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damn-stark · 2 months ago

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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)

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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…

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

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divinesolas · 3 months ago

Text

Distain

summary: Jacaerys' disdain for you and your dragonseed friends is no secret but he seems to hold a particularly hatred for you. you have no reason why until he shows his true colors after a near death incident.

jacaerys targaryen x dragonseed!reader

w.c: 1.8K

a.n: this idea randomly popped up in my head today so i rushed to write this before i forgot hope you guys like it <3

perm jace taglist ! (open) @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese @urmomsgirlfriend1 @jacesvelaryons @earth4angels @itsemohours @valdezthg

You nervously tug at your new riding clothes uncomfortably. Unlike some of your friends you were not so confident in your dragon riding skills. Especially not today and especially not with your riding partner. Ulf bumps his elbow a little too harshly into your arm and you stumble slightly as he laughs. “Dont worry pretty girl this will be fun.” You let out a shaky breath and look at addam and hugh who send you sympathetic looks. The two of them having gotten far too advanced to continue dragon training with you.

You ignore him as you spare the group of four once last glance. Rhaenyra attempts to looks pleased but you can tell something is eating away at the back of her mind. The prince is the one who catches your eye the longest. He does not like you. He does not like any of you he’s made that very clear but you he seemed to dislike the most. When he finally locks eyes with you its only a split second before he whips his head away and glare out into the ocean his hair blowing in the wind.

You have no clue what you could have done to upset him in particular. You know how his rumored heritage, it does not bother you but it clearly bothers him. He does not seem as upset with ulf and hugh who have white hair but holds a particular anger towards you despite the fact you do not. You have tried to be nice, send him smiles at dinner or offer him a towel after training practice but all your efforts have been ignored. He is not cruel to you, especially not as he is to ulf, but he simply acts like you do not exist and that hurts your feelings more.

You swiftly turn away attempting not to think about the prince anymore and make your way towards sheepstealer who perks up at you as you approach. “vēzot.” (up) Your girl hums as she stands up. “lykirī.” You wince at your own pronunciation, you spend your nights in your dark room only alit with a single candle your desk with a book as you try your best to perfect your Valyrian. You climb up onto sheepstealer and pat her neck lightly before you shakily grab onto the handles. Sparing ulf one last looks who has a sinister look on his face and you sigh.

“sōvēs!”

The four of them watch the two dragon riders glide around in the air. rhaenyra turns to addam when he lets out a shaky breath, “is something wrong?” addam merely shakes his head, “Of course not.” The two targaryens do not miss the look the two dragonseeds share. Jacaerys purses his lips as he narrowly glares at the two. “spit it out.” his mother lightly says his name and hugh readjusts his tunic. “ulf has been, very um, forward, with the girl these last few days, we mean no offense to him your graces we simply worry for her.” addam nods along as his eyes turn to the dragons in the sky.

Rhaenyra turns to jacaerys who keeps his eyes locked onto the dragons in the sky, a blank look on his face before huffing lightly, “He would not act out of order knowing we stand here watching.” The words manage to silence the group but they all know her words are not exactly true.

You attempt to ignore ulfs calls as you continue to drift around in the air. A light smile gracing your face as you grow more confident in your movements. The smile drops when ulf pulls up next to you and grins. “we should race.” You shake your head and grip the handles tightly in worry. “I am not interested.”

You attempt to drift away but he eagerly continues to soar next to you much to your annoyance. “Oh don’t be a chicken pretty girl lets just play a little. If i win you give me a kiss.” you gag at his words as your face twists in disgust. “I would never!” Ulf gets too eager to get a bit closer to you and the wind gets too strong, you dont even hear the words he says, something about beating you somewhere but he is far too close and silverwings tail wacks you and you slip off your dragon.

The group watches in horror as your screams fill the air. Addam quickly pushes off the wall and shakily steps back eager to go towards his own dragon. Hugh turns to the group alarmed, “she should be fine right? she should hit the water?” “she cannot swim.” Before anybody else can reaction hugh is shoved out of the way as the young prince races with fury towards his own dragon. “vermax!” The young dragon eagerly skitters towards the prince sensing his desperation.

You don’t know what to you. You can lightly hear your name being called from above probably ulf? or maybe its coming from shore? you look over to where the group was and see nobody there any longer. You’re going to die. The last thing you see before your body harshly hits the water is the blue sky and a blurry dragon soaring through the sky.

You don’t expect to open your eyes ever again but you do and it hurts. Your body aches and you begin to cough as soon as you can your throat dryer than ever. A hand suddenly brings a cup up to your lips and without any regard you eager drink from it. The other hand cups your jaw, The water easily slides down your throat and you let out a sigh of relief once the glass is empty. another substance is brought up to your lips and you drink that aswell. It burns as it goes down but it is not enough to irritate you, clearly some sort of medicine as it leaves a nasty taste in your mouth.

The hand on your jaw lingers there lightly and your warm at the affection before it is pulled away. You turn to see who the mysterious person is and harshly gasp leading you into another fit of coughs. “my prince!” “do not speak.”

You wish to look away from him but you can’t. He looks a mess. Much unfit for the usually very put together prince you see day to day. His hair is a mess, he’s still wearing the clothes you had seen him in earlier, and his face is red as you rummages through the bottles on the desk beside you. “what happened?” “do not say anything.” “i wish to know.”

sighing at your insistence he leans over you as he speaks and you try not to flush at the proximity. “i had managed to get you out of the water in time. you have been laying here for two days time. ulf has been harshly punished for his actions.” he says the word harshly like venom on his tongue but by the look on his face you can tell he is not satisfied. Your mind spins at his words as realization dawns on you. you have been out for days. Addam must be worried sick. But you grow bothered as another realization hits you. “have you been here this whole time?” He ignores you as if you had not spoken a word, continuing in his own world. “you are on bedrest for a week, if you are not better by then we will need to kick up the medicine you take,” “when was the last time you slept?” He pauses and his hand shakes lightly as he overpours the liquid into the cup. “You should not be talking.”

“you ignore me my prince.” He leans back in his chair after lightly throwing down the medicine before glaring at you. “Everyone thought you dead. The maesters had said you were unsavable. Bruises up and down your body. What would i have,,, what would have happened to my mother cause should you have died? It is foolish.”

You try not to linger on his words too much but he finally dares to look in your eyes and he can tell you’ve caught his slip up. “I’m sorry my prince It is my fault-” “Do not say such a foolish thing!” You flinch at his tone, “It is that mongrels fault. He should be ashamed of himself yet he still prances about as if he is not a disgrace to nature.”

You faulter at his words, knowing he is surely talking about how he is a bastard just as you are. You turn away from him, not knowing what else to say allowing the silence to linger in the air. You can feel his eyes on you but you do not dare look at him. “You must know.” your brows narrow in confusion, “Of my affections.” Your eyes widen and you freeze. “My prince…” “If i have not been obvious enough then allow me to lay then plain and clear now.”

“you hate me.” “I never have.”

You shake your head in denial. “You ignore me.” “because i can hardly contain myself around you. Who do you think is the one to have the cook make the pink cake every night as you seem fond of it? who do you think is the one who requests a hot bath to be ran for you even before my own? the one who had your dragon riding clothes made? the one who stands watch at every practice every training session without the request of the queen the one who rushes to help you because the thought of you injured makes me sick.”

You are silent. he takes this as an opportunity to continue. “I should have rushed in at the first sign of tension. Offer to go with the two of you. but i had been blinded in my own anger. and now here you lay….”

You finally dare look at him and his head is hung while his hands are cupped, shaking as he attempts to compose himself. His glossy eyes widen when your bruised hand comes to cover his and he looks up to see your strained face. He brings his hands closer to you to relieve you of the ache. The two of you stare at one another for a couple long moments. The sounds of breathing and the rain outside lightly hitting the window.

You are the first to speak, cutting the tension in the room swiftly. “I’d like to be friends my prince. And if it grows into more, i would rather enjoy that.” Jacaerys nods and lets out a sigh of relief. “That would be nice my lady.” The two of you lightly smile at one another, a new found hope fills the air.

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novaursa · 2 months ago

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What about a Jace x sister

Where he fell in love with her and in the same time he is not ok with it. He might be the only Targaryen related who thinks that’s not okay to loved their related. But no matter how he can stopped loving her, she might have a look more “Targaryen” with white hair with some black in it (narcissia Malfoy style?)

He always do some weird shit to be closed to her without drow to much attention, And when they finally get really closed their mother call all the bastard to become dragon rider. And Ulf find them in the Pit and try to get something from them in exchange of his silence.

Jace wake up and choose violence 🫣 and just say no and fuxk her in front of him and say that if he say anything he make sure his dragon will eat him

Sins of the Blood

- Summary: Jacaerys always loved his sister, more than he should. It was wrong, he knew it, but the dragon in him claimed you as his long ago.

- Paring: sister!reader/Jacaerys Velaryon

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. Requests are closed!

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: I've bonded the reader with Grey Ghost for the plot.

The sea breeze dances through the open halls of Dragonstone, carrying with it the scent of salt and the distant roar of the waves. You stand with Baela and Rhaena on the sun-warmed terrace overlooking the cliffs, the three of you bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. Your laughter rings out, clear and melodic, mingling with the cries of the gulls that circle above.

Jacaerys Velaryon watches from a distance, his heart heavy with conflicting emotions. He knows he should not be here, should not be watching you so closely, but he cannot help himself. You, his sister, the only daughter of Rhaenyra, have been a constant presence in his life, a source of both comfort and confusion. His eyes trace the silver streaks in your hair, a reminder of your Targaryen blood, mingling with the deep brown inherited from your true father, though only you, he, and his mother know the truth.

He remembers when you were children, how you would chase each other through the halls of the Red Keep, your laughter infectious, your bond inseparable. He had always been protective of you, even when you didn’t need it. You were fierce, a dragon through and through, and yet, as you stand now with Baela and Rhaena, there is a softness to you, a grace that makes his breath catch in his throat.

"Do you remember the first time we flew together?" Baela’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. She grins at you, her violet eyes bright with the memory.

"Of course," you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. "I thought Jace would never let me ride my own dragon, he was so worried."

Jace feels a pang at your words, both pride and regret mingling in his chest. He had always been overly cautious with you, more so than with Luke or Joffrey. Perhaps he had always known, even then, that his feelings for you were not entirely brotherly.

Rhaena giggles, leaning in closer to you. "He’s always been that way, hasn’t he? Always the protector, always looking after you."

You shrug, though the warmth in your eyes betrays your affection. "He cares. That’s just how he is."

Jace clenches his fists at his sides, torn between the pride that swells in him at your words and the guilt that gnaws at him for the thoughts he cannot seem to banish. He knows it is wrong—this desire that burns in him like dragonfire—but it is also undeniably a part of him, a flame that refuses to be extinguished.

Take what is yours. The words echo in his mind, a voice that is both his own and something darker, something ancient. The blood of the dragon runs hot in his veins, urging him to act, to claim what he believes is his by right. You are his sister, yes, but you are also so much more. You are the embodiment of everything he has ever wanted, ever desired.

You turn then, as if sensing his gaze, and your eyes meet his. For a moment, the world seems to stop. The laughter of Baela and Rhaena fades into the background, the sound of the waves dulls, and all he can hear is the pounding of his own heart.

"Jace," you call out, your voice breaking the spell. "Come join us!"

There is no hesitation in your invitation, no hint that you are aware of the storm raging inside him. You are just his sister, inviting him to share in the simple joy of the evening, oblivious to the battle he fights within.

He forces a smile, masking the turmoil beneath, and steps forward. "I was just enjoying the view," he says, his voice betraying nothing.

Rhaena giggles again, nudging Baela. "See, I told you he’s always watching over her."

Baela laughs, a sound like the tinkling of bells. "It’s because he’s a good brother."

The words cut deeper than they should, a cruel reminder of the line he cannot cross. He wants to be a good brother, he truly does. But the blood of the dragon does not care for such boundaries. The blood of the dragon demands more.

As he approaches, you smile up at him, that same smile that has always had the power to calm him, to soothe the fire within. But today, it only stokes the flames higher.

"Are you alright?" you ask softly, your eyes searching his face for something he cannot give.

He nods, the lie slipping easily from his lips. "Of course. Just… thinking."

You raise an eyebrow, a knowing look passing over your face. "You think too much, Jace. You always have."

He laughs, though it is a strained sound. "Someone has to, with you lot always running headlong into trouble."

Baela snorts. "As if you don’t love it."

He shrugs, unable to deny it. "Perhaps."

You laugh then, a sound so pure and unburdened that it twists something deep in his chest. How can you be so carefree, so unaware of the darkness that haunts him?

The conversation drifts to other things—plans for the next dragonride, the latest antics of your younger brothers—but Jace finds it hard to focus. His eyes keep returning to you, to the way the setting sun catches in your hair, to the way your eyes sparkle when you laugh. Every moment is a battle, every word a reminder of what he can never have.

Take what is yours. The voice whispers again, insistent, relentless.

He pushes it down, burying it beneath layers of duty, of honor, of love for his family. But it is there, always there, a part of him that he can never truly silence.

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting the world in shades of orange and gold, you turn to him once more, your expression soft, almost tender.

"Thank you, Jace," you say quietly.

He frowns, unsure of what you mean. "For what?"

You smile, and it is a smile that breaks him, because it is so full of warmth, of trust, of love. "For always being there. For always watching over me."

He swallows hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. "Always," he promises, and it is both a vow and a curse.

You reach out, your hand brushing against his arm, and the simple touch sends a shock through him, setting his nerves alight. For a moment, he forgets himself, forgets everything but you.

But then Baela speaks up, her voice pulling him back to reality. "We should head inside. It’s getting late."

You nod, but your eyes linger on his for a moment longer, as if searching for something, something you cannot name.

Jace watches as you turn away, following Baela and Rhaena back into the castle, your laughter fading into the evening air. He stays behind, his heart a tumult of emotion, his mind a battlefield.

He knows what he feels is wrong. He knows that he should push these thoughts away, should bury them deep where they can never see the light of day. But he also knows that the blood of the dragon is not so easily denied.

As the stars begin to twinkle in the darkening sky, Jace makes a silent vow to himself. He will protect you, he will care for you, as a brother should. But he will also fight this desire, this hunger that threatens to consume him. He will not let it destroy him, or you.

But deep down, he knows that it will be difficult.

And as he watches the last light of day fade into night, he wonders if it ever truly will be.

Months have passed since that evening on the terrace, and yet the fire within Jacaerys Velaryon has not dimmed. If anything, it has only grown stronger, a persistent heat that simmers beneath the surface, threatening to consume him at every turn. He has thrown himself into his duties, into training and studies, hoping that the rigor will burn away these unwanted desires. But nothing works. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot escape the pull you have on him.

Today, he finds himself wandering through the halls of Dragonstone, his mind restless, his heart unsettled. The castle is quiet, the stillness only amplifying his thoughts. His feet carry him to the library, a place he knows you often retreat to when you seek solace or simply a moment of peace. He tells himself it is a coincidence, that he has come here to study, to distract himself with books and knowledge. But deep down, he knows the truth.

As he enters the library, the scent of aged parchment and ink greets him, a familiar comfort. He pauses in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room until they find you, seated near the window, the light of the midday sun casting a soft glow around you. You are engrossed in a book, your silver-streaked hair falling over your face, your expression serene. The sight of you, so peaceful and unguarded, sends a wave of warmth through him, and before he can stop himself, he is walking towards you.

You look up as he approaches, a smile tugging at your lips. "Jace," you greet him, your voice soft and welcoming. "What brings you here?"

He hesitates, his mind racing for an excuse. "I thought I might find you here," he admits, the words tumbling out before he can catch them. "I wanted to see if you needed any help with your studies."

You raise an eyebrow, a playful glint in your eyes. "Since when do you offer to help with my studies?"

He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. "I just thought... we haven't spent much time together lately. I miss it."

Your expression softens at his words, and you close the book in your hands, setting it aside. "I’ve missed it too," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

He can feel the tension between you, a charged energy that crackles in the air. The pull is stronger now, a magnetic force that draws him closer, and before he knows it, he is sitting beside you, his body instinctively leaning towards yours.

"What are you reading?" he asks, his voice rougher than he intended.

You glance at the book, then back at him, a small smile playing on your lips. "A history of Old Valyria. I’ve always been fascinated by our ancestors, by the dragons and the blood magic they wielded."

"Of course," he murmurs, though he hardly registers the words. He is too focused on the way your hand rests so close to his, the way your eyes seem to shimmer in the light. "Our blood is strong, isn’t it? The blood of the dragon."

You nod, your gaze holding his. "It is. It’s what makes us who we are."

The words resonate deep within him, a reminder of the truth he has tried so hard to ignore. The blood of the dragon is what binds you together, but it is also what drives him to the brink of madness. The fire that burns in his veins is not just a curse, but a part of him, a part of you. And he is no longer sure if he can continue to fight it.

"I wanted to ask you something," you say suddenly, breaking the silence that has settled between you.

He blinks, trying to focus. "What is it?"

You hesitate for a moment, as if gathering your thoughts. "I was wondering if you could help me with my dragon training. Grey Ghost is so much more... spirited than he used to be, and I thought maybe you could help me understand him better."

Jace swallows hard, the thought of spending more time with you, alone and away from prying eyes, sending a thrill through him. But it is also dangerous, more dangerous than anything he has faced before. Still, he finds himself nodding. "Of course. I’d be glad to help."

You smile, a smile that warms him from the inside out, and he knows he is lost. He cannot deny you, cannot deny himself any longer. The pull is too strong, the fire too fierce. And as you rise to your feet, gesturing for him to follow, he feels that pull tighten, like a chain around his heart, binding him to you.

The two of you walk side by side through the corridors of Dragonstone, the silence between you comfortable, yet charged with an unspoken tension. Your presence is a balm to him, calming and yet igniting something deep within, something he can no longer ignore. Every brush of your arm against his, every glance in his direction, fans the flames higher, until he feels as though he might burst from the sheer force of it.

When you reach the courtyard where the dragons are kept, you turn to him, your eyes bright with excitement. "Let’s start with the basics," you say, your voice full of eagerness. "You’ve always been better at this than I am."

Jace shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. "It’s not about being better," he says, trying to keep his voice steady. "It’s about understanding them, forming a bond with them."

You nod, your attention fully on him now, and he feels a surge of pride at the trust you place in him. "I know," you say softly. "And I trust you to help me."

The words strike him like a blow, the weight of your trust almost too much to bear. He wants to be worthy of it, to be the brother you believe him to be. But he also wants more, so much more, and it terrifies him.

As you step closer to him, your arm brushing against his, he feels that pull again, stronger than ever. He knows he should move away, put some distance between you, but he cannot bring himself to do it. Instead, he finds himself leaning in, his body drawn to yours like a moth to flame.

"You know," you say, your voice barely above a whisper, "I’ve always felt safest when I’m with you."

The confession catches him off guard, and he looks down at you, his heart pounding in his chest. "Why?"

You smile up at him, a gentle, almost shy smile. "Because you’ve always been there for me, Jace. No matter what."

His breath catches in his throat, the intensity of the moment almost too much to bear. The pull between you is undeniable now, a force of nature that neither of you can resist. And as you stand there, so close that he can feel the warmth of your breath on his skin, he knows that he is about to cross a line that he can never return from.

But before he can act, before he can make the decision that will change everything, you reach out and take his hand in yours, your fingers curling around his. The simple touch sends a jolt of electricity through him, and he is lost, completely and utterly lost.

"Jace," you whisper, your voice trembling with something unspoken.

He looks down at you, his heart in his throat, and he knows that this is it. This is the moment he has been dreading, the moment he has been craving. The pull between you is too strong, the fire too fierce, and he knows that there is no going back.

But then, as if sensing the turmoil within him, you give his hand a gentle squeeze, your eyes full of warmth and understanding. "Thank you," you say, your voice soft and sincere. "For always being there."

And just like that, the moment passes. The tension between you eases, and you step back, releasing his hand. The pull is still there, still strong, but it is no longer overwhelming. For now, it is enough to simply be with you, to feel your presence beside him, to know that you trust him.

As you turn your attention back to the dragons, Jace takes a deep breath, steadying himself. The battle within him is far from over, but for now, he has won a small victory. He has resisted the pull, resisted the fire. But he knows it is only a matter of time before the dragon within him demands more.

And when that time comes, he is not sure if he will be able to resist.

The winds howl around the jagged peaks of Dragonmont, the volcanic heart of Dragonstone. The sky above is dark, thick clouds swirling in ominous patterns, but here, beneath the shelter of the mountain, you and Jacaerys find solace in the company of your dragons. Vermax and Grey Ghost, their massive forms partially obscured by the mist that clings to the rocky terrain, rest quietly nearby, their watchful eyes ever alert.

The air between you and Jace is charged, as it has been for days now. Since the arrival of the Dragonseeds and the beginning of the Red Sowing, there has been an unspoken tension, a shared anxiety that neither of you has fully voiced. Today, it seems, that silence is about to be broken.

Jace paces before you, his brow furrowed, his steps uneven. "I can’t help but worry," he finally says, his voice low, almost a growl. "Mother’s decision to let these Dragonseeds try to claim the dragons… it could destroy everything. The only thing that sets us apart, that makes us legitimate in the eyes of the realm, is our bond with the dragons. What happens if anyone can do it? What happens if they succeed?"

You watch him, feeling the weight of his concern settle over you like a heavy cloak. You understand his fear; it echoes within you as well. "They are Targaryen bastards, Jace," you say softly, trying to find the right words. "The blood of the dragon runs in their veins, even if the world doesn’t see them as we are seen. But you are right to be cautious. We cannot control what might happen if they succeed. But we can control how we respond."

He stops pacing, turning to face you fully. His dark eyes are intense, filled with worry and something deeper, something you’ve seen growing there in recent days. "What if it shatters everything? What if the realm no longer sees us as the rightful heirs? If they can claim dragons, what does that mean for us?"

You rise from your seat on a smooth outcropping of rock, moving closer to him, your steps slow and deliberate. You can feel the warmth of the dragons nearby, the heat from the mountain beneath your feet, but most of all, you feel the heat radiating from Jace, a fire that matches your own.

"We are more than our dragons," you say, your voice steady. "We are the blood of the dragon, yes, but we are also our mother’s children, the heirs of House Targaryen. That will not change, no matter what happens with the Dragonseeds."

Jace’s gaze softens as he looks at you, the storm in his eyes momentarily easing. "You always know what to say," he murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper. "But I’m still afraid. Afraid of what this means for us, for our family."

You reach out, your hand finding his, and the contact sends a spark through you both. "Then we face it together," you say firmly, your fingers tightening around his. "Whatever comes, we face it together, as we always have."

For a moment, there is only silence between you, the kind of silence that speaks louder than words. The dragons are quiet too, their presence a comforting weight in the background. Jace’s thumb brushes over your knuckles, and the simple touch sends a shiver down your spine, the connection between you deepening with each passing second.

Without thinking, you step closer, and suddenly the space between you is gone. You can feel his breath on your skin, warm and unsteady, and the intensity in his eyes is almost too much to bear. The pull between you is stronger than ever, an undeniable force that you can no longer resist.

"Jace," you whisper, your voice trembling with something unspoken, something that has been building for so long.

He doesn’t reply, at least not with words. Instead, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that is both hesitant and eager, as if he is afraid you might pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you kiss him back, your hands moving to cup his face, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepens, all the pent-up emotions of the past weeks, months, perhaps even years, pouring out in that single moment. It is as if the fire that has always burned between you has finally found release, and there is no stopping it now.Jace’s hands find their way to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the desperation in his touch, the need that mirrors your own. "I’ve wanted this for so long," he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with desire.

"So have I," you admit, the words coming out in a breathless rush. "Jace, I—"

He silences you with another kiss, more urgent this time, and you can feel his hands moving to the fastenings of your attire. There is a moment of hesitation, a final chance to turn back, but neither of you takes it. Instead, you help him, your fingers trembling as they work to undo his clothing as well.

The air is cool against your skin as your garments fall away, but you hardly notice. All you can focus on is Jace, on the way his hands move over your body, on the way he looks at you as if you are the only thing that matters in the world. And perhaps, in this moment, you are.

He guides you down onto the warm rock, his movements careful, almost reverent. The heat from the mountain seeps into your skin, mixing with the heat of his touch, and you feel yourself trembling, not from fear, but from anticipation.When he finally joins with you, the pain is brief, a sharp sting that quickly fades, leaving only the overwhelming sensation of being completely and utterly connected to him. Jace pauses, his eyes searching yours, as if waiting for your permission to continue.

You nod, your voice caught in your throat, but the look in your eyes says everything. "Please," you whisper, and that is all it takes.

He begins to move, slow at first, almost tentative, but as the moments pass, the hesitation fades, replaced by a growing urgency, a passion that neither of you can control. You cling to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, urging him on, meeting his every movement with your own.

The world around you fades, the sounds of the dragons, the wind, the distant roar of the sea, all becoming nothing more than a distant echo. There is only Jace, only the fire that burns between you, the flames that consume you both, driving you higher and higher until you feel as though you might burst from the sheer intensity of it.

Just as you reach the peak of your union, lost in the sensation of him, you hear a sound, the soft crunch of footsteps on the volcanic rock. Your eyes snap open, and you see him—Ulf the White, one of the Dragonseeds, standing a short distance away, his expression one of surprise and amusement.

Jace’s movements slow as he becomes aware of the intruder, but he doesn’t stop, his body still pressed intimately against yours. His eyes narrow, and you can feel the tension in him, the protective instinct that flares up at the sight of another man watching you in such a vulnerable moment.

Ulf’s smirk widens as he recognizes both of you, his voice carrying an easy confidence as he speaks. "Well, well, what do we have here? Prince Jacaerys and his fair sister, indulging in some… private time, I see."

Jace doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze locked on Ulf, his body shielding yours from view. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, dangerous. "You will leave now, Ulf. And you will speak of this to no one."

Ulf’s amusement doesn’t fade. "And if I don’t? I imagine this little secret could be worth quite a bit."

Jace’s expression hardens, the dragon within him rising to the surface. "I have another proposition for you. Leave now and never speak of this, or tell someone… and Vermax will feast on your bones."

The threat hangs in the air, thick with the promise of violence. Ulf’s smile falters, the realization of Jace’s seriousness sinking in. He glances at the dragons, both Vermax and Grey Ghost now fully alert, their eyes locked on him, and he takes an involuntary step back.

"Fine," Ulf mutters, the bravado gone from his voice. "Your secret’s safe with me, Prince Jacaerys. I was never here." With that, he turns and hurries away, casting one last nervous glance at the dragons before disappearing into the mist.

Jace watches him go, his body still tense, but as the danger passes, his attention shifts back to you, his focus returning to the moment you had both been lost in. The fire that had momentarily cooled begins to burn again, his hands finding yours, his gaze intense.

"I will marry you," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "In the traditions of our ancestors, in the ways of Old Valyria. You are mine, and I am yours, for now and forever."

The words send a shiver through you, the weight of them, the promise in them, filling you with a sense of certainty, of belonging. You nod, your voice trembling as you respond. "Yes, Jace. Yes."

And as he moves within you once more, the world around you falls away, leaving only the two of you, bound together by the fire of your blood.

#house of the dragon #hotd reader insert #hotd x reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x female reader #hotd x you #jacerys velaryon #jace x y/n #jace x you #jace x reader #jacerys x reader #jacaerys x y/n #jacaerys x you #jacaerys x reader

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vhaemystheberserker · 5 months ago

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Season two of House of the Dragon is making me lose my mind, Hugh and Ulf already have me in a chokehold, but seeing their characters come to life? Might aswell put me in a straightjacket 💀

#hugh hammer #ulf the white #dragonseeds #the dance of the dragons #dance of the dragons #fire and blood #house of the dragon #house of the dragon season two #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #PLEASE I NEED FANFICS #I can already smell the Hugh/Ulf ones #please please please #I need x reader ones too #vermithor #silverwing

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unusual-raccoon · 6 months ago

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In the home stretch…

The way I need a beta for a dead dove fic that’s also a gift, so I can’t ask my usual person 👀

#my writing #daeron x hugh x Ulf #looking for a beta reader #house of the dragon #hugh hammer #ulf the white #daeron targaryen #daeron the daring

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beautifulblooms · 1 year ago

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Meetings are hard - Phillip Graves x Male Reader SMUT

I want to degrade this man so fucking bad so uh, yeah, this is literally just humiliating him repeatedly. Enjoy!

CIS Women and Female Aligned people, please DNI, this story and all of my others are for non-binary, masculine aligned and male readers!

Dear god, this man, always well put together and looks like he knows what he’s doing. But he’s ruined as soon as he realizes his boyfriend can see him in it. (Y/n) had always enjoyed teasing Phillip whenever he put on formal wear, but he loved it. Loved seeing his commander of a lover in things that were only worn occasionally. It gave him a sense of pride to see him in something so flattering. But it came to a head when he needed to attend meetings with the Shadows or other. All (Y/n) saw was another opportunity to tease him and make him struggle to control himself.

“A-as for our next- ha- next mission, we’ll be going to Urzikstan- and helping the ULF with some… some Konni group.” Every second was a nightmare for Phillip, one word was barely out of his mouth before he wanted to moan and whine like a slut. No matter how much (Y/n) turned up the vibrator stuck inside him, he refused to crack to show that man an ounce of power over him in front of his Shadows. But damnit it was hard to keep it together, to not just walk across the room and demand that his boyfriend fix the problem he started. And all (Y/n) could do was grin from the other side of the meeting room, his eyes locked forward and a hand holding his head up and the other in the pocket of his jacket, holding the remote control to the vibrator.

“We’ll be- ngh, be heading out in three days at 0900, be…be ready Shadows.” With that final white knuckle grip to the table, Phillip pulled back only to swiftly grab a file folder and bring it over to cover his crotch, where there wasn’t a very obvious tent, but it was surely enough for someone to notice it. And that someone was already very away how turned on Phillip was, and he felt the same.

(Y/n) eagerly followed the commander out of the meeting room and gave his ass a playful smack once they turned down the hallway leading to the barracks. “Someone’s struggling to keep his composure, want me to help you out there, commander Graves?”

Phillip couldn’t help but let out a muffled moan at (Y/n)’s smack to his ass, and a small groan at his teasing, his eyes flickering over to his boyfriend for a moment. “Not funny, Lieutenant. You started this problem, and you better damn well end it.”

The threat was empty coming from him, and they both knew it, so (Y/n) simply laughed a little before grabbing Phillip by his arm and pulling him into their shared room of the barracks, pinning him to the wall with a smirk. “So what? You want me to take that vibrator out and fuck you myself? That’s cute coming from you, sweetheart.”

“Stop teasing me (Y/n), I know you wanna fuck me, you’ve been a bitch all day just leaving this- ngh, in me.” Right as he complained, the other man turned up the strength of the vibrator, determined to get Phillip to crack under the pleasure, it always worked, what was new today?

“Desperate little whore, just begging for someone to fuck him properly, but only good boys get what they want. So, ask nicely.” His words held a sharp tone, (Y/n) knew how to get what he wanted, and he gripped Phillip’s jaw to turn his eyes forward again, the vibrations getting stronger once more as his leg pushed between the other man’s to rub against his crotch.

The commander’s breath hitched as he let out a small whine, feeling (Y/n)‘s thigh rubbing against his dick through his pants, something about being treated so humiliatingly was always a turn on, always made him want to be good. “P-please, sir…fuck me, ill- ah~ I’ll be good.”

“Now that’s a good boy.” (Y/n)‘s words came out husky as he pulled his leg back and instead grabbed Phillip by his hips, pushing him further into the room until his legs hit the bed, and he consequently fell down on top of it, his dick leaving a small tent in his pants, even hard he was still adorably small. “Spread ‘em, let me see you.”

Phillip followed the order without much hesitance, his legs spreading as one hand went down to start unbuckling his belt, only for it to be slapped away by (Y/n)’s hand with a small tut. “Don’t be greedy, you’ll get what you want, be patient.” The other man let out a small whine as his hips bucked up slightly into his boyfriend’s touch, it took everything in him to not just flip the two of them over and ride him like there was no stopping him. (Y/n) smirked slightly ad his own hands moved to undo Phillip’s belt and pants, pulling them down slowly and teasingly along with his boxers, the sight of his small but stiff as a rock dick made him smile.

“Excited now, aren’t we?” Phillip turned his head away in embarrassment at the teasing before one of (Y/n)‘s hands came up to grip his jaw and turn his head back. “Look at me when I take what’s mine.” The other man didn’t waste a second before grasping Phillip’s small cock in his hand and starting to jerk him off, his movements quick and slightly rough, knowing full well that it was only making the vibrator stuck inside him worse to deal with.

“Ha- (Y-Y/n) please~.” Phillip’s hips bucked up into (Y/n)‘s hand, his walls clenching around the vibrator bullet inside him as his eyes fluttered slightly, one hand coming up to grasp his boyfriend’s upper arm, trying to control himself with the pleasure. The blonde commander was so close yet so far, and he knew damn well that his orgasm was in the other man’s hands, quite literally with (Y/n)’s hand gripping and moving along his length with harsh strokes.

“Awww, is someone getting desperate?” The other man taunted Phillip with a smirk, leaning down to press a few kisses to his neck while nipping at his skin. The hand wrapped around his boyfriend’s dick started to move faster while the other slipped up his dress shirt and started to pinch his nipples gently through the fabric, eliciting more moans and whines from Phillip.

The commander’s head fell back against the pillows as he tried to hold himself together, even as his hips bucked up into the hand on his cock and the vibrator still buzzing violently inside him. “(Y/n)- sir please…’m so close.” Almost to accentuate his point, Phillip’s hips bucked up again as he started to clench around the vibrator, which only seemed to make things worse for him as his orgasm got closer.

“Then use this little dick of yours like you should and cum for me.” The order was harsh and husky against the blonde man’s neck as his boyfriend continued to jerk him off, a small smirk on his face as he heard Phillip let out a louder moan while his hips stuttered and he came, shooting a load across his hand and chest. “That’s a good boy.”

Pulling his hand back with a small laugh, (Y/n) let his tongue come out for a moment before he got a better idea and moved his hand closer to Phillip’s mouth and looked at him sternly. “Clean up your mess, slut.” The harshness of the order nearly set the commander off for a moment before he opened his mouth and leaned forward, his tongue gently cleaning off his boyfriend’s hand.

“And I wonder how the Shadows can be scared of you, you’re just my little toy, ain’t ya, baby?” Phillip’s eyes were half-lidded as he looked up at (Y/n), his tongue slowly pulling back into his mouth as his head fell back against the pillows before speaking. “Yes…your toy, sir.”

#phillip graves #cod graves #phillip graves x male reader #phillip graves cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty phillip graves #call of duty graves #modern warfare 2 #cod #cod mwii #male reader #male reader fanfic #x male reader #mlm account #nblm account

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lokimostly · 5 years ago

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Dreamless

Loki x Reader Word Count: 1,448 Warnings: night terrors, injury, jam-packed with angst and fluff Summary: A sequel to Sleepless, a drabble I wrote a few years ago. Cheers! x

Just because you slept in the same bed now, didn’t mean you slept soundly.

It was different, yes. Loki, who rarely rested and often spent his nights poring over old tomes, moved from his desk to the bed in order to watch over you. He was quick to notice your whimpers and pull you away from your dreams. More often than not it was his hands cupping your face that roused you from sleep, not the morning light coming through the curtains. Fear and pain ebbed away under the tenderness of his touch and the low rumbling of his voice when he held you against his chest, brushing the baby hairs away from your clammy forehead, pulling you back to the reality that treated you so much more kindly than your sleeping mind. The man who was once like forbidden fruit behind guilded doors now cradled you in his arms, whispering promises and stringing together stories to calm your racing heartbeat.

There were lulls. Sometimes you went for weeks without a bad dream. You would wake up entangled and slightly suffocated by the pressure of Loki’s body on top of yours, blinking in the rosy light of dawn. Those mornings were long and lazy and wonderful, like drinking sweet tea during midsummer and eating sugar-coated fruit. You swore his lips tasted like honey whenever you kissed them.

But when the forces of Asgard were called to fight in Vanaheim, your home, you knew that you would take home the clashing metal and battle cries, the pouring blood and tearing flesh and all the foul torments of war. It would mean the end of your clean streak and the beginning of a new set of terrors.

You hadn’t expected to be wounded. The reach of your enemy’s lance cut deep along your ribs, and it wasn’t until long afterwards – your body strewn across the bloodstained grass and counting every ragged breath – that Loki found you. While the softer part of you wanted to melt into his touch, bury your face in his neck and wish a way the pain, the battleworn warrior in you gritted her teeth and refused to cry out when he lifted you up and took you through the Bifrost.

It was different, yes. Your visit to the infirmary was brief and you left quickly, unlike the other times when you found yourself bedridden there for days. Loki seemed to take it upon himself personally to care for you in every way, battle wounds included.

By the time you found yourself in his bed again, night had long since fallen. The end of summer on Asgard brought the stars above into full splendor. Most evenings were filled with streaking meteors, and more studious astronomers turned to their rooftop telescopes to get a better look at the galaxies stretching outwards and lighting up the dark.

Normally, Loki would be doing the same: sitting on the banister of his balcony, staring up at the stars as the long watches of the night stretched by. Tonight, there was a different task on his mind.

He had escaped the battle relatively unscathed, thanks to a skillful combination of seidr and pure luck. There were a few cuts and grazes, as always – a piece of his hair had been chopped, much to his chagrin, which would have to be braided until it grew even again – but for the most part he returned home dirty, tired, and unharmed. You, on the other hand, needed to be cared for.

For once it wasn’t your dreams that was the problem. You couldn’t fall asleep at all. The pain on the right side of your ribs blossomed and burned no matter what position you were in. You twisted and turned cautiously, trying to find something that would work because by the Nine you were exhausted –

Loki’s hand, previously holding his place on the page of the book in his lap, reached over and pressed gently to your ribcage. Green seidr wrapped around his fingers and spread through your skin, dulling your pain and slowing your mind. You barely had time to murmur a ‘thank you’ before the magic put your mind to sleep.

It didn’t last.

Loki was pushing his hair away from his face and frowning over a confusing passage when you surged upwards with a shout, tearing yourself away from your dreams and pulling at the tender stitches in your skin at the same time. Burning pain exploded like a lit match and you gasped, holding your side.

He abandoned the book without a second thought and leapt up, catching you against him when your supporting arm wobbled and pressing kisses to your temple. “Easy,” he murmured, the start of a continuous stream of comforts without thought. Guilt riddled his insides. How could he not have seen? Stupid, selfish, more absorbed in his books than in you sleeping fitfully beside him …

You couldn’t sleep unaided.

There was a bright streak of light from past the balcony and Loki’s green eyes flitted momentarily past the billowing curtains, where a curving meteor danced across the black and left a white streak. The breeze hit his face – cool and crisp, the first signs of autumn – and he felt you shiver in his arms.

Loki had an idea.

Carefully as he could, Loki tucked his arms around you and lifted you upwards, cradling you against his chest. His fingers snatched the ends of a blanket strewn lazily across the bed, and he carried you out to the balcony.

The wind was intermittent and cold. The sweat that had formed on your skin during sleep chilled you, and the warm burning of your side only seemed to make it worse. Loki sat down on the large, cushioned bench outside and pulled the blanket over you – the warmth of his chest against your back, and the comfort of the blanket around your front. His hand slipped beneath the cover and gently replaced yours over the bandage, and he pressed another kiss to the side of your head.

“Do you see the stars?” He asked, his voice low and a little hoarse. A redundant question, but it was a start. You could only shiver and nod, curling deeper into his arms.

“Shall I tell you my favorite constellation, or would you like to go first?”

Your skittish eyes, still red-rimmed and shaking, drifted upwards. The sky was a dark mix of brighter hues: nebulae and galaxies scattered across like seeds along the ground, painting webs of pink and blue and purple.

Your eyes found the three-starred belt of Orwandil and you pointed, shakily, to his blinking outline. Loki’s chest vibrated when he hummed in approval, pulling you closer. “A good choice.” You felt his elegant fingers press into your skin, and a sudden surge of warmth – the wound in your flesh was being stitched together with seidr.

You shifted. “Loki, save your energy.”

He reached up with his free hand and tucked a piece of your hair back. “I’ll spend it as I wish. Ask me which constellation I favor.”

You smiled faintly, tiredly, and let your head fall back against his shoulder. “Fine. Tell me your favorite.”

“Hmm.” Loki’s green eyes looked upwards and the colors of the sky reflected gently in his bright eyes. His face looked a little more hollow – healing magic was an expensive effort – but he took a deep breath and continued on. “Ulf’s Keptr,” he said finally.

“I don’t know that one.”

Loki reached up with his free hand and pointed. In the sky, a string of stars lit up in a faint green line, outlining the picture of a wolf holding a sword between his teeth. “Fenrir,” he explained quietly, returning his hand beneath the blanket. “Guarding the entrance to Hel.”

You laughed sleepily. “Of course.”

Loki’s lips turned up in a smile and he drew circles on your skin with his thumb. “Shall I tell you about the rest?”

By the time the sun rose and Asgard’s sky turned pink with dawn, your eyes had fallen shut. Loki didn’t move. He held you fast against him, telling you about the maps of constellations even though you had fallen asleep long ago. Your wound was almost gone now – his energy had been depleted for a long time, but somehow he still managed, weaving seidr and speaking softly to keep you away from bad dreams.

The curtains spun and whispered against the floor as the breeze turned warm and dew melted off the grass of the gardens below, and Loki carried you back to bed, where both of you slept soundly.

-----

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#loki #marvel #astronomy #astrology #constellations #norse #norse mythology #norse constellations #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x oc #loki fanfic #loki imagine #loki x reader fanfic #loki x reader one shot #loki one shot

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saelwen · 5 years ago

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The Bird Who Couldn’t Sing

Myth!Loki x Oc!Mute!Reader

Chapter 1

Masterlist

Summary: For centuries the folk of the north have been conquering and killing everything in lands beyond the vast sea, with the help of their Gods. In which the girl's village, named Emily, was a victim of these cruel acts. After being mistreated and bowing to the will of all, given as a consequence of all these cruel events, Emily was mute for a lifetime. But something changes your horrible life. The day her village is being invaded by Vikings, she caught the eye of a certain Nordic god, who was disguised as one of them. Since she was the only one who wasn't screaming and begging for her life. Follow the journey of Emily as she discovers the world of the Norse Gods.

Warnings: Angst, blood

Words: 2k

Throwing the dirty cloth into the bucket, making some of the filthy water splatters on the cold stone floor of the tavern. I let out a tired sigh, rubbing my hands together, trying to smooth the sore muscle from scrubbing the floor all day.

Looking up, I saw how vivid the room was. Singing and cheerful laughs sounded around the warm area. The smell of mead hovered in the air along with burnt firewood. There were some men sitting on the comfortable chairs by the huge fireplace, a while the others were dancing or on the corner of the room with some woman.

This was the custom of every night in the tavern. The men of the village always went here after a long day of work, to drink and eat all night. For escaping from their loud wives or to drown their problems in large cups of fresh mead.

I’ve worked here since my twelve years, serving and cleaning the floor given that I have mouths to feed in the home.

I live with my three older brothers, Richard, Ethan, and John and also my father, Eduard, in a small old cabin. It’s was very isolated, with gigantic trees all around it. My mother died giving birth to me, she had lost a lot of blood and with that, she didn’t make it.

With her death caused by me gave as a result of my father never have liked me. Making my life a living hell, hitting me, making me work since dawn to late in the night.

He also made sure that I heard the praises that he gave to my older brothers, always saying of how proud he was for them and bragging how his sons are such good fighters and that they will make good husbands for a big family. While I was punched every day by him and sexually harassed by Elijah, the owner of the tavern.

Also, my father was the one took my voice away.

When I just a little baby, he had come home after a long night of drinking. My brother, Richard, couldn’t calm me down for I was a very vocal child.

“Why that little devil is crying? Make her stop or I will!” He said a while throwing a bottle of rum to the wall, making my cry louder. My brother in panic, tried everything in his power to calm me down but nothing worked. Grumbling something under his breath, my father grabbed me by my tiny leg and put on the wooden table. He took the dagger out of his belt and put the sharp tip on my throat “Since you don’t shut that fucking mouth, I will make sure that a single sound will never leave your filthy mouth!” With that he pierces through my soft skin with the sharp blade, cutting my vocal cords. Taking my voice forever.

Touching gently the scars on my throat, I pick the bucket and walk outside to dump the dirty water. As I step outside, the cold air hit my face like tiny needles, making my skin sting and a little numb. I throw the water to the bushes and put the bucket down. There! All done.

I wrap my arms around me, trying to block the cold. Lifting my head, pieces of my black hair fall back from my pale face. A small smile forms on my lips as I see the huge moon shining like a pearl that I see on the expensive necklaces that the noble ladies in the village wore.

The stars surrounded her, making little draws on the vast black canvas in the sky.

It’s was early November so the soft grass and the tall trees were with a light layer of white snow. There are still some people walking around the cold streets. Couples cuddling into each other to warm themself while watching the bright light of the moon illuminating the lake in front of the village.

“It’s true! I’ve heard from some traders that came here this morning!” I heard a tall man said to his friends as they enter the tavern, interrupting my thoughts. “Oh come on, Harry! Those traders tell those tales to scare us. There aren’t monsters attacking villages here in England! The only monster that we have here is the old crazy woman that lives in the woods...Come! Let’s have some drinks and pretty ladies on our lap.” His friend said while putting a hand on his shoulder.

Frowning, my gaze follows them inside, seeing them ordering mead and plates of warm stew. Weird... This is the second time I’ve heard of these such monsters.

The first time I’ve heard was in the market this morning, some traders and old ladies were gossiping about some weird events that are occurring in some villages in England. Saying that large beast, full of armor were attacking and stealing those poor people, leaving only destruction behind.

Shrugging my shoulders, I move my gaze back to the shining moon, her light making my deep blue eyes shining like stars. Not wanting to go back inside, where the fat old man will be waiting for me. I walk down the wooden stairs and went to my safe place, the lake.

Since I was a child, I would always come here when I was down or to run from the wrath of my father. The sound of the soft water and frogs was something that calms me, sending me to a safe place.

Sitting down on the cold grass, I wrap my arms around my knees, putting my chin on them. A small smile spread on my face, seeing a duck family cuddling together in the small bushes in the water. The duck mother wrapping all her little babies with her wings to protect them from the cold. How I wish to have a family that cared for me like that...

As I was so engrossed by the cute family before me, I didn’t notice the man walking behind me. A pair of disgusting hands wrap around my small waist and pull me into a plump chest.

“Were you trying to run for me, little slut?” a voice that I'm too familiar sounded behind me. The smell of mead hit my nostrils, making my stomach twist. Elijah...

His hands start to massage my hip and plump legs, making a shiver of fear run through my body. “You should be inside and cleaning the vomit of the drunken men on the floor...You know how I like to see you on your knees...so vulnerable...so beautiful.” I close my eyes as a tear escape from my eye, feeling the wet gross kisses that he was planting on my neck.

Suddenly, we heard people screaming and running in the village. Elijah stopped his movements and stood up “What is this time?” he grumbles under his breath. I shot up from my seat, my legs shaking from the events before.

I frown as I smell smoke in the air. Lifting my head, my mouth hangs open as I see the village on fire. What’s happening? “What the fuck?!” he whispers, running to the street. In a panic, I follow him, not knowing what to do but I quickly regret as I see a large man with an ax on his hand and beheading Elijah in front of me.

My hands flew to my mouth as I let out a soundless scream. The beast of a man stood in front of me with a wicked smile. He was wearing a strange armor, he had fur shawl around his shoulders and some metal plates on his chest, arms, and legs. His helmet was all closed, I only could see his dark eyes and a huge beard. Who are they?

Turnings around, I start running into the dense forest but his large hand grabbed tightly my arm, pulling me into him. I hiss in pain from how tightly his grip was, making my white skin red.

“Oh! You are a pretty one!” his voice was rough and deep. The beast pulls me along with him, taking me to the burning village.

Tears were running down freely from my blue eyes as I see the scene around me. There were a bunch of men like the one who was pulling me. They were killing every man in the village, stealing their treasures and burning their houses. The young women were being put on a circle, with chains around their necks and wrist and the older women were left behind with nothing with them.

The screams of agony and wails were all I could hear. My eyes widened as I see my father and brothers on their knees in front of our house, with two large men beside them. I could hear the pleading words of my father, trying to escape his death.

The men laughed evilly, mocking them for being such cowards. They lift their heavy axes and decapitated them. My body was shaking with fear as I watch their heads rolling down to the floor, I know that I should be crying for them but I feel nothing for they have made my life a living hell. At least I don’t have to deal with them anymore...

The man throws me into the group of young women and wraps some chains around my wrist but when he was putting the other chains on my neck, he let out a huff “Fuck!” he screamed.

He throws the chains to the ground and huffs. The men that were beside him, looked to him in confusion “What is it, Ulf?” one of the men asked a while looking at me up and down.

“This bitch is broken!... I like them when they scream. Just kill her! She’s useless.” he said a while pulling me off the rest of the women.

My face was soaked with tears, I dig my heels on the dirt to try to stop him but that only made him angrier. He grabs a fist of my hair and pulls me harshly, pulling soundless screams from my lips.

He pulls out a dagger from his belt and put the cold blade on my neck. I shut my eyes tightly, thinking the way I will die was the way that my father took my voice.

As I feel the sharp blade pierce my skin, I heard a man shouting something in a strange language. The cold blade disappears from my neck and the man throws me to the dirty floor. “Really? You want her?...you are a weird one, Snákur!” the man whose name is Ulf said with a mocking voice.

I lift my head, seeing a large man but more slender than the other, walking towards me. He took his helmet off and I gasp. He had long beautiful red hair, looking almost like the flames that were burning the village. His eyes were pure green and I notice the mischief in them, his feature was sharp as the blade that was in my neck minutes ago and there isn’t a single hair on his face. I’ve never seen such a beautiful man in my life.

He bends down so his emerald eyes were directed to mine, a smirk grew on his thin lips “Oh...have some good plans to do with you, Kjære!” he said a while stroking gently the scars on my neck. He picks me up and took me to his horse. The steed was all black and have some scars and some hairless spots in his onyx coat, looks almost like a battle horse but nevertheless beautiful.

The man by the name of Snákur, put me on the horse, chaining my hands together. Then he climbs to his horse, sitting behind me. A shiver runs through my spine as I felt his warm breath hit my neck. Where are they taking me?

“To your new home, Kjære! Don’t worry. You will like it there!” he said a while ordering the horse to walk forward. I turn my head to him, confusion on my face. How did he know what I'm thinking? I heard him let out a small chuckle and he wrap his strong arm around my waist, pulling me into his warm chest.

The men put all the village treasures and the women in the wagons, lock them in cages and leave. Taking us to our new nightmare.

I look back and saw the village where I grew up, being burned to the ground. All my memories destroyed.

The stories were true...the monsters raided our village and left behind vast destruction.

Snákur- Snake

Kjære- Darling

Hey Guys!! So what do you think of this chapter? I hope you enjoy this story! Feel free to comment and tell me what you think!!

Taglist is open!! If you want to be tag click---HERE

XOXO

Taglist: @crazyonesarethebest @gwendelerynan @marvelfansworld

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x-reader-theater · 6 years ago

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God Forgot Us (And the Devil Didn't Want Us) {Soulmate AU} [3]

Relationship: Slave!Rami Malek X Viking Leader!Male!Reader

Summary: You are the leader of a viking tribe of nomads, a small group of people who moved from one place to another frequently. Or you did, until your father died and you sat them down in one place. You are a benevolent ruler, putting yourself at the level of your fellow warriors, and your wife. That is until you finally take a sex slave, a

Warnings: Allusions to sex, maybe some cursing I don’t really remember, and there is still angst, like always.

Word Count: 4,277

A/N: Hello. I know I haven’t updated in a while, and I said I would post this when I reached 500 followers, but I haven’t. The reason I’m posting it is because it’s my lovely lovely girlfriend’s (@roger-bang-the-drum) birthday today! So go wish her a happy birthday, and this one’s for you. But in all seriousness, the only reason I haven’t been posting is because I’ve had no motivation to. I don’t get reblogs, and when I do, no one comments on anything. Also I’ve been really depressed because one of my stories that I just posted about is continuing to get notes even though I hate it and I want it to just go away. Anyways, please reblog and comment, and my inbox is always open. Let me know if you want more. I have 15 chapters total planned out, so if you want to see more, tell me.

Sweden 865 AD

“Now, if we move our men this way…” your wife says, picking up the wooden soldier Njall's boy made, and she places it on the other side of the river, by the bridge. “We can block their path, trap them on the bridge, force them to fight one at a time. We have the numbers, we could flush them out!”

Everyone in the room nods in agreement, a few of the other women voicing some agreement too, although quietly. You nod, but pick up another soldier from the same place, and move it away. “I'm not putting more men in danger. Not if we don't have to. We'll still have the numbers.”

Everyone else nods in agreement, though the men more than the women. “Yeah!” Njall exclaims. “Just because some men want to die gloriously in battle doesn't mean we should have to sacrifice all of them!”

“But it wouldn't be a sacrifice!” Your wife exclaims, but you step forwards.

“It would be, if they get overwhelmed, or there's a troop out there we don't know about! No! My word is final,” you say, and your wife rolls her eyes. “Go, we have work to do.” Everyone gets up, and walks out, talking about the meeting as they go.

“Your father would say you’re weak,” your wife says to you.

You roll your eyes as you adjust your furs. “I am not my father. And I never will be. He died in battle a coward, almost destroying our entire clan! I will never become him!” You say, walking out of the war hut.

“[Y/N]! [Y/N]!” You turn and see your second hand, Ulf, run up to you. “There’s-there’s…” He's panting, and you laugh, placing a hand on his fur covered shoulder.

“Ulf, Ulf, calm down! Take a breath!” You say, laughing at the smaller man.

He takes a few breaths, and swallows before speaking again. “There's a new load of some good ones. Slaves. You get first pick, and everyone's waiting for you.”

You nod, and let him lead you to the fire pit in the middle of camp. Anytime there was a wedding, ceremony, or something the witches needed from you, to talk to the gods, it would be there, in the center of camp. You hadn't needed to move camp since you became leader. You managed to keep all rival clans away, and with the sea next to your camp, you were able to fortify the bay you gathered your fish from.

As you walk into the center of camp, you see a crowd of the higher nobles, and some of the lower one's as well, looking find any scraps they could of the new ones. Looking over their heads, you see a pretty good pick. One for everyone, that was your rule. Except for you. You were able to take more, but mostly, you didn't take any. They weren't your thing, you didn't like sex with the slaves anyhow. They were very good for cooking and cleaning, but usually they would just be sold because your children were good for that. Your children were too young to have any slaves of their own, fight, or be a leader. That is why you put Ulf as your second in command.

You push through the crowd, and take in the new slaves, their hands bound in front of them, the women with simple sack dresses, and the men with cloth tied around their waists. You see some bigger women, they looked to be strong, as well as some men who looked busy as strong. Definitely more of the other men's type, but as you go down the line, you find you are more drawn to the skinniest of them all. His hair is cropped short, curly, and he's darker than everyone else in the line. He doesn't look scared, he looks defiant, but his beautiful eyes betraying him. They were scared, and the colour of the sky on a sunny day, rare where you lived. His head was up high, and as you lean in, looking at his gaunt face and his dimpled cheeks, you grin, and his facade falters for just a moment.

You pull back, and point at the boy, and say loudly, “I want this one. The rest of you, take your pick.”

Everyone cheers, it's rare for the chief to take a slave, let alone a male one, but Ulf walk up to you, and whispers, “Are you sure you want that one? He just looks so frail… what about the one on the end? He looks like he'll put up a good fight!”

You shake your head. “No. I want this one. Tell Hjarkke to get him ready for me in my chambers. I would like to have my way with him.”

Ulf nods, and runs off towards the slave you mentioned, and you go about your day.

You push your way into your living quarters, and see the boy sitting at the edge of your bed. He's grabbing his knees, his knuckles white, and he's whispering to himself as he shakes like a leaf. You clear your throat, and the naked boy jumps, startled. You shush him, and walk slowly towards him, as he closes his arms over his body, and turns away from you.

“Don't be afraid little one,” you say quietly, but he doesn't move. “I'm not here to hurt you.” You reach a hand out, and just brush his skin, but he jumps away, and hugs himself closer.

“Don't touch me,” he whispers, and hearing his voice is a shock. You realize he's much older than he looks. Good. He could be good to talk to.

“Okay. Okay,” you say, putting your hands up, but you don't move away. You also don't move closer. “Will you tell me your name?”

He's silent, and you don't say anything either, hoping that he'll at least say something. As you go to speak, he finally says something. “Rami.”

“Rami,” you say, testing his name on your lips. “Rami. That isn't from around here, is it?”

He shakes his head, and looks over his shoulder at you. “I'm not from around here.”

You crack a smile at that, and stand up. “I gathered that much.” He lets out a quiet laugh, but cuts himself off, like he didn't mean to show that much to you. You crouch beside him again, closer this time, and look up into his beautiful eyes. “Do not think you need to hide yourself from me. I'm not as scary as I look,” you joke, but he doesn't move. You sigh, and reach a hand out. He flinches, but you don't move. You just let your hand rest in mid air. He reaches up, and takes your hand, placing his against yours. You don't move, just let him explore.

He pulls away, and you get up, turning to your pile of furs. You pick up a large one, and hand it to him. “I have a feeling you'll want to get dressed. I would like to talk.”

“So, you've been king for ten years now?” He asks, and you laugh at him.

“No little one. I have their leader. I am no no king,” you explain, and Rami nods. “Kings are selfish, greedy, power hungry. It never works out for them. They die young, are killed in battles…”

Rami moves closer, sitting beside you on your bed. “Still, it's impressive.”

You smile and lean back on your hands. “I guess it is…”

Leans over and smiles as you look over at him. Even with him on his knees on the bed, you were still only at eye height. “What made you decide on me?” Your eyes widen, and you look away, but Rami moves your chin so you're looking at him in the eye. “No, I want you to look at me when you say it.”

You sigh. “I chose you because I was drawn to me. I think the gods were telling me something about you was different.” You look up at the ceiling of the hut, towards the sky, and smile as a light breeze blows past you. All the windows are closed.

“You can talk to the gods?” Rami asks, and you nod. “Wow,” he breathes out.

You smile and laugh at him lightly, before getting up and taking off your furs and light armour you always had on. “Come now little one.” You hold your hand out, and he grabs it. “We should sleep now. It's always good to get sleep. It will make you stronger.”

Rami smiles and nods, and you slip into bed with him. Halfway through the night he moves over and you wrap your arms around him.

“[Y/N]!” You look up from where your attention was previously, playing with the children and teaching them how to correctly hold their wooden swords and sticks. You see Ulf running up to you, and you quickly say goodbye to the children.

You walk over to Ulf, who's with Njall and Henrik, who are playing a Tafl game. “Ulf, Njall, Henrik,” you greet, and Ulf moves over, giving you a space to sit.

“So, [Y/N], how is your slave treating you?” Ulf asks, raising his eyebrows.

You shrug, and watch as Njall moves a piece. “Adequate.”

Ulf scoffs. “Just adequate? Then you should have picked better!”

Both Njall and Henrik laugh along with Ulf, but you don't. You just crack a polite smile. “How have yours been?” You ask Ulf, knowing he wants to talk.

“Well Helle is so sweet, but she's too delicate. I traded her with Sten because his brother, Sven, likes girls like that but Sven will only trade with Sten…”

You let Ulf rant for a while, just nodding and commenting when appropriate. You also watch the game, not very closely, but it gave you something to do.

“Yes!” Njall exclaims, pounding his fist on the table. “I finally beat you!”

Henrik grumbles out something you can't understand, and just gets up, walking away. Njall follows after him, trying to comfort him in his loss. Ulf moves so he's sitting across from you and props his elbows up on the table, resting his face in his hands.

“So, I had a question.” You motion for him to continue, and you pick up a piece of wood from the ground, and take out your knife. You start to carve into it. “What has been happening with your wife?” You have to stop, almost cutting yourself as you look up at Ulf. “I'm only asking because you've been spending an awful lot of time with that slave of yours…”

You set down your knife. “The reason I am spending time with him is because I enjoy his company. My wife is my partner, smart, and good with strategy, but we had our children. That is all the use I have for her,” you explain, and Ulf nods.

“Yes, I suppose that's true. I saw her going into Nasir's hut a few nights ago.”

“Well whatever she does with her time is not my concern.”

“Alright, alright. Just letting you know.”

“Thank you.”

You get up, and Ulf scrambles behind you. He joins you at your side, and nods. “Alright, well, you probably have some leader duties to attend to.”

You shake your head. “Not at all. I am going to see my slave. I have something I wish to speak to him about. You may go away at any time.”

Ulf nods and walks away dejected, and you walk towards your hut.

You grunt as you land another blow on Njall, who shifts slightly to the side, but doesn't fall. The training swords were useful, but they didn't show the full effect a sword could have on a person's body. You shift again, your foot going in front of you, and lean back, holding your sword above you as Njall strikes down towards your head. You struggle with Njall for a few moments, before you push his blade off yours, sending it to the side, his hands still on it, and you step forwards, shouldering him in the throat. He clutches his neck and stumbles back.

Grunting, he shakes himself off, and you let out a huff, a smirk playing on your lips. He rushes forwards.

You see yellow, all around you, but that's not what you're trying to accomplish right now, inspecting the decor. You've been trying to get a move down for a while, but you just couldn't. You move your leg back, get down on your knees, and swipe upwards with your curved sword. It's slightly tilted, and doesn't cut through the air quite right.

You grunt, and try again. Standing up, you put your foot back, get on your knees, tilt your sword just a little further…

“Yes!” You exclaim as it cuts through like butter. The disgusting wobble of the blade doesn't sound, and you hear the sharp cut of a blade slicing through thin air.

You blink, and look around. You're back in the woods, and Njall is on the ground next to you. You drop your arm and get up from your kneeling position. You hold out a hand, and Njall takes it. You pull him up, and he looks at you confused.

“What? How?” He asks, slightly out of breath.

You look up at the skies. “I do not know. Perhaps the gods gave me another vision, but it wasn't of the future, or the past, it was of me, in another time…” you trail off, looking down, and then at Njall, confused.

“You were given another vision from the gods?” He asks, surprised.

You nod. “Yes, but this one was different. It wasn't of a battle…” You shake your head to clear your thoughts. “Never mind. I'll think about it later. For now, go finish your training for today with some of the younger warriors.”

Njall nods and walks off, and you sit down, your head in your hands as you think about what just happened.

“You had a vision from God?” Rami asks from your chest.

You smile and look down at him, as you shift, the sticks underneath your back slightly uncomfortable. “Not God, but Gods. Plural.” Rami nods, and lays back down on you chest. You wrap your arm around him. “It was odd though. It wasn’t like anything I’ve seen before…”

You sit up and Rami sits in your lap. You lean down and kiss him, softly on the lips. He starts to deepen the kiss, running his hands through our hair, and you growl. He bites your lip, and you pulls back, just staring at him. He’s grinning at you, blood on the corner of his mouth, and you grin, licking the blood away from your own mouth.

You pull him close again, blood mixing with spit, and you close your eyes.

You feel silk underneath you, and a body above you. You’re flipped, and the lips on your yours move down to your neck. You wrap your arms, smaller than you remember, about a smooth, bare waist. You press him further down, and your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. You hum as you throw your head back, and your back arches. You feel a rush of pleasure roll through you.

You open your eyes and see-

You gasp as Rami disengages his lips from your collar bone. “Are you okay?” He asks, and you nod, catching your breath. “Was it another vision from the gods?”

You don’t answer, just sit in silence, thinking. You were with someone else, and were on something soft, and smooth, not like the forest floor or your own bed. Rami shifts closer to you, and your arms wrap around him, and pause as your bodies fit together like in the vision. You kiss his hair and spend the rest of your time contemplating it.

“If we send them around the back, they’ll get the element of surprise,” Your wife says, moving one of the wooden soldiers around another one.

You sigh. “I’ve explained this to you before. If we do that, we’ll have to split up our troops. I’m not sending half my troops from this position. The Bridge is their only way to get to us. We need to fortify it.”

“But if we kill them, we won’t need to fortify the bridge in the first place!” Your wife yells.

You stand up, and yell back at her, “Spreading our troops thin and getting them killed wouldn’t help either!”

Your wife stands up, and stands with you, chest to chest, when Njall stands up, walks to the table, grabs another piece and places it behind the enemy piece. You step back, but your wife doesn’t move. “I’ve been corresponding with that troop. They’ve been bored for months. You always forget about them because they’re so close to camp. Send them to flank, and you don’t have to spread yourself thin,” Njall says, and you nod, clearing your throat.

“Yes, that sounds like an effective plan. Can you do that for me?” You ask, and Njall nods. “We’ll reconvene in the morning.”

Everyone quickly gets up, and leaves. Your wife turns to you. “You should have heard me out.”

You turn quickly to her. “Oh, and you were going to say that? We can’t just send our men into battle outnumbered! You need to respect my decision and listen to your leader!”

You storm out of the war hut, and run into Ulf, who’s standing there, waiting for you. “Hello sir!” He greets, cheerily.

“Not today Ulf,” you say, waving him off, and making a beeline for your hut. Before you can enter, you feel a hand on your shoulder. You’re spun around and you see our wife standing before you, hands on her hips.

“We need to talk,” She says, and you sigh. “Why are you so snappy? Is it because of your new toy?” You go to speak, but she stops you. “I think you love that… that play thing more than you love me…”

You sigh, and grab her hand. “Of course I love you. You’re my wife. But I just can’t talk right now, okay?” You kiss her knuckles, and she nods.

“Okay. But I expect us to talk later.”

You nod and hold her hand until it slips from your grasps, and your hand falls to your side. You enter your hut, just in time to see someone exit the back. You frown and follow them. Walking into the woods, you see them go further, and start to jog to catch up with them. You turn around a tree, and feel someone cold press to your throat. You turn your head slowly and you see Rami standing there, pointing the knife at your throat.

“Is it true?” Rami asks.

“Is what true?” You ask, keeping calm. You’ve been in positions like this before, a traitor or an escaped slave, wanting to get revenge on the leader for their strife. That’s how you got most of your scars. You rarely fought in battle.

Rami presses the knife further into your neck, and you lean back slightly as you feel it prick your skin, but you don’t break eye contact. “Do you really love her more than me?”

“No.” You lean into the knife more as you say this, but barely feel it, your adrenaline fuling you. “I don’t love my wife. I never did. I love you.”

Rami doesn’t say anything, and slowly lowers the knife, before dropping it on the ground. You fall to your knees and look at his feet in front of you. Rami place a hand underneath your chin, and lifts your face so your eyes meet again. He leans down slightly, and you lean up, expecting a kiss, but Rami doesn’t close the gap.

Instead, he takes his other hand, and grabs your hair, tugging and pulling up, wrenching your head towards him. “You’re mine.”You nod.

Though it hurts, and let Rami take you that day.

You feel hands in your hair, running through your long locks, pulling at the knots that are in it. You look up and see Rami has his fingers tangled in your hair. He has a serene look on his face. You smile and let him continue. He undoes a plait in your hair, and smiles at the crimped piece he holds up. He drops it, and moves somewhere else, taking a few strands of your hair, and braiding them together.

Rami moves closer and puts your head on his lap. He leans down, and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. You smile, and don't move. You just watch as Rami's face goes red, but he continues anyways. He presses a kiss to your temple, your cheek, your nose. He stops right above your lips, and just hovers there. You can feel his warm breath hit your lips, and you just look up at him. You feel his breath catch, right before he leans down and captures your lips in his. You let him do the work, and he places his hands on your cheeks, pushing you down so he can kiss you harder. It's everything you want.

Rami pulls away, and he smiles down at you breathlessly. You lean up and kiss him again, quicker this time, but it still feels incredible. He rubs his thumbs over your cheeks and you smile.

“Thank you,” he says, falling onto the bed. You climb next to him, and he curls around you. You want to ask what for, but he's already asleep.

You smile at Rami from across the little clearing, peeling some bark off a nearby tree with your knife. He scampers back towards you, and plops himself in your lap. You laugh, and lean back against the tree that was supporting you. You kiss his shoulder and he laughs, shivering underneath your touch. You rest your chin on his shoulder, and kiss his neck.

“What are you making there little one?” You ask, and he just keeps shaving it down.

“I don’t know yet…” He trails off, and you nod.

You lean over, and kiss his cheek. “I need to get up. I’m gonna go piss.”

He nods and tuns, still looking at the knife, but kissing you nonetheless. You pick him up, and move your legs up, before sitting him back down, leaning against the tree. You get up, and walk off, walking a few minutes into the surrounding woods, before taking a deep breath, and taking your piss.

It’s silent, and you look around, looking for any sort of wildlife as you finish up, but find nothing. You frown, concerned, but ignore it, starting to walk back. You get about a minute away, before you feel something cold, and sharp pressing into your back. You stop walking immediately, and turn to look, but the sword is pressed further into you, and you feel hot blood dripping down your back.

“Why him?” You hear someone say. No just someone, but Ulf. you sigh, and turn around anyways, but the sword is pressed into your throat. You wince as it pinches you, but you hold your ground, your head held high. “Why a slave.”

“I don’t know what you mean Ulf,” you respond, your voice never wavering.

He grunts and moves the sword down to your heart. “You tell him everything. Meanwhile I’m stuck running errands for you, and I can’t even be in war meetings! I am to be leader, I must know what is going on!” He exclaims.

“I am teaching you patience!” You yell back, and Ulf’s face goes red with rage.

“I don’t want patience I want to be KING!”

You stare at him, stunned, and reach for your own sword, but seeing your move, he plunges the sword forth, into your chest, and your arms go limp. You fall to your knees as you stare up at Ulf, the trees surrounding him like a wooden throne. His yellow teeth are pulled into a sneer, and your face goes slack, losing the ability to emote. Looking down at you, you see Ulf has pure rage in his eyes, as well as jealousy. You feel the sharp twigs digging into your knees and focus on that pain, letting it ground you, helping you stay conscious.

Ulf bends down and looks you in the eye, face to face, and you try and snearat him, but it’s useless. “I shall be king. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me. Have fun in Hel.”

He forces the sword into you, pushing to the hilt, and you fall back, your eyes closing, and Ulf pulls the blade out, before walking away, leaving you to die.

Rami looks up as he suddenly notices [Y/N] gone for longer than he should be. He sets the piece of wood down and gets up, placing the knife into his belt. He goes the way [Y/N] went, carefully watching for something, anything, any sign of him, but there’s nothing. Nothing, until Rami sees [Y/N], laying on the ground, a pool of blood surrounding him. Rami rushes over and falls on his knees next to his lover’s corpse, and he frantically checks to see if [Y/N] still lives.

It doesn’t matter. He was gone. Rami screams out in anguish as he looks at the wound only a sword could have caused, and takes out his own knife, plunging it into his chest, leaving him to die next to his love, their blood mingling on the forest floor.

#rami malek #rami malek imagine #rami malek x reader #rami malek x you #rami malek x male!reader #soulmates #soulmate #soulmate au #vikings #god forgot us (and the devil didn't want us)#my work #My writing

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