hair.

Jace is a bit taken aback but the drink has actually mellowed his temper and looking at Hugh’s face he can’t seem to muster up any anger. Instead, Jace tells Hugh that he grew up with Aegon and Aemond and that when they were young he used to follow after Aegon everywhere, that he idolized his uncle. Of course later after Driftmark any goodwill vanished but they were still family. Now, his brother and Princess Rhaenys are dead because of Aemond and Jace has no doubt that the rest of his family will follow if the Greens have their way. Jace goes on to say that he doesn’t hate them but that they have dragons and the Targaryen looks, if the uncles he grew up with could betray them that badly what is to say that two strangers won’t do the same. In a way Hugh and Ulf are even more dangerous because they have no reason to be loyal and their dragons could kill them all much easier than Vhagar who is all the way in King’s Landing and who everyone is watching out for.

Hugh is a bit taken aback. He asks Jace if he believes they will betray him because they aren’t true born. Jace actually snorts and says that he isn’t that much of a hypocrite. He goes on to say that he doesn’t know them and that regardless of his own personal feelings he has to protect his family (the unspoken bit is that he has to protect them if no one else will, Daemon is not here and Rhaenyra is not making the best decisions in who to trust at this point in time).

There is a shift between Hugh and Jace, a new found understanding. If nothing else Hugh respects Jace more now than he did before. Jace continues to train them and as the time when they set out to war get closer he becomes more exacting. Ulf and Hugh don’t complain as they know now that Jace is trying to give them the best chance of coming back alive. Right before they fly out Jace presents them with expensive riding gear in shades of black and weaved through with chain mail, expensive leather gloves to protect their hands, new boots, dragon glass dagger, and small pins made of Valyrian steel in the shape of a three headed dragon with rubies for eyes.

Ulf and Hugh are touched and Ulf hugs Jace while Hugh gives him a respectful nod. Jace gives him an awkward nod back and tells them to watch out for arrows and to remember that dragons are not pets or tools. They part there and Ulf and Hugh go to war where they are actually two of Jace’s most outspoken supporters. A lot of people are doubtful about Rhaenyra’s reign and Ulf and Hugh try to reassure everyone by saying that Jace will be a great king.

I like to think that Ulf and Hugh do well and eventually the question is brought to Rhaenyra about what will be done about them. Addam is going to be Corlys’ heir but what about Ulf and Hugh? Rhaenyra is very vague and just says that they will be rewarded. Jace however speaks up and says that there will be empty keeps and lordships available after this, and that as dragon riders of House Targaryen they should be rewarded with a keep.

This sparks a fight between Jace and Rhaenyra as she thinks that giving Ulf and Hugh lordships wills upset their allies and that it is enough that Ulf and Hugh will be given gold and possibly stewardship of a keep. Jace points out that they can’t just expect Ulf and Hugh to be content with a few gold dragons and being hidden away in a keep after the war is done. By her actions Rhaenyra has ensured that Hugh and Ulf will always be linked to House Targaryen, and giving them keeps and a title mitigates them as a political threat as it keeps them content and acknowledges their service to the crown. Jace and Rhaenyra go back and forth a bit with the argument ending in a stalemate and neither person happy.

Somehow the argument reaches Ulf and Hugh on the frontline and while neither are happy with Rhaenyra but everything they hear about how Jace defended them just cements their loyalty and good opinion of him (the tale has been a little distorted by the time it reaches Ulf and Hugh. Now it sounds as if Rhaenyra wanted them to be sent back to where they came from with a few gold coins while Jace pushed for them to be elevated to Lord Paramounts). It also helps that everything Jace has taught them, all his advice, and even his gifts has saved both Ulf and Hugh’s life more than a few times from an arrow or an ambush while they have been at war.

I imagine that the story progresses with Ulf and Hugh becoming more and more loyal and devoted to Jace while Jace has to constantly defend Ulf and Hugh from other people (at some point Jace has assumed responsibility for the two men, they aren’t his brothers or even family but they are part of House Targaryen and as Crown Prince he has a duty to see them taken care of). At the same time Ulf and Hugh grow more disillusioned and discontent with Rhaenyra with only their loyalty to Jace tying them to the Queen’s cause.

Of course eventually Jace dies at the Battle of the Gullet and everything falls apart. Rhaenyra’s response to her heirs death is to hole up in Dragonstone which endears her to no one but least of all to Ulf and Hugh. The two men want blood and they blame the Triarchy and Rhaenyra for Jace’s death. In their minds Rhaenyra should have ordered someone else to go, gone herself, or provided more dragons and ships. It boggles their minds that Jace and Vermax were brought down by a few arrows and so they have constructed a narrative where it is not only the Triarchy’s fault but also Rhaenyra’s and the Blacks.

Some men, like Cregan Stark, still follow Rhaenyra to honor Jace. However Ulf and Hugh resent Rhaenyra and eventually betray the Blacks. In the end they twist everything Jace said and did for them and interpret it as them having just as much right to the throne as Rhaenyra. Jace did say that they were dragon riders of House Targaryen and Jace taught them everything they know about dragons and House Targaryen, surely one of them would be a worthier heir than Rhaenyra or one of the Greens. Inevitably they die.

I don’t really know where I was or am going with this. I just really like the idea of a Jace who comes into his own by teaching and looking after someone else after all his brothers are either dead or sent away. I like the idea of Jace being a good King and leader and that many people followed Rhaenyra because of Jace. That begs the question though of what happens when one of the big reasons people supported you is gone?

[tereshkina]

been sitting on part 2 here u go

part 1

[irmawrites]

Requests are open!

I've been in a bit of a writing slump lately, but I'd like to get back into it. So I've decided to open up my requests to more fandoms and characters! In addition to House of the Dragon, you can send me ideas for The Last Kingdom and Vikings. I would love to write for the following characters:

House of the Dragon : Aegon Targaryen, Aemond Targaryen, Gwayne Hightower, Otto Hightower, Ser Criston Cole, Cregan Stark, Jacaerys Velaryon, Ulf the White, Davos Blackwood and Martyn Reyne. 

The Last Kingdom : Uhtred, Finan, Sihtric, Sigtryggr, and Rognvaldr. 

Vikings : Ivar, Hvitserk, Ubbe, Bjorn, King Harald Finehair, and Ragnar. 

I'm happy to write SFW as well as NSFW, but of course I reserve the right to refuse a request if it contains anything illegal (although I do write Targaryen incest in the HotD universe) or that I'm uncomfortable with.

Don't be shy, ask away <3

[stannis-is-my-king]

ОвощевозАУ по ДД.

Джейс и Криган. Джейс больше по поп музыке, Криган по року. У Кригана репутация тугодума, на самом деле он просто подыгрывает Джейсу. Кроме тех случаев, когда тема "Металл-баллады". Тут он безоговорочный король.

Эймонд и Эйгон. Эймонд угадывает все с одной секунды. Но даже в те моменты, когда Эйгон первым нажимает кнопку, фигачит по его ладони сверху. Где-то к десятому выпуску Эйгон с удивлением обнаружил, что они соперники, а не команда.

Деймон и Алис. Когда-то Деймон был чемпионом, но потом его посадили в пере с Алис. Алис знает все и может еще фактов докинуть. Есть мнение, что ей нужен более сильный соперник (Эймонд).

Кристон и Гвейн. Всегда устраивают эпичную дуэль за кнопку, забывая при этом, что надо еще и музыку угадывать. Зато выигрывают в командных выпусках, повсященных упоротой фигне.

Хью и Ульф. Новички, вообще не вдупляют, что проиходит. Один постонно перебирает все возможные варианты, включая те, что даже не близко. Другой боится ошибиться даже когда наверняка знает ответ.

Рейниры и Алисенты здесь нет, потому что они организаторы и сидят за кадром.

[earthyleo]

so... hotd is oficially a comedy series now?

[damn-stark]

Next in chapter 18

Catch up to understand!!

Chapter 17 And now we are one

Chapter 17 of Moonlight

A/N- Peak soulmatism unlocked: Both having mommy issues

Warning- Swearing, talks of pregnancy, blood, violence, death, ANGST!!, FLUFF!!, SPOILERS, LONG CHAPTER.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode- 2x08 & 2 scenes used from 1x07

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

The truth lies behind that door. With her, the Red Priestess—or more so the fire is imbued with the wisdom of the past, the future, and every single second that lives around you.

You need to know if it’s true that Addam and Alyn are your grandfather's bastards, and you know he won’t tell you so you have to go to the one person who will. But…a part of you does not want to find out. You'll undoubtedly get the truth when you ask, and when you find out then you will be plagued with the fear that yet another title will be taken from your grasp.

Then again you also won’t rest easy if you don’t know, it will be like a splinter in a finger, you can’t get it out but you feel it embedded under your skin. It’ll be pestering, so you need to know. You must.

But you need to know alone.

“Stay here, Ser’s,” you order your sworn protectors, but as easy as it is for Ser Jason to listen, Ser Cane is not as obedient, in the sense that he’s overprotective.

“Really, I will be fine she will not hurt me,” you insist and step back towards the house with the red door, but Ser Cane still does not seem convinced in letting you enter that house alone.

Thus you try to ease that furrowed brow. “Give me ten minutes. If I am not out by then you can go in after me, hm?”

Ser Cane's pierced glare drifts to the red door and he hesitates before he groans and nods in comprehension, letting you let out a deep breath before you turn on your heels and approach the red door. Albeit when you’re standing in front of that door, you raise your hand and fist it, but don’t let your knuckles rap on the door.

You hesitate and nervously watch the door with deep breaths escaping from your lips. In that moment, focusing on a rather insignificant detail on the door to distract yourself from what’s to come, which is the chipped red paint unveiling white wood.

White wood like the one you find from Weirwood trees. It’s unmistakable.

Huh.

“How odd,” you muse and brush the tip of your finger on the softened wood.

You’ve never seen a door made of weirwood.

A sharp cry of a babe then breaks the silence behind the chipped red door and pulls you back to why you’re here, and it’s not to study this beautiful door. You’re here to see Kinvara, so you draw out a deep breath and announce your sudden visit with a knock.

A minute of silence passes before a familiar voice invites you inside. A voice you want to question, but it also captivates you right away so you let it lure you in, finding that Kinvara does not come to welcome you inside, you just mindlessly open the door.

Once you’re inside you’re not greeted by the cold abandonment, a cozy warmth radiating from two tall fire columns at either side of the red door welcomes you inside, not Kinvara, she’s nowhere in sight. Yet the cries of the babes still echo from a nearby room, and sniffles now accompany it, as if the person who invited you inside is crying with the baby. But who is it?

“Kinvara?” You call out and close the door behind you without looking back. You just close the red door behind you and your feet follow the cries of the babe until you walk past long red drapes, and reach a hall with a single white-wooded table in the center and on top of it a fire bowl with an intense fire dancing within.

“Kinvara?” You call out again and look around the hall, but darkness seeps out of every corridor you look at except for the corridor you just walked down, forcing you to stay put where you stand and wait?

She did call you in. Or someone did.

The babe is still crying, and sniffling and soft weeping make their way into your ears, but now it sounds louder. As if you’re in the same room, but where are they? There’s nothing here but the white-wooded table and the fire.

“Kinvara, where—”

“Laenor?”

Every muscle in your body paralyzes, and your breath catches in your throat.

Did you just hear right? Did someone call your father's name?

Your eyes frantically search the hall, but all you find are shadows and specks of dust that float within the light that reflects on every wall.

“Rhaenyra!”

That’s…your father’s voice. No matter how long you’ve lived without him you will always recognize his voice, it’s recorded in your memories forever, so you know right away that you hear your father call out for your mother from inside the flames.

There’s no mistaking where the voices come from, they don’t echo off the walls anymore. It comes from the flames and no amount of warnings that your mind throws at you keeps your eyes from flying to the fire.

You focus your gaze on the fire and right away you forget who you came in search of, you forget the reason you even came; the truth you seek, and entrap all your attention in the flames that paint a vivid image of your mothers old quarters of when she lived in the Red Keep. It’s unmistakable, you see every detail clearly, not misty, or blurred by some dreamy screen, it’s as if you’re actually standing inside, living in the moment that the fire conjures up for you.

But what moment is it? There are some items in the room that you no longer recognize. It’s decorated a bit differently since you last remember, and a cradle sits in the room. People are inside as well, one you recognize as Grand Maester Orwyle, and an armada of handmaidens and wet nurses frantically pacing all over the room, but mainly they gather around the bed, blocking the view of the one they’re tending to.

“A girl,” your father's voice travels out from the group around the bed and catches you by surprise again, but this time rather than being struck with disbelief, you’re completely captivated with relief and awe that you get to hear his voice again. It’s been so long since you’ve heard his sweet voice. You missed it so much.

All you want to do now is follow it, so you do as if entranced by his voice, and once you're past the sea of bodies you come to find your mother on the bed…

“Mama,” your voice trembles, but she does not hear. No one does, life is moving all around you. It’s like you’re a ghost watching over this moment in time when your mother is not the woman that you know now. This version of her is still her but she’s younger in appearance. A lot younger, but still very beautiful. She actually looks around your age.

She probably is…

Which means that the bundle she’s cradling in her arms is…you?

You notice specks of silver-white hair peeking out of the blanket, but that’s all, everything else is covered with the blanket. But you don’t really need to break your head to know it must be you, your mother was young when she had you.

“She,” your mother cries as she rocks you to try and calm you down. “She was not breathing when she came out. She-she…” she trails off and once again her weeping fills the room.

This time though she does not cry for long, she’s quickly cooed at. “She’s breathing now. Look at her, she's crying now. She's okay. She’s alive. Our girl is alive.”

It's your father, you see him now. You were so focused on the image of your mother that you did not notice him sitting on the edge of the bed until now. He’s here, and just like your mother, he’s younger too, but unlike before now tears slowly escape out of your eyes and roll down the curve of your cheeks, whilst a smile trembles on your lips.

“Father,” you whimper and walk closer to him.

Albeit just as you put your hand out a louder voice catches your attention. One you recognize right away as your mother's voice, but not the voice that greeted you inside, this one sounds more mature, like the voice that belongs to her now. “I need you, Uncle.”

Just like before you’re entranced to follow the voice with little control of your own body, finding yourself approaching the balcony of your mother's room.

“<I cannot face the greens alone. They are already sending my only daughter away from me,>” your mother's voice continues to travel out, but this time her words are in High Valyrian and full of desperation. “<Let us bind our blood, just as Aegon the Conqueror did with his sisters.>”

You want to stop approaching the balcony as the words she says push out that bliss you were just overcome with and instead start filling you with anxiety as you don’t know what you’re walking to exactly. Yet your feet keep moving towards the balcony.

“<With you as my husband and Prince consort, my claim would not be so easily challenged.>”

Your breathing punctures as her words hit your ears and your mind slowly finds the meaning behind them.

“<The Velaryons are of the sea, but you and I are made of fire.>”

No…no…please.

You finally reach the balcony doors and no matter how much you want to stop and stay inside secured by the safety of the unknown, you walk out and right away you’re transported to a vast scenery; one with open water stretching out for miles, a boat sailing away in the distance with three dragons accompanying it, while there before you stands your mother as you know her now, and Daemon Targaryen overlooking the beautiful sea.

“<We have always been meant to burn together>.”

“We could not marry unless Laenor were dead,” Daemon breaks his silence to remind your mother of a cruel wicked fact. A fact she’s not phased by. A fact that you see did not slip her mind.

“I know,” she mutters.

It seems that she had already thought about it herself before Daemon even spoke it out loud for her and the sea to hear.

“I will not be a tyrant and rule through terror,” your mother continues to say, and your mind continues to unravel what all this means. Your heart tries hard to keep you from taking it all in, but your mind is persistent in hurting you.

“A tyrant rules only through terror,” Daemon clarifies for her. “If the King isn’t feared he is powerless. If you are to be a strong Queen, you must cultivate love and respect, yes, but your subjects must fear you.”

“I do love Laenor. He gave me my daughter.” Your mother’s words now also tug at your aching heart, making it start to bleed.

“Then grant him this kindness. Set him free,” Daemon says, making you shake your head and back up with disbelief now also consuming your heart.

“This will cost Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys their only remaining child,” your mother keeps feeding into this evil idea.

She is the one who brought it up but you still want her to refuse it. She needs to. Please…

“And it will cost my daughter…her father,” she tears at your heart now, making streams of tears flow down your face.

“She will be away by then,” Daemon attempts to comfort your mother who has her head down to watch as she fiddles with her rings, and hides tears that are born for you and the pain that she knows his death would cause you.

“The realm will whisper that I was somehow responsible,” your mother brings up, and Daemon is quick to retort.

“Let them whisper.”

But she couldn’t have. She wasn’t the one who…who…killed your father. No. It was always just supposed to be Daemon out of selfish greed. It was always just supposed to be him.

“We will know the truth of it,” Daemon continues. “And our enemies won’t.”

“They will fear what else we might be capable of,” your mother adds and only reassures your bleeding heart that she—that she always had a hand in taking your father away from you. She worked with Daemon to get rid of your beloved father, she’s the reason you knew heartbreak, she’s the reason you mourned alone, why you hated singing for five years of your life, she…

And all to marry some old man! All just to be with him!

Yes, you heard her reasoning, but you can’t accept it. You can’t accept it over your sorrow and new coming grief. All you know now is that she killed your father just to be with Daemon. She…

Why are you seeing this?! Why?!

“Let me out!” You beg and plead with all your might, but you linger there in torture. “Let me out! Please,” you whimper and turn away to stop seeing the horrible sight, but rather than seeing some stone wall, suddenly the day is swallowed by the night and you’re no longer on a stone bridge. Now you’re standing on sand, covered in darkness, looking at a cloaked man loading a boat that’s waiting to reunite with the ship in the distance. It seems like it’s just you and the distant stranger, but only seconds later you’re proved wrong when hurried footsteps approach.

You don’t want to look back when you hear the running footsteps, you fear what you will see, but your head turns and a hooded person runs by not letting you see their face.

You try to quickly walk after them, however, when that hooded person jumps on the boat with the stranger, they rip their hood off and you’re left horrified as you see your father for a second before you’re pulled from the past and returned to reality, causing the once bleeding heart to shatter.

That untouchable, cherished, and glorified image of your father completely crumbles. Love turns to ash and from it rises hate and rage because now you know that your mother did not kill your father, but she did let you grieve for a living man for six years.

After all this time he was never gone, she did not actually kill him, nor did Daemon kill him, he was alive and she knew. She hid the truth to live a happy life with Daemon. And your father…you’re ever so beloved father that you loved with all your heart, that you grieved for, never died, he…

He…left on his own will. He was not forced, it does not seem that way from what you saw. He left because he agreed to. He left you…behind. He left you.

He left. She lied. And they both broke your heart. The people who were meant to protect your heart, who are never supposed to hurt you, betray you in the worst way possible. In a way that even tops what Aemond did.

They broke your heart and you’re left numb now staring at the flames still raging in the bowl.

You can’t feel a thing anymore. Not your heart shattering, not your world coming apart, and not your rage pumping through your blood. It’s all quiet and it’s all dark. You stand in the abyss with only the raw memories of pain surrounding you, belittling you, ripping you apart limb by limb until there’s nothing left. It’s what makes it easy to turn your body around and slowly make your way out.

Yet as you reach the door and before you can let your sworn protectors know peace by showing you’re alive and physically unharmed, you come to a sudden halt as agony and despair tackle you before you’re free from the house; weakening you as they come together, leaving you unable to catch a breath even if your jaw goes slack, silencing your sobs even as hot streams of tears rush down your face, and bringing with them, writhing pain.

It hurts. It all hurts so much. The memories and the faces of your mother and your father flash in your head and the pain intensifies. It grows louder, making the rushing blood throb in your ears and tipping the limit you can handle.

It all falls apart. You fall apart and the only way you can let it out is with a heartbroken cry of despair that hurts your throat and sends your body thrashing to one side to express your anger by swinging down the fire column on one side of the door before taking down the other.

You don’t stop there, you can’t stop there, you try to, you wander around to try and calm down, but it keeps throbbing and it keeps hurting, so when you end up at the hall with the bowl of fire, you hurl it off the table in a blinding rage.

It’s only after the fire hits the ground and bounces on the long drapes that the anger liberates you, but now your sorrow takes over, and like coming down from an adrenaline rush, you’re left trembling, out of breath, and weak. You think of leaving, but your misery pulls you down to your knees, and has you looking numbly at the rapid fire that does not hesitate eating away at everything in its path. Nor does it debate or wait to combine with the line of fire that the fallen columns created at the entrance.

The fires unite and entrap you in their beautiful destruction before they too begin to eat away at you.

It’s not like you care though, and it’s not like the fire hurts you. It just eats away at the gown you once loved because it was made from rich fabrics only found in Yi-Ti. You should care for the sworn protectors you forced to stay outside, but that worry does not cross your mind either even if all they can worry about is you.

Once you cried out Ser Jason and Ser Cane rushed to the door to try and go to your aid, but the fire you threw down forbade them from opening the door. And no matter how hard they pushed the door they could not get the column in the way to budge away from the door. They tried yelling at you, but those shouts hit a paralyzed husk of a body.

After a while of trying to get the door open, flames then began to consume the door, creating cracks, but that was not enough for them to take it down. Actually, the fire shoved them away, so they were left desperate, trying to frantically find another way in, but the fire grew quick and blocked any and every entrance they could’ve used, making them believe that they failed at their jobs to protect you.

Whereas Ser Cane stared at the burning house in horror and disbelief, Ser Jason fell to his knees feeling the same emotions but also riddled with terror over one single person; Daemon Targaryen. He would fear Aemond too, he looks at Ser Jason as if he wants to kill him with his glare alone, but in truth, Daemon is more terrifying than Aemond ever could be. Besides Daemon threatened Ser Jason, he demanded to keep you alive or it was head; and as he looks at the fire's rage intensifying and consuming more and more of the house before him, he knows that his death sentence is signed.

That’s why he then has the bright idea to escape though. He doesn’t want to die, not for your sake. No matter how captivating you are to him, he does not want to die because of something you did. Thus he makes sure that Ser Cane’s attention is still stolen by the burning house before he gets up from his knees and plans his escape through the gathering crowd watching the scene unfold.

Nevertheless, just before he can take his first step the door to the burning house is opened just a little before it crumbles, revealing none other than you emerging from the lively and rageful flames completely unscarred, with all your limbs intact, and with your silver-white hair untouched. You don’t even cry out for help, you stop under the blazing doorway with streams of tears marked on your soot-covered face, and a piercing glare that matches the fire's intensity.

At first, no one believed it was really you. Not Ser Jason, not Ser Cane, and not the smallfolk there being nosy. To them, you’re some divine apparition ready to join the gods in the heavens until the sound of a piercing roar breaks through the sky, and moves your eyes up to catch your grand purple dragon emerging from the thick smoke ascending from the burning house.

After that, as your dragon lands on a nearby house not crumbling down by flames, everyone watching knows it’s really you. You're unharmed. You’re unburnt and only gods are not burnt by fire; that’s what the smallfolk and Ser Jason think. That’s what they believe you are now as the fire burns around you without as much as marking your skin. A terrifying God. So what do you do when you see a god emerging from flames?

Fear them, while also getting on their knees to bow, fearing being damned if they don’t.

However, not everyone is riddled with fear, Ser Cane stills in front of the crowd. He sees the distress behind your piercing glare, he notes that you’re completely exposed to everyone watching, so he rips his cape from his back and runs towards you.

You notice his attempt and meet him halfway. When he covers your body that intimidation you just held falters and all he sees is a hurt girl yearning for comfort.

“Can we go home?” You ask hoarsely and avoid looking at everyone behind him trying to gawk at you. “I want to go see Aemond.”

Ser Cane is still baffled by what he saw, by you being alive in general, but he doesn’t fret nodding in agreement before he wraps his arm around your shoulders to protect you from the nearing crowd as he guides you back to your horse.

He is completely uncertain how your heart is still beating, how you escaped the fire nude but unburnt, but he does not question it as uncertain as he is. While you…well with all that transcended, after you were swallowed up by the fire, one thing is certain; fire killed the girl, and the dragon has awakened.

Right now it’s just balled up in a corner of yourself, writhing in an agonizing heartache, and unaware and unbothered of the life moving around you. People talk to you when you reach the Red Keep, but even the sweet voice of Vanessa does not penetrate the husk of the body you live in.

People tend to you, your limbs move but with no effort. It’s almost like you’re not even alive, there’s no light in your eyes. They’re dull like that of the dead, reflecting the darkness that drowns you from within and shoves you further and further down an abyss that doesn’t seem to have an escape.

What are you supposed to feel now that you know your father left you? Where do you belong now that you know your own mother lied to you for six years? What is life now that you learned the truth?

Do you go back as you were? Sending your mother secret letters of every plan the Greens make?

You think about it, think about her, and can’t imagine pretending like you aren’t affected by her treachery. But you also look at where you are and can’t imagine even supporting Aegon or what his faction stands for, so where do you belong now?

Do you stand in the middle of the parted line and wait for which arrow hits you first? Do you pretend like you learned nothing?

No, you can’t pretend you don’t know that your mother lied for six years. You can’t pretend you don’t know that your father actually abandoned you, because that truth is crueler than any other pain you have felt before; it’s agonizing, and it keeps drowning you in an abyss of hate.

You want to get out. You don’t want to hate, you don’t want the memory of your father to be tainted, but…it’s too late. You look back at every piece of memory you share with him and it’s polluted by betrayal…and hate. His face is no longer a comfort, his voice is no longer soothing, and that deep longing to see him again is abandoned.

His name is like poison in your mouth. The love, ash, and those damn colors that remind you of him; the colors of house Velaryon are a reminder of him and you can’t stand looking at the gowns you have made of them. You can’t look at the sigil proudly. You can’t stand it. It’s mocking you, reminding you that he left and you can’t stand it!

Thus in a flash of a second, you rip away from the seat Vanessa guided you toward to wipe the soot off your face and storm over to yank the silver, teal, and sea-green gowns from your trunks and hangers to throw them down the balcony. You take the jewelry with the Velaryon house sigil and throw it in the fire without care.

Every single thing that reminds you of your father is thrown in the fire or thrown off the balcony in a blinding rage and with thick angry tears attacking your eyes.

Vanessa tries to calm you down, she tries to stop you, but you shove past her without a care, as if you are a raging storm; electrifying, and dangerous by the minute as you feed off your rage.

You need salvation and Vanessa can only think of one person that will break the storm apart and bring you peace, but he’s miles away, so she tries to be that peace, but you don’t acknowledge her. You actually seem to get worse so it all starts to seem bleak.

That is until the doors are thrown open and in comes Aemond. Yet even when he walks in you fail to acknowledge him. He calls out for you again and again, but you don’t stop throwing things in the fire, or yelling what you have been yelling over and over again. “Traitor! Traitor!”

You spin around to grab something without batting an eye at him, so Aemond quickly rushes over to you and attempts to grab you.

“Leave me alone!” You bellow and try to push his hands off your arms, you try to break away from him fearing it’s your own father, but his grip turns firm before he yanks you towards him, causing you to break from your blinding rage and find him like a sunlight breaking through a storm.

“Aemond,” you gasp as if he’s your lost breath.

His blue eye searches you for any clue as to why you’re so distressed, finding grief and agony raging within your red and teary eyes.

“He,” your voice quivers but you can’t say more, your lips part but they start to tremble, while the body Aemond holds starts to give out, as if standing was extenuating to your withered heart.

Albeit Aemond holds you up, while you grab ahold of his arms. “Talk to me,” he whispers while your own sorrow begins to hurt him.

And you try, you part your lips to share what you learned, but looking at him now, feeling his comforting hands holding you up only works to make you break down. He is the salvation you cried for, he is the one who pulls you from the abyss that was drowning you, but it’s because he’s here, it’s because you’re under his worried gaze that you let your anger go and just cry.

“Aemond,” you whisper, and it’s the heartbreak in your voice that he can’t stand anymore so he pulls you in his embrace.

“<My love,>” he coos in High Valyrian and holds you tightly against him as you grip onto him as if he's life support. And in many ways he is. He’s the only one keeping you upright, keeping you from snapping again, and keeping you from feeling complete isolation. And you couldn’t be more grateful that he is here, that he’s holding you ever so tightly without a hint of wanting to let go.

You don’t want him to let go of your withered body abused by a cruel truth. You want to stay in the safety of his embrace forever, hearing his heart beating inside of his chest because he’s all you have now. He's all you want now that you feel betrayed by the people you loved the most in this world. And unknowingly he feels the same about you.

You’re all he has now as he feels abandoned by his own family. You’re all he wants because you don’t make him feel alone, you're his light, as he is yours.

You only have each other in this cruel world. You are each other's sanctuary. Your hearts tangle together becoming one, and sharing a beat now that his own family makes him feel like he’s fighting alone because they can’t muster the same will to fight like him, while you feel betrayed by your own family.

How romantic is that? Two broken souls finding solace in each other. Is it bad?

You don’t think so. You’re his solace like he is yours, and he hugs you like he’s trying to seep it all from you whilst also helping you calm down and find the will to share what you know so it doesn’t have to be weighing you down a moment longer.

“Aemond,” you whisper hoarsely and step away, but keep grabbing onto his arms since you still need him for support. “It’s my father…” you trail off and have the need to cry, but you can’t shed another tear so you continue with your voice quivering. “He…left six years ago. He did not die…I mean since Seasmoke has a new rider now, I'm sure he is dead now, but he did not die six years ago. He left…he left me.”

Aemond’s eye expresses his confusion over what you shared before it comes down and expresses his pity for you.

“And my mother knew,” you continue above a whisper and he can see every word is like a stab to your heart. “She knew for six years. She made me grieve my father for six years and all this time he actually just left…me,” you whimper and look at him now for help.

There’s nothing he can do to actually help you, this is all in the past, but you still look to him for desperate help.

“I-I loved him with all my heart and he left me. And she…knew.”

Tears roll down your face. You thought you could not muster a single one but more break out as you share what broke your heart. And what could he say in return? He knew how much you loved your father, how much you cherished his memory. How can he tell you that it will be okay when he knows that’s a pain that will never mend?

He could say that you do not need them, but it doesn’t seem like that will be any help. He can also say you have him and that’s all you need, but are those words enough?

Not at this instant, so instead he lets the silence mingle and wipes your tears away before pulling you back against him and wrapping his arms around you ever so tightly so you know he’s there for you. So you know with that embrace alone that yes, you have him and you need no one else but him.

He relishes in that thought, in your neediness, and takes advantage of it for his own needs.

“<Please,” you beg in High Valyrian. “Never leave me. Please, Aemond. I can’t do this without you. You’re all I have.>”

His breath catches in his throat, and just as he wants to assure you he stops as he’s reminded of what Helaena just told him on that balcony.

“…and you’ll be dead…you were swallowed up in the God’s Eye, and you were never seen again. Your children won’t even mourn you, they won’t cling onto your memory…”

Those words hit him like ice-cold water, and he doesn't want to believe them. He wants to refute what she said, but he fears that it will be true, and how can he promise something he will only break?

“…the only tears that will fall for you will be from your wife.”

“<I’m here,” he promises as that last sentence proceeds to echo in his head, assuring him once again that you are all he needs and all he will ever have. “I will always be with you.>”

You nod against his chest and just proceed to nuzzle your face against him to steal more of the comfort he provides.

After a while of being in each other's arms the doors open and Aerion’s wetnurse brings him in, but not asleep, he’s fussy and tired but awake.

“He kept waking up, so I thought putting him in his cradle would put him to sleep,” the wetnurse says as you walk over to meet her halfway.

“It's okay, I will take him,” you relieve her of her stress and take your child who happily lets you cradle him. “Goodnight.”

The wetnurse offers you a curtsy before she quickly strides out of the room, letting you turn to your babe who rubs his little eyes.

“<Giving your wetnurse a hard time?>” You whisper in High Valyrian as you tap his nose. “<You will have siblings soon, you’re going to have to listen. Be a good example.>”

He lets out a big yawn that crinkles his little nose before he nuzzles his head against you without bothering to care about what you’re talking about.

“Did you find what you needed?” Aemond finally finds the right moment to ask.

You shake your head before you turn and make your way back to him by the hearth with your child in your arms. “No,” you reveal. “I was welcomed with the knowledge of my father instead.”

He hums and turns away from you to watch the flames eat away the last fragments of the things you fed it.

“We cannot be sure about Alyn and Addam,” you add and fall by Aemond’s side. “But we also can’t deny that it might be true. And if it is, I'm sure the truth will be revealed sooner or later now that Addam claimed Seasmoke.”

Aemond nods in comprehension before he tilts his head to the side and drops his gaze on Aerion. He watches him not with a soft gaze like he usually does, but something else, like conflict that makes his eye watery.

You notice right away and nothing stops you from turning swiftly to cradle his jaw. “What is it?” You ask with concern.

He keeps his gaze focused on Aerion before a small shaky breath is drawn in. You notice that he hesitates to speak, but he then lets go of that captured breath and meets your worried gaze with a tear escaping down his cheek.

“They won’t fight,” he shares but not with anger or frustration, he sounds almost like you did moments ago. Hurt.

“Not with me. They won’t even try. After I tried so hard to fight for them and for our lives they don’t want to fight,” he sneers and leans his face against your touch. “Helaena won’t even come to Harrenhal. They don’t want to understand the peril we’re in. They don’t understand that they—that she can’t just sit and watch it all unfold around her. She needs to come to Harrenhal, she needs to fight with us on her dragon because it’s no longer just us against Rhaenyra, it’s us against those bastards she picked up to ride dragons.”

You slide your hand up to gently stroke his cheek as you offer him a sweet and loving look as you hear his desperation and worry for his sister and mother. “Oh, my sweet Aemond.”

His eyebrows pinch together for a flickering second before he reaches over and takes your hand in his. “Don't tell me you support their choice? There’s seven dragons. Seven against our three if you count Tessarion. You said it, Vhagar alone will not win against their army of dragons,” he hisses but not with much anger, he’s desperate to be understood.

“I understand that,” you give him that comfort, but you then pull your hand away and face the hearth again before you pull yourself down to the ground with Aerion sleeping in your arms. “But listen, Aemond.”

He hears his name and he knows you’re about to try and be wise to make him see things differently, but he doesn’t want to see things differently when their lives are in danger!

“There’s something you need to realize,” you continue to prove him right. “Not everyone’s ferocity is the same. Every person shows it differently. Whereas some people use a blade, others use their words. Whereas some people's passion to fight and protect is outwardly shown, others can’t express it as easily. And perhaps not fighting back is a weakness, but my love, not everyone is meant to fight like you or me. There’s strength in that too, their ferocity is different, but trust me it’s there. Do you understand?”

Aemond drops his hands on his hips and shakes his head, wanting badly to argue, but not finding anything strong enough to contest you. And he doesn’t want to sound foolish either so instead he keeps quiet even as upset as he is and just listens to you.

“And you’re not alone,” you assure him of something he did not outwardly need reassurance of, but you know him. You saw that fear of being alone in his eye. It screamed its need for comfort.

“Yes it may feel that way because you hold the power with Vhagar, the biggest dragon, and she is tough, she’s why you have this need to prove yourself, to prove you can be reliable, and to prove is a good effort,” you praise him and slowly look over at him, seeing him completely captivated by the words that leave your lips.

“But my love, this weight is not all yours to bear. You’re not alone, and she’s not alone. And so what that Helaena doesn’t want to fight? She may have a dragon, but if her spirit is not capable then neither is her dragon. That’s why you have armies of men, people you can trust leading them. You have Daeron, excellent minds at your council table, and me.”

He draws in a deep breath and his gaze once hardened with stress now eases as it holds relief and awe for you, while your kind words prove that he can count on you and that he has you. And that is enough to make his heart race madly, while also making it bold.

“I know…” he lets his heart take the lead since he knows it’s just you with him, but he does trail off to take a seat beside you on the ground. “…your ferocity.”

You can finally stop straining your neck by looking at your side instead of up at his towering figure.

“Do you?” You probe with a flattered smile slowly appearing on your lips.

“It’s your passion.” His words come easy but he still does not meet your gaze; he watches the fire with a soft adoration that is directed at you; that he holds in his growing smile, and in his eye as he thinks about you.

“You’re driven by your heart in every way. In every choice you make, like choosing what to wear. What to do with your day. In love and hate, and I imagine in battle too because your passion makes you brave and tactful with many things that a princess should not know,” he adds and finally glances at you, catching your captivated gaze and your parted lips caught in surprise.

“But it’s also what puts you in danger sometimes, and it’s gotten you in trouble.”

You giggle breathlessly and the corner of his lips slowly spread to a grin.

“But it’s your greatest strength. It keeps you grounded to who you are and I have always admired that because that’s what lets you push back those who have wanted and want to change you.”

You glance down at your sleeping babe that you cradle in your arm with a wobbly smile before you look over at Aemond and hold his gaze, passing your appreciation and a thousand I love you’s that are not spoken with words, but shared with your love struck eyes before you rest your head on his shoulder.

“I’m going with you to Harrenhal,” you say with no hesitation or deceit. There’s nothing to hide because he does have you now. All of you.

The troubles with your mother are conflicting, you don’t know what to do. You might still send her letters because you know right between wrong; that judgment is clouded but you’re not blinded. You see the right choice and it’s her. But you also know she lied and you can’t let it go, you can’t be okay with it, so yes you dedicate yourself to Aemond.

“We will fight together,” you add, making him press a kiss on the side of your head before he rests his chin against your head, and reaches his long fingers over to interlace them with yours to connect you more as one.

Now rather than walking down parallel lines that kept you just out of arm's reach, you both walk down the same path as one without being wary of any crossroads.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

Now that feeling of not belonging is louder than ever before.

Why did they even try if your father was just going to discard you like a piece of trash? Why even fight so hard to keep you alive if they were going to stay with Jacaerys as heir?

Why, why, and why has been running over and over again in your head. It leaves you…lost in your own head, and unaware. So when Aemond places his fingers on your back you’re startled.

“What?” You ask for clarification and look at him through the tall mirror you had been in front of.

“Your gown,” he says while he drags his fingers around your waist and drops his gaze to study the beautiful blue winter roses embroidered on the bodice. “The flower, I do not recognize it.”

You follow his line of gaze and place your hand over his to trail his fingers along the marvelous design. “Blue Winter roses. They grow in the North.”

He hums and his eyes flip up to now study your face as you keep looking at the flower design also on the end of one of your skirts, noticing that your eyes aren’t as puffy as they were when you woke up, but a sadness still droops them.

“Like the flower crown that knight gave you in our engagement tourney,” Aemond recalls, pulling your eyes up and bringing a smile to your face.

“Exactly!” You grin and turn, making his hand drag around your waist as he does not lose touch. “They’re my favorite. They’re rare and very beautiful. And Helaena and I wanted to coordinate today, so she's wearing a gown with her favorite flowers on it like me.”

He hums and looks you up and down before letting a smile spread on his face and sealing your distance with a small kiss on your lips.

“<You look beautiful,>” he muses.

You flash him a grateful smile and bring your hand up to stroke his cheek before you fix his eyepatch against his hair and end up meeting his gaze with a deep sigh. “I thought maybe I should go talk to my mother,” you bring up an idea you have been pondering all night. “I mean I believe what I saw. There is no reason why those visions would be a lie, but maybe having her explain it will bring me some peace of mind.” You shrug unknowingly.

But as lost as you are and look, what you said scared Aemond because what if you don’t come back? What if they keep you there, or you decide to stay there after your mother traps you in her web of lies?

You already agreed to go to Harrenhal with him, he doesn’t want to end up going alone. He wants you there with him. He does not want you gone. He can’t risk it even if your mother could offer you that peace to your battling mind and heart.

“I think perhaps it’s best if you stay,” Aemond gives his opinion and brings his hand up to your shoulder, seeing your eyebrows slowly pinch together as he gives you the wrong answer—“What if she does not let you return?”

You shake your head lightly to try and refute him but his words keep swirling in your ears, and right now they’re easy to entice you.

“You know the truth,” he adds. “She won’t want it spread. And you have a dragon, Daemon will want to decrease our power by taking you captive because he knows you are my weakness and I will not attack her or any of them if they have you.”

That can be true about Daemon. It’s surprising he did not keep you under lock and key before he left for Harrenhal, but your mother?

She does want you back, she did not even want you to come here in the first place. But would she be as harsh as Aemond says?

You don’t think so, but maybe that’s because he did not really convince you to stay, unlike your mother when she convinced you to stay at Dragonstone before she got attacked. So unless something happens that will convince you to stay you don’t really take his words under consideration, you just let him think he was successful in making you stay, and continue to debate it in your head.

If you end up deciding to go talk to her then you’ll just sneak out and he’ll have no other choice but wait for you to return because you will. Nothing has changed. Not even after he told you what he did at Sharp Point and all those people who lived there and had nothing to do with this war.

Is it cruel? Perhaps, but there was no stopping his wrath. There’s nothing you can do now either, so it’s best to leave it be and continue to debate whether you should go talk to your mother or not.

“Can I ask you something about Helaena?” Aemond interjects as he finally pulls his hands off you and steps away to start your journey toward this morning's Small Council meeting.

“I won’t talk to her about joining this fight,” you throw out bluntly and glance over at him as he glances over at you in annoyance.

“No,” he deadpans and glances at the corridor ahead. “Something else. Has she,” he pauses and hums before he grabs the pommel of his sword and quietly continues. “Ever shared something that hasn’t happened yet?”

“Her dreams?” You query as your eyebrows knit in confusion.

“Mhm.”

“Yes,” you don’t find the need to lie. “She told me I would have twins before I found out. And it was true…why? Has she told you something?” You ask with a smile that vanishes as soon as it spreads on your face.

Aemond draws in a short breath and searches the ground you walk over, piquing your interest while also making you nervous.

“Aemond,” you call and grab his arm. “What did she tell you?”

Aemond blinks and peeks back at the guards tailing you before slowly drifting his eye over to take you in under a fluttering eye which is no consolation.

“Aemond—”

“<She said that Aegon has yet to see victory,” he shares in High Valyrian, making you draw in a deep breath, but not because that revelation scares you, but because you thought it was something much worse, like Aemond’s death or something. “…She said he will sit on a wooden throne.>”

You nod slowly as you take in what he shared while not losing touch of his arm.

“Do you trust her?” He fills your silence in the common tongue with a question to follow his comment.

“She was right about the twins,” you mumble and lose your gaze on your path ahead. “And to not believe her would be foolish considering our family is known to have dreamers, like Daenys and Aegon the Conqueror, but the readings of the future are fickle, it’s not set, so it must be taken with a grain of salt.” You share your thoughts and look back at him, catching him looking at you too.

“We’ll be pushed aside again,” he mutters.

You hold his gaze and nod softly, mirroring the realization and the flicker of sadness that glints in his eye at the mere thought.

“But,” you try to assure him. “We will still fight, that’s what matters. And as cheesy as it sounds we will have each other, we won’t know the secluded corner alone.” You laugh softly, while he looks at the ground and huffs lightheartedly.

“Has…” you drag out. “Has she told you something else?”

Aemond looks ahead and draws out a breath before he shakes his head and redirects the question at you. “Has she told you anything else?”

You sigh deeply and share one thing, but don’t share what she said about you wearing a crown the day you wear a black veil. “She told me I wouldn’t be alone. I,” you chuckle. “Don’t know what that means exactly, but she told me that, so.”

Aemond snaps his gaze to you and his eye lingers on you while the corner of his lips twitch to a frown, but doesn’t actually get to form. “Hm,” is all he communicates. No further interrogation, no digging for any more possible dreams. That’s it.

And even if there was more you do reach the Small Council hall so the conversation comes to an end there, and now you’re reminded of the war, of its cruelty, and that the meaning it once held is faltering under the weight of your troubled mind.

You were once set on having a seat around the table of men to pass their plans to your mother and help her rise to her rightful throne, now you don’t know if you should be around the table. In secret or not.

What do you want exactly?

You wanted to get your hands dirty for your Queen, for your mother, but now? With these lies should you let go and leave?

Should you be a target walking down the marked line between both sides? Should you take no sides?

You hear what they’re discussing, should you take note in your head to send what you heard to your mother later, or let go and let your stance with her falter?

“Just this morning a raven from Ser Tyland came in,” Grand Maester finally voices his news. “He made an alliance with the Triarchy. They will sail together.”

Aemond fiddles with the marble and scoffs before he retorts. “Their ships shall arrive in our waters in a few days then?”

The maester nods eagerly. “If the waters are in our favor.”

“Winds,” you correct the maester and drag your eyes to him. “The wind aids the ships.”

The maester gets flustered but he nods and corrects himself. “If the winds are in our favor the fleet shall arrive soon.”

“Well, at least we will finally be able to breathe with the blockade torn apart,” Aemond comments and you slowly sit back and think again about what you want.

The answer should be easy, shouldn’t it? It’s a lie. That’s all it is. To protect her stance…and to marry Daemon. A lie should not affect your stance that much should it?

But the weight is heavier than anyone can imagine, and it leaves you troubled about what to do and what you want.

Do you let that lie go and reaffirm your stance? Or do you let it spread its hate and take away your once firm stance right from under you?

Do you want to keep passing her letters? Or completely and wholeheartedly dedicate yourself to Aemond?

What do you want?

It’s hard to know. You can’t decide even if the answer should be easy. You can’t choose yet. You need to keep debating even if it’s torture.

Until then you let that part of your day pass even if you’re weighed down by uncertainty, and the words you heard at the Small Council meeting keep repeating in your mind over and over again as if waiting to be brushed aside or written down. You want to keep going on with your day and give your attention to Helaena when it comes to spending time with her, but your mind only distracts you with the agony of the truth. You’re torn apart, and at multiple places at once but the place you want to be; in the gardens with Helaena.

At least that is until she manages to steal your attention by shaking your shoulder.

“Huh?”

Helaena studies you and blinks in confusion before she interjects. “Will you go to Harrenhal with Aemond?”

You nod slowly before looking at the bushes you let your fingers graze over. “That’s the plan, but I have been debating if I should actually go or not. With Vhagar gone the city will be left defenseless. Astraea and I could protect the city while Aemond is gone.”

Besides perhaps you could tell your mother to come while Aemond is gone. You could be that key like you were meant to be—If you push your anger aside, that is.

“I doubt he will be gone long.” You finish.

Helaena then suddenly slaps her hands around your arm and digs her nails into your exposed skin to pull you to a sudden stop with her.

“Ow,” you laugh nervously and glance at her nails digging into your skin before looking over at her in confusion, catching at that moment fear in her eyes; fear that brings goosebumps to your skin.

“You must go to Harrenhal,” she insists with her eyes wide and her grip firm.

“But perhaps I will be better use here,” you try to explain, but she flat-out shakes her head and pulls you towards her, making your heart skip a beat in response to the fear that she’s spreading to you.

“No,” she hisses and lets her eyes flicker away before she continues in an ominous demeanor that makes you slowly stiffen.

“I saw you,” she continues. “I saw you fall. You fall with your dragon...”

Your lips part as your breath stills for a moment, whilst conflict and disbelief make your gaze narrow on her for a moment before your face eases as no part of you reacts as one should when one gets told a possible grim future.

“…An arrow hits Astraea and you both drown in a sea of blood,” she finishes foretelling her dream about you and it should scare you to your very core. You should be baffled, but as you take in her words the thought of death is…welcoming.

Your father left you behind and your mother lied to you about it for six years. They chose someone else over you as heir, and you don’t know if the babies you’re carrying are Aemond’s or Cregan’s, so death is almost tempting.

Helaena notices the fear you were just holding diminish, your body remains stiff, but the fear you should hold after learning something so grievous should affect you, but it does not.

“You’re not scared?” She asks with slight disbelief as she finally drops that death grip.

You let out a deep breath and mindlessly look ahead before you make your way toward the pond and plop yourself on the edge. Helaena follows you and sits down in front of you more slowly.

“As of late I have been given reasons why not to fear death,” you admit a bit too dramatically whilst you dip your fingers in the water and swirl the water. “It may be a comfort. I don’t know.” You shrug and glance at your reflection in the water. “It doesn’t scare me, I know it should, but it doesn’t. Are you?” You now direct at her as you slowly lift your eyes, seeing her draw out a deep breath before she shrugs.

“Everyone dies, don’t they? It’s life and there’s nothing we can do to prevent it. It will reach us eventually.”

A smile spreads on your lips and you nod slowly. “See,” you murmur. “Nothing to fear.”

“I suppose,” she agrees softly. “But I don’t want you to die.”

You stop twirling your fingers in the water and offer her a tender smile before you grab her knee and give it a gentle and grateful squeeze.

“Your hand is wet,” she points out and pulls her knee away.

You giggle and dip your hand in the water before you splash her, making her gasp and look at you with a deadpan face before a smile slowly takes over her face, and she ends up giggling.

You laugh harder and she proceeds to splash you much to her initial dislike, letting you feel like a weight lifted off your chest for that moment that you were ignorant of…well, everything.

It was nice.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

It’s said that Alicent was not found in bed, she did not break fast with Helaena and has not been seen in any Sept. She’s gone, but does it surprise you? It’s not the first time she’s left without a word, she just recently had a rendezvous at the Kingswood all by herself. For what?

Only she and the Kingsguard that accompanied her know.

And now they’re both gone again so perhaps it’s just another rendezvous who knows, and you could hardly care. You’re just nosy.

Regardless, that's not your focus right now. You should focus on writing to your mother. You should send her what you have heard, that Ser Criston and Ser Gwayne are approaching Harrenhal by the day, and they will be upon Daemon soon.

You should tell her to take advantage of Aemond’s departure and take the throne since Aegon cannot raise even a finger about it, but alas, the ink drips and drips on the paper as you sit in thought and watch Astraea hunting for her next meal in the never-ending waters.

What do you want to do?

Ask for the truth on paper? Tell her what you know and warn her? Or do you go quiet and stop this transaction of secrets?

What do you want?

What do you want?

What do you want…

You let out a deep breath and drop your eyes from your dragon to try and focus on potential words that could mark the page, but as you’re shifting your eyes you catch your Sworn protector, Ser Jason smiling at Astraea with admiration. And thus your mind uses that as an excuse to avoid choosing.

“My friend Lord Stark,” your voice catches him off guard. “Had to bribe her to let him pet her. He would offer her fish which is her favorite, but it took many moons for her to warm up to him. So,” you scoff lightheartedly. “I’m surprised she went up to you.”

Ser Jason tears his eyes away from your dragon diving in the water. “Perhaps I smelled like fish,” he says and you try to think if it's real while also slowly knitting your eyebrows together.

Ser Jason sees that you did not understand it was a joke so he quickly counters. “I did not! I did not smell like fish, I don’t go on smelling like fish. It was just a…jest because she well, you know…”

You muster a forced giggle and nod slowly, while he parts his lips to continue on rambling.

“But I mean it’s not like I know why she would go up to me. My mother worked at a brothel, so it’s not like I have special blood from her, and my father, well, I don’t doubt being a bastard of Prince Daemon qualifies my blood in any way.”

You drop your quill and your jaw drops at the revelation he just threw at you so carelessly and with no warning.

“You,” you mouth and slowly stand up without looking away, as if the truth of what he is would vanish the moment you tore your eyes away from him. “Your father is Daemon?”

Ser Jason’s face goes pale and he gapes like a fish out of water.

“You,” you scoff and turn around to drop your things on the bench while your mind scrambles what you just got told.

It should not be surprising, even you know that Daemon would frequent brothels when he was young. He had a taste for lustful activities. But! To know, and to have his bastard son be your Sworn Protector is completely crazy!

Did he know?

“Does he know?” You spat out your question oozing with your shock.

“N-no,” Ser Jason shakes his head and approaches you with fear someone else will hear him. “I never told him. You are the only one who knows.”

The corner of your lips twitch up but your initial shock still doesn’t let you display how touched you are that you’re the only one who knows.

“You are the only one who will ever know,” he says seriously and doesn’t go sheepish, his cheeks don’t taint with a blush, his gaze is pointed at you, and his lips are pressed in a firm straight line.

“But,” you whisper as your shock and that rush slowly diminishes. “Why? He’s your father. And you’re so close to him. He might as well accept you as his son. You could—”

“I don’t want it,” he cuts you off and is lucky that Ser Cane is not here or else he would’ve been scolded for cutting you off as bluntly as he did. “All the riches, the acknowledgment, and the power that comes with being recognized by my father is not what I desire. I know what that all does to men, they get drunk off power and hurt the small folk in turn. Or give us their back to be with the perfumed lords. I…don’t crave it. I like what I am now. I’m content with my role.”

His words sink in your heart and you don’t have the will to argue against him to try and make him reach higher. You actually admire him for being so sure about himself, and what he wants and doesn’t want. You wish you could say the same in a time like now.

“Many would jump at the opportunity to gain a dragon, to be a Lord. A Targaryen,” you share, making him sigh and nod slowly.

“Once upon a time I entertained those feelings while I was upset at my mother for hiding the truth,” he reveals, only pulling you in deeper. “I could join him, I could be better than she ever was,” he trails off to his usual soft and careful voice. “I was horrible and then she died. I never got to tell her I forgave her. She died thinking I hated her, that she was not enough for me, and ever since then the thought of being recognized as a Targaryen bastard is like bile in my mouth. It doesn’t appeal to me anymore. I detest it.”

You swallow thickly and pity flickers in your gaze, while you also feel a certain spark of connection as you know that you’re battling with lies and forgiveness with your own mother.

“I admire you for it,” you admit, making him blink rapidly while a furious red blush attacks his cheeks—“to have that self-actualization. That self-control when many would let their desires for greater things drive them.”

“He was not there, why should I crave the attention of someone who did not care?” He says and glances at your dragon again before he continues. “It's true I worked under him, it was a coincidence, fate playing a game. And it turns out he's actually not bad of a man, and the stories are right, he is a great warrior. I want to be as talented as him, but that’s all. I am content with what I have, I do not want to complicate my life. It was complicated once. I don't wish for that anymore.”

You slowly follow his line of gaze and an idea starts to form in your mind.

“Did you appreciate that your mother told you?” You have to ask for your own sake. “Even if it was later in your life did you appreciate it? Did it…help you?”

Ser Jason’s Adam’s Apple slides up and then down slowly before he glances at you and lets his deep blue eyes fall on you. “I think I would have driven myself mad if she hadn’t. I confronted her about it, I wanted to know who my father was. I needed to know if it was true so I would not drown in the rushing flood that were my thoughts.”

You snap your gaze to the horizon and think about your own troubles and how you’re in a battle with yourself, how you can’t sleep, or stay focused for too long without being drawn back into the storm of your thoughts; of what you want, of overthinking, rage, hate, and insecurity.

You don’t want to be troubled in a time like now. You can’t afford to with so much on the line. And you don’t think you can live in this confusion or it will drive you mad.

So you know what you must do, and you do it even if Ser Jason protests your leave.

You won’t be gone long, you’ll be in and out, Aemond won’t know, he doesn’t even have to know, and if he does well, he can go after you or stay and wait because you will return with your mind made. Angry or in peace, you will return. You just need to hear the truth from her. It will give you peace of mind.

That’s all you want. You can’t stand these loud thoughts and emotions, you want silence again. You need it.

Then again what exactly do you walk into?

Aemond doesn't surprise you by coming after you, will he be mad when you return? Possibly, but oh well, you’ll make up, so that’s not why you now start to question your daring act.

You descend and land peacefully, you have no trouble walking in the keep, and the guards know you’re no threat because that’s what they were told, but as you’re in search of your mother you come across a reason why you think maybe this plan was…a bit overzealous.

It's the man who bonded with Silverwing, he has his feet on the table and a goblet in hand. Giving yet another reason why smallfolk as dragonriders is not a good idea.

“Y-You…”

Gods.

He swings his legs off the table and leaves his goblet behind to come after you. Much to your misfortune.

“You tried killing me,” he throws out boldly.

“If I wanted you dead you would have been dead,” you don’t attempt to be kind, or apologetic because you could not care. “You’re a terrible dragonrider,” you grumble and peer over at the horse guards that you pass by as you make your way to the royal apartments in search of your mother.

“Grab her! Throw her in the dungeon, she’s with the enemy,” the man tries to demand, but the guards don’t even move an inch, they stay put and you stop trying to entertain this bad-smelling man.

“If I were you I would get away from me, I’m your princess, not some whore or servant you can pester,” you threaten him, but you keep hearing the heels of his boots chase after you in an attempt to match your speed.

“Come back—”

“Get him away from me,” you smoothly give your demand to the pair of guards that you approach, and they actually listen to you. The moment you pass them, they lunge out of their spots and block the old man’s path with their swords.

You peer at him over your shoulder and shoot him a cocky smirk before you disappear around the corner and quicken your pace to reach the royal apartments even faster.

Albeit when you reach your mother's quarters she’s not there. There’s not even guards outside her quarters, so onto the next spot where she might be, but first your cat! You go into your quarters, but he’s not there either much to your luck. But he'll be much easier to find than your mother you assume, considering she hasn’t come to meet you.

Actually, in your search, you don’t come across anyone. You assumed either your brother or your mother would have found you after they saw your dragon or got told you arrived, but so far it’s been quiet and calm. So far.

After a while, you’re actually relieved to come across Baela of all people.

“Baela,” you breathe out and come to a quick halt.

Said woman’s brown eyes linger on your face before they slowly trail down to the white-silver gown you wear and glimmers under the sunlight capturing your figure, making it appear like you’re wearing a gown made of a thousand tiny diamonds, or thin chainmail, either or you twinkle in your flowy dreamy gown.

And when her eyes go back up to your face she notes that the silver diadem around your head with the thin chains dangling from it really pronounces your title as Princess Regent.

“I saw Astraea and I thought she carried a letter,” Baela finally breaks her silence. “It's you. You’re back.” She smiles faintly, but you’re quick to steal that joy.

“No,” you deadpan. “I came to talk to my mother. Sooner rather than later, hopefully.”

“What?” She scoffs. “You did not ask your husband's permission to go out?”

You sense her hostility toward Aemond, you understand it, but you still don’t like it. “I do not need it, I came against his will.”

You would defend him but there’s no reason to really waste your breath, she doesn’t like him so wouldn’t understand.

“Is my mother here?” You interrupt her before she comes up with another quip. “I need to talk to her. Urgently.”

Baela draws out a deep breath and answers kinder this time. “She’s not here. She left at first light for Harrenhal. She did not say why.”

Great.

“Alright,” you nod slowly. “I will wait for her then. And do not tell Jacaerys I am here if he doesn’t know. I’m returning to the Red Keep and he will only make it hard.”

A pointed glare flashes on her face before she sighs and her face softens. “He’s only worried about you. You don’t know how many times he’s wanted to go to the Red Keep to bring you back. He says your place is here now more that you’re expecting twins.”

Your mother told them. Of course. But they don’t know that you don’t know where your place is exactly. Not at the moment, you’re in a state of limbo. Neither here nor there.

“And that’s why he cannot know I’m here,” you insist even if what she says really does pull at your heartstrings and makes you want to stay for him. “Let my mother know I’ll be at the Great Hall,” you end the conversation short so you’re not hit with more guilt or pleas to stay with puppy eyes and sweet words.

You do attempt to offer her a smile so she knows this coldness in your demeanor is not directed at her, but your lips hardly tug up; what you need to speak about takes too much from you. And it’s a good thing she doesn’t see that trouble so you’re able to walk past her and disappear into the Great Hall where you expect to be on your lonesome, but lying on the stone throne is your cat, Wolf.

“Look at you,” you coo and rush to him. “So regal.”

Wolf hears your voice and his head shoots up before he lets out an almost huffed meow, letting you know he’s upset you left him behind.

“I know, I know,” you talk to the cat as you walk up the steps of the stone throne to pick him up. “Forgive me, we were in a rush, but this time you are coming home with me.”

You lift him in the air and tilt your head down just slightly to make sure he’s still wearing his pearl collar—and yes, he still has it on.

“Well it seems they have been feeding you well,” you comment on his blubber.

Wolf meows nonchalantly and you flash him a grin before you hug him against you whilst you walk down to sit on a cold stone step.

“Oh, I’ve missed you too,” you tell him and caress his side. “You’ll have to ride Astraea though, I know you’re scared, but it’s the only way you can come home, so just sleep or something”

Wolf purrs under your touch so you gladly continue to show him some affection while you wait for your mother and get pulled deeper and deeper into the angry storm of your thoughts.

Much like before time is irrelevant, your surroundings blur almost to the point it’s nonexistent, and you get so lost in your mind that you hardly exist which makes time move faster.

You don't know how much time passed between you waiting and your mother’s arrival, but by the time the grand doors open and your mother finally joins you, the sun is lower than it was before. Actually, when you let the cat go and stand up on the step you notice that the beam of sunlight is reflecting on the ground now.

“Mother,” you greet but don’t share the relief she does when she finds you secluded in the darkness of the grey stone room. You don’t smile as wide as she does even as hard as you try to show your joy over seeing her and being in the same room without having to pretend.

When she reaches you she doesn’t hesitate or ask you for an embrace. The moment you step down to the ground to let her reach you she wraps her arms around you and pulls you against her. But even if you return her embrace, you don’t hold her as tightly, your body doesn’t ease like hers does at the feeling of your arms secured around her.

You try, you really do try to forget and bask in the warmth and the comfort her mere presence usually brings, but right now the sight of her is enraging the storm within you.

She doesn’t notice though, not yet. And not when she pulls back to let her eyes take you in under the beam of sunlight dancing on your face.

“You look beautiful,” she offers you a compliment as she gently grabs your arms so you won’t go far, but drops one hand to gently press it against your belly. “I did not get to see you when you were expecting Aerion, I want to make the most of it now. How are you feeling? Do you want to talk to the maester?”

You blink and swallow back nervously before you shake your head stiffly and point your eyes at her Kingsguard a few feet behind her.

Your mother seems to understand what you mean so she looks over her shoulder and with a simple passing look sends them away from the hall. It’s only once they’re gone and it’s just you and your mother under the beaming light that you raise your hands and get rid of her touch. And it's at that moment that she realizes the emotions that ride on your face aren’t that of pleasure.

She looks at you now, she really takes you in and notes a long-forming frown painting on your face that's thinner than before due to the twins growing within you, taking what they can from you. She sees your eyebrows slowly creasing lines as they come together, and lastly, there’s flames of anger flickering in your eyes that she did not bother to notice before, but as she sees all of you now she's overcome with worry.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” She finally picks on the emotions becoming more prominent in your features.

You draw in a deep breath and slowly raise your chin as you gain the confidence to be bold in your anger. “I need you to be honest with me. If you lie I will know, so it’s best if you’re truthful…please,” that last word makes your voice falter.

“About what?” She probes and grows conflicted as well as more concerned.

You blink repeatedly as tears begin to sting your eyes, causing your mother's lips to part in confusion. “Did…did,” you strain to continue as the words hurt to even think about saying. “You send my father away to marry Daemon? Yes or no?”

A gasp escapes her parted lips, her lashes bat wildly, and her eyebrows crash in the middle for a second as she’s slammed with shock at the words that came out of your mouth. Words you should not know.

“Did he leave at his own accord or did you send him away?” You sneer emotionally and search her face for an answer. “Tell me,” you whisper softly but with desperation.

Rather than answering right away your mother…steps away with tears glistening in her eyes, but it’s with that single action that you know the answer you wanted to refute, that you wanted to believe was a lie or some mind trick played by magic, but the answer is in her glistening eyes and it weighs your chest down while also pulling tears out of your eyes brought by anger and agony.

Yet even then you still want to hear her say the truth so you demand it. For the first time in your life, you shout at your mother and the agony in your voice echoes in the great hall. “Tell me!”

Your mother's eyebrows once again meet in the middle as she’s surprised by your burst of emotions, but she also knows there’s no more hiding from the truth, so after a deep breath she finally begins to give you what you seek.

“I needed a stronger force behind me in order to defend my claim. We knew it would be contested and it was, so we needed to send…Laenor away…”

“So you could marry Daemon,” you finish for her with more tears rushing down the curve of your cheeks.

“But my Sweet—” she tries to quickly comfort you by trying to grab your arms, but you shove her attempt away and slowly pierce a trembling glare at her, leaving her with no option but to see the tears that run down your face and shine like tiny sparkling diamonds the same way your gown twinkles under the sunlight.

“Don’t,” you bark and shake your head at her as it feels like someone pierced your chest. “Save whatever excuse you’re going to give me. I don’t want to hear it. You lied,” you throw at her. “For six years! You let me grieve him for six years! You let me long for his return for six years! Six years,” you sneer your words. “Do you know what it’s like grieving alone? Losing all your joy and having no one to comfort you because you’re being shipped across the country? No, but I do. And now to find out he left and you were behind it is like…like dying.”

“Don’t say that,” she whispers her own heartbreak. “He—it broke him to leave you and your brothers behind, but he also knew that I needed more than he could offer for our sake. He was selfless. He did it because he loved us, because he loved you.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you mutter as those words don’t work to mend your shattered heart or offer any sort of peace to your agony. “None of it matters because he left and you lied, and now where do I belong? All my life I have fought to prove myself, every step of the way, and now to find out you lied and that my father left makes me feel like nothing. I am nothing.” You sniffle and turn around to pick up your cat off the ground before you face her to utter your last words. “Thank you for making that perfectly clear.”

You storm past her and she calls out to you before managing to capture your arm and reel you to a stop.

“Don’t,” you quickly counter like your life depends on it. “Stop. I’m done…” you trail off and step back, having to purposely avert your gaze before you spin around and finish storming away.

This time she doesn’t come after you, the Great Hall is silent and you have a clear path to leave…or so you thought until you come across Jacaerys making his own way toward the Great Hall, but stopping as he sees you, the person he wanted to see.

Time seizes the moment your eyes meet. Every ounce of rage falters, and that sense of belonging is found there with him. With your little brother.

Looking at him makes you want to stay, to swallow back all the pain, and stay where you belong, but you can’t be so selfless. You choose to be selfish even if taking that route hurts more with him in front of you.

That’s why you didn’t want to see him, but here he is, and here you are with no strength to say goodbye. That's why you just take a deep breath and raise your chin before you try to walk away. But he steps in front of you to block your path.

“Where are you going? What's wrong?” He immediately asks as he sees your face pampered with tears.

“I’m going home,” you mutter bluntly and avert your eyes. “Back to my son, back to my husband.”

You try to leave again, but he grabs your arm and pulls you back to argue. “You cannot be serious? You don’t belong there! This is your home, this is where you belong, just bring Aerion and his dragon and come back home. We don’t need you in the Red Keep anymore, we have strength here.”

His words only work to hurt you deeper. It’s like being pierced in the chest again and again, and deeper with each sweet word.

“No,” your voice quivers. “I belong home. With my son, and Aemond. This is not my home, not anymore.”

He looks back at where you came from before looking back at you in confusion. You don’t need to see it to know that’s what he feels.

“What did mother say?” He wants to know more, but you don’t give him the context. You’ll let her do it.

“It doesn’t matter now, I’m leaving, Jace, let me go.”

Yet he doesn't, his grip only tightens and his gaze grows heavy on you.

“So what? You can go back to them?” He spats.

“To him,” you clarify. “To Aemond!”

Jacaerys tilts his head down and you let him find your gaze painted with it all; rage, agony, guilt, and a yearning for comfort.

“What of Rhaenys?” He hisses to you. “What of Lucerys?” His confrontation falters. “Or do you forget about them while you sleep with him?”

Your bottom lip trembles and your breath shudders, but as weak as you feel you bite back. “I will not stay. You cannot make me.”

“Watch me,” your brother sneers, so you rebuttal by rolling your shoulders back and narrowing your gaze to a glare.

“Do it,” you taunt him.

Jacaerys challenges your gaze waiting for you to falter, but no matter how much you want to give up your fight under his threatening gaze, you muster up your strength and fight back until he’s defeated.

When he lets you free you hug your cat tighter and linger in his presence for a moment longer, but never find the strength to utter that last goodbye. So even with tears welling in his eyes, you leave without saying another word.

Even after that, your mind can’t form a single thought. You fly back home in utter, deafening silence, with only the wind howling in your ears. When that too stops the moment you land in that cove behind the Red Keep, you expect to be bombarded with a wave of thoughts, but it’s like your mind stopped working. It’s quiet, you're quiet, and your cat keeps yelling at you, probably asking why you put him through that flight, but he grows relieved when he’s in the safety of the Red Keep, and then he also grows quiet on your way to your chambers.

The one time you can find the ability to speak words is when you reach your quarters and find Ser Cane outside your doors along with one of Aerion’s sworn protectors. Ser Jason must have taken his leave now that Ser Cane is here.

“Is my husband inside?” You have to ask to know if you should prepare yourself for a fight.

“No,” Ser Cane deadpans and finds your cat that he has not seen at all in his life until now. “That’s…yours?”

A tiny smile tugs on your face and you lift your fat cat to show him off. “Yes, it’s Wolf, don’t worry he’s nice.”

The cat meows, and you look at him and smile wider before you take a step forward, making the guards open your doors for you.

“Please stop wandering off,” Ser Cane says in a very serious voice, and you can’t help but flash him a smile since he figured out all by himself that you were not in the Red Keep, or King’s Landing at all considering you warned Ser Jason not to tell a soul.

“You will have to use a ball and chain for that Ser,” you retort, and for the first time since he’s been your sworn protector, he smiles. It’s faint, the corner of his lips twitch, but you still made him smile and it makes you giddy.

“You can relax for now I’ll be inside,” you assure him as you put Wolf down before you finally walk inside.

Once the doors are closed the smile on your face falls and still, the thoughts you have been expecting fail to come.

Not that you’re eager to fall into a deeper agony after hearing the truth, you just need the shock to pass. You need to admit the truth of what you want to yourself because you know it’s forming there, in your mind.

Albeit you can’t overcome your disbelief or the hurt you received in Dragonstone. Time started moving after your interaction with Jacaerys, but it moves slowly now and because of it your thoughts don’t come quick.

Then again you can’t rush your feelings, so you take a deep breath and head over to Aerion’s cradle to check on him since he should be taking his nap.

Which reminds you that his wetnurse has not come to meet you, odd, but alas you continue your path towards your child and before you can reach the curtains that lead to your bed, Wolf yowls before he suddenly comes sprinting away from that side of the room.

You quickly follow him with your eyes and your amused smile falls as you catch that he left behind bloody footprints.

“Maci?” You call out for Aerion’s wetnurse with your breaths growing heavy with panic, but there’s no answer so should you call out for the guards outside your door?

It might be something dangerous or it might be nothing.

The latter seems more plausible so you keep making your way forward with more caution now.

Aerion is not crying, so it can’t be anything terrible…right?

Unless—no, it’s not him, but you quicken your pace, and when you reach the curtains you slowly pull them back. When you peek one eye inside your heart drops to your stomach, your breath hitches, and every instinct inside you immediately yells at you to fight, so you do.

You’re not carrying any weapon with you to defend yourself, and any you have in your chambers are far compared to the distance this scrawny killer is to Aerion, so with nothing but your strength you rip the curtains open, and part your lips to bellow. “G—”

Yet just as your breath comes out with the first word, a dirty hand suddenly slaps over your mouth before the tip of a blade hovers over your throat, forbidding you from alerting any guard and threatening the cloaked killer approaching Aerion’s cradle with a bloody knife.

You try to push away the hand that’s covering your mouth to try and save your son with a threat, or with a sound ominous enough that the guards will burst through the doors, but the person who is holding you captive begins to drag you away from the bed area of your quarters not caring that you’re kicking, or clawing at his arm.

The other man reaches Aerion’s cradle and you ache to try and reach him, you try to scream, but the person who has you keeps dragging you away until he finally halts and pushes their lips by your ear.

“Long. Live. Queen Rhaenyra,” they whisper in a scratchy voice, and at the sound of those words it’s like a tight grasp wraps around your heart causing it to hurt worse than any other pain.

Yet what’s that ache right now compared to the threat uncovering Aerion’s cradle and revealing him to the killer? It’s nothing.

Your heart pounds and every muscle that makes who you are cries desperately in attempts to reach him, but you can’t challenge the person's strength holding you against them. All you can do is watch as the man finds your son in his cradle with tears rolling down your face and a horror that keeps worsening.

However, just as the man’s eyes land on Aerion, they then shift to something else, and terror strikes within them.

You stop moving to figure out what he saw, but then Shrykos, the answer to all your questions jumps out of the cradle and perches herself on the edge.

It’s Aerion’s dragon. She’s there, emitting low clicking sounds as she tilts her head and studies the man to figure out whether she’s seen him before or not.

Yet perhaps your relief comes too soon because the man swings his blade down at the hatchling. You try to scream out in defense of the hatchling, but much to your surprise Shrykos leaps off the edge of the cradle and flies on the man to claw her long and sharp nails in his throat, rendering him silent instantly before she climbs up his face to blast fire at the man’s eyes which causes him to fall back on the ground with a loud thud, and leaving the person behind you paralyzed.

Albeit not long enough because they pay no mind to the hatchling tearing the man's face to shreds. And maybe they have the right idea not to care, you’re not bonded to the hatchling, and unless given the direct command she won’t come to you to defend you like she did Aerion. You have to fight back yourself. Thus since you can’t bite the person and you can’t outmatch their strength, you kick your foot back as they’re pulling you back towards the balcony, and manage to hit their crotch.

They react with a groan and loosen their grip just enough for you to shove away their hand with the blade, and twist around. Once you’re facing him, you jab your knee in their arm as hard as you can, managing to break it and unarm him, but also causing him to shout in pain.

Is that enough though?

No, they ignore the pain and pretend they’re going for the blade, so you reach for it too, but then at the next second they actually swing their palm against your face so hard it stings, and the taste of iron trickles in your mouth through your parted lips, while more leaks down your chin.

Hurried footsteps then strike the ground and seem to be approaching where you are, so while you’re dazed the man grabs the blade and lunges at your belly, but even if your ears are ringing and your eyesight blurs because of that hard slap, you throw your hands down and manage to catch the blade before he could pierce it through your flesh.

In capturing the blade with your bare hands though, now sharp blinding pain spreads throughout your palms.

“Drop the blade!” You recognize Ser Cane shout at the top of his lungs while he and the other knight slowly stalk toward the man.

However, the man manages to slip his hand away from your bleeding grasp and redirects his threat at your belly, at your twins, leaving you paralyzed out of fear the blade will penetrate with a single move of any muscle.

“Ser,” you call out to your sworn protector between pants and your voice now trembles with fear.

“Not another step or I gut her,” the man sneers and steps toward you to get closer and make his threat that more dangerous, making Ser Cane put his arm out to stop the other knight from getting any closer.

“You will be able to go, just let the princess go,” Ser Cane makes empty promises whilst he steps back. And to the ears of a man’s life hanging by a thread, why would he not take the opportunity?

Yet as tempted as the man is, he hesitates and glances at you with panic in his green eyes. “Long live the Queen.”

The man pulls the blade away from your belly and starts to move it up in an attempt to stab your throat, but the moment he looked away from the knights, Ser Cane managed to slide out a dagger so when the man began to scale the blade up, Ser Cane hurled his dagger and with perfect aim hit the man’s throat. Now the threat the man held falls with his blade, and thick crimson blood squirts out from his gash and splashes all over your face, letting you know it’s all over, there’s no threat looming over you. It’s all done.

Yet your heart doesn’t stop drumming nor does your blood stop rushing with the terror still rattling your body.

“Come with me, Princess,” Ser Cane’s voice travels through your ears and you notice that it's softer than before, but it doesn’t make you do as he says, you look at the dead man bleeding out on the ground, and gasp sharply before you slowly sit on the ground with leg flat on the ground, and the other used to prop your arm on your knee.

“Go fetch Prince Aemond,” Ser Cane demands the other knight before sheathing his blade and rushing to check on Aerion.

“Is he…”

“Still asleep,” Ser Cane finishes for you, so you nod stiffly and let that worry go with a deep and shallow breath, but this new shock still leaves you trembling on the ground, trying to convince yourself that what just happened did happen. It was not a dream, it was real, people did try to kill you and Aerion.

Was it in some twisted act for your mother? Were they sent by someone else? Or was it your own mother and Daemon who sent them?

You don’t know. You don’t know a thing about them and you won’t know because they’re both dead. All that you know for sure is that you almost died. They were going to kill you!

Gods. Gods. Damn. Damn it!

“Let me see, let me see,” Ser Cane startles you as he crouches down beside you to look at the drops of blood coming from your belly since right now your mind is unraveling what happened and letting that shock go.

“He just nicked your skin, you’re okay, your children are okay,” he assures you as he meets your eyes.

And even if your gaze is miles away you nod stiffly in comprehension before you blink slowly and get your focus lost on the blood pooled around the dead man, but not with a blank stare now. This time a slow-growing fire is sparked in your eyes, causing your gaze to narrow just enough to spread a menacing look, while your parted lips letting out your shallow breaths still give your disbelief and fear away.

It’s like you were just hit with a realization because you were. You know what you feel now, and you know what you want. You see it reflected in the pool of blood reaching your foot.

Whether the killers were sent by your mother, by someone else, or they acted alone doesn’t matter. The killers dispersed the cloud that was fogging your mind since you left Dragonstone, and it’s all clear now. There’s no going back, there’s no sufficient apologies that can tear down your rage-fueled hate because that’s what you are. You’re angry at your mother for lying to you for six years, you hate that she lied, and you don’t want to help her anymore because of it.

You tried being good, the perfect princess, and the perfect daughter of a Queen. You risked your life to come here to send her letters of the Greens' plans. You strained yourself to prove something to your mother, to try and be what she needs in this war and as a daughter, but no more. You’re done trying to bend over backwards to prove something to her.

You’re done.

Does it mean you will fight for the Greens?

Well, you will get your hands dirty. You won’t hide who you can really be now and you won’t let them diminish you.

You will fight. She will see you fight. She will know your rage face to face. They will all know your rage.

“What—”

Aemond’s voice registers in your head, and as you follow where his voice comes from you see him stopped only a few paces away with his eye on the dead man.

“Aemond,” you gasp softly, feeling that fear break apart after being penetrated by the mere presence of your best friend and your beloved husband Aemond.

When his eye finds you it widens at the sight of the blood pampered on your face, staining and dulling the white-silver gown that no longer glimmers like shining diamonds. He then sees your hands leaking blood from wounds he can’t see, but knows are there due to the blood dripping on the ground, and his rage snaps to the knights meant to protect you, but you call out to him as you see that darkness spark in his eye.

“Aemond.”

Said man’s eye falls on your face and he debates still tormenting the knights, but as he sees how you plead for him with your eyes alone, he lets his anger go for now with a deep breath and then falls on his knees beside you.

“<Are you hurt?>” He asks in High Valyrian as he studies you to find his answer regardless of what you say.

“<Just cuts on my palms, but I’m, we’re okay.>”

Aemond’s eye drifts to the cradle a few feet away and his lips part as he sees Shrykos covered in blood returning to his spot by Aerion’s side.

“<He’s okay,” you assure Aemond. “He’s asleep. His dragon protected him.>”

Aemond looks back at you and you both share a soft and relieved breathy laugh at the fact that Aerion did not wake at all through the interaction, and that his little hatchling took down a grown man all by herself.

“<Are you okay?>” Aemond asks again and doesn’t hesitate cradling your face covered in blood.

“Aemond my face—”

“I don’t care,” he cuts you off and leans in closer to study you with his eye glossy with tears brought by worry. “Are you okay?” He asks, making your bottom lip tremble. You want to lie, but you can’t with him looking at you with that tender blue eye filled to the brim with concern over your life, so you shake your head lightly.

Aemond caresses your cheek with his thumb and presses his forehead against yours. “I’m here,” he reassures you before he embraces you against him, letting you sink into his warm and comforting embrace, and become one.

You don’t need to prove anything to each other. You don’t need to sweat blood to try and be something worthwhile for each other. You’re enough. You’re all each other needed when you were kids, and you’re all each other needs now.

Is your rage extinguished? No, it’s still very much alive and it blazes like wildfire as your fire becomes one with Aemond’s, because you both share a similar rage that you want everyone to see. That they will all see.

.

.

.

.

A/N- I’m afraid Cregan is the only one who can pull you out of this dark corner now.

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid

[queenvhagar]

Some interesting ALLEGED leaks and upcoming plans for HOTD (from apparently someone on the inside). Take with a grain of salt but they are... interesting... to say the least (and if previous leaks were true... well... 😕)

As I speculated previously... Daeron might be an Alicole bastard if the writers are going to try to character assassinate Alicent further. Also VERY Interesting stuff about Cregan and the Starks going on in the writers room...

Ulf the White was making up the Baelon rumor we saw last ep (which already seemed fake and weird that he would be telling random strangers if it was true... which it apparently was not). Interesting to cut Nettles but give her non-Targaryen detail to a white man.

Interesting also how much the writers love the term "propaganda."

Matches with previous Alicent moon tea leaks.

Apparently Team Black will be lead by Corlys and Jace while Rhaenyra is effectively usurped by them... so Rhaenyra gets to remain blameless and pure during the entire Dance.

Once again this could all be based on nothing, but unfortunately a lot of it does kind of line up with what we've already seen from the writing so far 😐

[hopestrope]

Poll of the Dragon #24

[likeabhosz]

JACEGAN BRAINROT HAS TAKEN OVER, I HAVE TO WRITE THIS DOWN SOMEWHERE SJDJSJDJ

I believe we can rework the pact of ice and fire to fit the show canon, just with a different context. In fact, I think it's necessary to have it to push Cregan and the greater northern army back in action towards the end of the war! Walk with me here -

Conditions

- The Battle of the Gullet should, at earliest, occur mid-season and be replaced with minor battles where the Winter Wolves participate in. Jace and the dragonseeds can fight in these battles before getting called to the Gullet. Despite this, Jace should still be skeptical of the dragonseeds - I imagine he'd learn to like Addam, maybe even Hugh, but I don't see him respecting Ulf anytime soon lol.

- Cregan is among the Winter Wolves at first but has to return to Winterfell at some point so that he can march back with a bigger army for the hour of the wolf (can be before or after Jace dies)

Scenario

- Jace and Cregan can take a bit of time to re-establish their friendship during and in between the smaller battles. Jace finally gets someone to talk to about his fears re: possibly facing his own succession war once his mother passes the crown. Cregan swears allegiance to Jace. He tells Jace that his claim is solid and deserved, but if it came to a war, Cregan would back him. Jace may or may not mention the conqueror's dream - it will definitely be a more convincing reason for the Starks to back Rhaenyra's line, but I personally prefer it if their pact hinged less on prophecy and more on their actual relationship.

- boom, PACT. The conditions for this may or not be the same as in the book tbh. Honestly, it wouldn't matter, it went unfulfilled on Jace's part because he died T__T still, Cregan has so far only promised 2000 men to fight for Rhaenyra - as far as his father's oath is concerned, it has been fulfilled and if he wanted to, he can excuse himself to prepare for winter. A renewed pact with Jace will push him to bring a larger army, both to secure Rhaenyra's reign and the claim of her named heir.

On how Cregan goes back to Winterfell, I imagine two scenarios:

- There are problems up north due to winter. Cregan is compelled by whoever he left in charge to come back and fix things. If he leaves before the Battle of the Gullet, he promises to make good on the pact (Jace and Cregan part and promise to meet on the battlefield, then hunt and feast after the war, optimistic vibes huhu). If it's after, the scenario below can also apply.

- Grief-stricken at what happens to Jace, Cregan himself retreats back to Winterfell to build his bigger army to avenge Jace and end the war. The remaining Winter Wolves stay and support Rhaenyra's army.

I kind of want to work all of this into a fic haha, I wish I had the time, lol.

[reds-skull]

Bringer of Demise - Chapter 4

[PREV PART] [AO3]

This chapter went places I didn't plan for, so it has a surprising amount of comfort. Anyway, it's called "Molten Core".

Price informs them he called Commander Karim on the way here, asking her to send a team to aid them when Soap and Gaz’s situation became known. Soap was secretly grateful, if not for himself, for Gaz, that they won’t take the helo the rest of the way.

He doesn’t want to imagine how scared that would’ve made Kyle.

The rescue team looked for the pilot as they helped the taskforce, Soap despondently looking away when they find the front half of the helo. Charred black and mangled beyond recognition, there wouldn’t have been anything left resembling a human after going through that.

Add that to the tally of people he has failed to save.

Soap hates to admit it, but the morphine makes healing so much smoother. What once was a constant, sharp pain has been dulled down to a distant beating. Ghost let him lean against him when he became loopy, telling him that’s a side effect.

A few trucks eventually arrive, several ULF fighters wearing plain clothes jumping out. It seems like Commander Karim has sent a medic team along, but as Gaz isn’t physically injured, and Soap won’t benefit from anything more than a few hours of rest, they give Kyle a shock blanket, and sit them in one of the trucks.

Ghost keeps a hand around him as they’re driven to the camp, Soap nearly cracking a tooth with how hard he clenches his jaw. The roads here are not very considerate of his open wounds, that’s for fucking certain.

He doesn’t think the shaking is only from the pain, though. Soap continues to glance at Gaz, his eyes fogged over.

What happened was eerily similar to Kyle’s Reaping. Similar enough that Soap has almost no doubt it was planned, that whoever planted the bomb wanted to take him out the same way he died.

“Whoever”... if it’s not Makarov, it’s one of his fucking allies, they don’t need proof to know that by now. Only a few people knew the 141 was supposed to leave today, especially when it came in at such a late notice.

Soap’s flames glow brighter. Novikov knew.

When he gets his hands on that fuckin’ Doctor…

Another bump jostles him, making his back hit the side of the truck. Soap barely contains a yelp as pain flashes up his spine. Ghost pulls him closer, glaring at the road like it can feel remorse. It makes Soap smile.

If it weren’t for Ghost calling that meeting… this truck would’ve been far emptier.

The ULF base they arrive to is unlike any other base Soap has been in. Nestled between a mountain and a forest, the place itself looks benign; a few shacks that have seen better days and one or two actual structures, surrounded by a wooden fence.

As their truck drives closer, large metal doors embedded in the mountain’s side open, revealing the true base.

Concrete walls stood in stark contrast to natural excavated stone, dimly lit by floodlights and ancient-looking lightbulbs, Soap could see from the makeshift road how the large cavern has been sectioned into different parts, with tunnels shooting off the main area everywhere he looks. He can’t tell soldier from civilian here - most don’t wear uniforms or identifying marks, besides a green cloth wrapped around wrists or heads.

The truck stops near what he assumes is medical, and he takes a moment to thank every Reaper the drive is fucking over. Ghost helps Soap jump out, supporting him as much as he can as they make their way to one of the beds. Not like he’ll be sleeping tonight much, by the time his skin reforms they’ll probably need to be in debrief.

Still, one of the nurses pulls the curtain around the cot, the thin fabric barely blocking any light, not to mention the lack of roof. Doesn’t do much to block the sound of the bustling base, either. He appreciates the thought, though.

He lets go of Ghost to carefully drag himself to a prone position, grunting until he manages to settle. Soap closes his eyes, allowing the pounding in his head, the synchronized beating of his open wounds, to take over his senses.

It makes it so when something cool touches his shoulder, he jumps in surprise, eyes flicking to see Ghost crouched over him.

“LT? What are ye-?” he lets out an involuntary sigh as fingers kneed at his muscles, every part of him feeling both untethered and knotted beyond belief, “fuck…”

“That good, Johnny?” Ghost skirts around his injuries, peeling away the cloth that melted into his skin, “helps?”

Helps? Simon is seriously asking if this gentle touch, so careful and soft, seeping away the cloying heat burns always carry, is helping?

He asks if it helps when wherever his fingers brush, muscles and fascia and skin rush back to heal, begging to be held, cells working overtime just for the chance of prolonging the contact? Burning through what energy he has remaining, healing scars that would take hours in seconds, as if those callused hands have reached inside him, found the wires that lead to his molten core, and for once instead of turning up the heat, mercifully decided to let the pressure building and building out, finally letting him breathe?

He asks if this helps? Soap wants to cry.

He buries in face in the scratchy pillow, hoping to muffle some of the frankly embarrassing noises he’s letting out, disguise the stutter of his breath.

“Aye… I… thank ye.”

“I’ve got you, Johnny.” Simon murmurs, hands not leaving him for a second, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

Soap lets go, and the humming of the base, the blinding lights, the ache of his broken body, it all falls away, replaced by pale fingers, turning the valves, depressurizing.

He falls asleep, impossibly, and when nightmares hound him, he can trust in dark brown eyes to be there when he startles awake, trust that they’ll let him drift back. Let him back into a peaceful, dark void.

Soap is only mildly annoyed Ghost let him oversleep. He’s too grateful for the extra hours of healing to be truly mad, either way.

When he gets up, the skin on his back is mostly formed, still scarred to high hell but that’s to be expected. The chair besides the cot is empty, Ghost probably leaving for debrief a while ago.

With the few words he remembers in Arabic, he manages to ask a nurse for a spare shirt and get directions to the meeting rooms. Walking pulls awkwardly on his skin, the stiffness one he’s familiar with, yet forgotten in the past few months.

Been a while since he was sent on bomb disposal, after all.

The ULF fighters aren’t as frantic as they were earlier, and the base seems emptier. He makes his way through, marveling at the sheer amount of revenants he can spot. Just like Las Almas, Urzikstan has an abnormal amount of them, as war zones often do. To think this country has been surviving through almost 30 years of conflict…

This area seems more well-built, and he has to open three doors before he can find his team. Five heads turn to stare at him, the 141 as well as Commander Karim and Alex caught in the middle of debriefing.

“Ah- sorry fer being late, nobody woke me up-” Soap starts, the screeching of dragging chairs cutting him off. He barely manages to brace himself before he gets a careful hug from Gaz, Ghost scanning him for signs of discomfort from the corner of his eye.

Soap returns the favor, tightening his arms around Kyle, “good morning to ye too, Garrick.” he says fondly.

“Bastard” Gaz laughs wetly, pulling back, “how’s your back? Should you even be out of bed yet?”

Ghost meets his eyes. “Had some help with healin’ this time around.” Soap says.

He feels Price pick at his mind, and smiles. “Well, you came just at the right time, Sergeant. Take a sit.”

“Yes sir.” Soap lets Gaz lead him to an empty chair, Ghost sitting down on his left. An ungloved hand takes his, fingers squeezing his comfortingly. He tries to not let the squirming fuzziness in his heart show on his face, as Price begins talking.

“Our target is what used to be a Russian prison, which was captured by Urzik rebellion forces and converted to a makeshift holding facility.” Price points to the map spread on the table.

Commander Karim joins in, “currently, this facility is under Al-Mudahiyn’s control.”

“Al-Mudahiyn?” Soap asks.

“The Sacrificers. Made up of ex-ULF fighters.” Karim and Alex share a look, “we don’t make a habit of attacking them directly, as we both share similar goals in the end, but their methods have forced our hands in the past.”

Alex sighs, “Al-Mudahiyn would rather let whole villages die if it means killing more Russians. They’re powerful, don’t get me wrong, and it definitely helps that the Russians are fuckin’ afraid of stepping into their territories, but…”

“I will not allow my people to be trampled for a chance at revenge.” Karim almost snarls. “Our intel has reason to suspect this facility has been used to transport the revenants kidnapped by Graves. As I’ve said before, we will need to go on a recon mission to understand exactly who and how many soldiers are currently there.”

“Recon will be done today, and if nothing’s out of the ordinary, we will infiltrate tomorrow night.” Price continues.

“Wait,” Gaz pipes up, “if Graves left the revenants in that facility… doesn’t that mean he worked with Al-Mudahiyn?”

“Yes.” Alex answers, “this is why we also suspect they’re working with Shepherd.”

Steamin’ Jesus. What a mess.

“Those fucking dogs can’t help but dirty their hands.” Karim mutters under her breath, a few curses in Arabic he doesn’t recognize lacing into her words.

“What’s the plan, Commander?” Ghost asks, sharp stare burning into the maps.

Soap looks at them as well. The route to the facility is marked by a black line, a winding way going both under and on ground, avoiding enemy encampments marked by red and green. This is going to be hard right from the get-go, he can already tell.

He wonders if his wounds are healed enough by now to not reopen in combat… if he was still with his old team, they would’ve probably sent him already, so he supposes it’s fine-

“You’re going to a medic to get checked after this, Sergeant. If you don’t get cleared, you’re staying here.” Price shoots his thoughts down. Soap frowns with indignation, Price wouldn’t bench him for the whole mission just because his injuries might reopen, right? Besides, he can heal them on field, no need to-

“Soap.” Price sighs outwardly, “stay here for the recon mission, at the very least. The team isn’t in the headspace to see you harm yourself again, and you aren’t, either. Focus on resting for tomorrow, got it?”

Soap looks down, at his and Ghost’s tangled hands, looks to his right at Gaz, whose eyes flit to his back every few minutes. Focuses for just a second on how much his body aches.

His knee-jerk reaction to all those details is to try harder. Heal faster, get back to the field as soon as possible, fix this, because it is his fault, if he only detected that fucking bomb, disarmed it before it could go off-

But… he could give what Price ordered him to do a try.

“Alright, Captain. Not gonna bench me for tomorrow as well, right?”

Price sounds exasperated in his mind, “I’m not sending you to the field broken.”

Farah begins talking about today’s mission, and Soap diverts his attention, leaving Price’s thoughts unanswered.

He hopes to all Reapers the medic clears him for the infiltration. After the explosion, Soap doesn’t think he can let his team out of sight.

Fate isn’t just after Soap and Ghost, anymore. None of them are safe.

The medic did not clear him for duty. In fact, by the look in his eyes Soap would reckon the medic would’ve preferred to ground him for another month. To his surprise, the medic instead sent him to another part of the clinic, explaining to him in a mix of English and Arabic that there’s something that could help him there.

Well, if it gets him back to the field tomorrow, he’d try it.

He was instructed to wait, standing in a line of people trailing far behind a door. Soap passed the time by having a staring contest with the peeling off-white paint slapped on the wall in front of him, and do his best to not think about last night.

So far, the wall is winning, and he managed to shove down any rising memory pretty well, beside the way Gaz’s eyes looked, wide open and horror-struck.

He’s glad Kyle got Price and Ghost, that they’re such a close-knit team. If Gaz was under his last CO…

Soap sighs, temping down the fire bursting from his fingertips. It has gotten large enough that it started garnering attention, and he rather not scare the wounded here.

After what felt like hours (it was probably just 30 minutes, but God were they boring), Soap enters the room to find a cot and a chair, in which a boy no older than 16 sat. He assumed the kid was the patient before him at first, but the boy motioned for him to lay down.

He understands more from the tone than the words themselves that the boy is asking him something, “sorry, my Arabic is a wee bit rusty. You know English?”

The boy blinks, “uh, a little. Do you feel pain somewhere?”

Curious, Soap sits on the cot, “got exploded yesterday, my back’s a bit of a mess.” the boy only gets more confused, so he adds, “Ah can heal from those, just- I was told you can help?”

A light flickers on in the boy’s dark eyes, and he instructs Soap to take off his shirt and lie down.

After getting situated on his stomach, the boy places his hands on his scarred skin. Soap is surprised the sight didn’t make him flinch.

He’s even more surprised when he feels his muscles twitch, skin tingling as it follows the boy’s hands.

“Yer… you’re a revenant?”

The boy nods, his focus on his powers, orchestrating his cells to go into overdrive and heal. Must have been Reaped by Flesh, there are a few in the SAS. Most of the time, they can only heal themselves…

“How old are you?” he finds himself asking out loud.

“Fifteen.”

Far too fucking young to be in this position. Too young to already be used to seeing injuries like his, to be desensitized to the cruelty of this world, to be acquainted with death.

He wonders where are his parents, his family, and he doesn’t dare to ask because he fears the answer is one he already knows.

“What’s your name?” Soap asks instead.

The boy’s gaze dart to his before returning to his task, “Amir. You?”

“John, but most people call me Soap.”

That makes Amir’s brows furrow, before he gives him a half smile, “like… cleaning soap?”

“Yep. Cool name, no?” he boasts sarcastically.

Amir laughs, “yeah. Very cool.” he answers, matching his sarcasm.

They fall silent, Amir passing fingers over his spine, the sensation making Soap grunt. “Move your shoulders” the boy tells him, and he gives the joint a careful rotation.

Amir seems pleased, “any more pain?”

“... No.” Soap lifts himself up, moving his torso and marveling at how the muscles barely hurt. There’s definitely some tension left in his skin and flesh, but it doesn’t feel like it will rip open at any sudden movement. “Thank ye.”

Amir smiles, “you are welcome.” he switches to Arabic, calling the next person over, and Soap takes it as his sign to leave.

To combat his new problem with boredom, Soap decided to explore the base. By now, he’s managed to find their mess mostly because of the wonderful smell wafting from it, their armory, and showers.

Eventually he reached a quieter part of the base, deeper into the mountain. Reading the signs beside each door, he gathers this is the barracks. Soap attempts to read another nameplate when he hears someone walking towards him.

“I believe you are supposed to be on bed rest, Sergeant.” Commander Karim calls out.

Soap huffs. Price told the fucking Commander to keep an eye on him. He’d be annoyed at the lack of trust if he didn’t know he would’ve done the same in his place. “I was sent to Amir, he fixed me up.”

Karim nods, “you should consider yourself lucky, then. Amir is usually quite busy.”

Soap feels the same pity he felt before rise again, “ye don’t have teh answer if it’s confidential or anythin’, but… how did he get here? How did he…”

How did he die so young?

The Commander stares at him for a moment, before turning around, “after me, Sergeant.”

Karim leads Soap outside, through a smaller tunnel opposite of the entrance. The sun blinds him after so long underground, and he takes a deep breath of fresh mountain air.

When his eyes adjust, a city comes into view, tucked around a river. Even from here, he can see remnants of airstrikes dotting the fields in its outskirts.

“This was my city.” Karim points to a neighborhood, farthest from the river, “my house was there.”

Commander Karim doesn’t look at him when she says, “the Russians attacked when I was seven. A missile hit the building me and my mother were in, and we died.”

She allows the statement to hang in the air, allow the horror to seep into Soap. “... Ye were Reaped at seven…”

“I’m not an anomaly in that, Sergeant. Many of the revenants in the ULF died before reaching maturity. Many of them, the last living member of their family. Amir is no different, I am no different.”

No words feel like enough, regardless he says, “Ah’m sorry, for whatever it’s worth.”

Karim sighs, “it’s not worth much, these days, but I appreciate it.” she makes eye contact with him again, “I am sorry for what happened to you and Sergeant Garrick last night. I was told your injuries were severe.”

She ignores the surprise on his face, “Captain Price informed me of your Reapers’ warning, that there is a traitor amidst your people. I want to assure you, the ULF is on your side. Betrayal isn’t foreign to either of us, but it has a way to gnaw at trust. It is important, I believe, to be able to trust your allies.”

Soap is reminded of Graves, a tingling in the back of his neck, and nightmares of a useless body, helpless and numb. Remembers that Karim and Alex were kidnapped by the revenant they thought was one of their own.

“I trust ye, Commander, and Ah’m sure the same goes for the rest of the team.” Soap assures, fully believing in his words.

Somehow, he feels that the Commander could tell. She gives him a small smile, and looks back at her hometown. Skin refracting sunlight, she seems at ease, in a way Soap hasn’t seen in Las Almas. Her care for her country, her people, is different than he experienced himself. He wonders what it feels to give yourself so wholly for such thing.

Soap supposes he knows a similar, except his home is with a small taskforce, made of men he would give his life for with no hesitation.

Commander Karim gave him some work to do, utilizing his knowledge of explosives to tinker with their existing supply and optimize it for field use. He’s elbows-deep in a pile of C4 when a voice begins echoing in his mind.

“Farah informed me of your shape, kid. Debrief in ten, don’t be late.”

Soap practically jumps out of his chair, running out of the armory and almost colliding with the poor soldiers in the hall.

A mix of excitement and nerves fills his lungs. Time to get back to the field.

[witchthewriter]

𝑯𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏 𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒆, 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒔!

Mmm. 8 episodes huh? You really had filler episodes in there too, huh. I cannot with this. They either give us a whole feast or crumbs.

I saw only 3 leaks on Tik Tok, and watched the trailer for the last episode... AND THAT'S BASICALLY THE NEXT EPISODE.

We don't get a Rhaenyra & Alicent kiss even though THEY ARE RIGHT IN EACH OTHERS' FACES. Yes, Alicent did travel to Dragonstone just like Rhaenyra did for her. But Rhaenyra says it. is. too. late.

Alicent understands. She wants to take Helaena, Jahaera and even offers Rhaenyra to come with them. But GIRL!

Ulf is being a grade A annoyance. He's letting it go to his head. And that is exactly what everyone DIDN'T want to happen. He even sits in Rhaenyra's seat with his feet on the table. I honestly would have cut him right then and there. Jace handled it well, or as well as he could. But Ulf is that character who keeps on pushing the boundaries. Just pushing and pushing until you react and act surprised.

Daemon sees and understands The Prophecy - seeing Dany, Drogon, Rhaegal & Viserion. He also sees the White Walkers and ultimately, he sees Rhaenyra on the Iron Throne - finally understanding that she is the best choice for the realm.

Aemond can get the hell away from my girl Helaena. He wants this little angel to FIGHT? The one who looks at bugs and can see the future? Oh YEAH GREAT AEMOND. THIS WOULDN'T OF HAPPENED IF YOU DIDN'T KILL LUKE!

Also Tyland did some stuff - he's so boring to me I really don't care. I know he's just going to boast about it in years to come about how great he is and blah blah blah

And then at the end they just showed snippets of where everyone was at. Otto in a cell, Rhaena seeing Sheepstealer, the armies coming together, the grey beards (starks) marching, and then that was that!

Poor finale, poor season. I just cannot believe they chose to do eight episodes and barely even enlongated them.

My overall take:

LEAVE THE DRAGONS ALONE!

[rynnthefangirl]

I get that it is pretty standard storytelling to stack the odds in favor of your villains in order to make the protagonists eventually success more satisfying… but it is so frustrating to see how the mood of Westeros at the start of the Dance was so flipped around from what it was in the books.

People WANTED to fight for Rhaenyra. She was the Realms Delight, Viserys’ Little Girl, the rightful heir. During Aegon’s coronation, Smallfolk murmured in hesitant confusion, occasionally shouting out “Long live Queen Rhaenyra!” The Starks, the Arryns, the Velaryons, and many more houses were 100% behind her. Even in the Reach, which should have been fully in the Hightowers pocket, many houses were declaring for Rhaenyra. She had the majority of the Houses in Westeros on her side! Meanwhile Otto was writing for foreign aid in a desperate attempt to get more support for their side.

The Greens believed that the Realm would side with Aegon due to misogyny and fear of retaliation, and were shocked at how much support Rhaenrya managed to garner. They usurped the throne not just bc they were willing to tear the realm apart for power (though they were) but bc they believed it would would not be necessary. But as it turns out, stealing a throne, slaying a peace envoy and your own nephew, and imprisoning/murdering lords for keeping their oaths does NOT make you popular. The Greens were doomed by their own arrogance. They themselves had no respect for oaths or loyalty, and assumed that the rest of the Realm was the same. They thought that as long as they had Kings Landing and Vhagar, they could bribe or threaten the houses into submission. But that was not the case. The Greens plan did NOT go as they wanted bc other houses were not as grasping and selfish as they expected. Not as grasping and selfish as they and their allies were.

But in the show?

-People hate Rhaenyra for the death of Jaehaerys, but absolutely nobody seems to give a shit that Aemond murdered his nephew, a 13 year old peace envoy. I don’t think he has even been called a kinslayer yet.

-The smallfolk all cheer at Aegon’s coronation (though I will give the show credit that the smallfolks attitudes are shifting against Aegon after the ratcatchers and parading of Meleys’ head, as they should).

-Jane Arryn, Rhaenys Targaryen, Corlys Velaryon all seem to resent Rhaenyra. It’s not even clear why they are fighting for her, as it seems to be with the greatest reluctance.

-The Brackens are the noble oathkeeping house that will burn before betraying their king, while the Blackwoods are evil underhanded murderers.

-Rather than the taking of Harrenhall being a decisive and important victory for the Blacks that shakes Aegon to his core, Daemon is floundering to get any support while all the Riverlords hate him and call him and Rhaenrya a tyrant.

-The Freys are only reluctant allies, again solely for whatever they can get for it.

At this point, the only ones that seems to pose any sort of threat to the Greens is their own leaders. Certainly not any of the Blacks. I’m not even sure why Criston Cole is bothering to take smaller castles around Kings Landing instead of just marching his men to Harrenhall. They’ve talked about it being the key to the Riverlands, and it’s not as though Daemon has a host there (or seemingly any firm support from anyone but House Blackwood). So go take it! What they hell are they waiting for?

Despite the brutal losses of Rhaenys and Jace, the Blacks take both Harrenhall and then Kings Landing quite decisively and with little bloodshed. Rhaenrya’s downfall is due to her own descent into grief, vengeance, and paranoia following the death of her children and multiple betrayals, combined with the insanity sweeping KL and the realm due to the stolen crown treasury and the horrific war crimes being rained down upon the realm (thanks Aemond, Daeron, Dalton, Ulf, and Hugh).

As it stands though, I’m reminded of Game of Thrones S7-8, where Cersei is able to do anything she wants with no backlash while Daenerys and hated and betrayed for her every action, despite Dany being an infinitely better person and ruler. I mean, it’s not quite at that level, but it is in the same ball field.

Stakes are good and all, but let the leaders of Team Black be as cool as they were in the books. And let Rhaenyra be flawed, let the burden of the war force her to make bad and vengeful decisions. While I certainly don’t want Rhaenyra to be totally demonized and it should not all be on her, we’ve swung too far the other way. The show’s depiction of Team Black needs balance. And the Greens need to face consequences for what they do.

[vhaemystheberserker]

THE RESULTS ARE IN! And the Winner of the poll was Asoiaf! So here are a few characters to choose from to be the winning bot!

And if anyone needs a reminder on the plot of the bot, here you go!

Had a sudden bot idea. Its Omegaverse themed, both the character and the User will be alpha's, both male, and both of them will be hella horny and in a rut, but say they have ZERO access to any omega's, and the horniness just becomes to much so they end up fighting eachother and trying force the other alpha into submission, and whoever dominates or overpowers the other fucks them despite the fact they are both alpha's. For once, I think my sick brain really cooked something up, actually.

Some alpha is ending with their ass OBLITERATED.