#v: Pale Rider

[shinmegtenworld]

The Four Horsemen

[telvayns]

what’s ur ao3?

you can find me here!

for anyone who didn't know, in a couple days' time i will be posting the first chapter or so from my fitzier pale rider (1985) au, revelation 6:8, for cowboyshowfest!! i'm very happy w/ how it's turned out so i'm really excited to see what people think of it.

you can get a taster for it from the first art i did w/ this au right here!

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Memento Vivere

Also on AO3

Part I // Part II // Mini-Series Masterlist

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 4.1k words

Summary: Rome is in disarray. Macrinus has been trying to seize power and therefore, he decides to use you as collateral. But Lucius won't let him win so easily.

Warnings: MINORS DNI this fic is 18+, canon events with canon divergence (so, potentially spoilers), graphic depictions of violence, mentions of blood and death, abduction, angst (but there's a happy ending!), reader is a courtesan (SW), fluffy smut, unprotected p in v, 69, typical roman wedding customs, some historical inaccuracies potentially, aaaand i think that’s it! But lmk if anything else.

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"Love conquers all; therefore, let us submit to love."

–Virgil.

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The pounding came late at night, when the moon had disappeared in preparation for the dawn. The raucous sound startled you awake from a dream you immediately forgot, leaving you dazed and slightly panicked. Prima, your chambermaid, hastily draped a cloak over your shoulders and accompanied you to the front of the house to investigate.

The iron gates seemed to shake from the sheer power of the knocking, as if a battering ram was being used. The courtyard was shadowed except for a few small torches and in that moment, you couldn’t help but believe anything could be lurking in the darkness. Gallus, who guarded the entrance, motioned with one hand for you and Prima to stay where you were.

Fear curdled icily in your stomach and you clutched Prima’s arm as Gallus undid the giant latch that held the gates closed. He partially opened one of them, but as soon as he did, a trio of brawny men barreled inside.

One of them, quick as a flash, drew his sword and drove it into Gallus’ chest. He let out a gurgling sound and collapsed, immediately dead. Prima screamed, but you were frozen in shock, a sob clogging in your throat. The other two men started to menacingly make their way towards you, quickly closing the distance.

You shoved Prima back towards the hallway, stepping in front of her protectively.

“Run,” you urged her. “Save yourself!”

She hesitated for a moment, but then her self-preservation instincts took over and she darted into the darkness of the house. Luckily, none of them pursued her, but they weren’t there for her, after all. 

The two men reached you, each clutching one of your arms and dragging you to the entrance. Your heart was pounding like a war drum in your chest, everything coming into sharper focus as adrenaline kicked in. You couldn’t bring yourself to ask who they were or where they were taking you, too afraid they might become more aggressive.

Outside the gate, there were a few more men holding torches, all of them surrounding a man on a pale horse. The rider removed the hood of his cloak and it was none other than Macrinus, Lucius’ master.

“A little bird has told me that one of my gladiators holds you in high regard,” he said by way of greeting, his smile a thin veneer of friendliness. “My champion, as you might recall…”

You dipped your chin in assent, knowing it was futile to lie. His men were restless as if waiting for an excuse to intervene, and you wouldn’t give it to them if you could help it.

“Well, as it happens, I am now in need of some help keeping him in check,” he said, his words less like an invitation and more of a command. “If you would be so kind as to come with us.”

You swallowed hard, nodding once more. “I-if I may ask… Where are we going?”

“Oh, you needn’t worry about that.” He waved off the question dismissively. “You’ll be perfectly safe in my care.”

You hesitated for a moment before inclining your head, trying to seem polite despite the tremor in your voice. “Of course, I–thank you.”

He held out his heavily ringed hand for you to take and swiftly pulled you onto his horse in front of him. You cast one last fretful glance back at your house as if to commit it to memory. What if you never returned?

No, you couldn’t think like that. You’d do whatever it took to see things through and come out alive on the other side. You could play the game… Whatever it was. But if Lucius was on the line, what exactly was expected of you? 

“Hold on tightly, now,” Macrinus said close to your ear, making your skin crawl. “Wouldn’t want you to fall.”

He spurred his horse into a wild gallop, the darkened streets of Rome blurring together as they flew past you. The sun was just beginning to rise in the horizon, slowly bleeding crimson and gold.

It could be no coincidence that just the day before, General Acacius had been executed by the Praetorian guard after Lucius had chosen to grant him mercy. You couldn’t be sure what either of them was planning, but Lucius had to be enough of a threat to warrant some collateral. Perhaps Macrinus even thought you might have some idea of what his next move would be.

Anxiousness knotted in your chest as you stared straight ahead. Perhaps if you played your part well enough, you might not just save yourself, but you might also help Lucius, too. All that was left to do was wait.

—-----------------

Outside, the Roman populace was rioting. The fires throughout the city had doubled after the fate of Queen Lucilla was announced. It was no surprise, given their adoration for her and the former General Acasius. That was working in her and Lucius’ favor, but it was also working in Macrinus’s, if things went according to his plans. Things were in a rather precarious position in Rome. Emperor Geta was already dead, and nobody was too keen on the idea of Caracalla having sole power. 

Lucius and his mother met a few days prior to form a plan to defeat Macrinus, and they relied on the element of surprise. Lucius hadn’t summoned you in some time, wanting to keep you away from danger, but he had still tried to send you a couple of messages with Ravi. Much to his dismay, though, he had received no response. He feared that you might be angry at him, but it wasn’t until Viggo boasted about your capture, taunting him, that he found out the truth.

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Lucius drove his sword into the face of the man who had tried so hard to break him on the training grounds. He could endure his attempts to humiliate him, the sharp bite of the whip tearing open his back, and the leering grins at his suffering. But he could not bear the thought of him laying a single hand on you. 

And still, even after killing him, his rage was not quelled. It would carry him through the rest of the day, like a purifying, righteous flame. 

His fellow gladiators disposed of the rest of their captors, and now they waited to enact Lucius’ plan. He stalked out on the sand, approaching the sacrificial altar where his mother and the senators who had conspired with her were tied. Senator Gracchus was among them, his hunched form and frightened expression like a dagger piercing your heart. Queen Lucilla, for her part, kept her chin raised high, a serenely dignified expression on her face. She would not go down afraid in the face of her enemies.

Lucius looked to the Emperor’s box and momentarily halted in his steps as he spotted you. Beside you, Macrinus smiled, wide and cruel. He had deliberately kept you hidden until that moment, when he knew it would be an irresistible distraction to Lucius. You tried to shake your head imperceptibly, but you knew it’d be impossible for him to see at such a great distance. 

A scream threatened to crawl up your throat, but you stayed perfectly still, your expression neutral. You could betray nothing in that moment, or it might cost you both everything. Fortuna, I beg you, bless him with your favor once more…

Lucius’ rage was incandescent, blazing through him like sunlight itself. Everything else seemed to disappear and he became like the edge of a well-honed blade – the vision of the god Apollo. He raised his sword and pointed it directly at Macrinus – both a promise and a threat. Only one of them would still live by the end of the day.

The master of ceremonies announced what the games would consist of – Lucius would be the sole fighter to defend his mother and the senators from the Praetorian guard. They rode into the arena at the sound of trumpets, the thunderous noise of horses' hooves pounding on the sand reverberating through you. Your vision went dark for a moment and you thought you might faint, but then you felt an arm slip around your shoulders.

“I want you to watch closely now,” Macrinus said, voice low and close to your ear. “This is what happens to those who go against my will.”

You watched as the soldiers circled closer and closer. An archer among them loosed an arrow that pierced through Senator Gracchus’ throat, blood spurting from his mouth like a gruesome fountain. You whimpered, feeling like air had been punched out of your lungs. Tears rapidly welled in your eyes as your patron fell to his knees, dead within seconds. Macrinus’ grip on your shoulders tightened, gripping your chin with his free hand when you tried to glance away. 

At his throne, Emperor Caracalla clapped excitedly over the first death of the spectacle. His pet monkey climbed onto his shoulders, chittering anxiously at all the commotion. With one last menacing look, Macrinus let go of your shoulders and stepped behind the throne to get a better look. Beneath your cloak, your fingers brushed over the small knife you’d stolen from the kitchen at Macrinus’ estate. You sent another prayer to Nemesis, goddess of revenge, so that your hand wouldn’t falter if you were forced to use it.

In the arena, Lucius jumped onto the platform where his mother stood and let out a fierce roar, raising his sword in the air. His battle cry was echoed by the dozens of gladiators that suddenly flooded the arena, immediately engaging the soldiers in a fierce melee. 

Mayhem ensued as the crowd grew wild and rapidly uncontrollable. The people surged forward like a tempestuous tide, fighting back against the Praetorian guards who were meant to keep things under control. Macrinus saw his opportunity in the chaos and slipped a needle-like knife into Caracalla’s ear, killing him. His monkey leaped away, terrified, and lost itself in the commotion.

You stumbled backward, aghast, as Macrinus took the bow of the guard nearest him and fired down into the arena. Unthinking, you unsheathed the knife for protection and fled while he was still turned away. You heard his furious scream and his pounding footsteps in pursuit of you, but soon you were met with the angry Roman mob. 

You glanced over your shoulder, weighing your options, and decided your chances were better if you lost yourself in the crowd. You fought your way through, not letting anything or anyone stop you. Your heart was racing and your breaths were coming out in harsh pants, but no one really paid attention to you. You were jostled and thrown about, but that seemed to be the worst of it.

Macrinus gave up pursuit rather quickly, instead stealing a horse and fleeing towards Ostia, where he would meet his fate. As for Lucius, you had faith in his strength, in the fury that drove him forward. The best thing you could do was find somewhere to hide, at least until things settled down some. He could not have any more distractions now, in the most crucial moment.

And so, you ran.

—-------------------------------------

Countless hours later, after defeating Macrinus in a duel where the fate of Rome was at stake, Lucius revealed his true identity, his grandfather’s ring back on his finger. But he did not stay long to revel in his victory, instead riding back into the city at breakneck speed. He searched the busy streets for you with the desperation of a man who had already lost everything, but was not willing to go through it again. The rage was dissipating into panic, but he wouldn’t let himself succumb to it. 

You were praying in a small temple of Fortuna when you heard his hoarse voice calling out your name, the sound growing closer. You threw off your hood and dashed into the street, seeing him in the near distance atop his horse, frantically looking about. Relief at seeing him alive, though bruised and bloodied, flooded through you. You could almost fall to your knees in gratitude, a great weight lifting off your shoulders.

“Lucius!” You called out, waving your arms above your head so he may spot you. “Lucius, over here!”

Finally, he saw you, his expression nearly crumbling with relief. People moved out of the way to let him through, curiously taking in the scene. By the time he reached you, you noticed your face was wet with tears, but you were unable to stop smiling. He let out a breathy laugh, overjoyed, and pulled you onto his horse. He caught you halfway and kissed you deeply, not stopping even as you murmured thank you, thank you, thank you against his lips like a prayer. 

Then he seemed to remember where you were, with dozens surrounding you, and he knew he had to get you out of there. He leaned his forehead against yours for a moment, barely able to believe his immense fortune. He mentally thanked anyone who might be listening for bringing you back to his side, and he kissed the tip of your nose.

“I told you you’d be the first one I’d run to,” he said, helping you settle in front of him. “We must go, the streets are not safe yet.”

You nodded, pressing closer to him. You didn’t even need to ask where he was taking you, for you would go with him anywhere. To the ends of the earth and beyond, until you were just two shades in Hades, indistinguishable from one another.

He spurred his horse, navigating it up the road and away from the more condensed areas of the city. Soon the cloying smell of smoke and the constant shouting disappeared behind you like a distant nightmare. The clean mountain air revitalized you, finally making you feel a little more at ease. We really did it. We made it through.

When you reached the outskirts of the forest near a cliffside, he finally stopped. The view was breathtaking, the sunset seeming to stretch on infinitely, painting the entire sky in swaths of orange and pink. It was quiet except for a soft breeze, with no one around for miles to intrude in your little pocket of paradise. He dismounted first, but you jumped into his arms before he could help you down, practically tackling him to the ground. 

He laughed and you kissed him, letting him roll you onto your back on the bed of grass. Hands roamed over each other’s bodies with a certain urgency, ascertaining your solidity. You arched against him and he clutched you to him as if his life depended on it, moving to kiss your face and neck.

“I should have known,” he said, his anger self-directed. “I should have done more to keep you safe, I-”

“No use dwelling on what could have been when I am here now, safe in your arms.” You caressed his hair gently, trying to soothe him.

“But what if you weren’t?” he said, stopping to look at you. “I would never forgive myself for it. I would have followed you immediately.”

“Lucius, please…” you tried to protest, but he turned his face to kiss your palm, laying it against his cheek. “The threat is gone. You have defeated Macrinus. There is nothing to fear.”

For a moment, there was torment written on his features, like a long-buried memory had come to haunt him. His eyes scanned your face, searching for comfort in your loveliness — the delicate curve of your cupid’s bow, the slope of your nose, the fan of your lashes against your cheekbones when you blinked. Your gentle gaze, especially, and those soft lips that curved in a smile whenever he was around. He could never grow tired of looking at you.

For the first time in a long, long time, he could see a future ahead of him, waiting with open arms. Without you, it was just not there, and that was why he was still so distressed. He couldn’t fathom being separated from you and he had been foolish not to realize it sooner. He had been stubborn about his feelings, thinking it was better to keep you at arm’s length just to save you. And all for what?

“What is it?” You prompted, gently smoothing out his frown with your fingers, bringing him out of his thoughts. 

“Will you marry me?” He asked.

You immediately sat up, making him pull back with you. You opened and closed your mouth, shocked beyond words. For a moment, you even thought you had imagined him asking that. His eyebrows raised slightly, nervous but expectant. 

“Marry you,” You repeated breathlessly, blinking at him. “You want to make an honest woman out of me, is that it?”

“Not just that.” He chuckled. “But an Emperor’s wife, too.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

He showed you his ring, which featured the profile of Marcus Aurelius, his grandfather. Every last piece of the puzzle seemed to click into place then, but it would take some more time for it to fully sink in. You stared at the ring, completely awestruck, and bent your head to kiss it as if by reflex.

“Lucius, I… Is this what you really want?” You asked, not letting go of his hand. “I am just not sure that I’m, you know…”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say the word worthy, but he caught your meaning anyway. His fingers squeezed yours reassuringly, making you look into his eyes. 

“I have never been more certain of anything,” he said. “I would argue you are deserving of better than me. I am not a man without faults, or history, as you well know.”

You shook your head as if he was foolish to worry about such things. It wasn’t like you didn’t have any faults or regrets of your own. You’d already had enough sleepless nights being tormented by them, as you knew he had been. No person had nothing they wouldn’t like to be forgiven for.

“Well, you are plenty enough for me,” you said softly. “Faults and all.”

“As are you,” he said, returning the gesture of worship and respect by kissing your hand. “I want nothing more. I need nothing more. Just you.”

 “Then it is no question, really.” You smiled, on the brink of tears again. “I will happily marry you, Lucius Verus Aurelius.”

Finally, the dark cloud lifted from his expression, and his smile was even more beautiful than the sunset coming to an end behind him. Now it was him who tackled you back onto the ground and you thought he might devour you, his lips intent on not leaving one inch of your skin unkissed.

—-------------------------------------

The ceremony was kept small and intimate, but you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. It was an auspicious June day, warm and pleasant, with no clouds in the sky. The air was perfumed with the smell of fresh cut flowers, as there were dozens of arrangements set up all around. Fountains babbled in the gardens, accompanying the echo of your excited voices.

As was custom, Lucius chased you around the halls of the palace in a mock kidnapping. You could not stop laughing, exhilarated, a thrill dancing down your spine any time you looked over your shoulder to see him giving chase. When he finally caught you, he threw you over his shoulder and carried you to a lectus that overlooked the gardens. 

Your veil and wreath came off first as he laid you down on the plush cushions, hair fanning out over them. You helped each other out of your clothes, eager to have nothing between you. When Lucius’ toga was off, you admired his body, running your hands over the hard planes of his stomach and up to his chest. 

He cupped the back of your neck and brought your lips to his greedily. The slide of his warm skin against yours was heavenly, only making you want more and more of him, forever. It was still surreal that what had so recently become a dream of yours was now a reality. You would always thank Fortuna for that.

But that made you remember something you’d been wanting to bring up, except there had not been any opportunity before. You hoped it wouldn’t ruin the moment, but it could wait no longer. 

“Lucius?” You said between kisses.

“Yes, my love?”

You pulled back to look him in the eye, setting your hands on his shoulders.

“Um,” you began nervously, swallowing hard. “I know what our duties are but… Would it be so terrible to enjoy our marriage by ourselves just a little while longer?”

He caught your meaning immediately, nodding reassuringly as he placed his palm on the small of your back.

“I am in no rush if you are not,” he said without hesitation, not minding the idea one bit. 

He’d been having similar thoughts about it for the past couple of days, anyway, and he was glad you’d been the one to bring it up. You smiled at him gratefully, sighing with relief. His eyes dropped to your lips once more, their lure nearly irresistible. 

“My wife is a greedy little thing, wanting to keep me all to herself.”

You chuckled salaciously as he ran his thumb over your bottom lip. “Can you blame me?”

He shook his head, watching as you teasingly bit his thumb, licking the pad of it. He let out a breathy groan and you pushed him onto his back, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down his chest. His hips jerked as your lips passed his navel, and with the flat of your tongue, you teased the velvety underside of his hard cock.

You heard his sharp intake of breath, followed by him sighing your name. You continued to tease and lick him, making him whimper, his eyes pleading for more when you looked into them. You took him into your mouth and his head tipped back in pleasure, exposing the column of his throat. 

“Come here,” he rasped deliriously. “I need to taste you, too.”

You complied with no protest, only extricating yourself to reposition. You swung a leg over his head to straddle his face, leaning your body forward so you could take his cock in your mouth once more. His tongue lapped at your inner thigh, which was glistening with your arousal. You shuddered, moaning around him. 

You pushed your hips back as he traced the tip of his tongue through your folds, groaning at the taste of you. The tips of your fingers brushed his sac as you sucked on the sensitive tip of his cock, and he felt as if he might go wild at that moment. 

His fingers, in turn, dipped into your cunt, preparing you for him. It became like a game, trying to get the other to come first. He won first, but he wasn’t far behind, and he marveled at the fact that you swallowed every drop. From then on, things were a lot more frenzied.

Hours passed without either of you noticing. There were only a few breaks in between, but otherwise, you and Lucius explored every possible position on and around the couch. It was perhaps the longest wedding night in history, with nothing to hold you back any longer. Except for maybe physical exhaustion, which set in when the sun was beginning to rise on a new dawn.

The two of you lay naked, holding each other close, while you watched the sky lighten. The morning was ripe with possibility, Rome feeling like an entirely different realm. Fear had reigned for so long that peace was still a new luxury, but not one you took for granted.

At that moment, before the day really started and you both had to face your new responsibilities, all you wanted was to commit the first moments of your marriage to memory. The matching rings on your interlocked fingers, the adoring look in Lucius’ heavy-lidded eyes, and the mutual promise to take care of each other for the rest of your days. 

“Get some rest, my love,” you murmured, caressing his face. “You’ll need your strength.”

“I shall only sleep if I’ll see you in my dreams,” he murmured, trying to sound playful, but his eyes were already closed.

You chuckled, kissing his forehead. “And when you wake up, you’ll see it wasn’t a dream after all.”

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Finis.

[thyras]

→ your divine

PAIRING → mairon | halbrand | annatar (sauron) x f!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 6.6k words

WARNINGS → 18+ mdni - dark!reader, soft!sauron (even if that is possible), smut, some plot, masturbation, murder, reader has trauma, mentions of blood, blood drinking, possessiveness, unprotected p in v, choking, biting (marking), oral (fem receiving), confessions, breeding kink.

SUMMARY → you have been sauron's betrothed since the days of old, his faithful servant. you spend your days carrying out his plans in Eregion, but with each passing century, you long for your husband's awaiting arms until one day you finally get your wish.

AUTHOR'S NOTE → this is deranged and will be a two parter because this was already so long. i feel like sauron would not ever want to have children but for the sake of this lets just imagine otherwise. reader is dark but only when she needs to be. i was inspired by @just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace to take on writing a dark!reader fic. hope y'all enjoy.

FIC MASTERLIST → NEXT PART

Centuries passed, and you kept playing your part well. You grew into your role as a healer in Eregion. But the pain always lingered. You missed your husband and longed to feel him underneath your fingertips again. Feel his taste on your lips as he drove into you at a toe-curling pace like in the days of old. When you both were free to indulge in each other for days.

Never to know the longing of separation.

You were standing in the courtyard talking with Mirdania when you felt the sweet pull of something you had not felt in centuries—your husband. It made you turn quickly, expecting those dark, shadowy fingers to crawl up your spine before wrapping themselves around your neck in the act of possession. When the feeling wanes, you feel your heart clenching and aching at the flicker of longing you now feel again.

Mirdania notices your change in demeanor and touches your shoulder softly, pulling you out of your thoughts. You turn to her and smile, putting your mask back on as quickly as it recedes.

"Is everything okay?" she asks. You nod before returning to your earlier conversation when the sound of hooves alerted you both to turn toward the lower courtyard. A white horse and chestnut appear as the guards, Elrond and Celebrimbor, move to greet the unexpected visitors.

Your feet become glued to the cobblestone when you see the rider and feel the pull of his shadowy mind against your own. He was injured if the stain of red on his tunic and the pale face of a man riddled with sickness was any tell. But you knew that your husband was an excellent deceiver and had a particular fondness for deceiving elves. A dark smile twisted underneath your own illusion as the thoughts of his deception towards you, memories of that first awakening surfacing.

In ages passed, after the first awakening, your kin were offered passage to the Undying Lands by the great Oromë after Melkor’s defeat. But a dark deceiver had already infiltrated your heart and mind by that time. Planting seeds of darkness and a lust for power. You had always been a rebellious soul, and he fed off that.

His dark claws sunk into you until you were nothing more than a Moriquendi, an elf of the dark. The dark followed you and faded your light until no more than the shimmer in your hair was left.

So when it came time to leave, Oromë stopped you and exposed your secret to your kin. Horrified by the sight of you and your deception, Oromë gave your kin a choice; cleanse or destroy you if they wished to journey with the rest to Valinor in three days.

Your kin, eager to reach the Undying Lands after the war, decided it would be easier to destroy you than heal what was already so corrupted. He came to you in his shadowy form on the second and final night. Fingers caressing your torn and tattered face. You were accepting of his touch.

“What have they done?” his form breathed. You looked up at him, the face of your lover appearing. The soft, gentle, elven face and long reddish hair of his fair form.

“Mairon,” you struggled to breathe against the collar around your neck. Chains shackled you to the walls, and in that moment, you knew by the look in those dark eyes he would do what you craved so desperately for. Destruction and revenge for your kin’s greed.

When they came for you, he slaughtered them like animals before anyone could even lay a finger on you. The sight was wicked and cruel to anyone but you. To witness your lover wreak havoc on the people who wished to end you was intoxicating. It did not matter that he slaughtered your family or friends; they were already dead to you.

In one final act, your lover drug the leader of your kin to the center of the square by his hair, forcing him to kneel, tilting his head up so he could look at the destruction around him. “Look what one mere man can do,”

“You are no man,” the leader choked out his bloodied mouth, spitting some of it onto the ground. “You are him, Sauron, the Abhorred, Morgoth’s faithful lieutenant.” You watched as that dark, nebulous smile rose on his lips before the leader looked at you. “He’s corrupted you for his own gain, young one. He will discard you after he has no use for you anymore.”

You shook your head and stood a little taller. “And why should I believe you when you were so quick to murder me for immortality?” You reached down and picked up a discarded blade beside your feet. In one final breath, you drove it through his gut and watched as the light of the Valar began to fade from his eyes.

“Why?” The elf choked out as blood fell from his lips. You look up at your lover, whose dark eyes sparkled with adoration and intoxicating pleasure. You were his. The life you took was the final piece to welcoming the darkness entirely.

“He gave me what none of you could not.” Your lover's hand moved to cup your chin as he released the dying man, bringing your lips to his before you spoke again. “Divine purpose,”

Mirdania moving past you quickly to help brought you out of your twisted memory. You watched as the guards helped him off the horse and carried him into the tower. It would cause alarm if you rushed down as Mirdania had done, so you make your way moments later.

"What has happened?" you asked Elrond as you finally reached him.

"It appears Lady Galadriel never went to Valinor. " You had heard of her but only in passing whispers. She was an Eldar and had come from Valinor after the Great War. The only person that would have any knowledge of your husband’s slaughter of your woodland kin. “And now she has brought the King of the Southlands with her." You could not help the pulsing in your heart as you realized the grand plan was now coming to fruition, and you could rest easy that you would have him even for a brief time.

"I am sure I will be needed," you said, picking up your skirts and starting towards the stone stairs. "Can you send for my assistants, Lord Elrond?" He inclined his head before turning away. The pulsing in your ears and your heart caused you to take quickened paces toward him, following the sweet thread of your bond through the tower.

Once you were close enough to feel the pulsing of his own yearning for you, your feet slowed, and you made sure your mask was firmly in place before entering the room.

There he laid. In his new form, this time a man. His hair was coppery bronze that hung around his face in waves while a light coating of stubble covered his cheeks and chin. You had never minded whatever form he took, but you were always pleased whenever he took on the fair faces and tall, lean bodies. It added to your yearning for him.

You stepped into the room, causing Galadriel to turn as the guards left. Surprise flashed across her face as you strode past her.

Any elf could feel your dark choice to remain in Middle-Earth. But none could feel the dark bond you shared with the evil they sought to rid the world of.

You inclined your head to her and pushed up the sleeves of your robes before making it over to him. He turned his head and let a brief smile touch the corner of his lips as he took you in. His beloved wife was here to mend him once again. You moved to lift up the blood-stained shirt and saw the sprawling wound there. The dark lines of infection ran away from it. You reached to touch it, and he winced at the touch. So, it was a very well-crafted illusion.

"How long has it been?" you asked as your two assistants brushed past her, and Elrond appeared behind them. They set your supplies on the table next to you as they unpacked and laid them out.

"Six days, enemy lance. We rode with haste and without rest," she said before turning to speak with Elrond. You turned your attention back to the man lying in the bed. You pulled on the dark thread to tell him he would be well again. He swallowed hard, and you could tell he was trying so hard not to take your hand into his. The centuries apart finally caught up to him.

You and your assistants worked tirelessly to heal the wound. Once it was in a place that you could manage on your own, you dismissed the two younger elves and were finally left alone with your husband, who was now being cheeky and pretending to be asleep.

"You don't have to pretend anymore, my love; they are all gone." You said playfully as you moved your chair a little closer so you could wipe the sweat away from his forehead with a damp cloth. His eyes opened, and a thin smile touched his lips. "Very convincing," you motioned to the scar now on his side. "You inflict that yourself, or was it just a genuine illusion?" He squeezed your hand. The wedding ring on your finger pressed against the palm of his hand before he brought it up to kiss.

"A Maia does not reveal all his tricks," Your face warmed slightly as he moved to kiss your wrist, his lips caressing the scar on your wrist from when you had bound yourself to each other. It sent a shiver down your spine as his lips lingered there before you felt the tip of his tongue trace across it. You held back a whimper as your eyes closed. "I've missed you, my beloved,"

Your eyes fluttered open, and you moved to cup his stubble-covered cheek, lips leaning in to hover over his. Both of your breaths mixed for the first time in centuries as your thumb caressed his cheek. Eyes locked with each other. "I've missed you as well, husband,"

The long-awaited climax to your reunion came when you pressed your lips against his, hungry for his taste against you. Your lips moved in a passionate rhythm before he lifted his free hand to wrap around the back of your neck, lacing his fingers in your silky hair. A low growl rumbled in his chest as your tongue pushed past his lips, tasting the fiery scent he always carried with him. He pressed you harder into him as your other hand moved to run through the sprinkling of dark brown chest hair.

You fought the urge to climb onto him and straddle his hips before sinking yourself onto him and taking him to the hilt like you had craved to do each and every night since you both had parted ways centuries ago to protect your identity and facade of a mourning elf who had lost her kin to the evil, Sauron.

It was quickly over before you blinked, and you longed for much more; his lips left yours only for him to pull against your bottom lip between his teeth. Tempting you even more, your hand moved to wrap around his neck as a low growl left your lips. A chuckle left his lips before he spoke.

"It would look suspicious if you linger here for any longer. I'll be fine." He breathed. "We can speak more in the morning." You gave him a slight pout before he smiled and ran his thumb against your bottom lip. "Always so insatiable,"

"Well, I have not seen you in centuries," you breathed as a dark smile filled your lips in preparation for what was about to leave your lips. "And doing everything myself with only memories grew tiresome."

A dark smile touched his own as he tsked and gripped your chin tight. "Always the temptress," he said seductively, as you looked down at him. Then, playfully, nipped at his thumb.

"But you love it," He chuckled softly before releasing you. "For it was the reason you became so smitten with me," You paused and hovered over his lips once again. "For I am the only one to have ever tempted the Dark Lord himself into doing my bidding." You ran your index finger underneath his coarse chin. He visibly shuttered and hummed against the touch as you moved your finger down his throat.

"And I would fall for it every time if it meant I got to ravage the woman that holds my dark soul in her clutches." Your face warmed, and your finger stopped when you leaned in once again to give him a parting kiss.

"Until the sun rises and the moon sets, you will be the only thing on my mind." You said, adjusting your gown and robes before laying the damp cloth into your basket. You snatched it up and moved to the door before turning to gaze upon his lazy, blissed form.

"Still as sweet and silvery-lipped as you were all those centuries ago, I can't wait to feel them around me." That dark smile he loved so much returned to your lips. His prolonging of this departure for someone who wanted to keep suspicions low was amusing.

But that’s what the mere sight of you did.

If eyes could ravage you, then his would be doing so now.

"I would say get some sleep, but we both know there will be none of that." He chuckled and waved you off.

"Good night, my beloved wife." You picked up your skirts and started down the dark corridor.

It was not long before you felt the cold, dark shadow following you out into the courtyard. You shook your head and turned to look up at the flickering light in the room you had just left. You could not see him, but you felt him in your bones and could not wait to feel him inside you.

The sun rose, and you began preparing to tend to your 'wounded' guest. You could not help but feel the anticipation building in your chest as you put together a fresh basket of linen and clothing for him. It was like in those days after you wed and found the peace you both searched for, indulging in each other's pleasures and carnal desires endlessly. The childish games he would indulge in just for you made your knees weak and your core turn as it twisted in anticipation for his soul to connect with yours. Old memories surfaced as you tugged on that invisible dark thread, tying you together in destiny.

Laughter left your lips as you ran behind a tree, trying to control your racing pulse so he had no chance of finding you. Your hand went over your mouth as if to control your breathing. A smile on your lips as you felt the first tug of your bond against your mind. He was close, and you were torn with desire, but this was a game of patience.

You closed your eyes and felt the wet ache of your womanhood at the thought of his hands caressing your body, fingers wrapping around your neck as those dark silted irises of the viper he was stared down at you in feral hunger. You took this chance to pick up your long velvet and silk skirts. Your own long, delicate fingers moved to push aside your underthings before tracing against your soaked entrance.

Your body came a light at the thought of his touch inside of yours. One finger became two, moving in a rhythm that had the squelching sound of your needy cunt filling the forest. Your other hand rubbed against your swollen pearl, bringing out a whimpered plea of his name, tempting him ever so slightly more.

"Little temptress?" his voice carried through the forest. "You can't hide forever. I can smell you doing what only my fingers can achieve." Another tug on your bond, and you could hear leaves crunching underneath his boots. You moaned against his filthy words before pulling out of yourself just as the heat of your climax kissed your core.

You wanted him to bring you to climax, but you also wanted to torture him. So you cleaned your drippings from your fingers with a quick lick of your fingers. His voice hummed as he neared. “Do you taste good, little one?” Your eyes slammed shut as the words were true, but you tasted even better against his fingertips.

You took this chance to pick up your heavy skirts and move away from the tree you had been hiding behind, heart racing as you ran further into the forest away from your beloved husband.

Once you came into view, a feral growl sounded through the forest, and his dark shadow started following you until you felt his arms snatch you up. It caused you to trip over your skirts, and both of you fell into a heap of limbs and cloth. "A fair, virtuous elven maiden such as yourself should not be touching herself like that, the scandal that would cause if anyone were to wander upon us.” he breathed against your tresses. A smile filled your lips as he encased your frame, breathing heavily like he had been running for ages.

Your lashes lowered, and you ran your index finger across his plump bottom lip and down his chin before moving back up to part his lips with your nail. His eyes became darkened and full of feral hunger, like some wolf ready to sink his teeth into its fresh prey as he took in the scent of your arousal on the tips of your fingers.

"Mmm," you hummed, eyes closing as you reached down and pulled up your skirts, revealing the delicate skin of your thighs covered in a light sheen of arousal dripping from your needy heat. He let out a low warning growl at your motion. "Then shall the Dark Lord take this fair maiden's virtue and taint her with the darkness?" Your eyes fluttered open just as his lips crashed upon yours, drawing out the air in your lungs and forcing you to press your body against him. His hand moved to run up the soft, damp skin of your upper thigh. Shivers ran down your spine as his tongue broke through your lips, taking in the taste of your sweet arousal. The kiss only lasted for a moment until his lips started down your jaw and then your neck. Your fingers moved to wind themselves into the reddish tresses of his hair.

"Such a devious little creature," he breathed against your neck before he raked his teeth against the skin, causing you to yank on the roots of his hair and produce a growl from him. The hunger built as fingers swiped through your wet folds; the stimulating touch caused you to roll your hips against him, craving the friction he was denying you. His free hand slammed you into the forest floor causing you to yelp in surprise.

"I learned from the best,"

Your face warmed as the memory slipped away, and you slipped out of your modest abode toward the forge where your husband was still being kept. Elves walked around you as you tried to keep your pace casual. Your eyes traveled across the beautiful streets of Eregion.

This had been your home for a few centuries back when Celebrimbor’s ancestors first settled here. They welcomed you and gave you a refuge from your twisted past. You watched as your husband’s plan began to unfold. The madness already brewing against the family that held lordship over these lands.

The family never suspecting of your true loyalty.

And your purpose here.

Out of the periphery of your eye, you saw Lady Galadriel's shimmering white hair walking across the courtyard. She was deep in thought by how she walked and her rigid posture. Something was amiss with her, something that you could tell was troubling her mind.

Your husband’s manipulation ran rampant against her mind. You could tell she had been ever willing to hang on to every enticing word that left his lips.

You continued your journey and finally made your way into the forge. To your mild surprise, you saw both your husband and Celebrimbor talking. Sensing your arrival, both men turned when you entered the forge; you gave them a light bow before Celebrimbor motioned you over.

Your husband's gaze followed you the whole way over, the tendrils of his dark web crawling up your back and across your shoulders as he explored every inch of you. Pulling at your desire and lust for him to be buried between your thighs, withering underneath his touch.

It was almost impossible to keep your mask on for Celebrimbor, but you could torture him later.

And the chaos that would cause.

Such delightful chaos.

"Good morning, my lord; I am surprised to see our guest up after I strictly told him to rest for a few days." You turned your gaze to your husband and gave him a scowl to keep up with your carefully crafted facades.

"It is my fault," Celebrimbor said warmly. "Lord Halbrand was just giving me some inspiration for a project, and I seemed to have gotten carried away." He gave you both a slight bow before returning down the corridor as he mumbled to himself about something.

When he was out of elven hearing, you spoke up. "For someone who does not want to raise suspicion, you sure are doing a horrible job." You move to take his forearm and walk you both over to the darkened corridor.

"I got bored," he said with a devilishly playful smile. You sighed and shook your head.

Why did you always have to be his rational conscience?

"And the last time you got bored," You poked at his chest. "I had to clean up your mess." He took your hand into his and brought it up to his lips.

"And I am eternally grateful for it, but," he paused and reached with his other hand to take your chin into his fingers. "Trust me, there will be no mess to clean up this time, only reward. And then we shall have forever to indulge in our pleasures after we are King and Queen of this land," You smiled darkly up at him.

"Promise?"

"With all my heart," He released you and motioned down the corridor to where he had been staying. "Now I do think we need to keep our little rouse up."

You take the lead, and before you know it, he has scooped you up bridal style as your basket of linen fell to the floor, leaving a pile of cloth in your wake. He carried you through the threshold of his room before depositing you onto the bed unceremoniously. You leaned up and watched as he closed the door and locked it.

"But won't you be missed?" you said as you moved to be on all fours. “Celebrimbor and Lady Galadriel shall surely miss you. They seem so smitten with you.” The yearning and dark lust was palpable in the air of the small room. You reach up to take the rim of his pants into your fingers, yanking him over to the edge of the bed.

"Hardly," he took your chin into his calloused hand before tilting your head to meet his gaze. "I'm more worried about whether Eregion's sweet, innocent healer will be missed." You lowered your lashes and gave his pants a light tug.

"Hardly," you repeated his answer and licked your bottom lip. You ached to feel the heaviness of him in your mouth and slide your tongue up his length, knowing all the areas that would gift you with those precious sounds and dirty Black Speech endearments. "She's out of the office for the remainder of the morning. And plus, my assistants are perfectly capable of managing without me."

Your husband pulled your gaze back to meet his. It did not matter if he changed appearances or faces; that dark, feral gaze he produced whenever you were your playful, temptress self was always the same. But this face was slowly becoming one of your favorites, the dampness already collecting in your undergarments as you reached up to move your hand across the growing appendage in the fabric of his pants.

You licked your lips as his eyes closed, and he released your face. "Will my husband let me worship him like I have begged to do in those lonely nights?"

"Yes," he breathed out as your hand slipped between the rim of his pants. But before you could continue, he had your back against the bed. Dark eyes watching intently as yours grew in surprise. "But first, I wish to worship my faithful wife for her patience and effort." His hands wrapped around your neck just enough to ignite the fire in your belly that had been brewing since last night. You arch yourself in the pressured grasp as if you were showing off the most beautiful necklace in the realm. The necklace you ached for.

Finally, his mouth was on yours, and your fingers began winding into his coppery waves, pulling on the roots as his hand tightened around your neck. Your mouths fought for dominance, trying to quench a thirst that had built up in you both for centuries.

Yearning to feel body against body, mind against mind, and soul against soul. You tugged at his hair again and pushed your mouth against his harder, nipping at the skin until you could taste the black liquor of his blood coating your sweet lips.

He tasted so godly to you, and you swallowed each drop of the darkness like the faithful wife you were. After a few moments, he broke away and took your bottom lip between his teeth before tracing the blackness off both your lips. You obediently took his finger into your mouth and licked it clean. A growl rumbled in his chest as he gazed upon your obscene gesture. "I am going to make a mess of you," he promised. "Make you fall apart repeatedly, like the days of old."

You let a whimper escape your lips as he released your neck, and open-mouthed kisses replaced it. His tongue lapped up the sweet, tender skin there. "Hus—" you barely got out before his teeth met the delicate skin of your neck and began to suck against the skin.

"Mark you so no man may gaze upon your beauty and have any doubt you are bound to my soul." Your eyes slammed shut as you felt the searing pain of his teeth breaking the skin. His tongue lapped at the blood pooling there. "My beautiful elven wife," A moan escaped your lips before you pressed your body against his, the barrier of fabric almost too much. You craved to feel his bare skin against yours and take in all this form had to offer.

He continued down your shoulder before ripping at the fabric of your dress until it was torn down to your stomach, revealing the divine wonder of your breasts to him for the first time in centuries. You ran your tongue across your swollen bottom lip as he gazed at you in the morning sun.

His heart finally felt whole again as he gazed down at you, eating up your form and the light trickle of blood down your chest from where he had bit too hard. Your skin was so soft and warm underneath his calloused hands, the skin of the woman he gave his soul to. He leaned in, and his lips lapped up the trail of your sickly, sweet blood.

"Love?" you asked, concerned, pulling his face to meet your gaze. Your husband moved to cup your soft cheek and ran his thumb against your cheekbone. Your eyes were growing just as dark as his at this moment. The power that coursed through him was now coursing through you, the bond strengthening with each touch, kiss, or taste of your body.

"My divine, let me destroy you," he breathed, leaning down to kiss your breastbone before placing a trail of open-mouthed kisses until he took your pebbled nipple between his lips, sucking on it eagerly before speaking again. "And take the last piece of your pureness."

He continued down to your stomach, where he finished ripping the rest of your garments from your body. Every mound of flesh was game to his mouth as your fingers moved to twine in those coppery strands again. Pulling and guiding him to where he was most needed.

Your husband's fingers trailed up the flesh of your thighs as he moved to kneel in front of the bed, propping your legs up and pulling you to the edge. The image of him on his knees sent your core pulsing, something that never ceased to get a reaction out of you. It was divine and sinfully powerful to see him there. Surrendering himself to you and his desire to kneel before his queen.

"You like it when I'm on my knees, don't you?" he taunted between your thighs. His breath tickled your swollen folds, causing you to falter for a moment—but only just a moment until you sat up, and your fingers yanked his head back. His cynical grin touched his lips as he gazed at your darkened expression. "There she is," he taunted against your tight grasp. "My queen," he chuckled with a dark undertone.

"If you are going to keep taunting me, I'd rather that silvery tongue of yours to be doing something else." Your husband obliged and leaned to kiss the slickness on your thighs, tasting the arousal and yearning you felt before. Before, in one swift movement, he had you gasping for air when his mouth met your swollen cunt.

Your back arched off the mattress, and your fingers moved to grip the bed linen as he showed you just what that darkly sweet tongue could do. You could not hold back the moans or whimpers of pleasure he pulled from those swollen lips.

It was not long before one dark finger split you open, and your cunt clenched against the unfamiliar touch. Your fingers clenched his hair as his finger rocked against you, the pad of his palm touching the sweet petal of your arousal tortuously. One became two as he replaced the pad of his hand with his thumb. His free arm moved to lay across your sternum, holding you captive on the mattress. His lips returned to yours, so you could enjoy the taste of your arousal as he continued to fuck you with his torturous motions inside you.

His corruption of you ran so deep that there was no mere mortal that could ever get you to turn against the darkness. You had the most powerful being in all of Middle-Earth between your thighs, and you were the only mortal he would kneel to.

Your fingers clawed at the linen; his name, his true name, hung on your lips, ready to be released into the world after centuries of quiet patience. Your back arched against his restraining grasp, signaling to him that you were close to your climax. His come here motions quickened, and you came hard over his fingers in a release of pent-up energy, clenching around him like you never wanted your bodies to part.

"Mairon," You whimpered in ecstasy. It was always the name he wed you with. Never Sauron or the countless other names he took on. And he took pleasure in that. The way your elven tongue and lips wrapped around the name made him want to move continents and oceans for you.

"Good girl," he breathed against your sensitive, well fucked cunt. "Always such a willing and well-behaved girl." He kissed your inner thigh, tongue lapping up your drippings before he smiled darkly and bit down on the delicate flesh, causing you to moan loudly again.

"Your version of 'well-behaved' and mine are not the same, husband," you said, breathless. He chuckled and leaned back over you, taking in your blissed expression and sparkling eyes as you gazed up at him.

"Mmmm," he hummed against your stomach as you ran your fingers through his tousled strands. "But I do enjoy when you misbehave because I hear my name fall off your lips repeatedly like a young maiden saying the sweetest prayer." You watched as your husband discarded every fabric upon his body to reveal the lean man underneath.

You moved to kneel on the bed and ran your fingers through the sprinkling of chest hair as he slipped out of his pants. His mouth met yours again as your fingers moved to run up through the hair at the nape of his neck, pressing his face against you. "Let me worship you," you breathed against his lips in between kisses as your hand moved to wrap around his jutting appendage. He hissed out a curse as you pumped the taut skin. "Let me show you how lonely each and every century was."

He tried to encase you with his form, but you hooked your leg around his waist and rolled him underneath you. Your hips now straddling him as you hovered over him, awaiting the time to sink your hips down and take him to the hilt, just as you had dreamed of. Both of you were breathless and yearned for this long-awaited reunion.

This had been all he could think about as he recovered his form: tasting your sweet skin against his lips and feeling your warmth around him. He had been patient and steadfast as he worked out his plan and finally returned to his wife when the time was right.

Once his hands were on your waist and you were cradling his face, you finally sunk your hips down until you felt the tip at your entrance, the pulsing of your cunt already eager for the stretch of him splitting you open.

“For all eternity,” he breathed. “I shall be bound to you.”

“Never to wander or forget the being I have vowed to trust, love, and obey.” You finished. The words of your vow to each other rang through both your minds.

It was like that first time again when you finally took him to the hilt. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head at the pleasure of being complete by the being you gave your equally dark soul to. The being now resting in your grasp.

You began rolling your hips against him; the same spine-tingling touch of his dark fingers running up your spine filled you with even more urge to quicken your pace, but you kept an even rolling motion. Your husband moved to push some of your hair behind your ear as both of you struggled against the motions.

"Immortality always felt so hollowing," he breathed as you lowered your lips to his. "Until I met my elven princess, I turned into my dark queen." Your lips met his furiously until your pace quickened, and both your moans were being swallowed by each other's mouths. Pulling you in ever deeper to your awaiting climax.

As your bodies joined and you became one, you could feel his thoughts against your own. The feeling of your tight pussy wrapped around him caused him to strain against your movements. Your smile darkened against his lips as you slowed even more. He growled and squeezed the flesh of your ass hard. “Behave, little temptress.” His teeth nipped your bottom lip, warning you.

“But I thought you liked it when I misbehaved, my lord,” You teased. He roughly pushed you onto your back and drove into you with an animalistic pace. Pulling squeals from your lips as he drove both your highs. Your fingers released his waves as he handcuffed your wrists above your head, sitting up. Your soft gaze watched his wanton expression fill his face as he took pleasure in how you felt around him. Your back arched into the thrusts, trying to meet his powerful thrusts. Drawing him deeper toward the door to your womb, where you wished to plant his seed.

You licked your lips at the sinful thought of being full and ripe with his child. You knew he never wanted children as he found it unsettling. Merely giving you the answer of what if our own creation was as powerful as him and seeked to destroy their parents in their quest for dominion over the realm of which you both created.

A valid concern. But it did not stop your longing for the sweet kicks and turns of a child nestled in your womb.

“Little one,” he breathed as his fingers tightened around your wrists and he leaned in. “I can feel those desires of yours and do I not give you enough?” You nodded softly before answering.

“But does the creation built out of our love and in our image not entice you, husband?” His lips hovered over you, and he slowed his thrusts to a more gentle pace. He took a moment to collect his thoughts.

“A creation that could take you from me, do you wish for me to suffer in my eternity of longing for you?” Tears formed in your eyes, and his eyes darkened at the sight. “Sweet wife,” he breathed before kissing away the tears. “If this is what you want, then I shall give you what you desire, but only if you promise not to leave me empty for eternity by your absence.”

“I promise,” He picked up his pace again and drew moans out from your sinful lips. Pleasure rose in you both at the feeling of him quenching your sinful desire. He always gave you what you wanted. Ravished you delicate trinkets and beautiful nights of connected bliss. But he could never say no to his wife. His bondmate.

He snaked his fingers between your heated bodies, rubbing the sensitive bud of arousal. Pulling his name out of your sweet lips. “Will it,” you breathed as he laid his forehead on yours. The rippling of your walls clenching around him as you were reaching your peak sent him into a frenzy until one last call of his name had you whithering underneath your orgasm.

He groaned against the pulsing and began thrusting into you more brutal, more feral, as he once again wished to mark you as his own. The sweet taste of his orgasm kissed at him before, in one ragged movement, he emptied into you, spilling his seed deeply into your womb. Your breathless plea for him to will it had him straining to release you. His hand wrapped around your throat, and he pulled out of you, leaving a trail of spend in his wake. Fingers moving to lap up the substance before meeting your withering cunt, pushing it into you. Every last drop of his mark, coating you.

He leaned into your ear as you whimpered in overstimulation of his large fingers still buried deep inside you. There was nothing he wished more than to see you happy and full. Those dark, sinful lips wrapped around your ear and spoke the words you had long desired for.

"I will it,"

[muzzledhoundsheart]

❧❧❧THE BEAST INSIDE YOUR WALLS❧

Pairing ❧ dark!Gwayne Hightower x (f)reader  

CW ❧ dubcon, blood, fingering (f), oral (m), p in v sex, m!dom, possible typos 

AN ❧ I hope you guys enjoy this one! I had a pretty hard time with deciding if I’m gonna post it or scrap it and work on it another time or completely rewrite it but I think it pulled itself together pretty well in the end. Also sorry for any typos of any kind, I edit everything myself and English is my second language so some stuff slips to the cracks real fast (always makes me want to die when I see it ahaha) 

Fog hung thick over the trees, weaving itself round the crowns, through every branch hanging like shawls. Or more like nooses, Gwayne thought to himself. Him and his men rode through the forrest for hours now, seemingly without an end in sight. At every corner they rounded they found the same scenery, all blurring into one. While he enjoyed the status of being a knight, the glitz and glam of tournaments, young ladies fawning over him and men respecting him. He hated days like these. The sweat in his armor running cold down his back, the uncomfortableness spreading further, seeping deep into his very bones. 

„I see a village there! “, one of his men shouts. Oh, thank the gods he thought. Finally, some rest. He just hopes to find a good meal, a warm bed and a pretty whore to end the day well with. He could see in his men that they were all thinking the same, or at least some variation of it. They were so close they could almost make out the houses now, when suddenly, a shrill scream echoed through the Forrest. The horses were on high alert and almost knocked their riders off. It wasn’t just a scream of fear, it ran much deeper. The men looked to Gwayne unsure of how to proceed. „Sounds like a fucking banshee.“, a shorter roundish man spat with a heavy drawl. „My father used to warn me about them screams in Forrests, they’re luring you in to skin you alive.“, another one said. „Oh horseshite it’s probably just a kid who ran off and now can’t find their way back, serves ´em little cunts right.“ What a troop of heroes, Gwayne thought to himself. 

He took a deep breath and stifled a sigh, „You go on, I shall see if the forrest nymphs truly are calling for me.“ He said with a boyish smirk adorning his lips. The men looked uneasy but accepted his order and started their journey anew. Just as Gwayne was about to turn around to ride deeper into the thicket again he heard another blood curdling scream. His brows furrowed and he gripped the reigns tighter, dashing towards the noise. The closer he seemed to get, the colder his sweat ran down his neck, his thoughts running rampant stringing together gruesome paintings of violence and agony. Another scream, and it sounded awfully close. He drew his sword and the muscles in his pale back pulled taught, shifting underneath his freckled skin and sending a rush of adrenaline through his veins. The sight before him was, however, not what he imagined. 

A young woman was desperately struggling to climb up a mangled tree, she gained some footage and pulled herself up another branch, pained grunts leaving her mouth and blood dripping from her arm and side — drip drip dripping down from the wounds running down to her naked toes. Beneath the tree stood two wolfs, blood and saliva dripping from their snouts, bubbling around the corners making them look rabid, hungry — starving. The wolves didn’t even care about the deafening noise the hooves of his humongous stallion made, no, they were set on her, having already had a taste of her sweet flesh, eager for more.

 Gwayne ceased the opportunity and aimed for one of the wolves, within a few strives he was close enough to slash the back of one of them, their head hanging on by what little sinew the sword didn’t quite reach. This, finally, caught the other wolf's attention and he growled at Gwayne, ready to tear into his horse, pull him off and rip him apart, piece by bloody piece. Gwayne was faster though, stabbing the wolf in it’s side on one swift motion, his sword cutting into the wolf like velvet, releasing a gut-wrenching whimper, the wolf folded into itself while blood spurted out of it’s wound and snout, until his eyes glossed over, and his labored breathing stopped. It was almost beautiful how such such a beastly being perishes so pathetically, he thought, almost forgetting about the woman still hanging desperately onto the rotting branches of the tree in front of him. „My Lady... I’m afraid the branch will break soon.“ 

It took some time for the woman to realize what just happened. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, her chest heaving up and down heavily. Taking in her appearance, now being close enough to do so, Gwayne noticed how she was dressed, a white thin linen dress, almost looking like a nightgown, with nothing else covering her shivering form. Furthermore, the dress was ripped in multiple spots and her blood blossomed into the fabric, spreading like a visceral garden over her attire. She held her side with one hand and Gwayne noticed that her dress was ripped around her breast as well, it laid openly naked above the hand holding her side. What a lucky man Gwayne was. „Thank- thank you Ser. By the gods thank you.“ She breathed out, her voice sounding hoarse and rough. Gwayne dismantled his horse, hiding his almost perverse smile behind this mundane display.

 He approached the tree and held out his hand for her. Standing tall in front of it, he was sure the woman could reach him if she crouched down. „Let me help, my Lady.“ He said in the softest voice he could muster in this moment, his lips stretching into a friendly, warm smile. If only she knew. The woman was still apprehensive but did eventually crouch down and let him aid her in climbing back down. When she was on a brach low enough, Gwayne cupped the back of her knee and hauled her into his arms. She let out a surprised yelp and blinked up at him through thick lashes. The woman was caked in grime and blood, sweat clung to her body like second skin, but she was beautiful, nonetheless. 

„You’re all good now.“, he said, slowly lowering her to the ground while steadying her. Her hand went to her torn dress, trying to hold it up to hide her bareness. Before words could leave her mouth, he already unbuckled his cape and draped it around her shivering form. „What a predicament you were in ,my Lady. If you let me, I would take you to the nearest village to have a healer look at your wounds.“ He said not letting his gentle hold on her shoulders go. His fingertips slowly wandered up and down the familiar fabric in a soothing matter. „I would owe you my life, Ser.“, she haughtily breathed out.

 He was sure she’s lost enough blood to barely be conscious, especially now that the adrenaline is steadily leaving her body. His face contorted into a look of concern, „I might have to look at your wounds now and tend to them as best as I can. Forgive me but you’re looking awfully pale, my Lady.“ She let out an amused sound at that. „You might as well do it now, yes.“ she was swaying, on the cusp of fainting. Gwyane knelt down in front of her, slowly bunching up her skirt. The wound in her side wasn’t as bad as he initially thought, he got up again and assured the woman that he was only getting one of his satchels off his horse. He then proceeded to clean her wounds, dressing them in cloth and sending her assuring looks through his copper lashes. The woman felt like she was dreaming, being saved by such a beautiful kind man. 

He looked like a knight from a fairytale, his face was carved out of ivory, his eyes like the stormy waters that ran through the land and his copper hair falling around his cheekbones framing his pretty face. He got up again, wiping his hands on a cloth, discarding it after by dropping the bloodied cloth back into the satchel. „That should do it for now.“, he said. The woman was still dazed and looked at him as if he was a prince of the realm. „I cannot thank you enough.“ She expressed grasping tighter onto his cloak. „ Not to worry, my Lady, i have to wonder however you got yourself in this situation though.“. She looked flustered and diverted her eyes. „I was visiting my brother to take care of him, the cold got to him and i was afraid he wouldn’t make it out alive on his own. I thought taking the route through the forrest would get me home quicker, how foolish of me.“ 

Foolish indeed Gwayne thought to himself, stifling a grin. „I could offer you a bed for tonight as my thanks, Ser.“, her eyes lit up saying that, and Gwayne almost felt bad for how genuine she looked. It was rare to find someone seemingly believing in the simple kindness of man nowadays. He also wondered if she knew just what she implied with her statement, well he surely wouldn’t mind if that was what she was thinking of. Just the thought brought a shiver down his skin straight to his cock, it has been so long since he got to indulge himself after-all. „I would happily accept, my Lady“ he took her small shivering hand in his and brought it to his lips. She looked like she was about to faint again and before she started swaying, he decided to steady her with his arm around her waist. The woman stole many glances at him, and his breast swelled with pride — arrogance. He was sure he got kissed by Lady Luck tonight. 

He helped her mount his house and put her legs over his, one arm caging her in, so she „will be safe with him.“. They started trotting towards the small village nearby, her directions were surely helpful, making them arrive sooner than he anticipated.

They rode through a small marketplace coming across some of his men pointing him out to what seemed to be their bedwarmers for the night. Shouts of his heroism were heard, and the roundish man yelled „Not a banshee then ,aye?“. The woman then led him the way to a small hut. Nothing special really, made of wood and stone and mud. It looked solid — just — with greenery not only surrounding it but winding itself into every nook and cranny. They unmounted and she, still shaky on her feet, let him inside the small hut. 

His heavy boots stomped down on the creaky floor as he took his surroundings in; it was…homely. Certainly homely. A small kitchen met a big cozy bed draped in different fabrics and knit blankets. Books and various other items were strewn about, but it looked like it had a system at least. „You may take the bed and I will get you something to freshen up.“. Gwayne looked to her and swiftly grasped her wrist „I would rather claim my reward now, my Lady“. „I’m not sure what you mean.“ Her heartbeat quickened; she couldn’t have been so blind could she? He towered over her taking steps forward until both reached one of the wooden clad walls. She felt as if her flesh would freeze off, needles and pins spreading all over her body, her stomach in knots. „Remove my cloak“. All kindness vanished from his voice. She was staring at him, frozen in time. Cold cold cold fear encompassing her. „Now.“ he almost growled. 

Shaking hands reached up to open the claps, the thick fabric pooling around her still bare and bloodied feet. His eyes raked over her form, half naked and quivering before him. So delicious. His hand reached out to her, making her flinch away hard. This made his cock twitch, hard and wanting in his breeches. He moved quick and ripped the already torn dress to complete shreds. The cloth fell off her breasts entirely and he could almost make out her rapid heartbeat through her chest. The quick — thump thump thump — spurring him on even more. 

Gwayne’s hands found solace on her ribcage, his calloused thumbs slowly tracing the underline of her breasts, making her nipples pebble. The motion was almost soothing but her it felt like a predator seizing up his prey, installing fear in it and calculation their next move. She didn’t dare to breathe which he took note of — it made him chuckle. A deep rumble coming out of his chest. „I wont hurt you“. 

Liar.

She knew he would, they both did. His hands now cupping her breasts, clutching them tightly, pinching and pulling at her flesh. Small gasps left her mouth and she never felt more vulnerable than in this moment. He dipped his head to her level, copper strands kissing his cheekbones. His right hand followed her clavicles, up the tendons on her neck and settled on her throat. The pressure applied made her lightheaded. „Why don’t you sing my praises, huh, your great hero deserves more than this don’t you think?“ She wanted to bite that smug smirk off his face.

 It felt like he could sense what she thought, and he chose to attack first. His lips captured hers in a searing kiss. Gwayne’s tongue slipped into her mouth and he tasted every part of her. When they finally parted, her breaths were labored, chest heaving and saliva coated the bottom of her face, strings of it connecting them like a wet spider web. He kissed her again and again, growing more aggressive with each one, biting and pulling at her lips and tongue until she tasted the iron now coating their lips. She was ashamed of herself for how wet she’s gotten. Wetness slowly running down the inside of her thighs, as she felt how hard and wanting Gwayne has gotten himself. 

While Gwayne was biting and shucking at the juncture of her throat he ripped the last shreds of her gown hanging around her hips apart, leaving her completely exposed to his hungry eyes. Goosebumps littered her body as the cold air hit her skin, which was a welcome distraction from Gwayne’s searing touch, dipping lower and lower. He reached her mount and and slid a single finger between her folds. His lips breathed hot against her cheek „What a tight little cunt“, he moaned as he sunk his finger deep inside her. She wanted to run away, call for help and have him beheaded, but in this moment the coil winding itself in her stomach craved him to keep going, to do more. And do more he did. Another finger slipped into her — two long slender fingers stretching her tight wetness out in fluid motions. His paced steadily increased and he looked like he was about to rip her chest open with his teeth. Her breast heaving into his face and sweat slowly dripping into his face. He licked a long stripe up her artery and bit down, just hard enough to force a strangled groan out of her bruised lips. 

She was burning from the inside out from shame — it felt so delicious, being mauled alive. Just as she was about to completely lose herself in the pleasure, he withdrew his hand. „Get on your knees“, he commanded breathless and harsh. Her eyes refocused on him, and he sunk down, big, clouded eyes fixed on the flushed head of his cock. She didn’t even notice that he partially undressed himself. „Open“, he said as his thumb pressed down on her plump lower lip and hand wrapping around her throat again, much tighter this time. He ran the tip of his leaking cock along the edge if her teeth, finding great amusement in it. Even if she were to bite him, he could snuff her out in seconds. „Don’t tell me you don’t know what to do now, you’re definitely not a maiden,“ She was — but he didn’t need to know. She’s heard enough tales from friends and the brothel workers scurrying about the market when they found the time.

Light-headed form the lack of oxygen and limited in her movement she began running her tongue along his cock. Up and down the head, following a prominent vein slithering along the underside of it. Gwayne groaned and pulled her in by the throat. She sputtered around him, his cock reaching deep into her throat now. He left her no time to catch a breath, moving his hips in a fast irregular rhythm. „That’s it, take it“, he breathed out. His cock slipping in and out her mouth faster with every thrust. Spit dripped down his sack as cradled her head against his pelvis bone. Her eyes rolled up her skull and he swore he would have a corpse around his pulsating cock any minute now. Showing some mercy, he released her, and she gulped down deep breaths of air — coughing them right back out again. Her teary eyes looked longingly at his cock, bobbing and pulsating still, thick drops of precum dripping onto the hard wooden floor. Before she could do much of anything he leaned down and seized her by her claves. Pulling her, with her back on the floor now, closer to him. 

His hands pawed at her thighs and trapped fistfuls of plush fat for leverage. Her lower half hung in the air, and he had a full view of her creaming cunt. Gwayne halted for a short moment, asking himself if he wanted to taste her first, lick up the viscous fluids of her drooling cunt, dripping onto the floor. He discarded the idea and chose to position his cock at her entrance. In one harsh thrust he was inside of her, setting a brutal pace. The small hut was filled with wet slapping noises, moans and groans. Gwayne fucked her as if he intended on killing her. Her body like putty in his string hands and her cunt growing hotter and tighter around his swollen cock. He crouched down lower and threw one of her legs over his shoulder, rutting so deep into her she swore she would never be able to feel whole again without his cock in her. Her desperate whimpers turned into incoherent screams. They ran down deep into Gwayne’s bones and spurred him on as he felt his release coming. His final thrusts were brutal, kissing her cervix and bruising her pelvic bone in it’s wake. He grabbed her throat again and squeezed as his sack tightened and he released hot spurts of thick cum into her womb. They both stayed like this for many moments. He could still feel her walls convulsing around his softening cock, her soft hands laying atop his around her throat, wordlessly begging to release her. When he did, her body fell to the ground with a thud. Her legs still open, arms crossed above her head and her wounds weeping again. Sweat, blood and cum dripping out of her and mingling into a visceral painting of lust. Gwayne brushed his damp hair out of his face and slowly redressed. How he wished to paint the scene before him to take with him out on the battlefields. Alas — he grabbed his sword and pointed it down at her belly, slowly tracing a line up between her breasts and resting below her chin. „I don’t want any red-headed bastards running around, make sure to take care of it.“. „I-i will, don’t worry.“ He nodded curtly and threw her one last glance before leaving her hut. Her heart was still beating like a rabbit running away from a pack of wolves. She hoped the beast would trace her scent and find his way to her again soon.

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Dragonride (Daemon Targaryen x Servant!Reader)

synopsis: It was his wedding night, yet instead of consumating the marriage with his new bride, Daemon chooses to celebrate with someone else.

warnings: power imbalance, smut, p in v, fucking in the bathtub, semi public sex, afab reader

word count: 0.8

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Dividers by @saradika

The whole day the castle had been running around. Preparing for the royal wedding that is supposed to bring benefit and safety to runestone. The rogue prince as a lord husband was the perfect promise of that. If only everything would have gone as planned.

All throughout the ceremony servants passed whispers to the farthest back of the castle about the cold distance between the royalty to be wed. How far they were sitting from each other, as if the other were made of poison, as well as the enemies prince Daemon apparently intended to make early on as it seemed.

It is of little surprise when you get tasked with preparing an additional room for the Targaryen to spend the night in.

And just in time. Right as you finish preparing a hot bath for the prince, his heavy boots carry his tall frame into the room.

“Your highness.” You greet him with a bowed head.

Upon the sign of a finger, you rush to help undress him. Steady fingers removing layer after layer of clothes until there is nothing hiding the pale skin from the dim light of the candles. Daemon is silent until the task is done. Yet he gives you a knowing smirk as your eyes accidentally roam over the length between his legs.

“You can go now.” He commands afterwards, already half turned towards the bathtub.

You bow again, however as your hand touches the cold, smooth doorknob, his voice sounds through the room once more.

“Wait a moment.” His voice is disinterested as always and he doesn't look at you as you turn to him anew.

“Yes, your highness? Do you require something else?” You inquire quietly.

“Indeed, I do.” Daemon pauses for you to inquire further or understand what he means without further explanation. 

When you don’t, he speaks up again. One single word. “You.”

Your breath stocks for a moment in your lungs, unable to think clearly as usual at the request. Not a request, more a command. One that leaves no room for arguments.

Who are you to refuse a Targaryen prince anyway. “As you wish, your highness.”

With slightly trembling hands, but deliberate moves, you shed the layers of clothing that hide your body from the blond's sight.

“Have you ever ridden a dragon?” Daemon asks with a mischievous half grin as you approach him. Every step carefully thought through as if he would bite off your head any second.

“I haven't, your highness.” You negate the answer to his question.

“Well, I think it is high time for your first flight.” One large, rough hand comes up to guide you into the borderline scalding water and on top of his lap. “And for the love of the gods, stop ending all of your sentences with your highness.”

“Yes, y-... Yes, of course.” You quickly catch the trip up and correct the mistake.

Still, it earns you a sternly raised brow, which in all honesty only furthered his attractiveness. Lost in thought, it is one of Daemon's hands wandering up your breasts and lays itself snug around your neck, that pulls you back to reality.

“Good. Now show me how good of a dragon rider you can be.” with one swift move Daemon impales you on his cock.

Immediately he sets for a punishing pace. No doubt needing to get rid of some energies that must have collected inside of and burned through him the entire day. The strength with which the prince’s hips meet yours send ripples of pleasure mixed with pain up your spine and all throughout your body. The scalding hot water that surrounds the two of you makes you sensitive to every little change in his touch. Especially now that Daemon grips your waist to hold you still as he fucks up into you so tight, it might as well have left bruises already. The sound of your nails scraping against the bathtub fills the room, only overshadowed by the drawn-out grunts and heavy, shuddered breaths that mingled between you, chasing away the steam of the water below.

It isn´t long until you can´t hold back your own strained moans. Your strength waning with every new assault to your core. And even shorter until you are only held up by Daemon´s hands, your body leaning forward limply. Chest to chest and face nestled in the crook of his neck. On a particularly harsh thrust your teeth graze his ear, being shaken by the body clashing into yours.

Underneath you Daemon growls, the sound is animalistic and sends a whole new wave of heat through your nervous system. The sweat that covers both of your bodies, begins to run down in droplets, mixing with the water, driven by the exertion put on you.

The Targaryen’s thrusts grow erratic from the all but possessive display, bringing the tidal wave of your pleasure down to crash over you.

He released a final few thrusts into your convulsing cunt before pulling out of you completely, leaving behind a trail of sticky seed as evidence of his conquest. The mixed fluids spilling out of you and into the water below.

[eyvahbae]

Some headcanons about Snotlout's appeance:

• He's 5"3, his legs are especially short

• Soft muscles, he's proud of his arms and chest in particular (hence the v neck)

• Lots of moles ! Mainly on his torso

• Also freckles, but they’re rather faint

• Even tho he's naturally pale he's got a slight tan, moreso than the other riders

• His hair is dark brown but in the winter months it looks almost black

• As a teen his skin was pretty bad so now he has a rigorous beauty routine that he ties in with rubbing gel into Hookfangs scales every evening

• He lotions his hands to avoid callouses/dry skin and people are frequently suprised by how soft his hands are

• He has many burn marks from years of riding a nightmare, when they're alone together Hookfang likes to lick them in a soothing fashion, he feels a little bad since he tends to forget how fragile his little rider is and Snotlout loves the pampering

• Lots of little scars as well, especially around his hands from handling weapons since a young age

• His hair is very thick but it gets greasy easily so he washes it often

• If he doesn’t get to do his routine for some reason (for example after the riders got captured) he gets cranky

• He plucks his eyebrows to keep them neat

• He's has long thick eyelashes :)

• He's got a bit of a front tooth gap

• In a mondern setting the gang would 100% have to talk Snotlout out of getting veneers ( his teeth aren't even bad someone just made a comment to spite him and he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it for weeks)

• He's extremely expressive and moves his hands constantly while speaking to the point of just flailing his arms around

• He can wiggle his ears

• He's aware that his voice becomes high when agitated but he can’t really control it and when u point it out it gets even worse

• He doesn’t have much body hair and is terribly insecure about not being able to grow a proper beard

• Very ticklish, especially around the neck and at his sides

• Blushes very easily, doesn’t matter whether he's feeling bashful or upset

[ai-manre]

Hang on king, a true warrior queen is coming

The strength he admires:

Val stood on the platform as still as if she had been carved of salt. She will not weep nor look away. Jon wondered what Ygritte would have done in her place. The women are the strong ones. - Jon III ADWD

Drogon roared. The sound filled the pit. A furnace wind engulfed her. The dragon's long scaled neck stretched toward her. When his mouth opened, she could see bits of broken bone and charred flesh between his black teeth. His eyes were molten. I am looking into hell, but I dare not look away. She had never been so certain of anything. - Dany IX ADWD

The shared loneliness:

Even with Ygritte sleeping beside him, he felt alone. - Jon V ASOS

She sat up with her hair disheveled and the bedclothes atangle. Her captain slept beside her, yet she was alone. - Dany VII ADWD

Lonely lovely lethal:

All the same, the wildling princess was not beloved of her gaolers. She scorned them all as "kneelers," and had thrice attempted to escape. When one man-at-arms grew careless in her presence she had snatched his dagger from its sheath and stabbed him in the neck. Another inch to the left and he might have died. Lonely and lovely and lethal, Jon Snow reflected, and I might have had her. - Jon III ADWD

Xaro took another bite, chewed, swallowed. "Daenerys, sweet queen, I cannot tell you what pleasure it gives me to bask once more in your presence. A child departed Qarth, as lost as she was lovely. I feared she was sailing to her doom, yet now I find her here enthroned, mistress of an ancient city, surrounded by a mighty host that she raised up out of dreams." - Dany III ADWD

Silver hair:

Beyond, the haunted forest waited, dark and silent. The light of the half-moon turned Val's honey-blond hair a pale silver and left her cheeks as white as snow. She took a deep breath. "The air tastes sweet." - Jon VIII ADWD

Dany's skin was flushed and pink when she climbed from the tub. Jhiqui laid her down to oil her body and scrape the dirt from her pores. Afterward Irri sprinkled her with spiceflower and cinnamon. While Doreah brushed her hair until it shone like spun silver, she thought about the moon, and eggs, and dragons. - Dany III AGOT

Wish for a dragon/wish for a rider:

We should have twenty trebuchets, not two, and they should be mounted on sledges and turntables so we could move them. It was a futile thought. He might as well wish for another thousand men, and maybe a dragon or three. - Jon VIII ASOS

The dragon has three heads. There are two men in the world who I can trust, if I can find them. I will not be alone then. We will be three against the world, like Aegon and his sisters. - Dany VI ASOS

Wishing for a dragon/wishing for someone to love a dragon:

"The Lysene pirate? Some say he has returned to his old haunts, this is so. And Lord Redwyne's war fleet creeps through the Broken Arm as well. On its way home, no doubt. But these men and their ships are well-known to us. No, these other sails … from farther east, perhaps … one hears queer talk of dragons."

Jon: "Would that we had one here. A dragon might warm things up a bit." - Jon IX ADWD

She was the blood of the dragon. She could kill the Sons of the Harpy, and the sons of the sons, and the sons of the sons of the sons. But a dragon could not feed a hungry child nor help a dying woman's pain. And who would ever dare to love a dragon? - Dany II ADWD

Shared prayers

Gods of the wood, grant me the strength to do the same, Jon Snow prayed silently. Give me the wisdom to know what must be done and the courage to do it. - Jon VII ADWD

Gods, she prayed, you took Khal Drogo, who was my sun-and-stars. You took our valiant son before he drew a breath. You have had your blood of me. Help me now, I pray you. Give me the wisdom to see the path ahead and the strength to do what I must to keep my children safe. - Dany V ADWD

Winter rose/flowers instead of violence:

If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens [...]

Ygritte: "Then I'd push him in a stream or throw a bucket o' water on him. Anyhow, men shouldn't smell sweet like flowers."

Jon: "What's wrong with flowers?" - Jon V ASOS

A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness. . . . mother of dragons, bride of fire . . . - Dany IV ADWD

"No heads," Dany insisted. "Once you brought me flowers." - Dany VII ADWD

Ruler of ruins:

He stalked across the yard, into the teeth of that wind. His cloak flapped loudly from his shoulders. Ghost came after. Where am I going? What am I doing? Castle Black was still and silent, its halls and towers dark. My seat, Jon Snow reflected. My hall, my home, my command. A ruin. - Jon VI ADWD

I am queen over a city built on dust and death. - Dany I ADWD

Turned off by their crushes due to violence against innocent:

"North of the Wall it is. Hemlock is a sure cure, but a pillow or a blade will work as well. If I had given birth to that poor child, I would have given her the gift of mercy long ago." This was a Val that Jon had never seen before. "Princess Shireen is the queen's only child." - Jon XI ADWD

Daario: "Better the butcher than the meat. All kings are butchers. Are queens so different?"

Dany: "This queen is." - Dany IV ADWD

Compassion and desire to save an entire people:

"Thousands of enemies. Thousands of wildlings."

Thousands of people, Jon thought. Men, women, children. Anger rose inside him, but when he spoke his voice was quiet and cold. - Jon VIII ADWD

"When Aegon the Dragon stepped ashore in Westeros, the kings of Vale and Rock and Reach did not rush to hand him their crowns. If you mean to sit his Iron Throne, you must win it as he did, with steel and dragonfire. And that will mean blood on your hands before the thing is done."

Blood and fire, thought Dany. The words of House Targaryen. She had known them all her life. "The blood of my enemies I will shed gladly. The blood of innocents is another matter. Eight thousand Unsullied they would offer me. Eight thousand dead babes. Eight thousand strangled dogs." - Dany II ASOS

Warrior princess:

Val looked the part and rode as if she had been born on horseback. A warrior princess, he decided, not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her. - Jon XI ADWD

Dany mounted her silver. She could feel her heart thumping in her chest. She felt desperately afraid. Was this what my brother would have done? She wondered if Prince Rhaegar had been this anxious when he saw the Usurper's host formed up across the Trident with all their banners floating on the wind. She stood in her stirrups and raised the harpy's fingers above her head for all the Unsullied to see. "IT IS DONE!" she cried at the top of her lungs. "YOU ARE MINE!" She gave the mare her heels and galloped along the first rank, holding the fingers high. "YOU ARE THE DRAGON'S NOW! YOU'RE BOUGHT AND PAID FOR! IT IS DONE! IT IS DONE!" - Dany III ASOS

No one was calling her Daenerys the Conqueror yet, but perhaps they would. Aegon the Conqueror had won Westeros with three dragons, but she had taken Meereen with sewer rats and a wooden cock, in less than a day. - Dany VI ADWD

A coppersmith had fashioned her a suit of burnished rings to wear to war. She accepted it with fulsome thanks; it was lovely to behold, and all that burnished copper would flash prettily in the sun, though if actual battle threatened, she would sooner be clad in steel. Even a young girl who knew nothing of the ways of war knew that. - Dany I ADWD

Ten years ago I would have sensed what Daenerys meant to do. Ten years ago I would have been quick enough to stop her. Instead he had stood befuddled as she leapt into the pit, shouting her name, then running uselessly after her across the scarlet sands. - The Queensguard ADWD

Wildling/no southron lady:

"And yes, I will take your women too. I have no need of blushing maidens looking to be protected, but I will take as many spearwives as will come." - Jon V ADWD

The carcass was too heavy for him to bear back to his lair, so Drogon consumed his kill there, tearing at the charred flesh as the grasses burned around them, the air thick with drifting smoke and the smell of burnt horsehair. Dany, starved, slid off his back and ate with him, ripping chunks of smoking meat from the dead horse with bare, burned hands. In Meereen I was a queen in silk, nibbling on stuffed dates and honeyed lamb, she remembered. What would my noble husband think if he could see me now? Hizdahr would be horrified, no doubt. But Daario … Daario would laugh, carve off a hunk of horsemeat with his arakh, and squat down to eat beside her. - Dany XI ADWD

Shared pet plays!

Jon squatted to let the direwolf close his jaws around his wrist, tugging his hand back and forth. It was a game they played. But when he glanced up, he saw Ygritte watching with eyes as wide and white as hen's eggs. - Jon VI ACOK

Drogon looped his neck around to nip at her hand. His teeth were very sharp, but he never broke her skin when they played like this. Dany laughed, and rolled him back and forth until he roared, his tail lashing like a whip. It is longer than it was, she saw, and tomorrow it will be longer still. - Dany IV ASOS

Add more please!

[dancingtotuyo]

8. a cry of my heart to see

Woman | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: Tragedy strikes Jackson

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: blood, medical care (probably bad I'm not a doctor tried to keep it brief and vague), Character Death, loss, grief, funeral, smut, P I V, cream pie, Oral sex (F receiving)

Notes: Shout out to my girl @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for the beta read!

If you have checked out Before, I would encourage you to do so for more backstory on our dear reader!

Words: 3273

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT AND IS INTENDED FOR READERS 18 YEARS AND OLDER. MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT OR READ.

One Year Later 

He’s been out on patrol for days. They’re widening the perimeter and he’s on the initial team to do so. It’s nerve-wracking. You’re losing sleep. 

Maria tries to assure you they’re fine. No news is good news, but it falls on deaf ears. Her husband isn’t out there in unexplored areas. Joel is. Tommy tries to hide his worry. Despite both their assurances, you know they’re concerned. It’s risky.

For the most part, life goes on. Ellie has been staying in your guest room since Joel left. You thought she would look forward to having the house to herself, not that Joel doesn’t already spend the majority of nights at your house. You wonder if she fears the same thing you do. 

They’re supposed to be back in a week, but day 8 passes without sign of them. 

On the ninth day, one of the gate watchmen barrels into the clinic, causing you to knock over an entire bin of instruments you had just boiled. His eyes are wide, skin pale causing your stomach to drop. 

“What is it?”

“We just spotted them about a mile out. They’re down a rider. Another looks pretty banged up, can barely sit up in the saddle.” 

"Who?” You fight the urge to vomit. 

“We don’t know.”

“Go get Pooley.” The panic is setting in. You can’t do this. You can’t go into concerned girlfriend mode. Is that what you are? It doesn’t sound quite right. No, you need to be the medical professional you were taught to be. Calm, cool, collected like the professional you were on the UT Trauma team.

The man nods, rushing out of the clinic. You look around, pulling out everything you might need for easy access. You don’t know if he was mulled or shot or something else. This is hardly the first time something like this happened, but it’s the first time you haven’t been able to focus. 

It’s silly in hindsight, but you never worried quite like this over Gabe. He always promised to come back. He seemed so confident that he would that you’d bought into his confidence, and he always did until he didn’t. 

Once you’re convinced you’re set up enough to take care of the incoming injured, your feet carry you out toward the gate. It’s beautiful out today. The sun shines. Birds chirp and bees buzz. The kids play tag in the apple orchard, but it all feels like a bad dream like the world is moving in slow motion. There’s a ringing in your ears. 

The gate is just opening as the group draws closer. A small crowd has already formed, mostly the families of those sent out. You’re too far away to see out of the gate so you have to wait for them to file in. 

The first rider comes in. It’s not Joel. You can feel your grip on reality fading. You’re trying to stay. You have a job to do. Maria appears next to you as the second rider crosses in. She tugs you closer to the chaos, through the families waiting with bated breath. Two more. Not Joel. She brings you next to Dr. Pooley who waits ready to spring into action. People make room around you so you can tend to the injured as soon as they come in. 

Another pair cross into safety. John Lacy holds the reins of Adam Perkin’s horse as Adam hunches over in the saddle looking closer to death than life. John has them next to you within seconds, spewing the story of his injury to you and the doctor. You can’t pay attention, going on your tiptoes to catch sight of the last rider, but the horses block your view. The gate is closing now.

“Maria?” You look at her in desperation, pulled between the need to help and get status on Joel. 

She gives you a nod and dashes off to investigate further. 

Adam half rolls out of the saddle, in and out of consciousness before several strong sets of arms aid him to the ground. 

“Someone get the gurney!” A voice calls out as you fall to your knees beside the man. It’s your voice. Your body is taking over, but your brain is still elsewhere. The ringing in your ears grows louder. “Someone tell me what we’re looking at!” Your shaking hands rip the stained flannel and undershirt. They're already rags anyway. 

“Took a knife to the gut two days ago. Closed it up but it got infected and reopened on the way back,” John reports. 

“And you didn’t stop to close it back up?” You yell. 

“We had to drop the med bag.”

You groan in frustration. Dr. Pooley takes vital signs. Even in the haze you notice the signs that he’s over concentrating. His lips move to count Adams BPM and then he stops and starts over. 

“What do you have for me, Doc?” You’re desperate for help. Desperate for the old man to be able to do his job, but you see it in his face. He’s about to admit what you’ve assumed for months. 

“I don’t know,” he looks as lost as you feel right now, drowning in the panic of his own mortality. His own brain ceasing to work. You’ve seen the signs of dementia for months, and now the moment you need his help the most, he can’t think straight. You need his brain. You need to talk through this. 

“Gurney!” Someone yells, pushing toward you with the homemade gurney. It’s more of a litter you’d find in a medieval era movie, but it does the trick. 

They slam it to the ground, you don’t even have to let out the instructions before someone is counting and Adam is moved onto the stretcher. “Carefully!” You keep pressure on his wound, it’s definitely bleeding again. They must’ve missed something or it’s been bleeding internally all this time. Damnit! 

You’re almost to the clinic when you hear it, a life preserver in the raging ocean, Ellie’s voice. “JOEL!”

You turn to see her arms wrapped around his midsection, holding her as tight as she does to him. His eyes flicker to yours, and it’s like you snap back into your body with a thud, your mind crisp and clear. He smiles weakly your way and you can breathe again. 

You’re not sure how long it takes you. You’re pretty sure you’ve technically just performed a surgery you were in the room for once as a nurse 22 years ago. You probably missed most of the steps, but you know it was Adam’s only hope. Joyce Dobbins comes in with a poultice that’s supposed to help fight infection and “doctors him right up” as she likes to say. You don’t know enough to have an opinion. She’s the herbalist. 

You shower at the clinic, bones weary and eyelids drooping. Joyce knows enough to monitor him over night as does Rachel, Adam’s wife. 

You stumble home, the days events replaying on repeat in your head. The multiple times you thought you were going to lose Adam yet he somehow never faded. Lindsey’s never ending sobs from the backroom as she mourned Paul, you delivered their baby three years ago. Joel standing there giving you exactly what you needed so you could save a friend. 

Most of the time, it’s easy to ignore the dangers of the outside world while tucked within the walls of Jackson, your slice of normal in the world. Tonight is not one of them. 

You stumble up the porch stairs, anything but graceful as you cross the threshold. The house is quiet- no, peaceful. It’s an odd feeling compared to your raging mind. The house is clean, spotless. The orange glow of your living room lamp and the kitchen light warm you. Rumours spins in the corner, halfway through Songbird. You catch Joel in the kitchen wiping down the countertops. Your tea kettle whistles softly as he turns off the gas stove. 

“Joel…” your voice is hoarse. He spins around. He doesn’t smile, only walks toward you, pulling your limp frame into his as soon as he can. “I missed you,” you whisper. 

“I missed you too, Sweetheart.” His face burrows into the crook of your neck. 

“I thought…” you can’t finish the sentence without tears falling down your cheeks. He rocks you both softly. 

“Shhh, I know. I know.”

He kisses your head softly and then your lips. As much as you want to fall into bed, he forces you to eat something, drink the tea he’s brewed for you. You can barely sit upright, but you eat and drink and finally, he guides you upstairs, tucks you into bed, and curls up behind you. You fall asleep before he starts whispering sweet reassurances in your ear. 

You pull yourself out of bed earlier than you should. You have to go check in on Adam at the clinic. No news is good news. Anytime you’re not dragged out of bed after a day like yesterday, it’s a good thing. 

He’s not conscious but his fever is lower than it was when you left and that eases your worries some. Rachel doesn’t leave his bedside. 

Lindsey is in the backroom as they re- wrap Paul’s body. They’ll bury him today. He’s already been dead for three days. You take Lindsey’s hand without a word, standing solemn next to her. 

A hot tear marks your cheek as you watch Maria and Joyce diligently work. You were never awarded this luxury, could never gaze upon Gabe’s face one last time. Didn’t get to say goodbye. 

He has a tombstone in the cemetery. You don’t visit it often. He’s not there, his ashes spread to the wind now, rolling over the earth like invisible tumbleweeds. He probably likes that better anyway. 

The funeral is short, but all of Jackson crowds around for the service, to bury their fallen friend. Joel holds you close, arm wrapped around your waist. You lean heavy against him, gaining all your support from his frame. Carter and Ellie sit on the ground in front of you. 

When it’s time to lower Paul into the ground, Joel makes sure you’re steady on your feet before joining the rest of the patrol group. Adam is still unconscious in the clinic. They lower his body to the ground with precision that is too practiced. You wonder if he’s thinking of her, how he had to leave her body behind. He calls out her name at night sometimes. You know he’s reliving the night Sarah died. 

Lindsey’s cries start to pick up again. You slide onto the bench beside her, squeezing her hand tightly. Grace sits opposite you and Elaine stands behind. You don’t know Lindsey that well, but she’s joined your ranks now. Other women who have lost spouses close in around the grieving woman, a moment of solidarity. It’s a group that’s too large for your liking, too many lives taken. 

Joel holds your hand on the walk home. You keep walking, taking your path earlier than normal. You don’t speak, too many memories in your mind, too many emotions flooding your heart. 

You stop in at the clinic. Adam is in and out of consciousness. Joyce is giving him something for the pain. 

You cut your walk short, just one lap tonight. There’s a note on the door. Carter is at Maria and Tommy’s for a sleepover. You sigh in relief, thankful to not have to worry about another human being tonight.

Joel helps you out of your shoes. He helps you upstairs. His hands move slowly over you, half roaming, half massaging your weary muscles. He follows your collarbone and shucks the cardigan from your shoulders, frees you from your jeans leaving you in nothing but a tank top. It’s one of the few times his eyes don’t immediately land on your exposed crotch. He can’t help but chuckle at your commitment to not wearing underwear. 

Fingers delve into your tight calves. You let out a soft moan as you fall back into the mattress, sheets cool against your skin. 

Your eyes close, relishing in the feeling of him. This is the first real chance you’ve had to spend together since he got back. There’s nothing inherently sensual to his movements and the way he touches you, but your body heats in response, craving the connection, the assurance. 

The air shifts as your breath hitches. His fingers crawl up your legs leaving tiny trails of fire as he presses a kiss to each of your calves. Desire begins to burn in your body, slow and hot. “Joel…” You moan, legs falling open. 

“I know, Sweetheart,” He feels it too, voice low and thick as his eyes darken. “I know.”

Your hands tangle in his curls as he takes his time covering your thighs in kisses, swiping his tongue over your skin from time to time. “I’m here,” he says again. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

There’s no rush to the finish line, neither of you have the energy for that tonight. It’s slow, languid like a hike up a steep cliff as his mouth slowly greets your slick cunt, his tongue runs through your folds at a steady pace over and over and over and over. He’s pulling you closer to the edge, taking his time until finally, you cry out arching into his mouth, spilling more of yourself onto his tongue. 

He pulls away, chin glistening in your soft bedroom light, proud smile on his lips. “That’s my girl.” 

You whimper in response, hands traveling up his forearms. His calloused palms roam over your thighs and hip, fingers drawing soft patterns across your skin. 

Leading with his lips, he makes his way up your sternum. Not a drop of urgency in his body, he eases up your tank top. It’s like he has all the time in the world. You wish for all the time in the world as long as you get to spend it with him. 

Finally, his lips meet yours. You taste yourself on his lips as he pushes his tongue into your mouth. Your hands wander his shoulder and neck, your fingers glide through his hair again. Nails rake down his back. At some point he shed his shirt and pants, leaving him bare against you. 

“Lay on your back,” you say.

He pulls back slowly, eyebrows raised. “What are you thinking about?”

“Having you on your back.”

He chuckles, warm arms wrapping around your middle as he rolls over. You brace yourself on your knees. His hard cock presses against your thigh. You run it through your folds. Joel lets out a soft moan as his eyes glaze with lust. “Fuck, Sweetheart. Let me in there.”

“Patience,” you chide, but have no intention of keeping him waiting for long. 

You nudge his dick against your clit, sending sparks through your veins until you center your opening over him. He holds your hips as you slowly sink onto him. You stretch around him, filling you so completely. Once you’ve taken him to the hilt, you sit there, eyes focused on each other exchanging soft pants. 

Your cunt clenches around him, pulling moans from both of you, but you don’t move, hands finding purchase against his soft stomach, thumb running through his dark happy trail. The two of you bask in the feeling of your skin against the other’s, desperate for the certainty that you’re alive and breathing, that the blur you’re living in is reality and you still have each other. 

He cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. Your teeth scrape against it. Then you lift up just a little bit, keeping him mostly inside you before you sink back down. You keep the slow pace as you ease up and down, increasing the distance a little more each time.

 Joel’s eyes never move from you, sometimes meeting yours and other times appreciating your naked form above him. His hand trails down your torso, finding the wet heat of your core. He finds your clit with the precision only granted by his familiarity with your body. He has you memorized, every single inch of you. 

You let out a sharp gasp when he touches you. He holds his thumb steady against you, letting your movements drag his thumb across your clit. You clench around him and he groans. Up and down, your hands perched on his hairy chest, nails biting into his pecs.

 As you draw nearer to the peak, Joel starts to meet you, hitting a different angle inside of you. You let out a long moan, head tipping backward. Then you reach the crest, cunt milking his cock, coming undone on top of him. 

Sweat beads along Joel's forehead as your dripping pussy flutters around him. He’s not far behind you, filling you with his spend. The feel of him inside you, coating you, causes another breathy moan to leave your lips. 

“Fuck, Sweetheart.” He pants, pulling you down beside him, sweaty skin flush against his. 

You smile softly at him, brushing the curl in front of his forehead back. He kisses your palm. You should feel guilty for enjoying Joel’s comforts, his warm skin against yours when Lindsey lays in an empty bed across the way, but all you feel is relief. You’re grateful to be spared heartache for once. 

Eventually, Joel rolls out of bed, returning with a warm washcloth to clean up the mess he left behind. You’ve pulled on his white tshirt. You don’t say a word, just stare at him in the lamp light. He’s beautiful, a gentle giant, and he’s yours. 

When he crawls back beside you, he looks at you like he reads every thought in your mind, kisses your forehead, and turns out the lamp. You turn on your side. He spoons you, arm thrown over your waist. 

His soft snores start to play in your ears. The crease in his forehead is nonexistent with sleep as you look over your shoulder. Then, it hits you. You’re happy here with him despite the last 48 hours. It feels wrong, like you cheated death. You just hope it doesn’t come back to collect double, but you’re so damn happy. Joel Miller has permeated every single fiber of your being. 

You’ve known this, but now, you accept it. Your muscles tense with it. It’s not enough to send you spiraling by any means, but you fought it for so long, you’re not sure how to proceed. You could tell him now, wake him up and finally let the words slip off your tongue. More tension gathers between your shoulders. 

Joel mumbles, tightening his grip around you as he pulls you flush against him. He kisses your shoulder. 

“Don’t start with that.” Sleep coats his voice. You wonder how he’s so in tune with you even in sleep he can feel the tension. 

“Don’t think it works like that.”

He hums, squeezing you again. His lips press between your shoulder blades, beard brushing against your skin sweeping the tension away, pulling the thoughts from your head. 

He chuckles as you sink into him. “You sure about that.”

You reach behind you. Your nails rake over his thigh, just above his knee until you find your target. You pluck one of his leg hairs with a practiced precision. 

“Ow! Not nice!”

You laugh, burrowing into your pillow. “Go to sleep, old man.”

“Goodnight, Sweetheart.” He kisses your cheek, holding you so close your brain can’t think of anything but his solid frame at your back. 

[elfven-blog]

Deals with the Devil ain't so bad

Summary: Arthur Morgan became the devil's bounty hunter...but god does he miss you fiercly. Ghost Rider!Arthur Morgan x F!Reader CW: MDNI, 18+ Only, p in v, fingers, forest/public, nearly caught, fingers, flames used during. Is this technically monster? Word count: 2.9K

He remembers signing that contract like it was yesterday. Remembers how the wind felt against his breath as he looked at the sun rising, how he struggled to breath, the sound of his own raspy voice shaking as he took what should have been his last breath. How his lungs hurt, and his eyes watered from the realisation that this was it.

Then suddenly there was the man. He stood watching Arthur dying on that mountain, his hands wrapped on his cain and the silver skull glinted in the morning rays. His eyes were cold and his voice worse as he spoke “I can help you” was all he said. The outlaws' eyes flickering to the strange man. The corner of his mouth turned up as he watched the dying man give a small nod, his breaths starting to wheeze.

Echoes of his steps fall around the mountain as he bends at the knee, resting right next to Arthur “I won’t ask you to get up”. He unrolls paper, and places it on the ground next to the outlaw. Arthur see’s something shining in that pale man’s eyes, there’s something wrong with him. But Arthur’s greedy.

He wants another chance at life, he wants to right his wrongs, he wants to see you again. He’s a selfish man, he thinks as his hands struggle to grasp the paper, and he doesn’t even read the contract before he tries to sign his name. The man laughs as Arthur coughs and his blood splatters the page “That’ll do just fine Mr Morgan” and he takes the contract away from him, rolling it back up and sheathing it in a metal cylinder. “When you open your eyes next, you’ll be healthy as a horse”. The man grins before he’s gone, and Arthur’s eyes slipped shut.

And now here he was a year down the line. The devil’s bounty hunter. He’d spent the past year collecting souls and returning them back to hell, never seeing you. He should never have taken that contract, he should have died that day on the mountain. You thought he had, Charles and John thought he had. Even set him up a nice little grave that he’d watched you visit time and time again over the year.

His heart yearned to be near you again, to feel your warmth and your softness beneath his fingers but he refused to let Mephisto know his weakness. So he spent his days wandering the west, the shire he’d gotten from Hosea had become his ride and he went everywhere with Arthur. 

Even right now, here he was in the small town you’d settled in, watching as you brought in the washing. Your head turning up to look at the sky causing your shoulders to sag when you saw the grey clouds hanging overhead. Arthur kept his hat down low so if you happened to look, you wouldn’t see that rugged outlaw you’d lost a year ago.

The rider stood there for a little longer watching you but his sadness quickly turned to jealousy, his gaze dropping from that aching to venom as he watched some man he’d never seen before riding up to your house. The stranger dismounting as he pressed flowers into your hand which you seemed to accept willingly. That smile you reserved only for him was present and all Arthur wanted in that moment was to drag that man down to hell.

It was a few days later when he returned to you, and you were out tending to the small garden you’d managed to maintain. The sky had been clear for some time and he watched you worry your bottom lip between your teeth. You disappeared inside the door for a few seconds before coming back out with a basket, leaving the garden and turning down to walk through the trees that your property backed onto.

Arthur stood up straight, his hand shaking the cigarette and throwing it onto the ground once it was out. He pushed his hat slightly down as he began to walk after you. The outlaw watched you carefully, not showing himself just yet, and fooling himself that he was following you because the forest wasn’t safe. Who knows what was here, you needed that protection.

While he had taught you to use a gun some years ago, that didn’t mean you were any good at it. Least not better than him.

He followed you for a while, you hadn’t even noticed. More reason for him to be accurately worried. And he watched as you bent to pick more flowers, adding them to the already full basket. His brow furrowed as he finally took note of them, originally he thought the book you held was full of the information and pictures of them but now, as he looked closer, he noticed the familiar worn leather. His own journal.

You’d kept it. You’d kept it.

And that seemed to be what made him snap. Your head turning fast at the sound of someone stomping towards you. Hands forcing you to stand up, an arm wrapping around your waist and someone's mouth crashing to yours.. Teeth clashing against your own as your eyes widened and you tried to push this sudden figure off you. Anger filled your mind, until he pulled slightly away from you.

Your eyes still wide as you dropped the basket, shaky hands holding his face gently. One of your fingers gently tracing his face, mouth opening and shutting as you tried to speak.

It was Arthur who spoke first “I missed you darlin’” came that rough timber that you’d spent nights trying to replay in your mind “Missed ya somethin’ fierce”.

You were the one to kiss him this time, pulling him forward so quickly it knocked his hat back but he didn’t care as he kissed you back. Tongue pushing your lips apart so he could explore every inch of your mouth, you didn’t fight it like you normally would. His brow furrowed as he tasted something salty and opened his eyes to see you crying.

He pulled away again, shushing you gently as his thumbs brushed away the tears “I’m sorry, I know baby girl but I’m here now” you buried your face into his neck, breathing in the scent of him. Leather, gunpowder and sandalwood flooded your nose and it felt like you could breathe for the first time in a year. Your hands took the hat from his head completely so you could run your hands through his soft strands, looking up at him in wonder.

“You were gone” Arthur swore he could have fell to his knees right there with the way your voice cracked, he had never meant to cause such pain. Maybe taking that deal wasn’t such a bad thing, if it meant he could hold you like this, if he could hear that sweet melody of your voice.

“Let me make it up to ya” one of his hands slowly moved down from your waist to grab your ass, squeezing it tightly as his mouth crooks up into a grin and your cheeks go red at his insinuation. You try to stammer a reply but he just shushes you again “Come on girl, just lay here and look pretty, alrigh’?”

Those words are all it takes for him to quickly have you on the floor, hiking your skirts up over your waist and Arthur’s quickly pushing his trousers down. The gun belt is somewhere near his hat. His hands are as rough as you remember as he pushes your thighs open, his eyes dark at the sight between them “Hold” comes his gruff voice, and your hands immediately go under your knees to keep yourself held open for him.

The way his eyes watch you sends arousal thrumming through your body and your hole clenches around nothing causing the man above you to roll his neck and breath through his nose. His hands trace down the fat of your thighs before his thumb pushes against your clit and he slowly circles it “Missed me that much, sugar?”

You can only nod and grip your legs as he applies more pressure “I missed you so much Arthur” he leans down to kiss at your neck, your eyes fluttering and mouth dropping open as his teeth scrape against the skin. His fingers slide down your wet lips, gathering some of it before he gently pushes against your hole. Your body doesn’t deny the man entrance, he meets almost no resistance as he begins to move his fingers in and out, his thumb still rubbing at the sensitive nub.

“Then I won’t tease ya” he mumbles against the pulse in your throat, and you mewl in agreement. He stretches you gently, adding another finger and this causes you to gasp “S’okay darlin’ just been a while, gotta get you ready” your hand moves to the base of his hair, tanging in the strands and tugging to get his face to move up, pressing your lips to his again.

Your legs tremble in your own hold as his fingers press up against the soft spot inside you, the pressure on your clit and the way he kisses you until your breathless has your back arching. His mouth swallows all the sweet noises you give him. 

It doesn’t take long for the man to expertly bring you to that edge, it’s been so long since you felt like this. You’d tried to do it yourself once you’d thought you were done grieving but your own hand just hadn’t been enough. Oh but Arthur’s hand? It knew exactly where to stroke, how fast to go, the right amount of pressure to apply. “That’s it sweetheart, just like that. Such a good girl f’me”

And his words had you going over that edge, your fingers leaving marks on your own skin, your legs trying to close even as you held them open. Arthur’s eyes watching the way your hole tightened around his fingers, slick drooling down to the forest floor as your eyes fluttered shut and you could only whimper and whine at the feeling.

Arthur’s fingers left your cunt leaving you to whine as he shushes you, his hands making quick work to pull his trousers half way down his thighs, enough to bring his cock out of his underwear. The fabric pressed just under his balls. Your eyes gravitated there, tracing the hard dick he sported. 

You couldn’t tear your gaze away, his own hand barely able to wrap around it as he pumped a few times, his head tipping back with a groan and his cock jumped at the action. Arthur stroked the head against your folds, the precum oozing from the slit and coating your pussy as he gathered the wetness. You pouted up at him, trying to roll your hips up against him and Arthur raised an eyebrow.

His free hand moving to pin your body down as he threatened “Have I gotta crush you to floor, girl?” his tone let you know not to do that again, and your entire body relaxed against the leaves and sticks as he finally pushed into your hole. A gasp leaving you, and he stilled with just the tip inside as he let you get used to the feeling again.

Both of you tensed at the sound of your name being yelled through the forest, seeming to echo as someone called your name and suddenly Arthur’s loving exterior was gone. Your hands let go of your legs and you sat up to push him off you “Oh oh, we got to stop” but the outlaw only pushed you back to the floor, his body weight on you as he pushed the rest of his cock inside you.

“We ain’t gotta do nothing. You gotta lay here and take it” Your eyes widened, you’d never seen him like this before, but as Arthur started to buck his hips up against you, you could only do as he said. Your arms wrapping around his shoulders and clinging to the back of his jacket, his own hands gripping your thighs this time to keep them open. His fingers dimpling the fat as he almost seemed in a frenzy to fuck you.

You couldn’t see his face, but you heard the grunts and growls as his hips humped at you, his cock stretching you out over and over as he used your cunt. The yelling of your name got louder before fading away, the person walking in a different direction “He couldn’t do ya ike this, nah, he aint the type to give you what ya need darlin’”. You had no idea what he was talking about, brow furrowing but you couldn’t focus on one single thought. Not with the way his fingers bruising your thighs as the head bruised your cervix.

And then, all of a sudden, you felt very hot. Your eyes shot open as you watched flames engulf Arthur. His hands burning at your skin and as you looked down all you saw were bones gripping at your thighs “W-what?” you whispered out, your body tensing and Arthur froze too.

His mind went blank as he realised what had happened, and he stammered and stuttered as he tried to think of something to say “Darlin’ I, well, er” Your hand moved to touch the skeleton fingers, and they seemed to change back into his own fingers. And then you realised the flames didn’t really hurt. They were just hot.

Arthur’s eyes widened as he felt your hole clench around him, and it caused him to groan as he thrust into you again. Calming enough that he could morph back into your loving cowboy, his hands gripping your thighs again as he set back into his brutal “Ya like that, dont ya, sugar?” his voice dripped in arousal as he continued the assault on your cunt. This time his touch was accompanied with the flames you seemed to find fascinating. He watched you nod up at him, that devious grin charming up his face.

He brought one of his hands up to your corset, setting it on fire and you gasped as it turned to ash, blowing away in the wind. Mouth going dry as he teased at your hardened nipple, the flame licking at the bud but never burning you. And your hips rolled up forcing more of his cock into you, and your back arched pressing his hand against your breast again. “yeah you like it” came his deep timbre again.

With the added touch of his flames against your skin now, it was easy to get you back into that syrupy head space allowing Arthur to fuck you against the forest floor as he humped into your cunt, his cock dragging along your g-spot in the most delicious way. His words slipping into your ears as he brought you closer and closer to that edge again, his hand making it’s way down your body, burning the pieces of clothing that stopped its path before it could press against your clit.

Your entire body thrummed as he applied some of that heat while he circled your clit, your cunt starting to ache from how he used you and a whimper leaving your mouth as you soaked the floor and Arthur’s pants. He pressed closer to you until you could feel his shirt against your face, his hips keeping your legs apart while his hands moved to grab at the floor. Trying to keep himself grounded as he slowed down his pace “Fuck darlin’!” his voice rang out as you came undone around him.

His eyes rolling as his cock twitched, hot ropes of cum painting your walls white and he stayed as close as possible as his hips rolled and pressed you into the floor. His hands grasped around dirt and leaves as he filled you. “Forgot how good that feels” the outlaws voice was a raspy pant as he breathed heavily above you.

And you both stayed there for a few minutes, until his cock had softened inside you and he pulled out slowly, his hands soothing at your thighs while he shushed you. Your body tensing at the ache between your thighs, and little whimpers left you as he pulled out “I know, I know, ‘m sorry” came the once again gentle Arthur. The one you knew.

As you slowly blinked, trying to gain control over your breathing again, you moved your hand to touch his face. Brow furrowing as you tried to make sense of what you had seen. Not only was the man you loved back from the dead…but he seemed to be some kind of fire skeleton. Confusion swarmed your mind.

The rough man pressed a kiss to your palm, his hand moving to take your own off his face as he gave you a shy smile, his gaze full of concern and something else. Something that seemed awfully similar to that look when he was self-conscious all those years ago “I can explain”

You nodded up at him, looking at him expectedly as he began to explain what had happened. And while it didn’t all make sense to you, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was you had Arthut back. Whether he was tethered to this ‘Ghost Rider’ demon or not.

[bl00dlight]

A Song of Shadow & Flame

CANON Dark! Aemond Targaryen x OC niece Targaryen. | SERIES

Warning; This chapter includes:

Mentions of underage SA, inappropriate treatment of underage characters, violence

Word Count ~ 5k+

Author's note • Expanding upon that warning; prepare for Aegon being Aegon. Also I have not edited this shit, I wrote it in like a 10k block of writing. I ain't got no fucken time for that atm.

Index

i ● ii ● iii ● iv ● v ● vi● vii● viii ●ix ● x ● xi ● xii ● xiii ● xiv ● xv

v ~ 'Nameday'

123 AC

Prince Aemond heard the muffled sighs of his elder brother Prince Aegon, who did little to hide his disinterest during the Lady Laena’s funeral rites. He’d grimaced at the way he found out his cousin had perished, though he supposed at least she went out as a dragon rider and not some writhing woman at the mercy of the Maesters. As he gazed over the detailed carving of her coffin, his mind drifted to just how she might look in there, probably burnt to a fine, gruesome crisp – and the babe probably resembled a lump of roasted meat more than a child. Aemond shook his head at the thought, wishing to gag at the mere notion of it. His mind drifted in and out as the funeral rites rattled on, yet he couldn’t help but notice the rumbling of Lady Laenor’s mount in the skies above. His attention was once again quickly captured by the Queen, his mother, Alicent Hightower pinching the sides of Prince Aegon as he sighed again. His elder brother let out a soft wince, and Aemond smirked to himself before feeling the soft eyes of his elder sister Princess Helaena upon him. Her face was aloof, her eyes neither narrow nor wide as she gazed at him for a moment – her silver curls seemingly white in the light of the overcast sky.

Helaena looked away, uninterested and Aemond could not help but to feel rising sparks of envy every time he gazed at his sister. Not only for how unaware she seemed, but also of her recent betrothal to their elder brother Prince Aegon. He was far more worthy for a betrothal than Aegon, no it was a match which his elder brother surely would not fail to let go to absolute waste. How could drunkard, lecherous Aegon be wedded in their tradition, and Aemond merely used as whatever political pawn his parents pleased? Was he truly that unimportant? Why should Aegon be worthy of Helaena’s hand and not he? Aemond did not wish for some gossiping Lady of the court, he deserved a wife worthy of him, worthy of a dragon’s blood. The fact remained that even if Prince Aegon was one day to be King, he was still unworthy in Aemond’s mind, in fact he had been secretly hoping their mother would suggest he and Helaena be betrothed in order to solidify Aemond making for a greater claim when the time came. For why would his mother wish for Aegon to be on the throne and not he, why would Alicent not see Aegon was insufficient and make it, so his claim was far less preferred of Aemond’s? The young Prince knew who sat on the Iron Throne was merely a matter of who men see the most beneficial, surely his mother could not be so stupid as to not see how everyone regarded his elder brother as a useless lech.

His blood boiled at the thought of all of it, at Aegon, his mother, his brother’s betrothal – yet as his eyes wandered upon the funeral guests he came across another infuriating sight he had done well to ignore thus far. Princess Visenya.  Aemond looked over to her, Visenya stood beside her mother Rhaneyra, the young princess kept her eyes glued to Lady Laena’s coffin. He scanned her for a moment, yet she did not seem to notice his gaze as small tears ran down her pale face. Aemond felt himself struck for a moment, gazing at his niece and perhaps for the first time, noticing her properly. He felt himself cringe at the thought, though when the Princess was not speaking, or vexing – she seemed to be rather, fair. His mind turned to what he considered a dark place as he gazed upon his niece, taking in the fact she was indeed the picture of a Valyrian princess. If she weren’t so unbearable perhaps he would not refuse a betrothal to her. Visenya was indeed a rather pretty girl, even for her age, though a tad taller than he. Regardless, she was a Targaryen as he, and all the great Targaryen men seemingly had Valyrian blooded wives. Why should he go without? It was not like he had to have affections for her, all they had to do was perform their duty and Aemond had grown most comfortable with doing so in the pursuit of his own gain.

Yet… that is what troubled the young prince all the same as he narrowed his gaze upon the young Princess, Visenya, was probably a bastard, and an irritating one at that, but still worthy she may be. And though it bothered him terribly, she was of pure Targaryen blood, and her poorly held tongue proved as such. Mayhap she could probably be kept like a doll, if he was to wed her, he thought in jest. But the thought lingered more than he wished it to, and as he continued to wonder he thought for as long as did what she was told, upheld their duty, and remained comely, she might be far more ideal wife for him than a woman he hardly knew.

He shook his head at the thought, reminding himself that Princess Visenya was nothing more than a stupid, vapid girl and that she had oft taken pleasure in her brother’s tormenting him. They were nothing alike anyway, the princess liked frivolous and superficial things, she enjoyed jewels and pretty gowns. Cakes too… he was positive she enjoyed sweets. At every family supper at King’s Landing, he had watched with disgust as she masticated any meat or vegetable that befell her, often spitting it out crudely. Yet, when desert came she would gorge herself on puddings and fruits – much to his disgust too. The prince was surprised her teeth hadn’t rotted from her mouth, though he supposed she must have some sort of tonic or salve from the Maesters to keep her teeth like pearls. No, of course, no consequence would dare befall her for her own gluttony, she would never allow it. If there was one thing to be noted about Princess Visenya, it was how little she resembled their great ancestor Queen Visenya. No, the young princess was no warrior, no woman of hard will or brute force. The princess was weak, easily tempted, and most of all terribly vain, he thought. Aemond had once caught her admiring her reflection upon the small pond in the garden’s once, he had the mind to push her in. His mind dwelled and battled with itself as he thought of her, and he supposed she would not make a terrible wife if she did not speak. Though that was another problem, the princess lacked the tact to keep her thoughts to herself. Mayhap he could get her mouth sewn shut; Prince Aemond stifled a smirk as the image entered his mind.

As the moments passed, Aemond shuddered at the realization of how much he actually knew of her, how much he thought of her… why was he thinking of her? Disgust then rage filled him, no… no…twas her fault, not his. Her fault for being so utterly dreadful that he loathed her to the point of dwelling on her! Her stupid sad face, her lips pouting as though she truly felt sorry for her Lady Laena. It was all just artifice, all just an act to appear as though she had any morals in that blackened soul of hers.

 ●

Lady Laena’s funeral came and went in a horrid flash, Visenya had all but ran to her half-sister’s Baela and Rhaena upon seeing them again, taking them both in her arms tightly as the two younger girls both wept softly. She had spent most of the repast with her sisters, and of course, shadowing her half-brothers. Visenya watched the gloom on Jacaerys face glaze his eyes, every time she swore a tear would form it would be quickly concealed by the wiping of his hand or shaking of his head.

The Princess had soon taken refuge by the shores of Driftmark, her gaze drifting upon the yellowed sand, the gray sea which brushed gently up upon the rocks. Her mind dwelling on her father, how his eyes softened as quickly as they hardened. Her heart aching with that familiar pang of longing for a life she simply did not have. Something Visenya oft tried to suppress with the joys of material goods, though futile it proved as time and time again she was left with that familiar empty sensation she couldn't quite name.

As she continued upon the edge of the rock pools, she came across a familiar sight looking up to the skies above at the mourning Vhagar. Silver hair contrasting a green cloak; Aemond.

Cautiously she approached him as he continued to look upwards at Vhagar, he heard the sound of soft footsteps approaching him, he slowly turned his gaze towards the young princess. A small scoff was heard to escape from him as Aemond crossed his arms, looking back at the sky. "What do you want? Are you here to shove me once more?"

She paused and looked up to the mournful cries above, the dark silhouette of Vhagar lining the gray clouds, “Not if you are not so rude as to grab at me again.” Visenya retorted back, her gaze finding the back of his head.

Aemond merely rolled his eyes at her words, he continued to stare up at the sky, not daring to look at her. She did not deserve his attention, not after their previous encounter all those weeks ago. The prince had a small frown upon his face as he kept his arms crossed. "What is it that you want? You must want something from me, if you've come to seek me out."

She scoffed and raised her brow, "I did not come for you. I came to seek solace away from the funeral. How was I to know you would be here... lurking?" Her voice crooning, he was always creeping in the shadows she thought.

The small smirk that had been upon Aemond’s face vanished, he turned swiftly, his tone sharp as that familiar annoyance within him bloomed. He shot Visenyal a cold look and took a step towards her, grumbling out his words, "I was not lurking! I was here just to think, I had already been here well before you graced me with your presence."

Visenya let out a vexing chuckle, her look incredulous as she smirked, “I doubt that. You probably came down here to scour for some helpless sea creatures to torment.”

He looked at her with a huff, it was like she had read his mind for he had indeed been looking for creatures to torment. The prince’s eyes glanced down to her with an unyielding stare. "And so what if I did? The creatures are weak, they are nothing to me or to you. They might as well be servants for me to command." He had taken a step towards her and Aemond's cold stormy eyes were met with Visenya's smirk, as if she was not the least intimidated by him.

Visenya opened her mouth as her expression coiled with disgust, she didn’t expect him to admit to such cruelty, "Ugh. I do wonder what exactly went wrong with you and your siblings. If it is not Helaena whispering to spiders, or Aegon accosting serving girls - it is you sulking around and toiling with the lives of helpless creatures. Truly... the lot of you are so strange."

The princess shook her head, stepping back from him as though he were riddled with disease, and in some ways she supposed he was. Not of the flesh of course, but of the mind. Certainly, it was the spawn of Alicent’s Hightower blood, crafty and cunning intertwining with the blood of the dragon that left the Green children terribly abnormal.

The cold look on Aemond's face morphed into one of anger as his eyes darkened at her words. How dare she insult him? How dare she? Anger took hold within him like no other as Aemond took another step towards his niece before him, standing in front of her now. "What did you just say to me? I will not listen to the likes of you spewing harsh words of my family!" His voice darkened, Aemond's hands balled into a fist, his knuckles turning white in the process.

Small waves crashed upon the rock pool as Visenya stepped back, raising her brow in judgment, "Calm yourself. Twas only a jest."

Aemond's eyes darkened, even more, his jaw clenched tightly. "That was not a mere jest. Do not tell me to calm myself! Do not presume to speak of my family, what do you even know of us regardless? Nothing but your own mindless little judgements it seems." He felt himself grow overwhelmed once again, she was so utterly irritating, how could he ever have thought to maybe wed her? Even despite the use of Dragon riding heirs, Visenya was not worth it.

"Now you defend them? You have spent half our youth complaining about Aegon for one?" Visenya smiled smugly and chuckled, her gaze upon her uncle sharp.

"I complain about him because it is the truth, but he is still my brother, my blood. Something you would know little about, niece." His words came out through clenched teeth, Aemond could feel his anger growing, his blood boiling under his skin with every sly smirk and sharp jest.  Yet the prince fought to keep his composure in front of her, for would not succumb to Visenya’s vexing.

The anger finally won over Aemond, and a smirk was now plastered on his face. "Do you want me to say it then? The truth we have all been barred from speaking?" His voice filled with a callousness beyond the likes she had seen, a spite that surprised him.

Suddenly, a bitter air fell between them. Visenya wanted to lunge, wanted to grab his vile little tongue and pull it from his stupid little mouth before she looked down, tempering herself. As she did, another familiar voice filled the space.

“Brother?! Brother where-”, The lanky gait of Aegon approached the two Targaryen children, his hair longer, shaggy. A flailing rag of silver locks whipping as stumbled upon the rocks. Aemond’s gaze hardened further as he watched his elder brother approach, muttering under his breath. Now was not the time.

Aemond's smug expression turned to annoyance as he watched his brother drunkenly stumble his way through the rocks. "What are you doing here Aegon?!” He snapped slightly.

Aegon merely ignored his brother's anger as he walked up to the two young Targaryen’s, he let out a snicker before flailing his arms, swiftly approaching and gripping his Aemond's shoulder. Visenya noticed how he had flinched at the touch.

"I was looking for you, fool!” he said drunkenly, turning his attention back to who stood before him. His lilac gaze widened as a smirk appeared upon his face, “Oh, hello, Visenya.”

The Princess stared indifferently at her elder Uncle before her brow raised in amusement, the princess tilted her head as she noticed how Aegon leered upon her. "Hello Aegon."

Aemond's gaze deepened as he watched his brother lean against him. His brother was drunk, again. The boy's arms remained crossed, as he stifled down that sickly feeling of embarrassment he had always felt in front of others while Aegon was present.

"Well, now that you have found me, you can go stumbling somewhere else," The younger prince spoke distantly, still glaring up at his older brother.

"Ah! Do not be such a bitter old man, brother. I merely came to see you, and here you are…with our pretty niece." Aegon's voice slurred, a drunken smile upon his face. Aemond felt a flash of frustration and disgust, though he kept his composure, merely rolling his eyes at the comment.

The Princess found herself in slight disbelief of the situation, it was terribly awkward, though she admittedly enjoyed seeing how terribly uncomfortable Aemond had gotten, his gait stiff and eyes downcast.

She tilted her head, smiling softly as she could not help but beam at Aegon’s compliment of her. “Hm, thank you, Uncle.” Visenya said coyly.

The younger prince felt his eyes narrow as he watched that small, self-satisfied smile curl upon her face. He felt bothered by her indulgence of his brother’s depravity. A strange silence bloomed between the three before another wave crashed upon the rock, leading Aegon to stumble, his hand gripped his younger brother’s shoulder as the elder prince slurred, “Mm fuck.”

Aemond's fists were still clenched, as he attempted to keep his composure. His temper still flared from his previous conflict with Visenya, and now his brother had come to make it worse. He kept his gaze down, his heart coiling in rage and humiliation. Finally, the sweaty grip of his brother upon him set the young Prince reeling, "Get off me, you stink!’ Aemond muttered, shoving his brother away from him.

Suddenly, Aegon stumbled backwards, his vision unfocused as he nearly fell. Aemond however, could hardly give a shit, silently hoping his brother to fall and crack his head upon the rock, mayhap then he might find some bloody peace. The princess at scoffed Aemond’s inaction, she stepped out, her fingers wrapping around Aegon’s arm to keep him upright.

A drunken smile returned to his face, “My sweet niece, I see you care for me.” He crooned, chuckling lowly as he noticed the way a small blush crept upon her cheek, he leaned in and mumbled, “It is a shame our mothers cannot make amends.. you would have suited me better.”

Visenya’s brow furrowed in confusion, before she registered his drunken muttering, he must have been referring to his betrothal with Heleana. She smiled coyly and shook her head but as she went to speak Aemond interrupted harshly, disgusted by both of his kin before him, “Do not say such things.”

The elder prince scoffed and rolled his eyes, muttering softly, “Yes… yes..”, he turned and then leaned upon Visenya steadying himself. Without warning, Aegon brought his hand up to her face, his thumb grazed her lips, making her flinch as he spoke again whispering, “I do doubt she would please me as you might-“

Before Aegon could mutter anything more, the Princess withdrew her hand that held his arm, almost tittering backwards in a slight fear of his ogling. The feeling of his cool, sweaty palm upon her cheek made her want to wretch as the dark revelation of his intentions hammered through her. She had never liked such sentiments from men, always found them frightening – as she had grown over the years she had noticed the once innocent gazes and touches of men around her turning to something darker. Something she couldn’t explain but knew was wrong. Despite it all, despite being told she was soon a woman grown, she still felt like a girl – and by all means; she was.

“Aegon...” The younger Targaryen prince stepped forward; his tone low yet oddly submissive – as though he could not quite find it in him to stand up to his brother.

Aegon ignored Aemond’s warning. His free hand grabbed her chin, lifting it so to better view her face. “Come on, Visenya, you’ve grown quite becoming.” The silver haired boy’s breath was hot, a slight scent of alcohol wafting from him.

The tension grew rapidly, the princess shook under his grasp her hands pushing at his chest though it were no use. He was taunting her, laughing softly as he examined her face. Visenya wince in frustration, “Mm, you’ve our half-sister’s cheeks…” Aegon muttered, his eyes narrowing. “Actually, you know who you remind me of? Brother, come… tis remarkable how much our little niece looks like the Prince Daemon?” A harsh chuckle left the elder prince’s lips as he taunted her, his breath hot and distinctly yeasty.

The Princess felt her heart soar with rage, she flickered her gaze over to Aemond as his eyes were to the ground. She brought her knee soaring to Aegon’s groin but missed and slammed into his upper thigh. Aegon scoffed and squeezed at her fleshy cheeks. “STOP!” Visenya exclaimed, she felt weak, humiliated.

As Aemond watched the grotesque display of his brother’s depravity he felt himself fly into action, he charged furious at the sight of his brother's drunken hand on her. "Did you not hear what I just said, you fool!" He yelled, as he pulled his brother's hand away from their niece. Aemond gripped the bony flesh of his brother’s wrist, forcing him away.

The elder prince was taken aback by his younger brother’s sudden aggression, he feigned ignorance and raised his brow, looking at Aemond with widened drunken eyes. "What? I was only looking at her."

"You were squeezing her face, as if it was a toy." Aemond's voice was filled with fury, his hand ached before he thrusted it away from Aegon. "You say you wish to seek me out, yet all you've done is act as a drunkard."

Aegon let his head cock backwards, laughing mischievously – so what if he was in a sorry state? Was it not his right, after all his mother is convinced he shall be King. Aegon had thought many a time on how he shall spend his day as King constructing a large personal brewery and brothel in the Red Keep. Finally make the bloody place good for something. No, it was not he who was the issue, perhaps Aemond was just too dull to see that he was only fooling around. His voice softened, "Relax, little brother. I was merely teasing her; you needn't accost me. Regardless, drink was the only worthwhile element of such a boring affair."

The two Targaryen boys bickered and Visenya felt herself grow sickened. She looked away, her mind filling with rage and humiliation, and betrayal. How could Aemond just stand there for so fucking long, useless as though he were one of the rocks beneath their feet. She felt tears clawing at her and she turned her head away, concealing the hot droplets with her hand.

Aemond's turned and noticed the princess in distress, he grimaced and a small pang in his chest appeared as he caught the glimmer of her tears. Yet he pushed it away, reminding himself that it was indeed Visenya and not some innocent girl, she was wicked and just as cruel as Aegon. He would not concede to caring for her now, even with that pain within his chest. He muttered lowly again to his brother, “Go away.”

The elder prince leaned in, giving his brother a light tap on the cheek before smiling "Shut it, little brother," Aegon muttered as he turned and pushed his silver hair from his face, straightening himself. "And you," he said, turning to Visenya, "Don’t go crying, I meant nothing by my words." He looked at her with half-lidded eyes, smiling. "I simply meant to say that you have grown very beautiful, Visenya." His voice gentle.

Rage boiled in the princess again as she snapped, “Do not dare touch me again!”

As her shrill voice clashed against the swelling sound of the waves, Aegon raised his hands as a sign of surrender, though his ever present smirk remained. "Relax niece." The elder silver haired boy then turned his eyes upon Aemond, smirking at his cold eyed brother. "Why don’t we all temper ourselves, yes? We are kin after all." His smile was sickly.

Neither spoke, Aemond’s gaze remained on the rocks below, gazing between the dark inky curling tide as Visenya kept her gaze like daggers upon Aegon. He shook his head, growing with frustration as the younger Targaryen’s refused to embrace what he thought was light hearted play.

Aegon stepped forward to the princess and spoke, “Oh, come on! I didn’t mea- “Aegon flailed his arms, and then stopped as he noticed just how his niece coiled backwards in fear. He hummed at the slight tinge, examining her for a moment before a flicker of guilt in his gut rose.  

Aemond's icy gaze only darkened as he listened to Aegon speak. He did not understand why his brother behave so perversely, for this was awful, even for Aegon’s standards. He looked between the two as they spoke, his fists clenching tighter and tighter. Yet his eyes softened slightly as he saw the flicker of fear upon their niece when his brother moved closer. Suddenly a wave of guilt hit him, why did he do nothing?

He felt useless, he was just as bad as Aegon. In his guilt, Aemond spoke lowly, “Just leave, brother.”

The elder prince turned swiftly and scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief “No… no, I’m not going up there, tis bloody miserable.”

“It’s a funeral?” Visenya quipped back bitterly. Of course it was bloody miserable, she thought. A mother and her babe had just died.

Aegon turned his head to his niece before trailing off, his gaze lowered as he looked at the rocks below, slowly pacing, “Indeed, it’s utterly awful...”

Silence fell between the three, Visenya still felt bitter wrath in her, though her eyes were upon Aemond now. With a swift whoosh, Aegon turned again and pointed to Visenya, “Was it not your name day this week?”

Her eyes did a double take before settling on Aegon, slightly taken aback by the abrupt change in tone, Visenya muttered, “Yes.”

A small, amused grin appeared upon his sharp face as he tilted his head and tutted “I feel sorry for you Visenya… however are you going to celebrate it again? It shall depress everyone knowing Lady Laenor died only a day prior. No more festivities it seems…” Aegon sighed, feigning pity before he began to pace again, continuing to ramble.

“…At least… not at Dragonstone, mayhap you ought to come to Kings Landing – I pride myself on the most unforgettable name day celebrations.” Aegon threw his head back slightly as he bragged, his eyes coming to his younger brother, noticing how Aemond shifted in discomfort, “Isn’t that right, brother? Tell our niece about our trip to Cock Inn, last year. You were turning ten and three, just like her.”

He knew it was coming, the young prince… he knew Aegon would find a way to humiliate him further. Slowly Aemond felt his cheeks burn, turning read from further humiliation, he looked up to see the disgusted expression upon Visenya’s face. “Be quiet.” Aemond grumbled.

Visenya watched as the dragonless prince shifted in discomfort, his fists and jaw clenched tightly as Aegon began to bring up a past that clearly had not been forgotten. She could only watch quietly as Aegon spoke on the name-day celebration, his drunken laughter filling the evening air. The young princess's eyes widened with shock as she heard Aegon mention the name of the Inn. She shook her head in confusion.

"No, no… I insist you tell her! Visenya is nearly a woman grown, I am sure she shall be betrothed soon. You ought to educate her as I did you!” With a wave of his hand, Aegon continued pacing, awaiting what was to come.

Aemond's cheeks flushed bright red, his fists clenching even tighter as Aegon began to reminisce that fateful night. He could still remember how Aegon’s vile words were still etched into his mind, “Time to get it wet.” The flash of what he had done that night, to whom he had done it to filled him with shame. He could still smell the saccharine perfume upon the weathered skin of the madame. Aemond furrowed his brow, wishing his mother were here. Aemond’s gazed laced with disgust before he turned his head away. A he avoided his brother's teasing sneer as a mixture of mortification and irritation filled his heart. How could he have been so foolish to follow his brother into such a wretched night? He muttered lowly to himself, the wind almost carrying his words away, “No.”

A high pitched, snivelling snicker left Aegon, and another lashing of that heavy feeling settled in the younger prince’s chest. He cursed his brother and his big, vile mouth, why did he have to mention such sin in front of Visenya? His fists tensed as Aegon's laughter bounced upon the jiggered cliff wall, he could feel his jaw clench as the mention of a past made his cheeks burn. He tried to ignore the pain and dishonour that came when Visenya's gaze shifted towards him.

The princess felt an overwhelming dread rippled through her, pulsing into her very bones. It was dreadful, the whole conversation seemed to derail into absolute horror before her eyes and though she knew not what Cock Inn was, she was ignorant to what its name suggest. “What are you blabbing on about?” Her tone sharp as she sneered at Aegon.

“See, our niece wishes to know? You would be a grand teacher for our sweet niece, after all he learned from one of the more… aged and experienced Lady’s.”  Aegon snivelled lowly at his lewd implication.

As the words left Aegon’s lips, Aemond could not contain himself. The sheer shame of it all, the sheer disgust he felt within himself – which sparked tears in his eyes. Tears? No… no he could not cry, not in front of Aegon, not in front of Visenya. He would not be faint-hearted, he couldn't let his brother continue to humiliate him in front of others, even if it was his own blood. With a low growl, Aemond lunged at Aegon, tackling him to the ground and began punching him, his fists hitting his brother's face relentlessly.

The princess gasped, her eyes widened as she watched the young princes' wrestle on the ground, their fists flying wildly. As Aemond managed to tackle Aegon, he began to punch him repeatedly, his fists landing on his brother's face with a flurry of anger. But, the elder dragon's smile never left his face, he just giggled as if he were merely being tickled by a little boy. With that, a scoff left Aegon’s lip as he brought his hand to Aemond’s smaller chest shoving him to rocks.

Aemond stumbled back as Aegon shoved him away, his body crashing hard on the ground with a thud. He felt the pain as the sharp rocks dug into his back, it hurt, but he knew he had to continue fighting. He rose back up to his feet, his fists still clenched tight. He let out a loud yell, filled with anger and frustration, before charging back towards his brother. The younger prince swung freely at Aegon, and his fist connected with his brother's face once more.

The heavy sounds of grunts and giggling filled the air, and Visenya folded her arms, tilting her head at the rather pathetic sight before her. Aemond desperately trying to get one up upon his brother, and Aegon rolling about the floor dodging his advances, snivelling like a child.

She sighed after a few moments, waiting for them to tire themselves out and slowly approached them. With one final push, Aemond crashed upon the rocks again, and he himself let out a sharp, air hungry breath before he gave up his attack. Aegon stood up unsteadily and then looked down to his younger brother, a small moment transpired, a wry smile upon the elder prince’s face as his hand whipped Aemond hard across the back of his head, “Twat.” He spat.

As Aemond winced, he felt himself cower, more rage and shame curdling within him, but he had little energy to keep fighting. His gaze returned to his brother above before a small tap upon Aegon’s shoulder drove his attention to their niece behind him, “Keen for a slap too niece?” He laughed.

Suddenly, the dense thud of Visenya’s boot came in contact with Aegon’s groin. Aemond’s eyes widened in a strange enjoyment as the whimpering of Aegon filled the space. His elder brother practically crumbled to his knees and gagged. The elder prince coughed and groaned more, clutching at his breeches before he choked out, “You little… cunt…”

Visenya’s gaze was indignant and sharp before she looked to Aemond, extending her hand. The young prince refused her but as he went to speak, her harsh grip clawed into his wrist and forced him up. Without another word, Visenya tore Aemond away from his brother. Aegon shuffling to lean again the rocky cliff wall, inebriated and moaning in pain.

○vi○

[we-do-bones-bracket]

Who did bones the best?

here are the finalized brackets! the tournament will be split into two brackets. the finalists of both will go up against each other to determine the winner. characters who were the most popular during submissions will join in round 2

rules & guidelines

about spoilers

matches under cut!

Abraham "Brom Bones" van Brunt (Headless: A Sleepy Hollow Story) vs. Skull (One Piece)

Laudna (Critical Role) vs. Sese Kitsugai (Len'en Project)

Benny (Halloweentown) vs. Enki Ankarian (Fear & Hunger)

Stalhorse (The Legend of Zelda) vs. Skeleton Horse (Minecraft)

Skeleton Mob (Minecraft) vs. Stallord (The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess)

Ryuk (Death Note) vs. Sam Day Break (Paradise Killer)

Adalman (That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime) vs. Hero's Shade/Hero's Spirit (The Legend of Zelda)

Sir Daniel Fortesque (MediEvil) vs. Skeletor (He-Man)

The Forgotten (Binding of Isaac) vs. Countess Ariadne de Winter (Til Death Do Us Bard)

Kel'thuzad (Warcraft) vs. Christopher Flores (Wayward Children)

The Lich King/Arthas Menethil (Warcraft) vs. Bones (Johannes Cabal the Necromancer)

Toro Muerto (The Book of Life) vs. Yodomi Arakawa (Skeleton Double)

Immortan Joe (Mad Max Fury Road) vs. Laika (Laika: Aged Through Blood)

Clinkz (DOTA 2) vs. Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck (Bleach)

Ianthe Tridantarius (The Locked Tomb) vs. Zenon Zogratis (Black Clover)

Palamedes Sextus (The Locked Tomb) vs. Ketheric Thorm (Baldur's Gate 3)

Ruth Fleming (Nerdy Prudes Must Die) vs. Dr. Bones Cookie (Cookie Run)

Misetani Box (Dai Dark) vs. Frank (Generation Loss)

Shimada Death (Dai Dark) vs. Bone (Warriors)

Kurloz Makara (Homestuck) vs. Mamà Imelda (Coco)

Jake English (Homestuck) vs. Hector (Coco)

SkullBaluchimon (Digimon) vs. Skullgreymon (Digimon)

SkullKnightmon (Digimon) vs. Jolly Roger

Cubone (Pokémon) vs. Ryme (Pokémon Scarlet and Violet)

Skeletal Dragon (The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim) vs. Boneknapper (How to Train Your Dragon)

Shinnok (Mortal Kombat) vs. Hector (Castlevania)

Lady Micte (Maya and the Three) vs. Conway (Kentucky Route Zero)

Veralidaine "Daine" Sarrasi (The Immortal Quartet) vs. Pious Augustus (Eternal Darkness: Sanity's Requiem)

Zélie Adebola (Children of Blood and Bone) vs. SkekMal the Hunter (The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance)

The Hound (RWBY) vs. Nuckelavee (RWBY)

Nina Zenik (Six of Crows) vs. Undertaker (Black Butler)

Yorick (Hamlet) vs. Pale Rider (Persona)

Skelita Calaveras (Monster High) vs. Hell Biker (Persona)

Nico Di Angelo (Percy Jackson) vs. Bone Ravage (Fortnite)

Death (Discworld) vs. Mort (Hello from the Hallowoods)

Acererak (Dungeons & Dragons) vs. Skid (Spooky Month)

Boneyard (Dungeons & Dragons) vs. Lord Hater (Wonder Over Yonder)

Necrodeus (Kirby Mass Attack) vs. Jack Skellington (The Nightmare Before Christmas)

Skelly (Hades) vs. Nagash (Warhammer Fantasy Battle)

Lady Bone Demon (Lego Monkie Kid) vs. Dry Bowser (Mario)

King (The Owl House) vs. Dry Bones (Mario)

Dyre Ode/Dyre Owed (Friends at the Table) vs. The Children of the Hydra's Teeth (Jason and the Argonauts (1963))

Qiu Congxue (Devil Venerable Also Wants to Know) vs. Death (The Arcana)

Kimimaro Kaguya (Naruto) vs. Gold Skull (The Sexy Brutale)

Death the Kid (Soul Eater) vs. Keyes (Fairy Tail)

Skull Knight (Berserk) vs. Director Bones (DC Comics) Bone (One Punch Man)

Lord Death Man (DC Comics) vs. Mister Bones (DC Comics)

Death (Horrible Histories) vs. Ebisu (Dorohedoro)

Skeleton (I Spy Spooky Mansion) vs. Skullomania/Saburo Nishikoyama (Street Fighter EX)

Skull Man (Mega Man) vs. SkullMan.exe (Mega Man)

A Real Magic Skeleton (OK K.O.! Let's Be Heroes) vs. Skully (Scary Godmother)

Marquis (Parahumans) vs. Morgo (Little Misfortune)

Señor Huseo (Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles) vs. Brian Laborn/Grue (Parahumans)

Grim (The Grim Adventures) vs. Pluto (Library of Ruina)

Queen Rohaan (Watermelon) vs. Kamen Raider Genm/Kuroto Dan (Kamen Rider Ex-Aid)

Fone Bone (Bone) vs. Smiley Bone (Bone) vs. Phonciple P. "Phoney" Bone (Bone)

[behind-the-veil-of-sanity]

Tell me — how many more stars will perish while we perch on our wooden pegs, Lapping up the last light left lingering from the star about to die. Our chrome-covered mufflers whisper songs of solitude — our v-twin engines snoring — silence now rule. On a blackish road to nowhere shuffling snakes are on parade — beyond the vacant Valley of Death a pale lady awaits To draw all weary riders towards her quiet realm, visps of smoke inside her crystal ball beaconing. The vroom of engines starting sends shivers down spineless backs, Yogi’s hat falls off as the Angels make their last escape, Faster faster the wheels turn faster As the wild wind carry them further and further away From the safe shores of sanity, into the lingering dark night of hell. As the morning fog clears the lady is gone, they ride towards the hailing star — Born to be Wild — once again.

[multifandomfanfiction]

A Dragon in Winterfell

TITLE: A Dragon in Winterfell PAIRING: Robb/Alia (OC) RATING: T CHAPTER: One-shot SUMMARY: Robb takes Alia into the crypts of Winterfell to show her something that has been in the possession of House Stark since the Dance of the Dragons.

[A/N - I am planning a one-shot diving into Cregan and Aelora's relationship, but I wanted to lay the groundwork here.]

“Robb, where are we going?” Alia asked her husband.

He had led her into the crypts below Winterfell. Alia had never set foot in the crypts because they scared her.

Robb said nothing and pulled her deeper, past the graves of dead Stark's.

“Robb, Ned…I need to…”

“He will be fine, my love. My mother will take care of him,” he told her.

Alia was rarely separated from her firstborn son and she experienced extreme anxiety when they were apart.

Robb was sure it stemmed from the death of her mother.

“I want to show you something.” He led her down a dark corridor to a small alcove housing a statue of a young woman.

Alia pulled her fur cloak around herself as Robb leaned down and opened a chest. He picked something up and turned to her.

Alia gasped at what was in his hands. “A dragon egg?”

Robb held it out to her.

Alia took it gently in her hands. She marveled at the purple scales covering it and imagined a baby dragon sleeping within.

What would it look like?

“What do you know of the Dance of the Dragons?” Robb asked.

“Only what my father taught me. That the two sides of the Targaryen family went to war over the Iron Throne.”

“During the Dance of the Dragons, Queen Rhaenyra sent her son Jacaerys Velaryon to meet with my ancestor, Cregan Stark. But he didn’t arrive alone. His mother also sent her daughter, Aelora, as a bride for Cregan Stark after the death of his first wife and mother to his son Rickon. That dragon’s egg supposedly was placed in the cradle of their son Benjen as was the tradition for Targaryen children. It never hatched and when Aelora died giving birth to their daughter, Cregan placed it down here in the crypts. Although Cregan loved his first wife, it was said that Aelora was the love of his life. After her death, Cregan sent their son to be warded over by another house and no one knows what happened to Benjen after that.”

Alia thought it was a tragically beautiful story. Like that of her mother and father.

It seemed tragedy seemed to favor the Houses of Martell and Stark.

“Do you think it could still hatch one day?” Robb chuckled.

“Are you going to try and hatch it, princess?”

Alia glared at her husband. “I have the blood of the dragon running through my veins. My ancestor’s wed Targaryen’s. Maybe I’ll hatch it and send it to my cousin Quentyn. He has always fancied being a dragon rider.”

He also spent his days reading and learning High Valyrian. He was the only one in their family to take pride in their Valyrian heritage.

“Are you sure you are not more Targaryen than Martell, princess?”

Alia stared down at the dragon egg in her hands, wondering if her ancestor had done the same. Wondering if she had yearned for the egg to hatch as well.

Robb noticed his wife’s silence. “You may keep it if you’d like,” Robb told her.

But Alia shook her head. She could feel the pull to the dragon egg and worried about ending up like Aegon V, burning down Winterfell in hopes of hatching a dragon’s egg.

“They say that when a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin,” Alia said.

Robb approached his wife and took the egg from her hands. He set it back in the chest and turned to her. He took her face in his hands and kissed her.

“You are not a Targaryen, my love. You are a Martell and a Stark.”

Alia’s eyes filled with tears and she sniffled. “But what if I go mad? What if I end up like my ancestors?”

“You will not go mad. My ancestors could be your ancestors. Am I mad?”

Alia shook her head and buried her face in Robb’s chest.

“Maybe we should arrange a visit to Sunspear,” Robb told her.

His Pale Sand Snake had grown melancholy of late as she did during the heavy winter months. She missed the sunshine of Dorne and the giggles of her sisters. Ned was old enough to travel to Dorne now and maybe he would be a welcome distraction for Alia.

Robb led her out of the crypts and back to the castle to start planning their trip to Dorne.

And like Cregan before him, they never spoke of Aelora and the dragon egg again.

[A/N - What? You thought I could write about Alia and not make it depressing as hell?]

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Daenerys X (Chapter 71)

Surprise, crazy survived. For now.

The hill was a stony island in a sea of green.

It took Dany half the morning to climb down. By the time she reached the bottom she was winded. Her muscles ached, and she felt as if she had the beginnings of a fever. 

Well looky here! First paragraph.

Miss thing has a fever before wandering in the sun, drinking muddy water, and eating strange berries. Why's that?

The Blue Grace called Ezzara folded her hands. "My queen," she murmured, "his fever was not brought on by the arrow. He had soiled himself, not once but many times. The stains reached to his knees, and there was dried blood amongst his excrement." - Daenerys V, ADWD

x

He felt her brow. Is it hot in here, or does she have a touch of fever? He dared not ask that question aloud. Even hard men like the Second Sons were terrified of mounting the pale mare. - Tyrion XII, ADWD

I've seen many people argue Khaleesi can't have the bloody flux because she's been gone for close to a month. I don't know how they reached that conclusion, but it's bonkers. The chapters aren't in chronological order. Surviving on that hill for a month while starved, burned, cold, and half naked is not realistic.

Bacillary dysentery symptoms can sometimes appear 10 days after exposure. There's nothing in the text suggesting she's been on this hill longer than that.

+.+.+

The rocks had scraped her hands raw. They are better than they were, though, she decided as she picked at a broken blister. Her skin was pink and tender, and a pale milky fluid was leaking from her cracked palms, but her burns were healing.

Remember this. It will be worth it.

+.+.+

The hill loomed larger down here. Dany had taken to calling it Dragonstone, after the ancient citadel where she'd been born. She had no memories of that Dragonstone, but she would not soon forget this one. 

Wait until she finds out Drogon's hill is nicer than Dragonstone.

+.+.+

The air smelled of ash, every rock and tree in sight was scorched and blackened, the ground strewn with burned and broken bones, yet it had been home to him.

It's hilarious how simple and concise the messaging is when it comes to dragons. And yet so many people ...

+.+.+

Once she found the Skahazadhan she need only follow it downstream to Slaver's Bay.

She would sooner have returned to Meereen on dragon's wings, to be sure. But that was a desire Drogon did not seem to share.

"There is a reason. A dragon is no slave." - Daenerys III, ASOS

I bet a direwolf would help a Stark get back to Meereen. Maybe the bond between dragon and rider isn't so special after all.

+.+.+

The dragonlords of old Valyria had controlled their mounts with binding spells and sorcerous horns. Daenerys made do with a word and a whip. Mounted on the dragon's back, she oft felt as if she were learning to ride all over again. When she whipped her silver mare on her right flank the mare went left, for a horse's first instinct is to flee from danger. When she laid the whip across Drogon's right side he veered right, for a dragon's first instinct is always to attack. Sometimes it did not seem to matter where she struck him, though; sometimes he went where he would and took her with him. Neither whip nor words could turn Drogon if he did not wish to be turned. 

+.+.+

And no matter how far the dragon flew each day, come nightfall some instinct drew him home to Dragonstone. His home, not mine. Her home was back in Meereen, with her husband and her lover. That was where she belonged, surely.

You could always conquer it.

Khaleesi is wavering on where exactly she belongs. I could tell her.

The green swallowed her up. The air was rich with the scents of earth and grass, mixed with the smell of horseflesh and Dany's sweat and the oil in her hair. Dothraki smells. They seemed to belong here. Dany breathed it all in, laughing. - Daenerys III, AGOT

x

She was barefoot, with oiled hair, wearing Dothraki riding leathers and a painted vest given her as a bride gift. She looked as though she belonged here. - Daenerys III, AGOT

x

"Once," said Ser Jorah. "No longer, Khaleesi. You belong to the Dothraki now. In your womb rides the stallion who mounts the world." - Daenerys V, AGOT

+.+.+

Her home was back in Meereen, with her husband and her lover. That was where she belonged, surely.

Keep walking. If I look back I am lost.

Are you ready for some first-rate literary analysis?

Drogon's scorched and blackened Dragonstone hill represents her violent impulses, and thirst for war. In other words, fire and blood. Khaleesi will spend almost the whole chapter convincing herself to walk away from it towards Meereen.

$5 to anyone who can guess what happens at the end.

+.+.+

Memories walked with her. Clouds seen from above. Horses small as ants thundering through the grass. A silver moon, almost close enough to touch. 

Horses getting the ant treatment.

+.+.+

She had to don her crown again and return to her ebon bench and the arms of her noble husband.

Hizdahr, of the tepid kisses.

Yeah, cause I'm sure you're always dripping wet.

Sorry.

+.+.+

One of her sandals had slipped off during her wild flight from Meereen and she had left the other up by Drogon's cave, preferring to go barefoot rather than half-shod. 

Drogon, her Prince Charming.

+.+.+

I must look a ragged thing, and starved, she thought, but if the days stay warm, I will not freeze.

That's not going to work, winter is coming for you.

+.+.+

Hers had been a lonely sojourn, and for most of it she had been hurt and hungry … yet despite it all she had been strangely happy here. A few aches, an empty belly, chills by night … what does it matter when you can fly? I would do it all again.

Keep walking, Khaleesi.

+.+.+

One morning she had found some wild onions growing halfway down the south slope, and later that same day a leafy reddish vegetable that might have been some queer sort of cabbage. Whatever it was, it had not made her sick. Aside from that, and one fish that she had caught in the spring-fed pool outside of Drogon's cave, she had survived as best she could on the dragon's leavings, on burned bones and chunks of smoking meat, half-charred and half-raw. 

The food she's been consuming for days has not made her sick. That's not why she has a fever.

+.+.+

Though she walked through a green kingdom, it was not the deep rich green of summer. Even here autumn made its presence felt, and winter would not be far behind. The grass was paler than she remembered, a wan and sickly green on the verge of going yellow. After that would come brown. The grass was dying.

The dying grass is heavily emphasized throughout the chapter. It might be important, we'll cover it later.

+.+.+

She'd had Irri and Jhiqui and Doreah to care for her, her sun-and-stars to hold her in the night, his child growing inside her. Rhaego. I was going to name him Rhaego, and the dosh khaleen said he would be the Stallion Who Mounts the World. Not since those half-remembered days in Braavos when she lived in the house with the red door had she been as happy.

What might it say about Khaleesi when it's the Dothraki culture and customs that make her happy?

+.+.+

But in the Red Waste, all her joy had turned to ashes. Her sun-and-stars had fallen from his horse, the maegi Mirri Maz Duur had murdered Rhaego in her womb, and Dany had smothered the empty shell of Khal Drogo with her own two hands. 

Ser Jorah had killed her son, Dany knew. He had done what he did for love and loyalty, yet he had carried her into a place no living man should go and fed her baby to the darkness. - Daenerys IX, AGOT

+.+.+

Afterward Drogo's great khalasar had shattered. Ko Pono named himself Khal Pono and took many riders with him, and many slaves as well. Ko Jhaqo named himself Khal Jhaqo and rode off with even more. Mago, his bloodrider, raped and murdered Eroeh, a girl Daenerys had once saved from him. 

Thanks for this quick breakdown of Dothraki characters we haven't seen in ages, George.

+.+.+

Only the birth of her dragons amidst the fire and smoke of Khal Drogo's funeral pyre had spared Dany herself from being dragged back to Vaes Dothrak to live out the remainder of her days amongst the crones of the dosh khaleen.

The fire burned away my hair, but elsewise it did not touch me. It had been the same in Daznak's Pit. That much she could recall, though much of what followed was a haze. 

Oopsie daisy, someone is losing their fucking mind.

Her skin was pink and tender, and a pale milky fluid was leaking from her cracked palms, but her burns were healing.

I agree with the people who say we shouldn't attribute her actions in King's Landing to being mad, but I think it's a mistake to completely dismiss the fact that she's slowly losing it like her father.

She can be responsible for her own actions, and also not right upstairs. See: Cersei Lannister.

+.+.+

From below a spear came flying, followed by a flight of crossbow bolts. One passed so close that Dany felt it brush her cheek. Others skittered off Drogon's scales, lodged between them, or tore through the membrane of his wings. She remembered the dragon twisting beneath her, shuddering at the impacts, as she tried desperately to cling to his scaled back. The wounds were smoking. 

We love Dragon x Other parallels!

When he opened his eyes the Other's armor was running down its legs in rivulets as pale blue blood hissed and steamed around the black dragonglass dagger in its throat. It reached down with two bone-white hands to pull out the knife, but where its fingers touched the obsidian they smoked. - Samwell I, ASOS

It's not terribly important, but I would think the membranes of their wings are vulnerable. Why only the eyes?

+.+.+

Dany saw one of the bolts burst into sudden flame. Another fell away, shaken loose by the beating of his wings. Below, she saw men whirling, wreathed in flame, hands up in the air as if caught in the throes of some mad dance. A woman in a green tokar reached for a weeping child, pulling him down into her arms to shield him from the flames. Dany saw the color vividly, but not the woman's face. People were stepping on her as they lay tangled on the bricks. Some were on fire.

Would you like to express any regret or guilt for this?

+.+.+

Then all of that had faded, the sounds dwindling, the people shrinking, the spears and arrows falling back beneath them as Drogon clawed his way into the sky. Up and up and up he'd borne her, high above the pyramids and pits, his wings outstretched to catch the warm air rising from the city's sun baked bricks. If I fall and die, it will still have been worth it, she had thought.

Oh.

+.+.+

North they flew, beyond the river, Drogon gliding on torn and tattered wings through clouds that whipped by like the banners of some ghostly army. 

It would be easy to mistake this ghostly army for the Others.

Same with this,

That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper's rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. - Daenerys III, ADWD

But we know better, don't we?

Burning shafts hissed upward, trailing tongues of fire. Scarecrow brothers tumbled down, black cloaks ablaze. "Snow," an eagle cried, as foemen scuttled up the ice like spiders. Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist. - Jon XII, ADWD

+.+.+

The sun grew hotter as it rose, and before long her head was pounding. 

Fever, and headache.

+.+.+

Dany's hair was growing out again, but slowly. "I need a hat," she said aloud. Up on Dragonstone she had tried to make one for herself, weaving stalks of grass together as she had seen Dothraki women do during her time with Drogo, but either she was using the wrong sort of grass or she simply lacked the necessary skill. Her hats all fell to pieces in her hands. Try again, she told herself. You will do better the next time. You are the blood of the dragon, you can make a hat. She tried and tried, but her last attempt had been no more successful than her first.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Dragons sow sew no hats.

That might be an Egg reference. Hey, didn't he go mad and burn Summerhall?

+.+.+

It was afternoon by the time Dany found the stream she had glimpsed atop the hill. It was a rill, a rivulet, a trickle, no wider than her arm … and her arm had grown thinner every day she spent on Dragonstone. Dany scooped up a handful of water and splashed it on her face. When she cupped her hands, her knuckles squished in the mud at the bottom of the stream. She might have wished for colder, clearer water … but no, if she were going to pin her hopes on wishes, she would wish for rescue.

I don't think you want to be doing that.

"Clean fresh water, as much as he will drink."

"Not river water," said Sweets. - Tyrion XI, ADWD

+.+.+

Ser Barristan might come seeking her; he was the first of her Queensguard, sworn to defend her life with his own. And her bloodriders were no strangers to the Dothraki sea, and their lives were bound to her own. Her husband, the noble Hizdahr zo Loraq, might dispatch searchers. And Daario … Dany pictured him riding toward her through the tall grass, smiling, his golden tooth gleaming with the last light of the setting sun.

Lmao.

Jaime may yet come. She pictured him riding through the morning mists, his golden armor bright in the light of the rising sun. Jaime, if you ever loved me … - Cersei II, ADWD

But it wasn't Jaime who came to Cersei's rescue after her big walk of reflection and self-discovery, was it? No, it was her monster, Robert Strong. :)

+.+.+

Only Daario had been given to the Yunkai'i, a hostage to ensure no harm came to the Yunkish captains. Daario and Hero, Jhogo and Groleo, and three of Hizdahr's kin. By now, surely, all of her hostages would have been released. But …

She wondered if her captain's blades still hung upon the wall beside her bed, waiting for Daario to return and claim them. "I will leave my girls with you," he had said. "Keep them safe for me, beloved." And she wondered how much the Yunkai'i knew about what her captain meant to her. She had asked Ser Barristan that question the afternoon the hostages went forth. "They will have heard the talk," he had replied. "Naharis may even have boasted of Your Grace's … of your great … regard … for him. If you will forgive my saying so, modesty is not one of the captain's virtues. He takes great pride in his … his swordsmanship."

He boasts of bedding me, you mean. But Daario would not have been so foolish as to make such a boast amongst her enemies.

She hung his knives beside her marriage bed? God.

Based on this passage alone, I'm going to guess the Yunkai'i know everything there is to know about Daario and Khaleesi. Good luck, Daario.

+.+.+

It makes no matter. By now the Yunkai'i will be marching home. That was why she had done all that she had done. For peace.

Oh honey, wait until you hear what grandpa's been up to.

+.+.+

She turned back the way she'd come, to where Dragonstone rose above the grasslands like a clenched fist. It looks so close. I've been walking for hours, yet it still looks as if I could reach out and touch it. It was not too late to go back. There were fish in the spring-fed pool by Drogon's cave. She had caught one her first day there, she might catch more. And there would be scraps, charred bones with bits of flesh still on them, the remnants of Drogon's kills.

No, Dany told herself. If I look back I am lost. 

Good Khaleesi. Keep walking, don't turn back.

+.+.+

It was quiet on her sea. When the wind blew the grass would sigh as the stalks brushed against each other, whispering in a tongue that only gods could understand.

And Bran.

+.+.+

Once she came upon a rat drinking from the stream, but it fled when she appeared, scurrying between the stalks to vanish in the high grass. 

Those things are hard to catch.

+.+.+

Sometimes she heard birds singing. The sound made her belly rumble, but she had no nets to snare them with, and so far she had not come on any nests. Once I dreamed of flying, she thought, and now I've flown, and dream of stealing eggs. That made her laugh. "Men are mad and gods are madder," she told the grass, and the grass murmured its agreement.

Hoo boy, I'm desperately searching for a different interpretation of this passage besides the obvious, but I'm not coming up with much.

"Alas," Xaro sobbed, "that was not the word I meant."

"Would you ask a mother to sell one of her children?"

"Whyever not? They can always make more. Mothers sell their children every day." - Daenerys V, ACOK

x

A king must have an heir. - Catelyn II, ASOS

I'll let you reach your own conclusions.

+.+.+

Thrice that day she caught sight of Drogon. Once he was so far off that he might have been an eagle, slipping in and out of distant clouds, but Dany knew the look of him by now, even when he was no more than a speck.

An eagle! Drogon's an eagle!

Something was moving atop one of them, he saw. A dragon, but which one? At this distance, it could as easily have been an eagle. A very big eagle. - Tyrion II, TWOW

Love when we draw that comparison.

Then a sudden gust of cold made his fur stand up, and the air thrilled to the sound of wings. As he lifted his eyes to the ice-white mountain heights above, a shadow plummeted out of the sky. A shrill scream split the air. He glimpsed blue-grey pinions spread wide, shutting out the sun . . . - Jon VII, ACOK

Excited to see where this might be going.

"Look," she said, pointing at the sky with her frog spear, "an eagle."

Bran lifted his head and saw it, its grey wings spread and still as it floated on the wind. He followed it with his eyes as it circled higher, wondering what it would be like to soar about the world so effortless. Better than climbing, even. He tried to reach the eagle, to leave his stupid crippled body and rise into the sky to join it, the way he joined with Summer. The greenseers could do it. I should be able to do it too. He tried and tried, until the eagle vanished in the golden haze of the afternoon. "It's gone," he said, disappointed.

"We'll see others," said Meera. "They live up here."

"I suppose." - Bran II, ASOS

+.+.+

The second time he passed before the sun, his black wings spread, and the world darkened. 

Lightbringer brings equal darkness and light.

He slipped Lightbringer into its scabbard, and the world darkened once again, as if the sun had gone behind a cloud. - Jon III, ADWD

And when I say light, what I really mean is fire.

+.+.+

The last time he flew right above her, so close she could hear the sound of his wings. For half a heartbeat Dany thought that he was hunting her, but he flew on without taking any notice of her and vanished somewhere in the east. Just as well, she thought.

It's just like the Starks and their direwolves!

You might have noticed Drogon shows little interest in assisting Khaleesi when she's pretending to care about Meereen.

+.+.+

Do they fear me dead? I flew off on a dragon's back. Will they think he ate me? She wondered if Hizdahr was still king. His crown had come from her, could he hold it in her absence? He wanted Drogon dead. I heard him. "Kill it," he screamed, "kill the beast," and the look upon his face was lustful. And Strong Belwas had been on his knees, heaving and shuddering. Poison. It had to be poison. The honeyed locusts. Hizdahr urged them on me, but Belwas ate them all. She had made Hizdahr her king, taken him into her bed, opened the fighting pits for him, he had no reason to want her dead.

Amazing, right? Khaleesi is more rational than Barry while half delirious.

+.+.+

She had made Hizdahr her king, taken him into her bed, opened the fighting pits for him, he had no reason to want her dead. Yet who else could it have been? Reznak, her perfumed seneschal? The Yunkai'i? The Sons of the Harpy?

Off in the distance, a wolf howled. The sound made her feel sad and lonely, but no less hungry. 

How stupid do you have to be to not understand this? How did they pass any class requiring the study of literature?

Anyway, there's levels to this that I never put together.

Who poisoned the locusts? Who could it have been? Off in the distance, a wolf howled.

<- The Queen's Hand

Skahaz was clad in his familiar garb of pleated black skirt, greaves, and muscled breastplate. The brazen mask beneath his arm was new—a wolf's head with lolling tongue.

+.+.+

She dreamed. All her cares fell away from her, and all her pains as well, and she seemed to float upward into the sky. She was flying once again, spinning, laughing, dancing, as the stars wheeled around her and whispered secrets in her ear. "To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward, you must go back. To touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow."

"Quaithe?" Dany called. "Where are you, Quaithe?"

Then she saw. Her mask is made of starlight.

"Remember who you are, Daenerys," the stars whispered in a woman's voice. "The dragons know. Do you?"

Notice how Khaleesi is hallucinating, and floating in the clouds long before berries enter the picture?

Let me tell you, people struggle with the order of events in this chapter.

There's no comparison to be made between the effects of drinking whatever Mirri Maz Duur gave her, and the berries in this chapter, because THEY HAVEN'T BEEN CONSUMED YET.

"To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward, you must go back. To touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow."

I've yet to see an interpretation better than the following:

To go north, you must journey south -> Sansa.

To reach the west, you must go east -> Arya.

To go forward, you must go back -> Bran.

To touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow -> Jon.

+.+.+

The next morning she woke stiff and sore and aching, with ants crawling on her arms and legs and face. When she realized what they were, she kicked aside the stalks of dry brown grass that had served as her bed and blanket and struggled to her feet. She had bites all over her, little red bumps, itchy and inflamed. Where did all the ants come from? Dany brushed them from her arms and legs and belly. She ran a hand across her stubbly scalp where her hair had burned away, and felt more ants on her head, and one crawling down the back of her neck. She knocked them off and crushed them under her bare feet. There were so many …

It turned out that their anthill was on the other side of her wall. She wondered how the ants had managed to climb over it and find her. To them these tumbledown stones must loom as huge as the Wall of Westeros. The biggest wall in all the world, her brother Viserys used to say, as proud as if he'd built it himself.

Easy to mistake those ants for wights. Almost a little too easy.

Unfortunately for Khaleesi, George has been consistent when it comes to ants.

The gaunt outlines of huge catapults and monstrous wooden cranes stood sentry up there, like the skeletons of great birds, and among them walked men in black as small as ants. - Jon III, AGOT

x

Soldiers crawled over the city walls like ants with torches, and crowded the hoardings that had sprouted from the ramparts. - Sansa IV, ACOK

x

He watched as a swarming mass of riders charged a shield wall, astride horses no larger than ants. - Jon VII, ACOK

x

 Across the river the south shore was black with men and horses, stirring like angry ants as they caught sight of the approaching ships. - Davos III, ACOK

x

"An ant who hears the words of a king may not comprehend what he is saying," Melisandre said, "and all men are ants before the fiery face of god. - Davos V, ASOS

x

Around the walls the hosts of Lords Declarant were stirring, emerging from their tents like ants from an anthill. If only they were truly ants, she thought, we could step on them and crush them. - Alayne I, AFFC

x

From on high their garrons looked no larger than ants, and Jon could not tell one ranger from another. - Jon VI, ADWD

It's the people of Westeros.

+.+.+

Dragonstone was still visible above the grasslands. It looks so close. I must be leagues away by now, but it looks as if I could be back in an hour.

No! Don't look back.

+.+.+

The sun was only just coming up. 

[...]

She wanted to lie back down, close her eyes, and give herself up to sleep. No. I must keep going. The stream. Just follow the stream.

Tired. So tired.

"I'm sad." She yawned again. "And tired. So tired."

Tired or sick? - Tyrion XII, ADWD

If you think the fatigue is simply Khaleesi being hungry and walking too much in the sun, I want you to think back on Arya's travels in ACOK, and tell me if it feels the same.

+.+.+

It would not do to walk the wrong way and lose her stream. "My friend," she said aloud. "If I stay close to my friend I won't get lost." She would have slept beside the water if she dared, but there were animals who came down to the stream to drink at night. She had seen their tracks. Dany would make a poor meal for a wolf or lion, but even a poor meal was better than none.

Is that a second wolf? And a lion!

What's with all the ominous wolves?

+.+.+

Dany cupped her hands to drink. The water made her belly cramp, but cramps were easier to bear than thirst.

Uh oh! Cramps!

Yezzan's other slaves had refused to go near the overseer once the cramps began, so it was left to Tyrion to keep him warm and bring him drinks. - Tyrion XI, ADWD

And still no berries.

+.+.+

As she walked, she tapped her thigh with the pitmaster's whip.

x

The stream bent this way and that, and Dany followed, beating time upon her leg with the whip, trying not to think about how far she had to go, or the pounding in her head, or her empty belly. 

x

 Her whip slapped softly against her thigh, wap wap wap. 

What is this? Trying to tame herself or something?

+.+.+

One step at a time, and the stream would see her home.

↓

Every step brought the Red Keep nearer. Every step brought her closer to her son and her salvation. - Cersei II, ADWD

x

She turned back the way she'd come, to where Dragonstone rose above the grasslands like a clenched fist. It looks so close. I've been walking for hours, yet it still looks as if I could reach out and touch it. 

↓

Cersei looked behind her. She could still see the great dome and seven crystal towers of the Great Sept of Baelor atop the hill. Have I really come such a little way? - Cersei II, ADWD

This is so funny.

+.+.+

Just past midday she came upon a bush growing by the stream, its twisted limbs covered with hard green berries. Dany squinted at them suspiciously, then plucked one from a branch and nibbled at it. Its flesh was tart and chewy, with a bitter aftertaste that seemed familiar to her. "In the khalasar, they used berries like these to flavor roasts," she decided. Saying it aloud made her more certain of it. Her belly rumbled, and Dany found herself picking berries with both hands and tossing them into her mouth.

Okay! After the fever, after the fatigue, after the cramps, and after the delirium comes the berries.

Bullshit. She had cramps before the berries. I don't know how you miss that.

Reading commentary on this chapter drove me insane. I'm not denying she's had a miscarriage, but why are people so insistent she doesn't also have the pale mare? It's not like she's going to die, what does it matter?

"Yezzan must live. Or we all die with him. The pale mare does not carry off every rider. The master will recover." - Tyrion XI, ADWD

She'll survive. She'll live. Everything will be okay.

Honestly, when she's this deluded about her own invincibility and ancestry,

"I am the blood of the dragon," Dany reminded him. "Have you ever seen a dragon with the flux?" Viserys had oft claimed that Targaryens were untroubled by the pestilences that afflicted common men, and so far as she could tell, it was true. She could remember being cold and hungry and afraid, but never sick. - Daenerys VI, ADWD

When she's been promised a mount to dread,

three mounts must you ride . . . one to bed (Silver) and one to dread (Pale Mare) and one to love (Drogon) - Daenerys IV, ACOK

And when Quaithe warns her of what's to come,

"No. Hear me, Daenerys Targaryen. The glass candles are burning. Soon comes the pale mare, and after her the others. Kraken and dark flame, lion and griffin, the sun's son and the mummer's dragon. Trust none of them. Remember the Undying. Beware the perfumed seneschal." - Daenerys II, ADWD

SHE'S PROBABLY GOING TO GET THE PALE MARE.

+.+.+

An hour later, her stomach began to cramp so badly that she could not go on. She spent the rest of that day retching up green slime. 

Slime.

His shit had turned to brown slime streaked with blood … - Tyrion XI, ADWD

Vomiting is obviously a symptom of dysentery. It's also possible the berries were inedible.

Either way it doesn't matter, she has the pale mare.

+.+.+

In Westeros the dead of House Targaryen were given to the flames, but who would light her pyre here? My flesh will feed the wolves and carrion crows, she thought sadly, and worms will burrow through my womb. 

THREE? Three big bad wolves?

+.+.+

Sunset found her squatting in the grass, groaning. Every stool was looser than the one before, and smelled fouler. By the time the moon came up she was shitting brown water. The more she drank, the more she shat, but the more she shat, the thirstier she grew, and her thirst sent her crawling to the stream to suck up more water.

Those afflicted by the pale mare were always thirsty, drinking gallons between their shits. - Tyrion XI, ADWD

x

"The pale mare," the man told Sweets.

What a surprise, Tyrion thought. Who could have guessed? Aside from any man with a nose and me with half of one. Yezzan was burning with fever, squirming fitfully in a pool of his own excrement. His shit had turned to brown slime streaked with blood … and it fell to Yollo and Penny to wipe his yellow bottom clean. - Tyrion XI, ADWD

+.+.+

She dreamt of her dead brother.

Viserys looked just as he had the last time she'd seen him. His mouth was twisted in anguish, his hair was burnt, and his face was black and smoking where the molten gold had run down across his brow and cheeks and into his eyes.

"You are dead," Dany said.

Murdered. Though his lips never moved, somehow she could hear his voice, whispering in her ear. You never mourned me, sister. It is hard to die unmourned.

"I loved you once."

Once, he said, so bitterly it made her shudder. You were supposed to be my wife, to bear me children with silver hair and purple eyes, to keep the blood of the dragon pure. I took care of you. I taught you who you were. I fed you. I sold our mother's crown to keep you fed.

"You hurt me. You frightened me."

Only when you woke the dragon. I loved you.

"You sold me. You betrayed me."

No. You were the betrayer. You turned against me, against your own blood. They cheated me. Your horsey husband and his stinking savages. They were cheats and liars. They promised me a golden crown and gave me this. He touched the molten gold that was creeping down his face, and smoke rose from his finger.

"You could have had your crown," Dany told him. "My sun-and-stars would have won it for you if only you had waited."

I waited long enough. I waited my whole life. I was their king, their rightful king. They laughed at me.

I don't care enough to comment on any of this, but I will point out Khaleesi hearing his voice is turning into a disturbing trend.

Westeros. Home. But if she left, what would happen to her city? Meereen was never your city, her brother's voice seemed to whisper. Your cities are across the sea. Your Seven Kingdoms, where your enemies await you. You were born to serve them blood and fire. - Daenerys III, ADWD

Mad.

+.+.+

Do you want to wake the dragon, you stupid little whore? Drogo's khalasar was mine. I bought them from him, a hundred thousand screamers. I paid for them with your maidenhead.

"You never understood. Dothraki do not buy and sell. They give gifts and receive them. If you had waited …"

I did wait. For my crown, for my throne, for you. All those years, and all I ever got was a pot of molten gold. Why did they give the dragon's eggs to you? They should have been mine. If I'd had a dragon, I would have taught the world the meaning of our words. Viserys began to laugh, until his jaw fell away from his face, smoking, and blood and molten gold ran from his mouth.

Don't worry, it's not like Khaleesi is ever influenced by Viserys.

His anger was a terrible thing when roused. Viserys called it "waking the dragon." - Daenerys I, AGOT

↓

Daenerys pushed her hair back. "Find these cowards for me. Find them, so that I might teach the Harpy's Sons what it means to wake the dragon." - Daenerys I, ADWD

x

The Usurper's hired knives were close behind them, he insisted, though Dany had never seen one. - Daenerys I, AGOT

↓

The narrow sea was often stormy, and Dany had crossed it half a hundred times as a girl, running from one Free City to the next half a step ahead of the Usurper's hired knives. - Daenerys I, ASOS

x

For centuries the Targaryens had married brother to sister, since Aegon the Conqueror had taken his sisters to bride. The line must be kept pure, Viserys had told her a thousand times; theirs was the kingsblood, the golden blood of old Valyria, the blood of the dragon. Dragons did not mate with the beasts of the field, and Targaryens did not mingle their blood with that of lesser men. Yet now Viserys schemed to sell her to a stranger, a barbarian. - Daenerys I, AGOT

↓

"I am the blood of the dragon," Dany reminded him. "Have you ever seen a dragon with the flux?" Viserys had oft claimed that Targaryens were untroubled by the pestilences that afflicted common men, and so far as she could tell, it was true. She could remember being cold and hungry and afraid, but never sick. - Daenerys VI, ADWD

+.+.+

When she woke, gasping, her thighs were slick with blood.

For a moment she did not realize what it was. The world had just begun to lighten, and the tall grass rustled softly in the wind. No, please, let me sleep some more. I'm so tired. She tried to burrow back beneath the pile of grass she had torn up when she went to sleep. Some of the stalks felt wet. Had it rained again? She sat up, afraid that she had soiled herself as she slept. When she brought her fingers to her face, she could smell the blood on them. Am I dying? Then she saw the pale crescent moon, floating high above the grass, and it came to her that this was no more than her moon blood.

If she had not been so sick and scared, that might have come as a relief. Instead she began to shiver violently. She rubbed her fingers through the dirt, and grabbed a handful of grass to wipe between her legs. The dragon does not weep. She was bleeding, but it was only woman's blood. The moon is still a crescent, though. How can that be? She tried to remember the last time she had bled. The last full moon? The one before? The one before that? No, it cannot have been so long as that. "I am the blood of the dragon," she told the grass, aloud.

Once, the grass whispered back, until you chained your dragons in the dark.

[...]

Her belly was empty, her feet sore and blistered, and it seemed to her that the cramping had grown worse. Her guts were full of writhing snakes biting at her bowels. She scooped up a handful of mud and water in trembling hands. By midday the water would be tepid, but in the chill of dawn it was almost cool and helped her keep her eyes open. As she splashed her face, she saw fresh blood on her thighs. The ragged hem of her undertunic was stained with it. The sight of so much red frightened her. Moon blood, it's only my moon blood, but she did not remember ever having such a heavy flow. Could it be the water? If it was the water, she was doomed. She had to drink or die of thirst.

Khaleesi doesn't currently know left from right, but I'll give her the benefit of the doubt here. It probably has been months, and that would indicate she's currently miscarrying Daario's baby. Yes, Daario's. Not Hizdahr's. Daario's baby. It's not up for debate.

Reznak mo Reznak bowed and beamed. "Magnificence, every day you grow more beautiful. I think the prospect of your wedding has given you a glow. Oh, my shining queen!" - Daenerys VII, ADWD

x

Melisandre had thrown back her cowl and shrugged out of the smothering robe. Beneath, she was naked, and huge with child. Swollen breasts hung heavy against her chest, and her belly bulged as if near to bursting. "Gods preserve us," he whispered, and heard her answering laugh, deep and throaty. Her eyes were hot coals, and the sweat that dappled her skin seemed to glow with a light of its own. Melisandre shone. - Davos II, ACOK

What does this mean for the future? Nothing. She's never having a baby, the dragons will always be her children.

Love the shivering by the way.

+.+.+

"Drogon killed a little girl. Her name was … her name …" Dany could not recall the child's name. That made her so sad that she would have cried if all her tears had not been burned away. "I will never have a little girl. I was the Mother of Dragons."

Aye, the grass said, but you turned against your children.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Hazzea, Hazzea, it rhymes with Himalaya! You must remember the name, you fucking hypocrite.

Dany listened quietly, her face still. When he was done, she said, "What was the name of the old weaver?"

[...]

"Let us say Elza. Here is our ruling. From the girls, you shall have nothing. It was Elza who taught them weaving, not you. From you, the girls shall have a new loom, the finest coin can buy. That is for forgetting the name of the old woman." - Daenerys I, ADWD

+.+.+

In the stream or out of it, I must keep walking. Water flows downhill. The stream will take me to the river, and the river will take me home.

Except it wouldn't, not truly.

Meereen was not her home, and never would be. It was a city of strange men with strange gods and stranger hair, of slavers wrapped in fringed tokars, where grace was earned through whoring, butchery was art, and dog was a delicacy. Meereen would always be the Harpy's city, and Daenerys could not be a harpy.

+.+.+

Never, said the grass, in the gruff tones of Jorah Mormont. You were warned, Your Grace. Let this city be, I said. Your war is in Westeros, I told you.

The voice was no more than a whisper, yet somehow Dany felt that he was walking just behind her. My bear, she thought, my old sweet bear, who loved me and betrayed me. She had missed him so. She wanted to see his ugly face, to wrap her arms around him and press herself against his chest, but she knew that if she turned around Ser Jorah would be gone. "I am dreaming," she said. "A waking dream, a walking dream. I am alone and lost."

Lol.

+.+.+

Lost, because you lingered, in a place that you were never meant to be, murmured Ser Jorah, as softly as the wind. Alone, because you sent me from your side.

[...]

I gave you good counsel. Save your spears and swords for the Seven Kingdoms, I told you. Leave Meereen to the Meereenese and go west, I said. You would not listen.

I know this doesn't need to be said, but I'll say it anyway. There's no glass candle, there's no sorcery or magic brewing.

Quaithe, Viserys, and Jorah aren't talking to her. She's hallucinating, but the most important thing here is that Khaleesi is hearing what she wants to hear. She's talking to her innermost self.

+.+.+

You took Meereen, he told her, yet still you lingered.

"To be a queen."

You are a queen, her bear said. In Westeros.

"It is such a long way," she complained. "I was tired, Jorah. I was weary of war. I wanted to rest, to laugh, to plant trees and see them grow. I am only a young girl."

+.+.+

No. You are the blood of the dragon. The whispering was growing fainter, as if Ser Jorah were falling farther behind. Dragons plant no trees. Remember that. Remember who you are, what you were made to be. Remember your words.

"Fire and Blood," Daenerys told the swaying grass.

+.+.+

From the corner of her eye Dany saw the grass move again, off to her right. The grass swayed and bowed low, as if before a king, but no king appeared to her.

Hizdahr, you mean? Am I forgetting someone?

+.+.+

The world was green and empty. The world was green and silent. The world was yellow, dying.

Through the grass came a soft silvery tinkling.

Bells, Dany thought, smiling, remembering Khal Drogo, her sun-and-stars, and the bells he braided into his hair. When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east, when the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves, when my womb quickens again and I bear a living child, Khal Drogo will return to me.

Everywhere you look, dry dying grass.

I came across an interesting theory when researching this chapter. Mirri Maz Duur's words weren't a prophecy, but you could make a few connections to what's currently happening.

When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east.

Quentyn Martell dying in Meereen.

When the seas go dry.

The change of seasons. The dying grass in the Dothraki Sea.

Mountains blow in the wind like leaves

Potentially something related to Mother of Mountains.

When my womb quickens again and I bear a living child, Khal Drogo will return to me.

Potentially something related to Womb of the World, and Drogon. Or maybe the miscarriage.

I'm guessing Khal Drogo returning to her is figurative, and means Khaleesi finally embracing being a powerful khal and warlord. I bet she even picks up a few bells along the way!

We'll have to wait and see if the upcoming Vaes Dothrak storyline fits with the above.

+.+.+

But none of those things had happened. Bells, Dany thought again. Her bloodriders had found her. "Aggo," she whispered. "Jhogo. Rakharo." Might Daario have come with them?

Silly Khaleesi, bells don't sing happy songs.

Remember when Game of Thrones totally botched this, and now a bunch of desperate morons are clinging to the idea that the climax of A Song of Ice and Fire is JON CONNINGTON burning down King's Landing?

"The thunder of his hooves!" the others chorused.

"As swift as the wind he rides, and behind him his khalasar covers the earth, men without number, with arakhs shining in their hands like blades of razor grass. Fierce as a storm this prince will be. His enemies will tremble before him, and their wives will weep tears of blood and rend their flesh in grief. The bells in his hair will sing his coming, and the milk men in the stone tents will fear his name." The old woman trembled and looked at Dany almost as if she were afraid. "The prince is riding, and he shall be the stallion who mounts the world." - Daenerys V, AGOT

Hilarious.

+.+.+

Dany watched him go. When the sound of his hooves had faded away to silence, she began to shout. She called until her voice was hoarse … and Drogon came, snorting plumes of smoke. The grass bowed down before him.

Oh right, him.

The grass swayed and bowed low, as if before a king, but no king appeared to her. 

Her real king.

Drogon's finally paying attention to her. Must mean fire and blood is on the mind.

+.+.+

Dany leapt onto his back. She stank of blood and sweat and fear, but none of that mattered. "To go forward I must go back," she said. Her bare legs tightened around the dragon's neck. She kicked him, and Drogon threw himself into the sky. Her whip was gone, so she used her hands and feet and turned him north by east, the way the scout had gone. Drogon went willingly enough; perhaps he smelled the rider's fear.

No, no! I think Meereen's the other way! You got yourself turned around.

You thought she'd turn back to Dragonstone, didn't you? Nahhh. That's not home, that's not where Khaleesi wants to be.

+.+.+

A vast herd of horses appeared below them. There were riders too, a score or more, but they turned and fled at the first sight of the dragon.

[...]

Soon one horse began to lag behind the others. The dragon descended on him, roaring, and all at once the poor beast was aflame, yet somehow he kept on running, screaming with every step, until Drogon landed on him and broke his back. Dany clutched the dragon's neck with all her strength to keep from sliding off.

Clouds seen from above. Horses small as ants thundering through the grass. A silver moon, almost close enough to touch. 

↓ 

I could try eating ants. The little yellow ones were too small to provide much in the way of nourishment, but there were red ants in the grass, and those were bigger.

↓ 

Dany, starved, slid off his back and ate with him, ripping chunks of smoking meat from the dead horse with bare, burned hands.

Yeah, for sure, they totally represent wights.

+.+.+

Dany, starved, slid off his back and ate with him, ripping chunks of smoking meat from the dead horse with bare, burned hands. In Meereen I was a queen in silk, nibbling on stuffed dates and honeyed lamb, she remembered. What would my noble husband think if he could see me now? Hizdahr would be horrified, no doubt. But Daario …

Daario would laugh, carve off a hunk of horsemeat with his arakh, and squat down to eat beside her.

I don't know, looks like the bride of fire already found a king to eat with.

+.+.+

As the western sky turned the color of a blood bruise, she heard the sound of approaching horses. Dany rose, wiped her hands on her ragged undertunic, and went to stand beside her dragon.

That was how Khal Jhaqo found her, when half a hundred mounted warriors emerged from the drifting smoke.

What a reunion. What an ending! Can't wait to see what happens next.

If I look back I am lost. "It was a cruel fate," Dany said, "yet not so cruel as Mago's will be. I promise you that, by the old gods and the new, by the lamb god and the horse god and every god that lives. I swear it by the Mother of Mountains and the Womb of the World. Before I am done with them, Mago and Ko Jhaqo will plead for the mercy they showed Eroeh." - Daenerys IX, AGOT

x

Dany commanded Ser Jorah and the warriors of her khas to guard the entrance and make certain no one set the building afire while they were still inside. – Daenerys VII, AGOT

Final thoughts:

Lots to say.

Let's start off with the opening and closing (excluding the epilogue) chapters.

AGOT

Prologue: ice threat introduction.

Final chapter: fire threat introduction.

ACOK

Prologue: cold-hearted King Stannis with his dying maester.

Final chapter: kindhearted King Bran with his dying maester.

ASOS

Prologue: Cursed snowflakes, and Jon Snow.

Sansa VII: Drifting snowflakes, and Jon Snow.

AFFC

Prologue: Pig boy Pate.

Samwell V: Pig boy Pate, back from the dead.

ADWD:

Prologue: Starving, barely alive, slightly mad Varamyr wanders a cold barren land, talking to the elements while narrating his life, then he dies and is reborn as his beast.

Daenerys X: Yup. Same.

Birds were the worst, to hear him tell it. "Men were not meant to leave the earth. Spend too much time in the clouds and you never want to come back down again. I know skinchangers who've tried hawks, owls, ravens. Even in their own skins, they sit moony, staring up at the bloody blue. - Prologue, ADWD

Ha!

+.+.+

Next I'll make a few fun predictions I didn't have the opportunity to make anywhere else in this post:

Drogon kills Viserion (Daenerys kills Aegon), Rhaegal is shot with a scorpion in the eye (Jonnel One-Eye things), and Bran's going to handle Drogon somehow.

Kind of like the show, right? Kind of.

+.+.+

Lastly, I've been waiting for @agentrouka-blog to make a more eloquent post regarding this topic, but my peer pressure has not worked.

Let me steal her thoughts and quickly say the reason the theory that Daenerys will be given a redemption arc after burning King's Landing is such dog shit, is because Meereen is supposed to be the redemption arc. She violently destroys Slaver's Bay, creates a power vacuum, but is given the opportunity to stay, rule, and make it right. To her credit, she does. For nine chapters. Then she chooses fire and blood.

Why would the author do it all over again in Westeros? Meereen was the second chance. She failed.

Goodbye, Khaleesi.

-> return to menu <-

[kookaburra1701]

WIP Wednesday - Nostos

Tagged by @mareenavee, @dirty-bosmer, @skyrim-forever, @rainpebble3 tyty friends🙏

I am tagging @thana-topsr @greyborn2 @gilgamish @thequeenofthewinter @changelingsandothernonsense

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: T (blood and violence, mushy stuff [kissin' not viscera]) Category: M/F Genre(s): Romance Main characters: Borgakh the Steel Heart, Khemor gro-Skaven (Male orc LDB)

Summary: Khemor gro-Skaven thought that after he defeated Alduin, he would not have to worry about anything more dangerous than a quill knife for the rest of his existence. But when the jarl of the Pale asks him to investigate the destruction of the Hall of the Vigilants, it sets off a chain of events that ultimately leads him to wash up at the feet of Borgakh the Steel-Heart of Mor Khazgur. But what can a crippled conjuration mage-scholar half again her age possibly offer to a future Shield-Wife?

I introduced Khemor in last week's WIP Wednesday, here.

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

As the sun dipped towards the Druadach mountains, Borgakh led them through the maze of jagged boulders and juniper scrub that made up the Karthald highlands. If it was not for the wall of mountains staying generally to their left, or the leyline of magicka he could sense to the northeast, Khemor would have suspected she was leading them in circles as they wound their way over the harsh terrain.

In several places he was certain the path would disappear only to have Borgakh make a sharp turn and what had seemed to be an impenetrable scrub thicket or wall of rock would be revealed to be passable, or broken in just right way to allow a horse and rider through while fooling the eyes of anyone not looking at it from the correct angle.

Calder was chatting happily as he led Bear on a loose rein, occasionally gesturing with the thrown horseshoe in his hand. The young Nord’s ability to make conversation with anyone under any circumstances had often served Khemor better than his housecarl’s sword arm, and he was grateful for it. It gave him more time to look at Borgakh.

Despite the chill in the air and her damp clothes, she showed no outward sign of discomfort, and navigated the uneven ground and broken rocks at a rapid pace. Now that he was behind her, he could see a buckler and sword strapped beneath her pack, not obvious to the casual observer but still easy to access. A quiver of arrows and a vicious looking knife at her hip seemed to be the weapons she preferred to have closest to hand.

How does anyone live out here? Strongholds had been doing it since the Merethic Era, but so far Khemor had seen nothing even resembling land that would be productive enough to support a settlement. Surely they don’t eat only deer and juniper berries?

"...really, you haven’t heard of the Dragonborn?"

Calder’s question caught Khemor’s wandering attention. Even if he was not recognized by sight it had been a very long time since he had met anyone who did not know of him. They really were on the edge of the map out here, weren’t they?

"I think Pavo, the owner of Kolskeggr, said something about it. Once."

"Well, surely you noticed the dragons returning, even out here! I’ve seen the empty mounds, they must be around."

Borgakh waved her hand dismissively in response. "Oh, yes, the dragons. There’s one that was at the ruins downriver."

"There’s a lair nearby?" Calder looked over his shoulder at Khemor, flashing him a toothy grin.

Next to him, Gregor heaved a weary sigh and said, "We aren’t out here to look for dragons, boy. If Jarl Thongvor wanted it gone he would have asked."

"Ha! I doubt the Silver-Bloods even know what’s all out here in this divinesforsaken backwater." Calder quickly looked over at Borgakh. "No offense."

She grunted in acknowledgement but said nothing. The path was pitching up in a gentle slope, the crest of the hillock just ahead of them. Khemor hoped the stronghold was close - it had been a very long day, and his hip and leg were throbbing. He was going to have to have Gregor assist him off of Blue if he didn’t want to make the poor mare kneel to let him dismount.

"Anyways, I hope they haven’t given you too much trouble, at least lately. My Thane-" Calder waved vaguely back towards Khemor, "-defeated Alduin two summers ago. That was the dragon that was bringing back all the other ones."

Borgakh nodded but said nothing, so Calder continued, huffing slightly between his words as he climbed.

"We’ve been killing the others as they become problems, but most seem to be retreating to the mountains."

"Yes, I’ve seen them flying west sometimes. We’ve lost a few goats." Borgakh’s voice held no trace of effort as she stepped lightly from foothold to foothold.

"Well, if needed I’m sure we’ll be able to deal with any that show up while we’re here," said Calder, in his most gallant tone. "Quite frankly, I’m surprised they haven’t targeted your settlement, they can’t seem to resist every other little hamlet and farm in the rest of Skyrim."

"Oh, I didn’t say they hadn’t attacked." Despite only being able to see a sliver of Borgakh’s face from this angle, Khemor could tell she had a smile playing on her lips.

"I said they didn’t give Mor Khazgur any trouble." Borgakh reached the top of the rise, and stood aside, gesturing to the valley below with a grand sweep of her arm.

The expected mountain-orc stronghold, with its usual curving timbers, sturdy walls, and longhouse would have been the dominant feature of the glen if it were not for the massive dragon skeleton that was splayed out on the valley floor.

"By Talos," Gregor murmured as he pulled his horse up next to Khemor.

Borgakh grinned at Calder’s dumbstruck expression, obviously pleased with herself.

It was a good piece of dramatic timing, Khemor had to admit. And the look on Calder’s face was rather amusing.

The skeleton was undeniably real even from this distance --a small industry making facsimiles had sprung up across Skyrim to take advantage of the standing bounties, and Khemor had seen many fakes just as large as this one-- but the genuine article was unmistakable.

At the far end of the basin, several broken treetops, their exposed inner wood no longer stark white, and a deep groove in the earth, now filled with new spring grass, showed where the dragon’s final stoop must have ended. As he looked more closely, Khemor could see a section of the logs on the stronghold wall had been scorched shiny black, and a few had been replaced, their brown bark standing in contrast to the char on the others.

"It must have been quite a battle," he said, breaking his silence.

"Yes," agreed Borgakh, turning her head to look up at him. Her teeth flashed white in the oncoming evening gloom. "It thought we made an easy target. Now our animals graze around its bones."

"We will be certain to keep that in mind," said Gregor.

"See that you do."