#which are to stop cersei

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

#this isn't abt me nitpicking grrm for nerd bonafides so much as showing why overanalyzing every detail and saying your theory has legs bc #grrm is such a great writer that no sentence is there for no reason must mean something can't all just be a mistake etc does not work for me #not only is he a human man whose editor can't catch every little thing but some words/sentences rlly are just more imprnt than others #there are things called background detail and atmosphere so not every word/sentence is created equal #this one just sticks out to me bc eye color is less subjective than jeyne's hips #but unlike renly's green-blue eyes bold blue eyes and warm brown eyes arent close to the same color #so never forget that qyburn has two completely distinct eye colors w each lion twin bc grrm can't rmbr everything

wowzers, the lannister twins are actually so dissimilar with such differing views of the world by showing how they literally see colors differently when meeting qyburn and looking into his eyes. or else this is a hint of the extent of qyburn's unnatural powers, that he can just change the color of his eyes whenever he feels like it. in other words ...

and in this case the wizard was qyburn doing stuff to his own eyes!

[uluthrek]

au in which robert, the starks and the lannisters play monopoly instead of going hunting and pushing each other‘s kids from towers.

tyrion implements a tax system to make things more interesting and fights cersei over the cat for a solid ten minutes.

around thirty minutes into the game, catelyn realizes that she has free will and stops paying taxes.

arya and sansa haggle over new york avenue, which ends up being bought by theon. this causes the two to completely cast aside their differences, ally and subsequently start doing everything in their power to make theon‘s life hell.

theon himself is quite severely stoned the entire time throughout.

ned enters horrendous debt pretty much immediately and, after two hours of being financially sucked dry by both cersei and his tax evader of a wife, decides to just place his figurine in jail and never leave.

jon, playing the dog, controls the railroads and makes jaime, playing the ship, go completely broke within minutes. being beaten by a bastard and officially the first to lose the game makes jaime so mad he spends the rest of the evening perched on the family‘s ancestral armchair eating flaming hot cheetos and stifling sobs.

cersei is holding onto her last two dollars and her one house in atlantic avenue like a maniac and evades taxes like it‘s an olympic sport. she claims ownership of kentucky avenue on the grounds that red is her house‘s color at least twice. after three hours, she‘s consumed enough vintage red to kill a large mammal and keeps quoting the art of war. fascinatingly enough, she never goes completely broke.

robert, just as broke and drunk as his wife but not nearly as ferocious, proposes marriage for tax advantages to bran, who is in possession of the boardwalk and lets him dangle on his proposition for two rounds before accepting and feeling like a benevolent god.

sansa sees this and immediately proposes to arya, who accepts, only for them to be sued by their mother for public indecency („you‘re siblings, jesus christ!“). arya argues that this is just a game and that one could argue that robert‘s and bran‘s marital alliance is just as if not even more inappropriate, considering that bran is seven and robert thirtyseven. sansa countersues her mother for tax evasion, who promises she‘ll drop her lawsuit if her daughters let her keep hoarding perverse amounts of wealth. „love wins!“ arya says, which causes jaime, still perched on the armchair but now eating old nan‘s home made whiskey truffles, to hysterically sob. cersei stares him down.

robb, in a rare moment of almost prophetic foresight, excuses himself one hour in and goes on a very, VERY long walk with grey wind.

tyrion, whose tax system has spectacularly backfired in his face, proposes marriage to catelyn, jon and cersei in rapid succession, who all turn him down. „i wish i was the monster you think i am. i wish i had enough poison for the whole pack of you. i would gladly give my life to watch you all swallow it.“ he screams before he leaves the table.

at that, joffrey, who has refused to participate and instead sits on the couch playing doom on his nintendo ds, starts hysterically laughing. tyrion turns on his heel and awards his nephew with the bitchslap of the century. this causes cersei to completely abandon the game and chase after him with a broom. catelyn makes sure that everyone is distracted by the lannister antics and then reaches across the table and bags cersei‘s money and properties.

with a heavy heart, myrcella trades arya and sansa one of her limited edition bayala schleich unicorns for park place.

at this point, the game is between the tycoons that are catelyn and jon, the bran-robert alliance, the arya-sansa-alliance, and ned, who is still in jail and watching ice hockey on his phone under the table. that is when catelyn hears rickon gagging and discovers that he, in the absence of tyrion, the self declared bank manager, has managed to eat all bank notes from the box.

rickon gets his stomach pumped, cersei and tyrion have both been arrested, theon is still stoned, arya, sansa and myrcella have wandered off to go play schleich horses, and jon remains at the table, alone, content, and quietly considering himself the winner.

[chickren]

One of the most underrated aspects of Jaime and Brienne’s story is how easily they become a team.

Early in their joint story, they stumble in and out of dangerous situations. While Cleos struggles to assess and understand and navigate each threat, Jaime and Brienne are in lockstep, already ten paces ahead in handling the problem. And with scant need to discuss anything between them.

They seamlessly allow each other to take the lead when the situation warrants, despite spending the rest of the time at each other’s throats.

Jaime notices how determined Brienne is when Robin Ryger is on their tale. When she dives off their boat without breathing a word of her plan, Jaime just gets it, responds, and tries to support the effort.

Similarly, at the inn, Brienne lets Jaime take the verbal lead. He’s better at talking, and she knows it.

All the while, Cleos just emphatically does not get it and is not synced with either of them, even though he’s an actual member of Jaime’s family. This obviously culminates when Cleos dies while Jaime and Brienne mount a counterattack and survive, with Brienne following Jaime’s commands.

Poor Cleos does a lot of work in his scarce three chapters with these two. He shows us how Jaime actually thinks about, and treats, someone he doesn’t respect. But Cleos’s most under appreciated work is showing how immediately Jaime and Brienne fall into unwanted communion.

More than just strategy, though, this immediate sync of theirs drives much of their emotional story.

Jaime experiences true understanding and, for lack of a better word, a bond with another person for the first time, which immediately challenges his perceptions of his relationship with Cersei.

And Brienne, whose default mode is mistrust, finds herself believing in Jaime’s sincerity to the point she considers throwing herself in his arms for comfort. Even in brief moments of uncertainty, she acknowledges she knows him too well to doubt him. It’s obvious she walks out of White Sword Tower determined to stop looking for the monster inside him that she knows doesn’t exist.

With this premise of their battle-ready dynamic, the future GRRM intended for them feels almost tangible. He meant to unleash them together.

[first-edition]

idk if this it's a good request but I've always loved Sandor/handmaid readers fics!

It could be that reader has a crush on him, so she leaves him little gifts or do favors for him in secret, like a secret admirer type of thing<3 or you can write the other way around too! The hound having a crush on reader, it all depends on you

Love your writing btw😭 so excited for Fox and the Hound next chapters💗

OF course that is sooo cute! Im so happy you like the book so far there will a ton more of exciting and sad events to happen!!

Cw- reader has hair that can be moved out of the way, fluff, Cersei is abusive when drunk, Sandor being adorable. Sandor x hand maid reader.

Little Gift

The first time you laid eyes on the big brute of a man you fell in love. All the other handmaids were terrified of him, they hid when he walked down the halls, talked about how scary he was, and purposefully avoided him when doing daily duties, oftentimes leaving them up to you for more work. But you never minded, seeing sandor was the highlight of your day and little did you know it was his as well. 

You grew up in the palace, not as the grand princess type but as a maiden to said princesses, your mother was handmaiden to queen cersi and she taught you her ways to excel at it. Which you did. You learned how to clean a certain way on certain fabrics, you learned to cook and most importantly obey. All that time you spend learning about and admiring one person in particular. Ser Sandor Clegane. The king's guard dog, the hound, no matter what frugal name they called him he would always be sandor to you. 

Because all the other women were terrified their jobs for him were left to you. Sorting out his linens mostly as you weren't allowed in the light quarters but you made due. When you went to collect or bring them back you began leaving extras. Coin, treats from the kitchen, sometimes flowers. You've seen him throw them away sometimes but at least he noticed them. You knew that there could never be any chance with the rugged man due to his past and forceful nature but a girl can dream after all. 

You follow in the courtyard over seeing the princess Marcella talking with a sutor. You walk a hefty pace behind however not far enough to lose sight or mishear if false intentions on his part became at hand and you needed to step in. They stop their walk so you do as well making sure to give a settled amount of privacy, a group of knights in training most likely by the uniform pass you by one of them subjecting them to speak with you. 

“Excuse me ser.” you reply as you try to form a way around the larger man to continue to chaperone the princess and her caller. 

“Come on love, take the day off the little princess will be fine eh. Come and drink with us. Training is almost over.” he chuckles. Two of his friends then join into the new found joke. One of them takes a hold of the necklace you wear. 

“This is a fine thing for a maid to be wearing isn't it? Little Jewels and all. You steal it?” he huffs. 

“N-no it was my mothers! Now excuse me.” you say harshly before trying to break away. The men begin to banter, grabbing at you. 

“OI!” you hear a deep grumbly voice the men let go of you dispersing back as sandor comes into view. 

“Didnt you fucking hear her. Fuck off or i’ll use your guts as a jump rope.” he barks out at them. They hurriedly run off with the others disappearing around the corner. You look up at him about to say thank you but he simply leans down, taking a knee before standing back up, your necklace in his hand, broken from all the tussle. 

“No…” you say your heart clenching, you take it in your hands seeing the snapped chain and now misaligned holder for the jewel. 

“Y/n!” you hear marcella call to you as she takes your arm in her hand, a worried look on her face you look at her showing her your necklace. 

“Are you alright?” she asks from the commotion happening a bit ago. You nod yet still sad about the jewelry. She nods in thanks to sandor before you both head off now done for the day with her line up of men. You want to turn back and say thank you to the larger knight but before you can even open your mouth he’s farther off walking away. 

Your work continues as normal, cleaning, taking care of marcella and leaving small things for sandor. You walk to the side of the knight's quarters catching a glimpse of something that makes you double take a small vase that holds the flower you placed for him. A smile forms on your lips before you turn to walk off only to be met with the front of the very man you were smitten about. 

“My apologies, my lord, I didn't see you there.” you say gasping. He hums before walking around you but before he disappears you speak. 

“I wanted to thank you!” you exclaim. He stops his back to you briefly before turning around. 

“For?” he asks confused as to why. 

“For protecting me from the other knights, you were very brave.” you speak. He chuckles in a way that slightly puts you down. 

“Brave? A dog doesn't need courage to chase off rats. Those measly cunts aren't even knights let alone are ever gonna be.” he speaks. 

“You shouldn't do that, call yourself a dog.” you say softly looking up to him as he walks closer to you. 

“You're not a dog, you're a man.” you say. He huffs. 

“I don't scare you, do i?” he asks, kind of annoyed. You shake your head no before answering. 

“Why would you?” you ask to look up to him. 

“Hmm.” he grumbles before looking to his waist where he keeps his sword belt and others. He flips open the small saddle bag reaching into it and pulling out a necklace, your necklace, but it's fixed. 

A small happy gasp leaves your lips and a smile is placed on your face as you see the piece of jewelry. 

“Turn ‘round.” he says, seeing your arms are full with cloth. You do so at his command you feel his hand pulling your hair away before the cool metal is placed against your skin sliding up ever so to clip the back together. You smile looking down at it before turning back to him. 

“Thank you!” you happily exclaim. You're not going to question how he got it from your room or who fixed it but he did it for you. He just looks at you, his eyes scanning your features before he turns around and walks off again. 

The next few days there's been a gift at your side. Decorated clothes, little bits of jewelry, and the biggest gesture a dress which you wear to marcellas send off. You were supposed to go with her, wanting to make sure she’d be safe marrying the prince of dorne but Tyrion wouldn't let you. Stuck in the castle you remained to do things for the queen. Oftentimes she confided in you or when she was drunk hit you. You began to walk around the hall quieter, smaller, bruised even, but worst of all your gifts to sandor had ceased and he hated it. 

Cersi had cast you out after the worst treatment, even throwing scrolls and glasses at you before hitting you and throwing you out into the open battlefield during black water while she continued to drink herself silly. 

Before you knew what to do to hide you were hit by the blunt end of a sword and knocked unconscious. Found on the ground a few seconds later you were picked up onto a horse riding off. 

You came too in bed, your headache slightly as you sat up. You looked down at yourself no longer in the dress you were wearing but wrapped in a black fur, your small clothes not doing you justice to keep you modest as you moved the blanket to the side holding the fur closer to you. 

As soon as you stood your legs gave out sending you to the ground accidentally knocking over the side table you use to try and catch yourself for support. The large oak door of the room opens revealing sandor who rushes to you helping you up making sure you're not hurt any further. 

“S-sandor?” you ask as he picks you up easily and places you back onto the bed. 

“Stay.” he says before kneeling back down picking up the dropped table. You look around seeing everything about the room, the fireplace farther from the bed where it's supposed to be unlit, leaving the candles of the room to give dim light. 

“What happened where am I?” you ask. 

“Are you cold?” he asks, not answering the question. 

“No..” You say. 

“You're shaking.” he replies back before pulling the blanket back up over you. 

“Stay here.” he says before getting back up and walking out of the room. Ofcourse you dont listen and get up nonetheless this time your legs become stronger as you walk out of the room following where he was to go. As you walk through you admire the house looking around seeing a yellow and black banner with dogs on. 

You watch as Sandor walks back into the house, the door closing behind him. 

“Sandor.” you say he puts down the large animal he carries on his shoulder. 

“Where am i?” you ask. 

“Home. My home is just beside white harbor. You've been out for two days.” he says you look around once more looking at the fireplace in the main room once again not lit. 

“Aren't you cold? The fires are not lit.” you ask, seeing the sheen of frost beginning to appear on the windows. 

“I'm not going to light it, I'm fine.” he huffs. You walk over to it, grabbing the logs from the side, placing them in and beginning to strike it, creating the fire that lights the home and gives you warmth. 

He watches you the entire time fearing for both your safety and his own. “What happened?” you ask looking back at him as you sit on the furs by the fire. 

“I don't know. I saw a man with you in his arms. You were unconscious. I killed him. Took you, I assumed you didn't know him. Saw too many women being raped didnt want you too be one of them.” he says 

“Right…cersi she pushed me out i don't remember much after that.” you speak. 

“Fuck cersi, fuck jeoffry.” he huffs pickign up the animal and walking out of the room only to come back a bit later. You stand up and walk to him.

“You're welcome to stay as long as you want, it's just me and winter is coming.” he says as you nod. 

“Your dress is at the end of the bed.” he says pointing down the way. You nod but before walking over to the room you take his arm in yours pulling him down a bit and kiss his cheek. He won't admit it but the blush condoning his face was hotter than the fire. 

For the next few weeks he came more comfortable with your presence even leading to things being said and feelings being shared including a night together which neither of you are led to forget any time soon or later. He continued to give you little gifts one of which being a dog to keep you company while he was gone hunting or just out. And you of course gave him the best little gift of all after the next months, his own son. But you are by far the best gift he's received

[watcherintheweyr]

'Rhaenyra is a bad mom bc she knowingly gave birth to bastards and she knew how much danger they'd be in!!!!'

1. She had no way of knowing those babies wouldn't pop out looking exactly like her, beforehand. And unfortunately she couldn't stop at Jace. The throne needed an heir. Driftmark needed an heir. And a spare was needed as well, given the sheer rate of Targaryen children dying untimely deaths.

2. She had to provide heirs to the throne, and to Driftmark. If she hadn't, society wouldn't have blamed Laenor, they would have blamed her- which makes her position even more unstable, bc then she 'can't fulfill a woman's duty' so why would men think her 'able' to fill a 'man's role' by ruling the kingdom? And she and Laenor tried. He was either unable (meaning infertile or impotent, or unable to get it up), or unwilling. (And they did try. We dont know what they tried but Rhaenyra is shown to be clever in the show so honestly i have no doubt she attempted what Margaery suggested with Renly.) Laenor was in on the entire thing. He was aware of every part of this. He wasn't duped, he wasn't cuckholded- it was a plan greenlit by him, bc this way he and Rhaenyra would both have their heirs and a family. This cannot in any way shape or form be compared to Cersei cuckholding Robert (fuck Robert Baratheon tho), seeing as Robert was **not** at all aware that his children weren't his, and wouldn't have been OK with that.

Either way- she chose not to maritally r*pe her husband and put him through more trauma after it was clear their attempts weren't working. Yall are always so upset for Alicent (rightfully so, bc show!alicent was maritally raped, even if it wasn't considered as such in that time), but you... WANT Rhaenyra to do that to Laenor? Hello???

[And no. Rhaenyra did NOT rape or coerce Criston Cole. The actors, writers, and directors have all stated their sex was consensual and 'an act of love.' It was Rhaenyra going to someone she felt close to and trusted after feeling abandoned and unwanted and betrayed. In that scene you literally watch, as after Cole tells Rhaenyra to stop undressing herself, she moves aside so she isn't blocking his way to the door. The director states that the moment they show Cole folding and setting down his cloak was him choosing his desire over his oaths. And Criston Cole has known Rhaenyra since she was 14. He knew damn well the sort of person she was- and she was not the person who would have harmed him for saying no. She was an intoxicated and emotionally vulnerable 19 year old- Criston was in his late 20s to early 30s. And it's explicitly stated in ep.9 that the ONLY person a Kingsguard cannot refuse is the king. In ep.7 Criston disobeys a direct order from Alicent when she wants him to mutilate Lucerys. Criston Cole was not assaulted. Stop trying to assign Aegon's sins to Rhaenyra so that you can feel better for supporting him.]

3. In the books, the rumors of their bastardry at large halted when all of Rhaenyra's boys' cradle eggs hatched. The ONLY people who continued to try and raise issue were the core green faction. But the realm at large *did not give a fuck* why? Because every actually relevant party claimed those boys. Repeatedly and without flinching. Laenor claimed and loved those boys even face to face with Alicent's bullshit. Corlys claimed and love those boys- he was proud of them, and it's been stated by the actor in the show that Luke was his favorite- that given the... events of ep.10, Corlys will be out for blood. And Viserys repeatedly insisted upon their legitimacy- because Laenor and Corlys claimed them, because he knew that by forcing Rhaenyra to marry Laenor in order to repair the damage his insults caused House Velaryon, that he had backed her into a corner.

Rhaenyras boys are remembered to history as Velaryon. Even **Green supporters** noted that they were good, capable, intelligent, and **worthy** princes. That their deaths were unfortunate *for the realm.*

Legally, those boys are legitimate. They cannot be proven illegitimate without Laenor renouncing them, and he never did. Furthermore, trying to declare children illegitimate due to their appearance is a stupid, dangerous precedent. The fact that it's people who have no ties to House Velaryon pushing these rumors and pushing for disinheritance makes it even worse, because they're meddling in the succession of a House that *is not theirs.* if that became a standard, imagine the feuds and conflicts that would erupt- lords pushing for the children of rivals to be declared illegitimate all for the sake of trying to grasp and steal land, power, and influence as a norm? The realm would tear itself apart. Not to mention the sheer danger that would place women in, in Westeros.

Furthermore, even whilst usurping her, even while calling her children bastards, the Greens also imply Laenor's homosexuality was inherited by the Velaryon princes- that they would use Rhaenyra's 'promiscuity' and Laenor's 'predilections' to turn the Red Keep into a brothel- ironic, considering that's more what Aegon would've done. So even while claiming that Rhaenyras children are bastards that shouldn't inherit, they try to state that what the boys inherit or learn from Laenor makes them unfit for the throne. They can't keep their own damn story straight- because their usurpation was never about what is moral, what is right, or the greater good. It was about greed. Power. Sexism.

It doesn't matter what those boys looked like, especially seeing as Rhaenys had dark hair in the books. What matters is that Corlys and Laenor and Viserys claimed them and declared them legitimate, and that they **never** deviated from that.

As for Vaemond, he was a second son. And he waited until Corlys and Viserys were dying and too ill to stop him to make a grasp for power. Youre not supposed to look at that and feel hes in the right. Youre supposed to look at that and see a man consumed by greed, and literally trying to bury Corlys' will and intentions before the man is even in a grave. He was NEVER Corlys' heir- he just wanted power. It wasn't about his House, or their legacy, it was about him.

(And before yall start shit about Rhaenyras boys stealing Laena's girls' inheritance... Rhaena and Baela are *TARGARYEN*. Not Velaryon. Their claim was to the throne or to any holdings in Daemon's name. NOT to Driftmark.)

Rhaenyras boys being betrothed to Rhaena and Baela tied up any issue of 'Velaryon blood.' Baela would have been queen consort of the seven kingdoms at Jace's side, and they very clearly adored one another in book and show. Rhaena would have been Lady of the Tides- which she never would have had a chance for, without Rhaenyra (and Laena) making those betrothals. She and Luke were also canonically very close- and in show she's very encouraging of him whenever he looks nervous or uncertain. They had a bond.

Rhaenyra stole nothing. She gave those girls more. And she loved them- they were the only daughters she got to have, seeing as the Greens treachery caused the early death of baby Visenya. If she hadn't loved them, she wouldn't have trusted Rhaena to look after Joffrey or give her Morning's egg from Syrax. She wouldn't have immediately invited both girls to the table when she was queen, which is something her father did not do for her until much, much later. He allowed Rhaenyra's voice to be silenced too often when she was first made heir. Rhaenyra did not repeat that hurt to her girls or her boys.

Anyways, moving on.

You lot do also remember that Rhaenyra herself has Velaryon blood, right? Jaehaerys I's mother was Alyssa Velaryon. Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya the Conquerors' mother was Valaena Velaryon. It's not immediate, but there *is* Velaryon blood through *all* of Rhaenyras boys.

Ultimately, Rhaenyras boys were only in danger because of the core Green faction usurping the throne. If they hadnt- no succession crisis or rebellion could have truly threatened Rhaenyras boys- because none of them would have had dragons. All of Rhaenyras children loved one another- her sons by Daemon would not have turned on her sons with Laenor (and Harwin). They were a true, loving family- possibly one of the healthiest and most close knit one House Targaryen ever boasted.

And another thing... 'her having babies with Harwin was stupid, she should have picked someone Valyrian!'

Here's the thing. Rhaenyra had to be careful as hell choosing who would father her and Laenor's heirs. She had to choose someone who was physically close, and who could be trusted. Someone who wouldn't try to publicly claim those boys in boast or jealousy. Someone who would keep their mouth shut and had no ambition of their own in regards to the throne. Do you really think Vaemond Velaryon (as I see him suggested a lot) would've kept his mouth shut? That he wouldn't have tried to use this to blackmail Rhaenyra and Laenor for more power and status? Do you think Rhaenys would have ever fought for or supported Rhaenyra if Rhaenyra had tried to have Corlys sire her children? And flying to see Daemon in Pentos and having a purely Valyrian child 9 months later would have made things look even more suspect.

Furthermore... she chose someone who cared for her deeply. Who clearly had a positive relationship with Laenor. She chose someone so she wouldn't have to traumatize herself- she took power over her body in a way almost no Westerosi woman has ever been able to. They were a family unit- Rhaenyra, Laenor, and Harwin. Those children were loved and cherished by two fathers and their mother. They were raised never doubting their mothers love, nor their father's- either father. They were raised and educated to be true, good princes of the realm.

Rhaenyra fought like hell for her children. She was an incredible mother. Yall just believe everything the Green faction says without looking at it critically, and that's unfortunate as hell.

[novaursa]

The Golden Oath (dangerous things)

- Summary: The lion falls in love with the daughter of the Mad King, which starts a domino effect that eventually collapses the realm onto itself.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: whispers from the keep

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @thegirlwiththemostcake3 @joyfulyouthlover @viyannaiya @mortallyblueninja @nestvrn @wuluhwuhmaster @loafersrs @annoyinginfp-t @simpsonsam @barnes70stark @angel6776 @mrsnms @butterfl1ies @lordofthunderthr @idenyimimdenial @jsprien213

The day was beginning to fade, the soft light slanting low through the towering windows of the Red Keep’s east wing. A hush settled over the corridors at this hour, when courtiers retreated to their chambers to dress for supper, and the halls were empty but for the sound of polished boots on stone and the low murmur of voices carried from distant chambers.

Tywin Lannister walked with deliberate precision, his crimson cloak trailing behind him like a banner of blood and authority. On either side of him strode his children—Cersei elegant and tightly coiled, her chin lifted with practiced poise, while Jaime walked with a less measured grace, hands clasped behind his back, gaze flitting from column to tapestry with feigned disinterest. But there was something in his gait that betrayed restlessness, a heaviness beneath the lion’s ease.

They passed beneath a row of high-arched windows as Tywin finally spoke, his voice low but commanding, as if carved from stone.

“We depart within the week.”

Cersei’s head snapped toward him, her steps faltering. “What?”

“There is work to be done in the West,” Tywin continued, eyes forward, tone unyielding. “The Rock requires my attention, and yours as well. This… visit has served its purpose. Lingering further is a waste of time.”

Cersei’s eyes narrowed. “But the king—”

“Will do as he pleases,” Tywin cut in coldly. “And no amount of fluttering lashes or courtly smiles will change his madness. You’ve made your case to Rhaegar, and he has not moved. It’s done.”

“But if we leave now—” Cersei’s voice took on that shrill edge she used only with her father, when desperation clashed with pride, “—then we give up what we’ve gained. There’s still room to maneuver. Let me speak with him again—”

“No.” Tywin turned to her at last, his golden brows drawn tight. “You’ve made enough of a spectacle.”

Cersei bristled, her jaw tightening, but she fell silent, eyes flashing.

Jaime, however, had stopped walking entirely.

Tywin, noticing the lack of footsteps beside him, turned with a flicker of annoyance. “What is it now?”

Jaime stood a few paces behind, arms still crossed, his face unreadable but no longer indifferent.

“I’m not leaving,” he said quietly.

The silence that followed was instant and heavy. Even Cersei turned to stare at him, incredulous.

Tywin narrowed his eyes. “You will not what?”

“I’m not leaving King’s Landing.” Jaime’s voice didn’t rise, but there was a steadiness to it that hadn't been there before. “Not yet.”

Tywin stepped forward, each word laced with cold steel. “You are a son of House Lannister. You will return to Casterly Rock with your family and fulfill your duties.”

“I’ve spent my life fulfilling duties I didn’t choose,” Jaime replied, his gaze steady. “This—” he gestured vaguely to the keep, the city beyond, something unseen but deeply felt, “—is the first thing that feels like mine.”

Cersei’s mouth parted slightly, her surprise flickering into suspicion.

Tywin stared at his son, and for a moment, the mask of impassivity cracked, just faintly. He had expected petulance, perhaps. Defiance born of pride. But this—this quiet conviction unsettled him.

“This is about her,” Tywin said, and it was not a question.

Jaime didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

Tywin exhaled slowly through his nose. “You think this girl will save you? From what, boy? From me? From the truth of your blood?” His voice dropped lower. “She is the king’s. She was born his. You are chasing a shadow.”

“Then I’ll follow it,” Jaime said simply, “until it leads somewhere real.”

Tywin’s mouth twisted into something between disgust and pity. “And when it turns to ash in your hands?”

Jaime stepped forward now, until he stood eye to eye with the lion of the West. “Then at least I’ll know I tried. That I didn’t let you make every choice for me.”

The two stood locked in silent battle, the weight of years between them pressing like stone.

Cersei, for once, said nothing.

And when Tywin finally turned, cloak swirling behind him, he did not speak another word.

But his silence said enough.

Jaime would not be returning to the Rock.

Not yet.

The late afternoon sun cast rays over the battlements of the Red Keep, turning the pale stone beneath your feet a soft rose-gold as you walked slowly along the upper walls. The city stretched below in all its restless splendor—rooftops stacked like scales across the hillside, banners fluttering in the sea breeze, chimneys exhaling faint ribbons of smoke into the blue. Ships bobbed in the bay like toys, sails taut with wind, and far beyond, the green line of the Kingswood shimmered at the horizon.

You breathed in the salt-and-sky air deeply, the wind catching your hair and tugging at the soft silk of your gown. It was quieter up here than anywhere else in the castle, the world below reduced to distant murmurs. You liked that. The battlements gave you space. Clarity. The illusion, at least, of distance from the watchful eyes of court.

Ser Gerold Hightower walked at your side, his armor gleaming despite the hour, white cloak stirring with every gust. He did not speak often, and he was not one for ceremony in private. He’d been one of the few constants in your life at court—solid, quiet, dependable. There were guards and then there were Kingsguard, and the White Bull was the latter in every sense. His silence never made you uneasy.

“How long has it been since you rode patrol beyond the city?” you asked after a time, your voice light but curious.

“Three moons,” Ser Gerold replied, his tone even. “South along the Roseroad. The gold cloaks requested presence after rumors of sellswords passing too freely near the grain stores.”

You glanced at him. “Did you find anything?”

He shook his head. “Only hungry men with broken swords. Nothing to fear.”

You nodded, letting the silence stretch again. Your slippers made soft sounds against the stone as you moved, the hem of your gown catching slightly on the uneven edges of the old wall. “I used to come here as a child,” you said after a moment. “Before Septa Marella insisted I stop climbing things like a street rat.”

“I remember,” Ser Gerold said, and you thought you caught a rare glimmer of amusement in his voice. “You frightened the maids near to death one morning. They found you halfway up the tower stairs with a book tucked under your arm and your hair unbraided.”

You laughed softly. “Father had banned me from the lower library. I wanted one of Rhaegar’s books on prophecy. I thought if I read it, he’d let me sit beside him when he played.”

Ser Gerold gave a slow nod. “You always wanted to be near your brother.”

“He was the only one who ever listened.” You stopped then, leaning against the cold stone of the wall. “Except you. And Barristan.”

Ser Gerold was silent for a moment. Then he said, “You have grown into someone people listen to now.”

You looked out over the city, your hair blown lightly across your face by the wind. “They don’t listen to me. They listen to what I represent. They see bloodlines. Marriage alliances. A future to be bought and sealed. But not the girl standing behind it all.”

Ser Gerold looked at you. “There are some who see you.”

Your gaze flicked to him. “Do you mean Rhaegar?”

He said nothing.

You lowered your eyes. “Or Jaime.”

Still, no answer.

You smiled faintly. “You’re too good a knight to give opinions.”

“I give loyalty,” Ser Gerold said, simply. “And protection, when it’s needed.”

You turned your head again, watching the light soften over the water. “And if I asked you honestly—what do you think of Jaime Lannister?”

The pause that followed was long. Then: “He is young. He is brash. But he is not cruel.”

You nodded slowly. “He makes me feel like I’m not a crown first. Like I’m… a person.”

“That matters,” Ser Gerold said quietly.

For a moment, you said nothing. You simply stood there, wind tugging at your gown, the city spread like a living map below. The sun was beginning its descent, gilding the roofs and catching on the armor of distant guards along the outer walls. In that quiet, you found something rare.

“Thank you,” you said.

Ser Gerold gave the smallest of nods. “You never need to thank me, princess.”

And you walked on, side by side, high above the weight of the world.

The hall of the Iron Throne lay draped in firelight, the late afternoon sun filtering through the great windows in fractured beams that caught on steel and polished marble, throwing dancing shadows across the blackened walls. The breath of the chamber was heavy—thick with incense and sweat, and the charged hush of too many watching eyes. At the far end of the hall, atop the towering mass of twisted, melted swords, King Aerys II Targaryen sat slouched in the Iron Throne, his narrow frame swallowed by its spiked enormity, his violet eyes fixed on something unseen in the air before him. Rhaegar stood just below him, tall and still, dressed in deep purple and silver. His face was a mask of princely calm, though the muscles in his shoulders were held too tightly, his fingers flexed once at his side, as though fighting the urge to draw his sword—not in violence, but out of sheer necessity to do something.

Aerys had not spoken in several minutes. He’d waved away the last two petitioners with a flick of his ring-laden fingers, muttering something incoherent under his breath. The court had begun to murmur in the silence, the lords and ladies shifting nervously in their appointed spaces along the walls, eyes darting not just to the throne, but to the man standing beneath it—the prince, the one who should be king, the one who still hadn’t spoken.

Rhaegar watched his father out of the corner of his eye. Aerys’s fingers twitched along the armrest, pale and thin, scratching faintly at the blackened iron. His gaze was distant now, yet alert—locked not on any of the gathered nobles, but on a patch of empty air to his left. A flicker of firelight shimmered there, but nothing else. Nothing real.

Still, Aerys stared, his lips twitching into something like a smile. “They whisper from the walls,” he muttered, barely audible. “Even now. I can hear them…”

Rhaegar said nothing. He had learned—long ago—that to interrupt his father during these moments only made the madness snap into something sharper, something directed. Instead, he stood silent, regal, and waited.

The hush grew deeper as the sound of approaching boots echoed down the length of the hall. All heads turned. The court shifted like a living thing, parting before a lion.

Tywin Lannister strode forward in full crimson and gold, his cloak trailing like blood behind him, his expression unreadable. Beside him walked Varys, soft-footed and ever watchful, his lavender robes whispering with each step. The eunuch’s face bore its usual mask of mild interest, but his eyes glimmered faintly, alive with something Rhaegar could not quite place. Amusement, perhaps. Or opportunity.

When Tywin reached the base of the throne, he dropped to one knee and bowed low. The silence in the hall seemed to lean toward him, expectant.

“Your Grace,” Tywin said clearly, “I have come to inform you that, as my duty requires, I shall return to Casterly Rock by week’s end. Affairs of governance in the West demand my presence.”

Aerys did not respond at first. His fingers still scratched faintly against the armrest, and his eyes—those strange, bright eyes—drifted down to the kneeling lion. “Running back to your den, Tywin?”

Tywin did not flinch. “Only to do what is needed, Your Grace. My place is where I am most useful.”

Aerys gave a dry, rattling chuckle. “So many find themselves useful far from my side.” His voice, thin and biting, echoed unpleasantly in the stone. “And yet I remain surrounded by vipers and fools.”

Rhaegar felt the weight in his chest grow heavier. He said nothing, though he knew Tywin’s jaw had tightened at the insult. The former Hand took it in silence.

“I leave one thing behind,” Tywin said calmly, rising to his feet. “My son. Jaime. He is young, but capable. It is time he continued his formal training under Ser Barristan. King’s Landing will make a proper knight of him.”

At that, Rhaegar’s posture shifted—barely—but Varys noticed. The eunuch’s eyes slid to the prince, gleaming with quiet satisfaction.

Aerys tilted his head slowly, as though the thought had to crawl through some tangled part of his mind. “The golden boy,” he murmured. “So eager to polish his blade for the realm.”

Tywin did not respond.

Aerys finally looked at his son. “What say you, Rhaegar? Shall your new shadow keep you company while I shape the future?”

Rhaegar’s voice was level, composed. “I welcome any man who wishes to serve the realm, Father. And Jaime is… diligent.”

Varys let out a faint, airy hum, as if hearing a chord struck too sweetly. “How fortunate, then,” he said softly, “that the prince’s shadow happens to be the son of a lion.”

Aerys cackled suddenly, sharp and abrupt. “Lions and dragons,” he said, waving a hand as if dismissing a joke only he understood. “Let them dance. Let them bite.”

The court laughed nervously. Rhaegar did not.

He only looked at his father—still seated among melted blades, still staring now at a shadow in the firelight, smiling at things no one else could see—and felt something tighten low in his chest.

The future was coming. And the edges of it were already burning.

The air had cooled by late afternoon, the heat of the day retreating into the thick stone walls of the Red Keep. The corridors lay hushed and dim, lit by slanting rays of light that streamed through high arched windows and caught the dust in the air like drifting gold. Rhaegar moved through the quiet like a shadow—his cloak of dark indigo and silver trailing behind him in soft silence, his boots making little sound against the worn flagstones. His expression, as always, was composed, regal. But there was something urgent beneath the surface—something too sharp in the lines of his jaw, too tight in the rhythm of his stride.

He had spent the better part of the day beneath the Iron Throne, listening to his father mutter to ghosts and shadows. The court had lingered like carrion birds in the hall, and Tywin’s calculated announcement still echoed in his ears: Jaime will stay.

It was a clever move. One that served both father and son. Rhaegar knew it, even respected it. But knowing did not dull the cold irritation twisting through his ribs.

He climbed the inner stairs toward the library wing. You often spent your afternoons there, when not walking in the gardens or speaking with your ladies in the cloisters. You had not joined the court that day, and he found himself craving your presence like water. Only you could quiet the storm that brewed behind his temples.

But as he turned the corner toward the wide hallway that led to the library’s eastern entrance, he stopped short.

Jaime Lannister stood there, half leaning against the open doorframe, one hand resting idly on the pommel of his sword. He was dressed in simple training leathers, his golden cloak tucked behind him, and the sunlight filtering through the window behind him turned his hair to molten gold. His eyes were fixed inside the room beyond the arch, where the muffled sound of your voice—soft, distant, melodic—floated out like a thread of music.

Rhaegar’s gaze narrowed.

“Ser Jaime,” he said, his tone polite but cool.

Jaime turned his head slowly, eyes unreadable. “Your Grace.”

They stood like that for a long moment, just within the border of civility. The distant rustling of pages and your quiet laughter with one of your ladies-in-waiting spilled faintly into the space between them.

“You seem to have taken an interest in the library,” Rhaegar said at last.

Jaime gave a faint smile. “There are more interesting things here than books.”

Rhaegar’s jaw stiffened. “Is that so?”

“She has good taste,” Jaime said. “In history. Poetry. And in conversation.” He paused, tilting his head. “She listens. I never knew what that felt like before.”

There was no mockery in his voice, no arrogance. That made it worse.

Rhaegar took a slow step forward, his tone still measured. “You forget yourself.”

“No, Your Grace,” Jaime said, pushing off the doorway. “I think I’m finally remembering who I am.”

The silence that followed was taut as a drawn bowstring.

“You’re still a guest of this court,” Rhaegar said, voice low. “And my sister is not a game.”

Jaime’s green eyes met his fully now. “No. She’s not.”

Rhaegar’s hands remained at his sides, but his fingers curled slightly, as if they longed for harp strings—or a blade. “I will not see her dragged into politics she never asked for. And I will not see her heart wounded for your family’s ambitions.”

Jaime didn’t flinch. “Then perhaps stop thinking of her as something that must be kept.”

The words landed hard between them.

And in the silence that followed, your voice called from inside the room.

“Rhaegar?”

Both men turned slightly—Rhaegar toward the sound, Jaime toward the floor, his jaw tightening.

Rhaegar looked at him one last time. “We are not equals, Lannister.”

“No,” Jaime said softly. “We aren’t.”

With that, Rhaegar stepped past him into the library, his cloak whispering against the stone, leaving Jaime behind in the growing shadow of the corridor.

And the taste of steel lingered in the air.

The light inside the library was softer than in the corridors, diffused through tall stained glass windows that cast pale colors across the polished stone floors and the neat rows of towering bookshelves. The scent of parchment, beeswax, and lavender lingered in the air, a quiet balm to the senses. You sat near the window on a cushioned bench, your legs tucked beneath you, a book balanced open in your lap. One of your ladies had just withdrawn, murmuring something about a missing embroidery hoop, leaving you in the hush of written words and brilliant sunlight.

You looked up as the door opened and closed behind you, the familiar weight of presence unmistakable even before you turned. Rhaegar.

He moved into the room with his usual quiet grace, his expression unreadable—calm, composed, and yet beneath the surface, there was something colder. His hands were clasped behind his back, his shoulders a little too stiff, the set of his mouth too still. You closed your book slowly and straightened as he approached, your eyes meeting his.

“You’re tense,” you said softly. “Did something happen?”

Rhaegar came to stand near the window, looking out over the rooftops of the Red Keep, though his reflection in the glass showed you he wasn’t focused on anything. “The court stirs like a nest of adders,” he said quietly. “Too many eyes. Too many ambitions. Our father feeds them like firewood and watches them burn.”

You studied him, sensing the friction beneath his voice. “What did he say now?”

Rhaegar was quiet for a moment. Then he turned to you, his indigo eyes unreadable. “He means to host a gathering. A celebration. In the throne room, within the week.”

Your brow arched. “A celebration of what?”

He hesitated. It was so brief you might have missed it, had you not known him so well. “He says it is time the court is reminded of Targaryen strength. Of unity. And he wants you at his side during it.”

You blinked. “I’m always at his side when summoned.”

“This is not a simple courtly summons,” Rhaegar said, and his voice grew quieter, taut. “He intends it to be… significant.”

You tilted your head slightly, studying his face. “And you’re telling me this now because…?”

“Because he keeps his thoughts behind sealed doors,” Rhaegar answered. “Even from me. But I’ve seen the signs. The way he watches. The way he speaks when he believes no one’s listening.” His gaze met yours again, and there was something fierce behind it—protective, wounded, possessive. “You should be prepared.”

A silence stretched between you.

You leaned back slightly against the window frame, folding your hands in your lap. “Prepared for what, Rhaegar? More whispers? Another spectacle in velvet and rubies?” You offered him a tired smile. “I was born in this keep. I’ve lived every year beneath a hundred eyes and a thousand expectations. Nothing surprises me anymore.”

“That’s not true,” he said gently. “You still hope. I see it in you, even now.”

You turned your face slightly, letting the light cast gold across your cheekbones. “I don’t hope for thrones or crowns, Rhaegar. Not anymore.”

He moved then, closer, his voice low. “Then what do you hope for?”

You looked at him, truly looked—at the strain in his posture, the subtle tremor of anger still rippling beneath his calm. “For honesty,” you said softly. “Even if it hurts.”

He didn’t answer at first. His hand brushed yours where it rested in your lap, not quite taking it, but close enough that the warmth passed between you.

“I’ll keep you close during the celebration,” he murmured. “Whatever our father has to say… you will not face it alone.”

There was something in his voice that unsettled you—not fear, exactly, but a certainty you didn’t yet understand. You studied him for a long breath, then asked quietly, “What is it you’re not telling me?”

Rhaegar’s expression did not change.

But he did not answer.

Instead, he stepped back, and the distance left in his wake felt colder than the breeze drifting in from the window.

You knew then—something was coming.

And it would not be yours to refuse.

Jaime had always thought the castle beautiful in the dusk—less adorned, less ostentatious, as though the weight of all its grandeur sighed away for a few hours. He walked without aim, or so it seemed. In truth, his thoughts were a snarl of restless knots. His boots echoed along the polished floors, but he barely registered the sound. His mind had returned again and again to her—your voice, your smile, the way the wind had tangled in your pale hair when you walked beside him in the gardens. And worse still, the way Rhaegar had passed him without acknowledgment that morning, stepping into the library with a familiarity that stung.

She’s not his yet, Jaime thought. And gods be damned if I let her become something the Mad King seals in a crown.

He nearly turned back then—back to the barracks, or the training yard, anywhere to beat the thought from his head—but a sound made him pause. A whisper of silk. A footfall too soft to belong to a knight.

“You pace like a lion in a too-small cage,” came the voice. Light, gliding, and unmistakably amused.

Jaime turned, and there stood Varys, emerging from behind one of the carved columns like a spider drawn to tremble in its web. His hands were folded delicately over his stomach, and his powdered face was composed into its usual mask of gentle neutrality.

“Do you follow me, or do you simply haunt every quiet corner?” Jaime asked, his tone dry.

“I haunt many corners,” Varys replied with a slight tilt of his head. “And follow only those whose paths grow… interesting.”

Jaime narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing so coarse as desire,” Varys said smoothly. “Only observation. Curiosity.” He moved a step closer, his voice lowering slightly. “You’ve chosen to remain, Jaime. While your sister returns with your father. That is a decision that turns heads.”

Jaime said nothing.

Varys smiled faintly. “And just in time, too. A celebration approaches. Surely you’ve heard the whispers?”

“I’ve heard more than whispers,” Jaime muttered.

“Ah, yes,” the eunuch mused. “Your lord father is not known for subtlety. He knows what the king plans. And now… so do you.”

Jaime’s jaw clenched.

Varys leaned closer, eyes alight with sly amusement. “Tell me, Jaime. How does it feel, knowing he means to bind the two of them in blood and flame? The dragon siblings, reunited in old Valyrian fashion.” He cocked his head. “And how does it feel to watch the girl you admire—perhaps more than admire—being prepared for sacrifice on the altar of her father's madness?”

Jaime’s hand twitched at his side.

“She doesn’t want this,” he said, low. “She doesn’t even know. He hasn’t told her.”

“Of course not,” Varys murmured. “Mad kings rarely think to ask consent. They wrap their intentions in pageantry and prophecy and call it destiny.”

Jaime turned his back to the eunuch, but he didn’t walk away. His throat felt tight, and for the first time in days, the rage had burned down into something colder. Sharper. He saw you then, in his mind—walking beside him, laughing quietly in the morning sun, your voice gentle as you spoke of your life within these walls. Of how you’d never had a choice. Never known anything else.

And suddenly, he couldn’t bear it.

“I could take her,” he muttered.

There was silence behind him. Then, very softly: “What was that, boy?”

Jaime turned back, his voice clearer now, quieter—but filled with steel. “I could take her. I have a horse. I have coin. And the only ones who would dare stop me are sworn to protect her, not cage her.”

Varys regarded him with that eerie stillness of his, the faintest smile touching his lips.

“Oh, dear boy,” he whispered. “Do you know what kind of story you’re writing?”

Jaime’s voice didn’t waver. “If it means she chooses her own fate, I don’t care.”

Varys gave a slow nod, his eyes glittering with something far more dangerous than amusement now. “Be careful, Ser Jaime. Heroes who steal maidens from dragons are rarely loved by the singers who survive them.”

And with that, the eunuch stepped back into the shadows, and was gone.

Jaime stood alone in the fading light of the hall, pulse pounding in his ears.

But the thought remained.

And it would not be the last time he had it.

The morning was still veiled in a thin mist that clung to the rooftops and battlements of the Red Keep, softening the sharp lines of towers and stone. In the courtyard beneath the outer portcullis, horses were already saddled, banners tied down, and retainers moving in disciplined silence around the Lannister retinue preparing to depart for Casterly Rock. The scent of damp stone mingled with horse sweat and the sharp tang of oiled leather. Gold and crimson gleamed in the early light, and at the center of it all stood Tywin Lannister, impassive as ever, his back straight and posture unyielding, as though he’d never once known weariness.

Jaime stood across from him, his own cloak draped more casually across his shoulder, his hands resting at his hips, thumbs hooked into his belt. He looked the part of the young lion—golden, tall, handsome—but there was a heaviness in his chest he couldn’t shake. The fog did little to cool the coil of tension in his gut. Beside their father stood Cersei, shrouded in furs, her mouth tight and eyes glittering with something between disdain and betrayal.

“So,” Tywin said, his tone clipped and cold. “You’ve made your choice.”

Jaime’s jaw worked, but he met his father’s gaze without flinching. “You gave me your permission.”

“I gave you space,” Tywin corrected. “Not freedom to behave like a fool. Don’t confuse one for the other.”

Jaime exhaled through his nose. “I know what I’m doing.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed, sharp and unblinking. “You think you do. That’s the tragedy of youth.” His voice lowered. “If I hear that you’ve shamed her—publicly or privately—I will not intervene. You’ll answer to the king. And I won’t raise a finger to shield you.”

“I wouldn’t do that to her,” Jaime said, and this time, there was a quiet force beneath his words that surprised even himself. “You think this is about ambition? It’s not.”

Tywin said nothing for a long moment. Then he stepped forward, just close enough that only his son would hear the next words. “Then don’t let sentiment blind you. She is the dragon’s daughter. The king’s most precious relic. He would burn half the realm to keep her locked in his grasp. Remember that, before you think to free her.”

Jaime stared at him, and for once, said nothing.

Tywin turned without another word and gave a nod to his bannermen. Servants bustled around him, and the wheels of the first cart began to turn.

Cersei remained.

She stepped closer to Jaime as the noise of departure grew behind her, her furs trailing behind like a queen’s mantle. Her gaze was fire and poison all at once.

“You were supposed to come with us,” she said flatly.

“You knew I wouldn’t,” Jaime replied, not unkindly.

She studied his face with something approaching contempt. “She has made you soft.”

“No,” Jaime said quietly. “She’s made me want something.”

Cersei’s lips twisted. “She’ll never be yours. Even if you take her. You’ll never be more than the lion cub growling outside her cage.”

Jaime gave a crooked smile, but his voice remained even. “We’ll see.”

Cersei’s eyes flashed, and for a moment, she looked ready to strike him. But instead she leaned forward and whispered, “You’re just like Mother. Chasing something you’ll never hold.”

Then she turned abruptly and mounted her horse in one smooth, practiced motion.

The hooves clattered against the stone, and with the clanging of the gates, the Lannisters of the West rode out from King’s Landing once more.

Jaime stood in the courtyard long after they were gone, listening to the echoes fade.

He had not said everything he wished to.

But he had said enough.

The morning sun struck the towers of the Red Keep with bright precision, casting long, bright beams over the courtyard below where preparations had begun in earnest. Silken banners in black and red were being unfurled from high windows, caught on the breeze like slow-moving flames. Servants darted about with crates of polished silver, and royal stewards barked orders to pageboys carrying garlands of fresh flowers—carnations and dark roses, the colors of House Targaryen. The throne room doors had been flung open to the early light, and already the chill of oil-polished steel and incense from the sept could be felt creeping along the stone.

Rhaegar stood at the overlook above the practice yard with Ser Barristan Selmy at his side, his hands clasped behind his back, his long cloak shifting in the wind like a shadow at his heels. He watched without expression as workers below hung the final drapery over the dais where the Iron Throne loomed like a crowned beast of blackened blades. Somewhere behind that throne, his father paced and whispered to things only he could hear.

Barristan’s white cloak rustled faintly as he moved to stand beside the prince, his keen eyes also turned downward. “It will be a grand affair,” he said, his voice low and measured. “The court is already abuzz. They say the bells will ring before dusk. Dancers. Songs. Even the Martells are sending word.”

Rhaegar’s face was unreadable. “Yes. Grand.”

For a moment, they stood in silence, only the sound of wind and distant voices rising to them.

Then Barristan spoke again, his tone gentler this time. “Have you told her?”

Rhaegar turned slightly, the movement slow, as though the weight of the question had been expected.

“No,” he said after a beat. “Not yet.”

The Kingsguard nodded once, his gaze steady. “There is still time.”

Rhaegar’s hands tightened behind his back. “Is there?”

Barristan studied the prince’s profile, the fine features etched in thought, the tension hidden just behind his composed façade. “You wish for her to accept it willingly.”

“I wish,” Rhaegar murmured, “that she might never look at me with doubt. That she might never think I took her choices from her.”

“And yet,” Barristan said, softly, “you withhold the truth.”

The silence that followed was longer this time. Below, two septas arranged benches in neat rows while a knight shouted for the carpenters to move the stands into the outer yard.

“I know,” Rhaegar said finally, the words drawn and low. “It’s selfish.”

Barristan said nothing, letting him speak.

“I’ve watched her grow beneath this roof,” the prince continued, his voice distant now, threaded with quiet reverence. “All her life, she’s been the promise of something pure. Something untouched by my father’s fire. The court sees her as a daughter of flame, but I—” he paused, “—I have always seen her as light.”

“She trusts you,” Barristan said carefully.

“That is what terrifies me,” Rhaegar whispered. “If she knew what was coming—what Father will say in front of them all—she might pull away. Not because she doesn’t care, but because she does. Because she believes in love that is chosen, not shaped by blood and law.”

Barristan turned toward the prince, the lines in his weathered face deepening. “Then you must ask yourself, Your Grace: do you want her as your sister, your queen… or the girl who smiles at you when no one’s watching?”

Rhaegar did not answer. He only watched the sky, where the banners of his house rippled against a rising wind. The shadows stretched longer now across the marble, and the sun burned too bright to look at directly.

“I want her as mine,” he said at last, almost to himself. “Before the world ruins us both.”

And in that moment, Ser Barristan said nothing more.

Because he, too, had once loved someone who deserved to choose.

The corridors that led to the King’s solar were unusually quiet that afternoon, save for the hurried whispers of the servants who had come to find you. They had stopped you just outside the Maidenvault, their eyes wide, their hands wringing nervously at the hems of their tunics. They bowed quickly, and their voices tumbled over one another as they explained how His Grace had dismissed the maesters, then the guards, and now sat alone in his chambers, refusing to speak with anyone—except you. He had asked for you, or rather, muttered your name. Over and over, they said.

You walked the winding hall with steady steps, but the chill in the stone seemed deeper today, the silence heavier, as though the very air held its breath. When you reached the door to your father’s solar, you found it unguarded—unusual—and slightly ajar. One of the torches along the wall guttered faintly, its flame struggling against a draft that hadn’t been there the day before.

You pushed the door open gently.

Aerys sat in the great carved chair near the hearth, still clad in his royal robes, though they hung looser now on his thinning frame. His hair, silver gone brittle-white, fell unbound across his shoulders, and his fingers twitched restlessly at the arms of the chair, tapping in a frantic, irregular rhythm. The fire in the hearth had died low, casting long, trembling shadows up the wall behind him, where the tapestries swayed ever so slightly, though there was no wind.

He did not look at you as you stepped inside.

“They crawl,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the stone floor near the hearth. “Behind the walls. I hear them. Scratching. Whispering. Hiding.”

You swallowed quietly, stepping forward with slow grace, careful not to startle him. “Father, it’s me. It’s only me.”

His head tilted just slightly, the faintest twitch of recognition.

“I know your voice,” he said. “Your voice is not made of lies. Not like theirs. The rats speak lies.” He leaned forward abruptly, whispering now. “They think I don’t hear, but I do. Behind the walls. In the dark. They scurry with secrets in their mouths.”

You came to kneel beside his chair, gently laying a hand over his fidgeting fingers. His skin was cold despite the fire, his veins raised, papery. “There are no rats, Father,” you said softly. “Only tired stones and old dreams. You’ve had a long day.”

“They listen to me sleep,” Aerys said, eyes darting toward the high corner of the chamber. “They carry words to Tywin. To the Spider. Even Rhaegar—” his voice faltered, then narrowed—“Rhaegar waits like a shadow. Too quiet. Too clever.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “He waits because he worries for you. As I do. As your people do.”

His eyes flicked toward you then—truly toward you—and something in them softened. For a moment, the madness receded like a wave pulled back from the shore.

“You always calmed me,” he murmured. “Even when you were small. You never cried. Just watched me with those strange eyes. So much like Rhaella. But quieter.”

You offered him a faint smile. “Then let me calm you now. Come away from the fire. Let me send for food, or wine. Something to warm you.”

Aerys blinked once, then slowly leaned back in his chair. “They’ll poison the wine,” he muttered. “They always try.”

“I’ll pour it myself,” you promised.

He nodded slowly, eyes closing for a moment, the lines in his face softening with exhaustion. “You’re a good girl,” he said. “My little dragon. You belong to me. Not to them. Never to them.”

You pressed a kiss to the back of his hand, then stood.

As you made your way to the door, you cast one last glance back at him—still, small, shrunken beneath the weight of his robes and thoughts. The fire behind him crackled once, briefly, and the wind hissed under the door.

Then—scratch.

A faint sound. Just behind the far wall, where the tapestry hung. You froze.

It was soft. Subtle. But not imagined.

You turned slowly toward the sound, your breath catching as you took a single step closer to the wall. The shadows swayed gently across the stone. Another sound, lighter this time. A shift. A breath?

You backed away with quiet, measured steps.

Whatever it was—rat or whisper or watching ear—you would not show fear.

Not now.

...

The air was still, too still, and the usual hush that marked the late afternoon hours had taken on a strange weight. Your steps echoed with soft urgency as you moved through the passageways, arms folded tightly across your chest, fingers worrying the silk at your sleeves. Behind you, you could hear the measured tread of Ser Gerold Hightower, his white cloak rustling softly with each step, his armor clicking faintly like distant bells. He said nothing, but you felt his eyes on you—watchful, steady, as they had always been.

You had not told him what you heard. You hadn’t spoken a word since leaving your father’s chambers, hadn’t dared to. The sound—that faint, scratching whisper behind the stone—had followed you in silence, like a breath still clinging to the air in your lungs. It could have been rats. It should have been rats. But the way Aerys had spoken, the way his eyes darted toward the walls with something between terror and reverence, haunted you now more than ever.

You tried to breathe evenly, to calm the fluttering in your chest. The last thing you needed was to begin sounding like him—to give them cause to question your mind as they whispered about his.

Then, as you rounded a corner near the queen’s old solar, your shoulder brushed solid warmth, and you startled.

“Gods,” you murmured, stepping back.

“Forgive me,” came Jaime’s voice, rich with concern. He’d reached instinctively to steady you, his hand just grazing your forearm before withdrawing. “You look pale. Are you—?”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, too quickly, smoothing your gown with an absent hand. “It’s nothing.”

His brows drew together, and he tilted his head slightly, reading your expression with unnerving sharpness. “You’re shaking.”

“I said it’s nothing,” you replied, softer now, with a gentleness that attempted to mask the edge in your voice. “Just a conversation that unsettled me, is all.”

Jaime glanced behind you, where Ser Gerold stood at a respectable distance, though still looming like a pale statue. His green eyes returned to yours. “With the king?”

You hesitated. “Yes.”

Jaime looked away briefly, jaw working, then back again. “Is he—worse?”

You met his gaze but did not answer.

He sighed. “You don’t have to protect him, you know. Or his madness. They all see it. They pretend not to, but—”

“Stop,” you interrupted, sharper than intended. “He is still my father.”

Jaime’s mouth shut, but not without tension. He nodded, once.

The silence between you stretched, fraught and uncertain.

After a moment, you added more quietly, “I don’t want you to think I’m… imagining things.”

His gaze softened. “I don’t.”

You nodded once, distractedly, then stepped past him. “I should go. There are things to prepare before the celebration.”

“I can walk with you,” he offered, but you only gave a faint smile over your shoulder.

“No. I’m all right now.”

You didn’t look back again, though you felt his eyes linger on your retreating form. Ser Gerold followed without question, his presence a silent vow of protection, but even he could not shield you from the feeling that something was moving behind the walls.

Something that watched. Something that waited.

And whatever it was, you knew—your father wasn’t the only one who had heard it.

[storiesforallfandoms]

freedom ~ oberyn martell;game of thrones

part one

word count: 2608

request?: a single person asked if there would be a part two so yes?

description: in which she finally gets to enjoy her freedom with the man she loves

pairing: oberyn martell x female!reader

warnings: swearing, use of y/n, lil bit of dirty talk from oberyn teehee

masterlist (one, two, three)

The sun shining in through the open window stirred her from her sleep. She wasn't sure what time it was, but judging by how groggy she felt, she had definitely been asleep for a very long time. It was the first night since the evening before Joffrey's wedding that she had slept in an actual bed.

(Y/N) and Oberyn's plan had gone way better than she was expecting. She did as Oberyn told her and packed one bag of her most essential things. Oberyn had one of his men take it to the carriage so that non of Cersei's servants would catch (Y/N) doing it. She sat through the ceremony with the best fake smile pained on her face the entire time. The second the ceremony ended, (Y/N) slipped away while Cersei was distracted and they started their journey back to Dorne immediately.

It was a long journey spanning a number of days. They only stopped to rest a handful of times as Oberyn insisted on going for as long as the horses could stand so the risk of being caught by the Lannister men that Cersei was undoubtably going to send after them. (Y/N) was tense the entire time and wasn't able to relax until they reached Dorne.

Oberyn's brother, Prince Doran, was waiting for them when their carriage arrived. Oberyn had just stepped out when Doran said, "We received a message from King's Landing about the kidnapped Lannister girl."

"I kidnapped no one," Oberyn said. "She came with me willingly because she was being terribly abused by the Queen."

"The former Queen," (Y/N) corrected as she stepped out beside Oberyn. "Now that Joffrey is wed, Cersei is no longer Queen." She turned to Doran and curtsied. "My Lord."

Doran nodded in response. "Lady (Y/N). We hoped my brother wasn't so stupid as to kidnap a Lannister the day of the young kind's wedding."

"What Oberyn says is true. I have come with him of my own free will to escape my sister. She is claiming my capture so that y ou will send me back to her and will punish Oberyn so he cannot come for me again. I do not wish to go back, not ever. I will attest to this myself to my family back in King's Landing if you wish."

Doran looked between the two of them. He took a deep breath and said, "They will come."

"I will speak to them," (Y/N) insisted. "They cannot take me by force."

"They will not take her by force," Oberyn interjected.

Doran nodded. "I pledge my full support to you. I just hope you know what you are doing, brother."

Oberyn had brought her to a room that would be her own for the time being. He had promised her they would share a bed in due time, but he would not do so until they were properly courted. She would have argued further, but she was so tired and her body was aching from the long carriage ride, so all she wanted was to lay down in a soft bed.

Now that she was waking up from such a long slumber, it took a few moment for her to remember where she was. When she did remember, she smiled to herself. She was so giddy with happiness to finally be free and not feel so stuck and trapped in Westeros anymore.

A knock came at the door. She beckoned for them to come in, thinking (or rather hoping) that it was Oberyn. she was surprised when a lady she did not recognize stepped into her room.

"I am sorry for the intrusion, my lady," the woman said, bowing to (Y/N). "My name is Kenziah. I will be your handmaiden. I was told to come prepare you for a meeting in the Prince's throne room."

"Has something happened?" (Y/N) asked.

"Your father arrived early this morning, my lady. He requested a meeting with you and both Princes."

(Y/N) was quick to get out of bed and allow Kenziah to dress her. She tried to keep a brave face as she was led to Prince Doran's throne room. Doran was sat on his own throne while Oberyn was stood next to him. A tall figure was back on to (Y/N) as she walked in, but she didn't need him to turn around to recognize who it was.

Tywin Lannister looked down at his daughter as she entered the room. "My daughter, you have caused quite a disturbance."

"So I have heard," (Y/N) said. "I apologize if I disrupted Joffrey's wedding day. That was not my plan. Truthfully, I did not think Cersei would even notice my absence."

"You severely underestimate your sister then."

(Y/N) brushed past her father to stand next to Oberyn. She held her head high as she addressed Tywin, "I know what Cersei has tried to say about my disappearance. I am saying to you, father, that I willingly left with Oberyn to come to Dorne. I am not under any sort of duress, and I will not be returning to King's Landing with you."

Tywin raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?" (Y/N) nodded. "King Joffrey could order for your return."

"He would have to come take her himself," Doran cut in. "But he would have to go through the Dorne army."

"Are you threatening the king?" Tywin asked.

"No, I am protecting one of my own."

(Y/N) glanced between Tywin and Doran. Oberyn was silent beside her, but he had moved closer, protectively. For the first time in her life, (Y/N) actually felt cared for and safe.

Tywin's gaze moved to his daughter. "Is this truly your wish, my child? To stay in Dorne with the young prince?"

"I cannot go back to that palace, father. It was my prison, and I have finally escaped from it. I will not return to King's Landing willingly, and if you try to force me, I will fight back to the best of my abilities."

Tywin nodded. "I cannot force you to do anything against your will, (Y/N)."

"Will you tell Cersei that?"

To her surprise, Tywin nodded again. "If this is what you truly want, then no one else shall bother you while you're here."

(Y/N) bowed her head. "Thank you father."

Tywin paused a moment as he started to leave. (Y/N) wondered if he would say anything more. But he merely nodded to Doran and Oberyn before turning to leave the room. When he was gone, (Y/N) finally allowed her body to relax. Oberyn took her into his arms and kissed the top of her head.

"You are officially free, little lion."

~~~~~~

(Y/N) was sat in front of a mirror as Kenziah braided her hair. It had been a full day since she had arrived and she was already feeling more at home than she ever had in King's Landing. Oberyn had sent Dornish clothes for her to wear, and she was currently wearing one that was a similar color to the robe Oberyn had been wearing when they first met.

Now that she had been able to properly settle in after their long journey and Twyin's visit, Oberyn had called for (Y/N) to meet him outside of Water Gardens, their palace. She had a feeling she knew what this meeting was about, and the thought alone made her very giddy.

"You are trembling, my lady," Kenziah said. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, Kenziah, thank you," (Y/N) said. "I am just feeling nervous to see Oberyn is all."

"Nervous? But you seemed very fond of him before."

"I am fond of him! I guess nervous may be the wrong word. I feel a number of things about seeing him, because I know he will likely ask me to be his wife today. He said when we returned to Dorne that he would court me and make me his wife."

Kenziah smiled. "He does seem to feel very strongly for you, my lady. I see the way he looks at you."

(Y/N) smiled to herself as well. She had noticed the ways in which Oberyn looked at her, and every time it made her melt a little. She had never felt so infatuated with anyone before. The thought of being so close to him asking her to marry him made her insides feel fuzzy and warm.

When Kenziah finished braiding her hair, she placed a few flowers in the braids. "There, all finished."

(Y/N) moved to look at her hair in the mirror. She was almost surprised by the reflection looking back at her. She looked so beautiful, and she felt it, too. It was almost as if she was meant to be in Dorne, she just had to find a way to get there.

"Thank you, Kenziah," she said.

"You're welcome, my lady."

When she was sure she was ready, Kenziah brought (Y/N) to where Oberyn was waiting for her. He looked just as handsome as ever, almost glowing under the Dornish sun as he looked out at a pond below them. When she approached, he turned to her and smiled.

"You look beautiful, my little lion," he said. He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips, pressing a light kiss on her knuckles. It sent a spark through her entire body and made her hand feel like it was tingling.

"Thank you," she said. "I really love the clothes you sent for me. Dorian wear is so much nicer than what I had back in the palace."

"It suits you better, too. Like you were meant to wear it."

(Y/N) was smiling so much her cheeks were hurting. Oberyn beckoned for her to come closer. She did, moving as close to him as she could dare. She gasped when he put his hands on her hips and moved her so that she was stood right in front of him. His body was pressing against her backside, and she felt like she was weak in the knees from the feeling.

"I wanted to show you what I was looking at," he told her, his mouth dangerously close to her ear. He pointed towards the pond. "Just down there."

She was having a hard time concentrating on what it was he was trying to show her. His closeness was making her very dizzy. But she tried her best and managed to make her eyes focus on the pond. It was full of children, splashing around and laughing. She wasn't quite sure what he was trying to show her, until she spotted a familiar young girl with a head full of blonde hair.

She gasped. "Myrcella."

Myrcella was Cersei's middle child, and only daughter. Cersei adored Myrcella more than (Y/N) had seen her adore anyone in her life. When she had been sent away to Dorne to be a bride to Doran's son, Trystane, Cersei was practically inconsolable. It was the only time (Y/N) had ever seen weakness from her sister.

But Myrcella was also much different than her mother, or her older brother for that matter. She had a heart of gold and she cared very much for the people around her. That included (Y/N), much to Cersei's displeasure. (Y/N) loved her niece dearly. She had almost abandoned hope of ever seeing her again.

"She has been taken care of here," Oberyn assured (Y/N). "We will wait until she and my nephew come of age before they wed. Until then, she gets to live the life of a child."

"Why are you telling me this?" (Y/N) asked. While she was definitely glad to see her niece, this was not where she expected this conversation to go.

"She spoke very highly of you. Ever since she arrived, she has voiced how much she has missed her mother and her aunt. I can tell she is not like her mother, so I figured seeing her would be a welcome surprise."

With his hands still on her waist, Oberyn spun (Y/N) around so that she was facing him. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Their bodies were still pressed so close together. (Y/N) found herself feeling something she had never felt before; a tingling sensation between her legs. Looking up into Oberyn's eyes, she wanted nothing more than to start kissing him, and to beg for him to touch her and make the feeling go away.

She had a feeling that he would know exactly how to pleasure her, and that thought made her feel even more weak.

"I want you to be happy here," he told her.

"I am happy," she assured him. "As long as I am with you, I can't be happier. You have saved me, Oberyn. Truly."

He smiled. "And I am glad that I have."

When he lowered his head towards her, (Y/N) wasted no time in closing the space between them. She kissed him so deeply that she made herself dizzy by doing it. His hands had moved from her waist to the small of her back, holding her to him. She could've stayed like this forever if that were possible.

When he broke away, she inadvertently let out a whine. He chuckled at her desperate sound. "I will kiss you as much as you wish, my little lion. But first, I do have a promise to keep."

He stepped away from her. Her body suddenly felt cold without him so close. He held her hands in his and looked deeply into her eyes as he spoke, "I told you that when we arrived to Dorne, I would properly court you and wed you. I believe I have successfully courted you already, so that just leaves us with one last step."

"Yes," (Y/N) blurted. Oberyn was amused by her outburst. "If it was not obvious, I very much want to marry you, Oberyn."

"I had a feeling," he teased. "I spoke with my brother already to get his blessing as well. We will have the wedding in a few days time."

"Can we do it now instead?"

Oberyn shook his head, an amused smile on his face. "My dear, sweet little lion. You must have patience. You must know what it takes to put a wedding together, especially one for people of royal blood such as us. Besides, I do not think you should wish to rush into marriage this quickly."

(Y/N) furrowed her brows at him. "Why?"

He stepped closer to her again. He leaned into her ear and dropped his voice to say, "Because once we are wed, I no longer have to worry about defiling your innocence. I may keep you in my bed for many days and nights before I decide to let you have a break from me, and even then I may only decide that because you are carrying my child."

(Y/N) stumbled a little and Oberyn was quick to catch her.

"You are mistaken, my love," she told him. "That only makes me wish for us to be married much sooner."

Oberyn cupped her face and pulled her for a kiss.

"I promise, my little lion, I will make the wait worth it," he said. "For now, you will just have to settle for stolen kisses."

"I will take anything as long as it is from you."

They kissed once more, and (Y/N) finally got to revel in the fact that she was finally getting her own happy ending.

[loggiepj]

To Love A Lannister

chapter 7 | chapter 8

"Y/n," Cersei moaned.

In a slow and torturous pace, the bed rocked with every thrust of your cock inside her. Enthralled by the pleasure displayed on the Queen's face and the warm walls tightening around you, the pain you felt from her nails digging against the skin of your back was disregarded, knowing it'd be a wonderful souvenir she'd leave behind.

Kneeling, you gripped Cersei's hips, before pushing your cock relentlessly against her cunt over and over. She threw back her head and arched her back from the new angle, your cock hitting the right spot in her core as her eyes rolled to the back.

You slid your hand under her back without pulling out and lifted her body as you encourage her to straddle you, bucking up towards her as she rolled her hips down meeting you. Your eyes darted to where you two meet and every fiber in your body was on fire.

The filthy moans coming out of the Queen's mouth was driving you insane. She threw her head back lost in ecstasy, exposing her neck before you. Burying your head into her neck, you sucked into her skin then kissed her collarbone before your lips enveloped around her hardened nipple.

"Oh gods, Y/n," she moaned, her tight walls contracting against your cock. You kept on pounding inside her until you could feel your own peak approaching.

Cersei pulled your head from her breasts and kissed you desperately and hungrily, hands clutching against your messy hair. She broke off the kiss as she elicited another loud moan, her hips never wavering from meeting your thrusts. "Please don't stop, please don't stop."

You had no plan on stopping, not when her cunt was gripping you tight and you could barely move anymore. Until both of you exploded. You came a second first, your cum shooting inside of her. The twitch of your cock made Cersei's body spasm, hugging you tight with her arms and legs around you.

Having cummed inside the Queen for the nth time that day, you still couldn't get used to the feeling. The first time you were hesitant, which only spurred when she revealed to you that she'd be seeing Maester Qyburn later that day for the special tea. It made you worry less from coming inside her.

Although it would be a dream come true for Cersei to bear your children some day, it wasn't wise for the time being.

Both panting, your heads leaned against each other before chuckling breathlessly. "You make me feel so good," the Queen gasped, her smile reaching her ears.

"You're doing a great job as well, you know," you said before meeting her lips for a quick peck.

Her eyes then flitted to your chest, hand instinctively cupping your breast with her thumb brushing over your nipple. "You're so pretty, it's a mystery you're not yet taken."

Cersei then put her lips around your nipple, making you lean back against your elbows to give her space to move. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when the queen gave equal attention to your other breast.

"If you keep on doing that, we won't be able to get out of bed," you moaned.

Another roll from her hips made you hiss since you were still inside of her.

"It's nearly the morn though, I need to go back to my chambers before my handmaiden wonders where I am," Cersei said, without even moving from her spot, each grind of her hips rendering you hard again.

"You. . ," you stuttered. "You have been saying that since an hour ago."

"I know," she gasped, your cock hitting a soft spot inside her. "I can't seem to get enough of you."

And you knew you do too as you lifted her and laid her back down the bed, her legs instinctively wrapping around your waist as you thrusted into her.

"Mmm, Cersei," you cooed softly into her mouth as her hands roamed around your back before stopping at your ass, pulling you closer and deeper into her.

"I like having you like this," she murmured in gasps.

"And . . . how is that?"

"At my mercy," she whispered, her eyes boring into you. Your mouth met hers passionately as your pace fastened. Her warm walls started to contract once again, her hips rolling upward to meet you.

She came first that round, making her break the kiss and threw her head into her sheets, eyes shut closed as she let out a loud moan. You followed upon watching such wonderful sight, burying your head into her neck as you grunted your release. Her hands squeezing your ass made you twitch more cum than usual.

Pulling out, you laid down on your back as you cursed blissfully. You two then burst in laughter.

Cersei crawled towards you and placed her head on your shoulder. "Did you know what rumors I heard from servants when you arrived from Dorne?"

You chuckled. "I'm used to that by now."

"I wasn't referring to your special appendage, although I got a lot of talk hearing about how huge it was and apparently they weren't lying."

Your cheeks only got redder.

"Is that why you got intrigued and pursued me?"

She chuckled, gently slapping your chest. "No, well, not just that."

When laughter died down, she went on. "I used to envy pretty girls growing up, how they had flowers as crowns on their head, or locks as wavy as it could get, and I thought I'd want to be like them. No, actually I wanted to be prettier than them and that I'd get all the suitors alone. And even when I always got what I wanted, I never ever seem satisfied, you know. And then you came in marching proudly with your y/h/c hair and y/e/c eyes," she touched your hair, "I made it my mission to torment you because I hated it when someone's prettier than me."

Her forefinger then traced towards your lower lip. "But it was different. Thinking about you, everything about you to the point that I myself am being tormented. Until I heard one of the servants in the Kitchen Keep mention how you liked women and how you know how to pleasure them, all I keep wondering on about was how I want you and how I want the girls you seek to be me. Only me."

"You are though," you admitted. "I have not wanted anyone since the day I met you, during your late husband King Robert's name day."

The revelation made her eyes peak with interest.

"I was reading in the Library when I bumped into you. You probably don't remember it-"

"That was you," Cersei said, smiling. "You were eating this disgusting piece of food hanging from your mouth."

"Hey, that was a delectable piece of mince pie." This made you both chuckle.

"That first night we spent together," the Queen went on. "I figured out two things I was particularly scared of. One, your mouth is amazing." It brought a proud smirk on you, making Cersei roll her eyes and laugh. "And two, I . . . I like women more than I like men."

You looked at her with adoration as she only avoided your eyes, shy from her confession. It only made you want her more.

"Wait," you began, cupping her face to make her look back at you, "when you say women, does it mean me or-"

"Of course, it's you, you fool," she said with another playful slap on your chest, before she leaned closer and rested her head on top of you.

You smelled sunflowers from her hair as you kissed the top of her head. "Honestly," she continued in a whisper, "I think I'm more myself when I'm around you."

Cersei then pulled away using her elbow. She said, pouting, "I really do have to leave you now."

"Or you could stay?" you suggested with a hopeful smile.

She leaned forward, capturing your lips in a kiss, her hand instinctively roamed on your stomach down to your flaccid cock before she started stroking it.

"Gods, you're insatiable," you said, chuckling.

"Am I?" she teased before straddling on top of you and lining your cock into her entrance. "Then why are you already so hard for me?"

~~~

It was bliss the following days before Joffrey's wedding. If anyone could just focus, they'd notice the lingering glances being exchanged between you and the Queen. The late nights you had been spending time together, the times she would pull you into an empty corridor just to kiss you hungrily and the days she'd choose not to attend any of her father's council meeting just to meet you in your chambers or hers and fuck when time would allow it.

Jaime noticed, of course. He even managed to corner you two days before the wedding.

"Lady Y/n," he greeted to which you only nodded back. You two were heading towards the dining hall for the night. "How was your trip here in the Capital? I'm sure you're already looking forward to go back home in Dorne this weekend."

You forced a smile, not letting him know you had no plans returning so soon. "It was great. I think I've had it better than you," you paused when his eyebrow raised, "I mean, you're returning to Casterly Rock too. I'm sure you'll miss your days here in the Red Keep."

Then he stopped walking and pressed a hand on your shoulder, stopping you as well. "She's using you, you know. For her own pleasure." You stiffened, making him smirk then he leaned closer into your ear. "And once she's tired of you, she'll throw you away like one of her old dolls."

You pushed him off you. "You know nothing of her."

"Oh, we share the same blood, Y/n. Trust me, I know her. My sister's not capable of love. She's a hateful woman."

~~~

Oberyn found out eventually from your actions when he was asked you how you had been. And somehow, when you were inside your chambers with Cersei and you almost ready to tear each other's clothes, he knocked and entered without waiting for a reply, placing a flask on the nearest table. You knew that liquid. It was a tea made from a certain Maester back in Dorne. It was the same tea your father had used on your whores.

"You know what to do, Y/n," Oberyn advised, avoiding to look between the two of you, and quickly exited the room.

Cersei glared at you after Oberyn left, her mask of stern cold face suddenly up. She pulled away from you, creating a distance you didn't like. "Did you tell him about us?"

"I didn't, I swear," you answered back hurriedly.

She only fell silent before her eyes landed on the flask on your table. "This feels so wrong," she muttered, her arms crossed against her chest.

You carefully approached her. "Hey, hey, don't let Oberyn get to you. You know how he despises Lannisters from the start-"

"And you?" Her eyes met yours, and you could see she was scared.

"I won't be here with you if I also hate you," you assured her. Cersei let you gently rub her shoulders.

The queen fell silent again before she walked away heading towards the table, observing the liquid. "How many whores have you fucked since your arrival that Oberyn feels the need to bring this from Dorne?"

You sighed. "No one, I promise. Father's just wary when it comes to these things, something about-"

"Not creating another bastard?"

You could tell she was furious, offended. So she needed to hurt you as well.

She went on. "I supposed he's right since you'll be gone after the wedding."

"Cersei-"

"Do not call me that," she snapped. "I'm not one of your whores. Do you think I'd be a fool not to drink this tea after every night we spent together that you you even needed Oberyn to remind me."

"That's not what what you think-"

The argument stopped when someone knocked on the door. Jaime called behind it, "Father's requesting for you."

The Queen then left without batting an eye towards you.

~~~

You waited outside the council room unsure of what to do. You could hear shouting inside but you couldn't decipher the heated words being exchanged. What you could just tell was Cersei's little voice carrying against the wind, as if she was terrified.

When Cersei and Jaime finally stepped out of the room, gone was the soft look on the Queen's face replaced by a cold one, the one she sported when the two of you first met.

"What happened?" You approached her. "Are you okay?"

You were about to touch her arm but she slapped your hand away. "You need to learn your place, Lady Y/n. I am still your Queen."

Then she walked past you, with a sniggering Jaime in tow.

"Wedding's tomorrow, Lady Y/n," he said with a smug smile. "I suggest you get a good night sleep tonight."

[phoward89]

Based on this ask

Coriolanus Snow knew firsthand the deadly risks of childbirth, considering he watched in horror as a young child when his own mother and baby sister died, but he knew that he needed an heir to carry on the Snow name. When he planned on marrying for hate, well, he could care less what happened to his wife during the delivery.

But, somehow, all his plans and views on marriage changed when he met you. You were hired as his secretary, so you spent a lot of time with him. Coriolanus never planned on falling in love with you, but he did. Hell, he even killed your boyfriend in order to make you single again so you'd be able to go out with him.

And when you accepted his offer of dinner, which came with a single white rose, a few months after the death of your longtime boyfriend, he did everything in his power to make you fall in love with him. Coriolanus was successful, you fell hard and fast for him. He was too charming not to let wiggle into your heart, and into your bed.

The president needed a first lady, so he proposed and married you. But it was a bit scandalous, considering you were his secretary. After a couple of negative articles in the media, well, Coriolanus got rid of the writers and made sure that the studios and printing presses in the Capitol (all of Panem actually) knew that if another foul word was printed about his relationship with his wife then he'd kill every single person in the media office.

Safe to say, only articles praising President Snow and First Lady Snow’s love and glamorous life hit the press after that.

And then, of course, came the subject of children. After discussing it, you stopped taking birth control. And you ended up getting pregnant right away.

Seeing you so round with his child gave Coriolanus joy. Gave him an ego boost because he was the one to plant his seed in you. You were carrying his child. His precious baby.

The baby was no longer looked at as an heir, but as a baby to love.

And it was all because of you.

“Coryo, I have my top list of baby names finished.” You told your husband, who was lounging in bed wearing only a pair of sleep pants.

Coryo watched as you sat across the room, placing his fountain pen back into its holder after writing down the final name on your baby name list.

After discussing it, you both decided to wait until the baby was born to discover the gender. You wanted to be surprised and Coriolanus just wanted you to be happy.

“Are you going to let me see it, my darling?” Your platinum blonde husband asked as you slowly stood up from his corner desk.

Placing a hand on your large belly, you smiled, “Of course I'm going to let you see it.”

Grabbing the list, you slowly walked over to the bed. After getting into bed, you handed the list to your husband. “Tell me what ones you like, Mister President.”

Coryo kissed your cheek and smiled. “Of course, First Lady Snow.”

He read over the list, only to discover that you had more boys' names than girls written down. After giving it some thought, he told you, “Cassian Xandros is perfect for our son. It's a strong name.” Mulling it over, he pointed to a name on the paper and announced, "Cersei sounds nice for a girl.”

“It's not nice, Coryo, it's beautiful.” You countered, pulling the list out of his hands. “Looks like the baby has a name; all we need to do is wait for it to come.”

The day your daughter Cersei Snow was born was the day that your husband decided to hate her.

The day didn't start out with him hating his baby girl.

No, it started with your water breaking and a trip to the hospital. Coriolanus canceled all of his meetings, briefings, and work for the day just to be by your side.

He was very supportive during your labor. Letting you hold his hand during painful contracts, smoothing your hair back away from your sweaty face with a damp rag, and buzzing the nurse multiple times for both ice chips and pain medication for you.

The nurses all gossiped amongst each other about how President Snow was the perfect doting husband and and father to be. That he'd make a very good father.

Little did they know.

Little did anyone know what would happen once the doctor came into the room and announced that it was time to start pushing.

Coriolanus was by your side as you pushed and pushed. With every push he noticed you were getting weaker and it worried him.

Looking between your weak, pale form, and the doctor that was sitting at the bottom of your bed, Coriolanus asked, “Dr. Wellock, my wife's growing weaker. Is there something you can do to get the baby out?”

“There's nothing to be worried about, President Snow. Labor’s a strenuous event; many first time mothers grow fatigue and can push for a while before the baby crowns.” The doctor told your husband, more or less blowing off his concern.

You were exhausted but determined to have your baby. Even tho you were feeling dizzy, you continued to bear down and push every time you were told to.

Then, when you felt that you didn't have any more strength coursing thru your body, you gave birth to your baby.

You saw Dr. Wellock hold up the baby and announce, “It's a girl.” Suddenly, your vision began to get fuzzy as you heard the doctor ask your husband, “President Snow, would you like to cut the cord?”

Coriolanus was about to answer whenever he saw you faint, paired with blood pooling around your legs and staining the bed.

“What's wrong with my wife?!” Coriolanus asked, fear filling him as the doctor quickly cut the baby's cord and tossed her to a waiting nurse. “Dr. Wellock, is my wife dying?!” Coriolanus asked in a panicked scream, while the nurse quickly cleaned the baby and wrapped her into a blanket.

“Your wife's hemorrhaging, President Snow.” Dr. Wellock told your husband, only to point to the nurse and tell her, “Give him the baby and get him out of here.”

So, the nurse dumped the baby in Coriolanus' arms and pushed him out of the door. Before the president could blink, the door was slammed shut I'm his face.

As Dr. Wellock and his nurse worked to staunch your bleeding; save your life, your husband stood outside of your room with your newborn baby girl in his arms.

Coriolanus looked down at the tiny baby wriggling and crying in his hold, only to look at the door of your room and realize that you're dying because of the thing in his arms.

Cersei’s what the two of you decided to name her, when she wasn't a danger. Wasn't the reason you're dying.

Coriolanus felt disgust and hatred for the newborn in his arms. He didn't want to hold her anymore. She was the reason why you're knear death right now.

So, your husband found a nurse to pawn the baby on.

Coriolanus swore to himself that he'd never touch that evil little creature ever again. That he'd never love her.

It didn't matter if you lived or died, he was going to hate your daughter until the day he died.

You didn't die in childbirth, but it was a close call. The doctor explained that you had bad hemorrhaging due to your uterus not contracting correctly after the birthing process, causing uncontrollable bleeding. You were given a blood transfusion, once Dr. Wellock managed to stop the bleeding, due to your blood pressure being too low after such a large blood loss.

You were out of it for days, but you survived.

You were happy to be alive and with your family. Coriolanus and Cersei.

But it didn't take long for you to notice that Coriolanus never picked up your daughter. He never held her, hell, Coryo never seemed too interested in her.

Unless it was for a photo op. Then he turned into the perfect hands on dad that would pose for pictures. But as soon as the cameras stop flashing, the president stops caring about his daughter.

You thought that Coriolanus would get over it; would come to accept your daughter in time. But…sadly…your daughter's first birthday is fastly approaching and your husband still doesn't seem interested in her, unless it's for a photo op.

It saddened you, knowing that Coriolanus was offish to Cersei because she wasn't the son he probably wanted to carry on the Snow name. You loved your daughter and you were sure that your Coryo loved her too, but was just disappointed that she wasn't the strong son he probably had his heart set on.

He did pick out a boy name right off the bat when you handed him your list of baby names last year.

Maybe if Coryo had a son to carry on the Snow name, he'd be happier in his role of fatherhood?

Coriolanus walked into the sunroom only to cringe when he saw you coddling Cersei. The damn little creature nearly murdered you during the birthing process, but you were holding her as she napped on you.

Goodness, there was a portable cradle in the room for a reason.

“She's nearly a year old, you shouldn't be letting her sleep on you like that.” Coriolanus told you, taking a seat at the small tea table. He never even tried to hide the disgust in his voice.

“There's nothing wrong with holding her, Coryo? She's my baby girl.” You responded, causing your husband to just shake his head while reaching for the teapot that was in the middle of the table.

“She's a toddler now, darling. She's not a baby anymore.” Coriolanus scoffed, pouring himself a cup of tea. “Do you want to have afternoon tea with me, or are you going to coddle Cersei all day?” He asked, grabbing a macaron and placing it onto the small plate that was in front of him.

“I'll have tea with you, Coryo.” You thinly smiled, only to rise from your spot on the sofa and place your daughter into her portable crib.

As you made your way over to the table, your husband fixed you a cup of tea and plated you macarons. When you sat down, you decided that now was the time to bring up the subject of having more children.

Little did you know, after your near death experience, Coriolanus got himself snipped. So…it was impossible for you to have any more children.

But he wasn't going to tell you that.

Reaching for your teacup, you told your husband,“Coryo, I think we should have another baby.”

“No.” Was Coriolanus’ quick and cold reply.

“But, we could have a son this time “ You pressed, knowing that your husband wanted a son. Wanted the Snow name to live on.

But you were wrong. Coriolanus didn't want a son to carry on the Snow name, he wanted you alive to be by his side. He loves you to the point of obsessive possession. The love Coriolanus has for you is all consuming, like a plague of locusts devouring an entire field of crops in District 11.

Coryo took a long sip of his tea, only to cut eyes with you over his teacup and firmly say, “I said no, Y/N.” placing his teacup down, he gave you the lame excuse of, “I'm a very busy man, my little dove. Being president takes much of my time away from my fatherly duties; we can only handle raising one child. More than one would be too much for us, considering you refuse a nanny.”

“I told you when I was pregnant with Cersei that I want to raise our kids. I don't want somebody else raising them, no matter how it might be easier considering your role in politics.”

“My role in politics?” Coriolanus chuckled, biting into his macaron. “I'm the President of Panem, that's more than just a role in politics.”

Sipping on your tea, you sighed, “Fine, Cersei’ll be an only child.”

Grabbing your hand in his, Coryo promised, “Our daughter will never want for anything. She'll be showered in a life of luxury.”

That wasn't true. Your daughter grew up wanting her father's love, but she never got it. Coriolanus was always so distant and cold with Cersei.

She hated him, but that was fine with your husband since he hated her right back.

You always thought that your husband resented your daughter for not being a son, for not being able to carrying on the might and noble Snow name.

But that wasn't the case at all.

Coriolanus Snow hated his daughter, Cersei, because you nearly died in childbirth with her. Nothing would every change that. He'd hate her til the day she died.

At least when your daughter died, it was bringing your beautiful granddaughter into the world.

A granddaughter Coryo named Celeste Snow, since your daughter was unwed at the time of her unexpected death.

Your husband was a better grandfather than he was a father. You thought that he might've felt guilty for being so distant and busy during Cersei’s childhood, that he decided to right his wrongs while you raised Celeste.

Little did you know, Coriolanus loved his granddaughter because she killed her mother in the birthing bed.

President Snow was a horrible, heartless man with a soul darker than a black hole. But at least he loved you and loved his granddaughter.

Too bad he hated his only child her entire life.

Tags: @kuroosbby001, @purriteen, @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst, @whipwhoops, @bxtchopolis, @readingthingsonhere,@savagenctzen, @ryswritingrecord, @erikasurfer, @tulips2715, @universal-s1ut, @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans, @sudek4l, @wearemadeofstardust0, @mashiromochi, @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503, @shari-berri, @aoi-targaryen, @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch, @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons, @qoopeeya, @mfnqueen1, @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

[lizzie-queenofmeigas]

Mind you, the same people who cheer on Mirri for murdering a child, violating a teenage bridal slave’s bodily autonomy and ripping her womb to shreds because “she’s getting revenge against her slavers” and Rhaego would have gone on to become “Mongol Hitler” (yes, that’s what they’re calling him, their racism and bigotry has absolutely no bottom), when her revenge didn’t help anyone, will then go on to say that Daenerys is a tyrannical monster for executing slavers in her fight for the freedom and dignity of hundreds of thousands of people.

They’re the same people who salivate over the prospect of Cersei being murdered by her male lover / male relative after she has already had so much gendered violence, sexual assault and humiliation done to her already, and none of them is asking for Cersei to get a cleaner / dignified death or a fair and unbiased judicial process, while claiming Daenerys should’ve given the slavers a lawful trial.

That’s insane… literally insane. People are completely depraved when it comes to slavery. They can sympathize with Theon and rightly consider Ramsay to be a complete and irredeemable monster for what he did to him, but then turn around and look at the slavers who do exactly what Ramsay did (torture, castration, dehumanisation down to the loss of a name) except to thousands and thousands of children (with many more children — three for every Unsullied that grows to adulthood — being simply killed), and say the situation is “nuanced” and don’t you know maybe some of the Great Maesters weren’t pro-crucifying those particular 163 children, even though they still owned human beings and enslaved children still died in their service.

I don't get surprised by anything in this fandom anymore, but my lack of surprise doesn't make all of this any less sick.

People would cling to and defend slavery and abuse rather than simply stop hating a female character. This is without entering in how racist they are towards the Dothraki which is another matter all together.

They really need to revaluate their life choices, or get punched.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

……cersei corrupting little sister reader mayhaps 🤭

Warnings: DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. Incest, corruption kink, dubcon, fingering. Word count: ~1k

Cersei is in her cups again. You can tell by the faintest tint of rouge that stains her lips and the gleam she gets in her green eyes when she’s overindulged in Arbor red. It’s gotten worse since Jaime went away to the Riverlands and there is little you can do to stop it.

Truthfully, you are glad he’s gone. Growing up you’d always envied the closeness he shared with your older sister, the gap in age between you and your siblings made childhood lonely for you. Tyrion didn’t take an interest in you, but you’d always adored Cersei. You idolised the grace with which she carried herself, her effortless beauty and sharp tongue. She never really paid you any mind though, too preoccupied with her twin to notice you.

It was only when Jaime wasn’t around that she deigned to give you any attention, but you basked in being her plaything, even though it was only temporary. You had heard the rumours regarding your siblings’ incestuous relationship, but your father had scoffed derisively when you dared to ask, telling you that was a scandalous practice that had died with the Targaryens. The Lannisters would never debase themselves with such depravity. You’d believed him, you had no reason not to.

That was until you grew older, Cersei married King Robert, and Jaime’s absences became more frequent. Something shifted in the affection that your sister lavished upon you. It evolved into something darker, more intimate and filled you with feelings of burning shame, amidst a deep seated warmth in your lower belly that you could never quite find the words to articulate.

Lingering kisses to the lips, insistence that you share her bed while she kept you cuddled close to her replaced games of make believe and hide and seek. You supposed it was part of her becoming Queen. People change. She had to grow up and so would you.

This feels too grown up though; as she stands, wine goblet in hand, eyeing you closely as you run your hands over the rich, crimson brocade fabric of the gown draped over the folding screen.

“I cannot wear this,” You tell her, shaking your head and snatching your hands back as though you may sully the material with your very touch. “It is too much.”

She smirks at you, taking a slow sip of her wine and letting her eyes travel the length of you. “You are a Lannister. Nothing is too much.” She says with a slight tilt of her head.

“You have worn this gown to hold Court before!” You protest. “I cannot wear the Queen’s clothes.”

She steps closer, taking your jaw between thumb and forefinger. You can smell cloves and berried fruits upon her breath as it fans across your face, her eyes boring into yours. “Do you remember how much fun we had playing dress up when you were a girl?” She whispers.

You swallow thickly, hating the way your lower belly flutters under her attention. “Y-yes.” You peep meekly.

“Will you dress up once more, sweet sister, just for me?” She purrs.

You want to tell her no, you long to wrench from her grasp and flee back to your own chambers, if only to put a stop to the uncomfortable stickiness that gathers between your legs. You hate this, and yet you will not deny her anything. She is your sister, your Queen. 

You nod your head and she releases you with a demure smile. “Good girl.” She praises stepping back.

Your hands move to lift your thin cotton shift over your head, then pause, uncertainty paralysing you. “Aren’t you going to leave while I dress?”

She scoffs, a grin briefly flashes across her pretty features before it’s gone again. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.” She says with a soft shrug.

You hesitate a moment, before pulling off your nightgown, leaving you bare before your sister. It may be nothing she hasn’t seen before, but she has certainly never looked at you like that before.

There is a predatory hunger, dark and urgent, in the way she stares at you. It makes you want to shrink into yourself, cover whatever parts of you she can see with your hands. The silent threat to rob you of your innocence looms heavy and oppressive. It frightens you, but not as much as the urge you have to simply give in to her.

“Here, allow me.” She says, setting her goblet down and stepping forward to take the dress from the screen.

Your breath hitches as her fingertips drag across your skin as she helps you into it, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. You have to bite back a whimper as she grazes your pebbled nipples lightly as she pulls the bodice over your breasts. You are sure it is deliberate.

The room feels too hot, your skin blazes and you grow wetter between your thighs, guilt eating away at you for it.

Lannisters would never debase themselves with such depravity.

What if you are depraved? What if she knows? She’d tell your father and it would bring shame upon your entire house.

You are broken from your thoughts as Cersei’s hand cups your mound beneath your skirts, her lips parting slightly as she feels the arousal gathered there.

You gasp, attempting to pull back, but she follows, keeping her hand exactly where it is. You bump into the wall, backed up against it as she spreads her fingers through your sodden folds, exploring.

“S-stop.” You stammer, unable to comprehend that your own sister would touch you in such a way.

She tuts, but makes no move to halt her ministrations. “Don’t you wish to play, little lion?”

Your eyes widen, your breathing becoming more laboured as the urge to resist her grows weaker. Realisation dawns, horrifying and intriguing all at once. “Is…is this how you and Jaime play?”

She laughs softly, plunging a finger inside of you, the sudden stretch of it making you yelp. “Oh, how Jaime and I play is much more intimate. Would you like me to show you?”

No is precisely what you should say, if you were to listen to the way your mind screams at you to run. However, driven by the fluttering in your cunt and the excitement that flurries in your belly, you answer in the affirmative. “Show me.”

Read on AO3

More WLW fics

[paulyenvol6]

The Red Viper

A smutty Oberyn Martell x female brothel worker one-shot. Enjoy :)

Contains: smut, p in v, unprotected sex, oral (m & f receiving), gagging, fingering, Oberyn giving dom vibes but also being very cheeky, soft Oberyn, lots of dirty talk, teasing, overstimulation, praise, mentions of a threesome, looks of the brothel worker are described, sex work

Wordcount: 5,902

Masterlist

Oberyn hadn't been able to sleep tonight.

And when he couldn't sleep he usually fucked.

But tonight everything had been a little different which was why he had ended up where he was right now. Ellaria was out with the queen Cersei herself after she had invited her to dine with her and her handmaidens and while Oberyn would have asked to make love to his paramour every other night, he had to find other ways this night.

'The brothel,' was his next thought and despite refusing to get up at first as the silk blanket felt so comfortable around his body he eventually did, the prospect of touching a beautiful girl motivating him to sit up and get dressed in his sand-colored robe.

The walk to the brothel that had turned out to be his favourite in the capital was a short one and a couple of minutes later the prince stood in a big and luxurious room that the owner had praised to be the best out of all and was running his eyes over a line-up of young and pretty girls who all had their head bowed. Oberyn curled the corner of his mouth circling them like he was about to claim his prey and then stopped in front of a girl that stood out to him.

She looked young but was tall, long legs barely covered by her revealing dress and had blond hair that framed her pretty face perfectly. She had her head bowed just like all the other girls and something about her obedience that he could smell off her from miles away made a certain, very familiar hunger grow in him.

"I want this one," he said loudly the owner of the brothel clapping his hands together seemingly relieved about the fact that the prince was satisfied with the selection shown to him.

"Perfect. Perfect, my prince. She is all yours. One of our best and most popular girls and so young, so pretty. And she listens very well."

Oberyn chuckled lowly not taking his eyes off her for once as he stepped a little closer, the girl standing still while the other whores bowed and turned around to leave the room.

"I can imagine," he whispered running a thumb over her chin and then turned to the man. "Leave us."

"Of course, my prince. If you need anything, just call for me."

Oberyn didn't even bother to answer pursing his lips at the young girl again utterly taken by her beauty. The plump pink lips, her brown eyes that now looked upon his face for the first time and the shy twitch of her lashes as she got to know the man paying to spend the night with her.

"What's your name, sweet girl?" Oberyn asked moving closer to her his left hand cradling her head while his right toyed with single strands of her hair.

"Ysia, my prince," she answered her voice quiet and soft but very intriguing.

"Ysia… That's a pretty name for a pretty girl like you. And I've been told that you can listen very well. You like doing what you're told, sweetling?"

Her pupils flickered over him looking somewhat curiously as if she couldn't quite measure what kind of person he was.

"I do, my prince."

Oberyn gently yet firmly grabbed the side of her face running his thumb over her cheekbone and then leaned down to kiss her forehead which seemed to catch her off guard. Ysia clearly wasn't used to men taking their time with her and didn't know what to think of someone like him holding her gently and talking to her instead of pushing her on her stomach and using her holes to get off.

"I think I'm going to have a lot of fun with you," he whispered, his lips not more than an inch away from her brow.

"All you have to do is obey me, my sweet girl. And then the both of us are going to feel very good."

Oberyn smirked down at her while taking one of her hands to guide it to his center where his cock was already pressing tight against his breeches.

"You feel that, little one? That's what you're doing to him. You wanna make it better?"

Ysia's eyes became round as coins as she felt the heaviness of his cock against her hand uncertainly nodding at his question.

"Get on your knees, sweeling, and then you can show me how good you are. How much you're sorry to have made him so uneasy and tense."

She immediately dropped to her knees because these were the kinds of words she was very familiar with and then moved her hair behind her ears ready for what would come now.

"If you're very good, love, I'm not going to make you kneel on the floor for another second during the rest of the night. Consider this your test."

Ysia nodded again biting down hard on her bottom lip because she was incapable of judging this man. He was kind and gentle on one hand but she could tell that he enjoyed a certain dominance and being in control of the situation. Perhaps this would become a very interesting night…

Oberyn on the other hand felt his stomach tighten at the scene before him and in this moment was incredibly happy to have left his bed half an hour ago because this was more than worth it. Just by seeing her on her knees for him he could tell that she would feel heavenly around him, no matter if it was her mouth or cunt.

"Show me your tongue," his husky voice commanded her and she was quick to obey sticking out her flat tongue.

"Good…," Oberyn purred examining her so closely that it intimidated the girl almost. When he shoved two of his digits in her mouth she choked at first taken by surprise but then automatically started to suck on them keeping her eyes fixed on him at all times which made his heart flutter.

She was exactly the kind of girl he had been looking for, he thought caressing the side of her head with his other hand as a reward. Obedient, sweet and eager to be bossed around.

When Oberyn removed his fingers they were soaked and seeing Ysia lick over her lips made his eyes flash with a new determination. He simply couldn't wait any longer now, opening his robe along with his pants and pulling them down his legs. His breeches followed and then his leaking cock was revealed to the pretty girl's eyes who didn't show much of a reaction which was no wonder considering she probably had seen countless naked men.

His manhood was long and thick, the tip slightly curved and very red right now, a single drop of precum glistening on top of it.

"Now, don't be shy, little girl. You can kiss him. He likes it very much."

Ysia looked up to him and for the first time tonight Oberyn felt that she put down some of her shyness her eyes radiating a yet unseen glow and the corners of her mouth slightly twisting. But when the girl reached for his cock with her hands to wrap them around his shaft the prince stopped her by catching her wrists and shoving them to hang down her side.

"No, my little flower. We're going to do this my way. You're going to touch when I say so and you're going to kiss when I say so. And now I want you to kiss and lick him without using those pretty little hands."

His voice was soft which made his command sound caring and friendly so Ysia's face that had tensed the moment that he had grabbed her hands fearing that she had enraged him relaxed and she loosened up again. And yet she bowed her head as she submissively folded her hands in her lap.

"Forgive me, my prince. I will do as you command me."

Oberyn chuckled quietly combing through her hair soft and glimmering like silk and then pushed her closer to his manhood.

"I know you will. I could tell so the second I lay my eyes upon you for the first time. You are meant to serve. You are meant to be on your knees for me right now, isn't that right?"

Ysia intended to answer, just like she had learned but Oberyn seemingly was too eager to wait for her reply shoving her further until her lips were right in front of the tip of his cock which she welcomed with a soft kiss.

She was careful in the beginning feeling as though this might just be what the prince wanted. She explored his length, leaving kisses that almost felt shy and held back but Oberyn didn't rush her. His tender hands were in her hair soothingly encouraging her and now and then came up to cup her face with the sole purpose to savour how large his hands looked on her. His breath was catching in his throat, little gasps escaping from his mouth but Oberyn wasn't the kind of man to hold anything back and gladly showed his reaction to the girl.

And she indeed was doing a marvelous job. With the movement of her mouth Ysia seemed to worship his cock rather than trying to get him off as quickly as possible and even if all of this was her acting and pretending, Oberyn wouldn't complain.

The wet sound of her lips trailing down the veins of his shaft only added to the thrill and soon even the patient prince couldn't wait to discover more of her so he secured his firm grip in her hair gesturing her to look up to him.

She did, eyes glancing at him in the most endearing manner and something about her made Oberyn want to throw her on the bed and make love to her all night but for the mere purpose of getting more of her he didn't. She was too precious to just come inside of her cunt after a minute of pounding into her, especially considering how well her behaviour fit what he was looking for in a lover.

So instead he brought his hand to his cock pumping himself a couple of times while keeping eye contact and then guided his length past her parted lips that automatically had opened up wide for him without having to tell her.

"Good girl," Oberyn immediately complimented her closing his eyes at the warmth of her mouth and then worked himself deeper, his hand in her hair securing the position of her head.

He didn't even go very fast or with a lot of force; there was a gentleness and a certain ease about his touch even when his grip was strong and determined. Once he was fully inside Ysia had to gag but tried her very best to breathe through her nose which the prince commented with a gentle stroke on the back of her head.

"Stay calm for me. You have to relax and breathe and then it won't hurt. That's right, sweet girl…"

Oberyn clenched his eyes starting to move in her mouth at a steady pace that wasn't too much for her and yet enough to dig her fingers into the palms of her own hands as to soothe her tense body. His manhood was large after all and although Oberyn seemed to do her the courtesy of not trying to make a mess on her chin his sheer size made her drool and spit collected in the corner of her mouth.

"Your throat feels heavenly, little one… An angel sent to the earth to make up for the crimes that the gods have inflicted on us."

The prince chuckled lowly guiding her according to the movement of his cock and then got lost in his pleasure for a brief moment because this time Ysia felt his tip grazing the back of her throat and her retching reflex was triggered right away. Her whole body jerked backwards trying to get away from him as a first instinct but Oberyn's reaction was quick and he only allowed her to bring a distance of a few inches between her and his length before taking hold of her and forcing her down his manhood again.

"Tsk tsk," he clicked his tongue smiling down at her like he had just captured his escaped pet, then snapping his hips forwards again.

"You're not going anywhere, sweetling, until I'm done with you; not until I've had my fill of you. And especially not now that I have you right where I want you."

She moaned glossy eyes struggling to stay open as Oberyn filled her mouth to the brim and then reached for his thighs for some stability. Fortunately, the prince didn't correct her this time allowing her to bury her hands in his muscles and instead drooled over how tight her throat felt.

"That's a good girl right there… Just let me enjoy this perfect little mouth like this, yeah…"

Oberyn grew closer to releasing with every second passing as her tongue twirling around his tip was not helping as well. His forehead was covered in sweat, his nostrils flared at her perfect lips brushing his veined shaft and his heart pounded in his chest. He would have been able to come right on the spot but it was his self-control that eventually held him back.

Not that he wouldn't have liked to spill his seed down her throat and see her choke on it but Oberyn craved more. If he came now it would take him way too long to get hard again despite the beauty in front of him and he wished to claim her in more ways. He desired to fuck her cunt in every way known to mankind and end the night by fill her up with his sticky cum enternally marking her as his.

Oberyn Martell was no fool and he was far from confusing this encounter with a passionate night with a true paramour like Ellaria and yet something about Ysia made his insides clench when he looked at her. Perhaps it was just the fact that she was the perfect whore for him and everything that he seeked for during a night at the brothel.

So he pulled her off his cock just when he felt the knot in his stomach begin to tighten and looked into surprised eyes.

"Now it's your turn, sweet flower," Oberyn whispered and clasped his hand around her chin forcing her to bend her neck to meet his gaze.

"Do you like to get your cunt eaten?"

With the space he granted her Ysia nodded and he wasn't blind to the way she slightly shifted on the ground hips rolling to create some friction with the ground.

"Get up then. And then take off your clothes."

She obeyed like a sweet kitten rising from the floor in one motion and shoving the straps of her dress over her shoulders to let it drop to the ground. Oberyn shamelessly regarded everything she had to offer him, taking in every curve of her body and grinning at the way she pressed her legs together.

"You are so beautiful, kitten. Way too beautiful to serve Lannister cunts all day and night. But now I'm here to take care of you and I promise you when I'm done with you, you will never enjoy the touch of a Lannister again because all you're going to think about is my mouth and my hands and my cock."

These were rather promising words and there was a shimmer in Ysia's eyes that Oberyn knew all too well. He always saw it in Ellaria's eyes when he crawled down her body, the gesture indicating what beautiful things he was about to do to her.

"I want you, my prince," Ysia whispered her little hands coming up to his chest to trail a line down to his stomach her eyes following her fingers.

Oberyn crookedly smirked before connecting a hand with her cheek and leaning towards her to kiss her lips. Her hand on his stomach came to a stop completely in awe of his mouth devouring hers and when a muffled moan escaped her lips Oberyn brought his other hand to her waist squeezing it tenderly.

The very same hand soon traveled up to knead her breast massaging the flesh softly and yet so passionate that Oberyn could quite literally see her body heating up even more. Her nails scratched his skin leaving little marks that he welcomed especially because the light pain of it made his head spin.

Oberyn was well-aware of his skill in bed and knew just what to do with his hands to drive Ysia insane and he therefore rolled her perky nipples between his fingers grinning at the goosebumps rising on her arms. The air was thin and tense, a glimmering heat clouding both their heads and soon the prince physically couldn't wait for another minute, shoving the girl towards the bed until she fell backwards with a shriek.

"Get in a comfortable position," Oberyn demanded and took off his robe in the meantime. The girl's eyes flashed a flushness rising on her cheeks while she ran her eyes over his toned abdomen toes automatically curling at the view before her. He saw it of course and it made his chest rise with pride just like he wanted to tease her a little more.

Oberyn sat down on the edge of the bed turning his upper body to hover over her. A tender hand brushed over her cheek as light as a feather and then down her body to toy with her chest once more.

"My prince," she panted her shy hands clutching the bedsheets next to her body.

"Mhm?" he hummed and reached with his other hand to her neck.

"I need you."

Oberyn chuckled an amused laugh that echoed against the high ceiling while his finger traced a vein on her neck as if it was the most interesting thing he had ever seen.

"I know you do. And I told you that I'm going to have you wrapped around my little finger in a matter of minutes. What do you think, mhm? You think I promised you too much?"

Ysia's eyes rolled back because now his hand had glided down between her legs cupping her sex with his large hand and slightly rocking his palm against her clit.

"N-No, my prince," she whimpered still able to remember her courtesies but Oberyn would tease it out of her as well.

"You know us dornishmen have many talents. We are good hunters for instance. And we make good wine and we're incredibly dancers. People from this part of the country try to deny it and call us liars claiming that they are the better hunters and wine makers and dancers. But there is one thing that they don't deny."

He started to circle her dripping entrance with two fingers while the pat of his thumb pressed into her clit provoking this lovely music in his ear that were her sweet moans.

"You know what that is?"

Ysia's eyes sprang open struggling to keep her breath steady and shook her head at his question.

"It is the fact that we are the best lovers. That is why even the most precious and beautiful whores from King's Landing say that no man is as good as a dornishman. And that is why even boys from the capital lay with dornishmen even though they were absolutely sure they would never want to be with a man. And now it is you who gets a taste of what a real and passionate lover looks like."

Oberyn slowly inserted two fingers inside of her, careful to let her adjust but they were already thick enough to make her walls squeeze them tightly which the prince reacted to with a deep laugh.

"Ugh uh… So wonderfully tight I would almost assume that you're a maiden. But you're not and frankly, I am glad about it because I don't have to be slow and careful with you, mhm?" He pushed his digits deeper curling at just the right angle to make her see stars.

"I can see that you like it rough, my little flower. You're craving to be devoured by me and I can tell so by the way your little pussy sucks me in. She wants to be filled up, mhm?"

A little whine escaped her lips and it was truly one of the most beautiful things he had ever heard. In this moment Ellaria came to his mind and he thought how much his paramour would enjoy the little girl. He definitely would have to introduce her to her as well.

The noises she made were like music to his ear putting him under her spell and making him let his fingers dance over her cunt like he was playing an instrument. But it was not yet enough for Oberyn yearning for a taste of her warm slick. He removed his hand from her center her lazy eyes fluttering at the loss of contact but her pupils widened when she understood what he was doing.

The prince crawled down her body creating a strip of wet kisses that started at her neck and went down to her mound and then he inhaled greedily his lips twisting into a content smile.

"There she is…" He didn't say anything else his tongue instantly tapping against her entrance to collect as much of her juices as possible. This was a sacred liquid and he would not let one drop go to waste.

The prince growled lowly sending vibrations all throughout her body and licked at her hole with the rough tip of his tongue mixing it up with little kisses every now and then. Ysia moaned and panted, his name slipping past her lips every few seconds and when she finally felt courageous enough to bury her fingers in his dark locks Oberyn rewarded her by concentrating on her throbbing clit from now on.

His mouth sucked at the pretty pearl while his tongue brushed over the underside of it and just like the combination never failed to make Ellaria come within minutes it had an equal effect on Ysia. She let out a loud gasp staring down at him like she was in disbelief of what was happening but then chose to simply enjoy it instead of wondering what the secret to his addicting touch was.

Her head fell back into the cushions while her trembling legs enclosed around his body trapping him so there was no way he could possibly stop pleasuring her.

"Huh! My prince, I –" she stuttered, her wide eyes flickering between the ceiling and his head while her mouth somehow tried to express what she was feeling. Oberyn grinned against her core blowing some air over the little nub and then carefully took it between his teeth to nibble gently which turned out to be a mesmerizing thrill.

A little bit of pain was added to the head-spinning stimulation and Ysia couldn't help herself but let out a quiet cry that made Oberyn's cock twitch in anticipation. The thought of finally burying himself inside of her weeping hole was closer than ever; he just needed a little bit more.

"I want you to come for me, sweet girl. I want you to soak my face and drown me in your juices. You think you can do that for me? Think you can be a good girl for me?"

Ysia nodded eagerly yearning for his praise and pulled at his locks to tell him that she would show him just how good she could be.

"Yes. Yes, my prince," she additionally said, breath hitching in her throat and every single muscle in her body tense and ready to implode.

An airy breath left her mouth and then the world around her went black as Oberyn had given her the final push to send her over the edge by rubbing his rough tongue over the underside of her clit. She jolted and twitched, her whole body shivering and shaking like she was possessed by the devil but the picture aroused the prince like nothing else, knowning that it was him alone who had made her feel that way.

He kept his tongue pressed to her pearl until he shifted in discomfort, the contact being too much for her swollen clit and after a last kiss Oberyn decided to release her and kissed his way up her body.

The picture before his eyes made his lips twitch in amusement as no strand of hair was in the same place as before, her face was red and her bottom lip bloody from biting down on it. Sweat was running down her forehead and seeing the prince's eyes flit over her face only made the scarlet color on her cheeks deepen and she slightly tilted her head as to escape his gaze.

But Oberyn would have none of this and brought a single thumb to her chin turning her attention back to him.

"No, sweet girl. I want you to look at me. And I want you to look at me when I fuck this sweet cunt. Otherwise… I might have no choice but to leave you here with some Lannister fool. Do you think he could make you feel as good as I do?"

Her eyes begged him as she moved her fists to his shoulders grasping his muscles and spreading her legs wider to give him full access to her body.

"No, my prince. Please fuck me."

A whore begging for him. He only had to lick her cunt for a couple of minutes and he had her asking for his cock like a good kitten. Oberyn enjoyed the show so much that he decided to tease her a little longer although he was close to just holding her down and pounding her pretty cunt until he was satisfied. He gritted his teeth, left hand groping her breast and twisting her nipple, his right wrapping around his cock that was so painfully hard at this point that he felt like bursting at the mere sight of her.

Oberyn guided the tip through her folds collecting her arousal but another purpose of this was to watch her squirm beneath him. He paid a special amount of attention to her pearl which caused her to wind herself and throw her head to the side and this time he allowed it, his cock twitching at the uncontrolled mess that she was in front of his eyes.

"Look at that. He's asking for your cunt just like she's weeping for him."

He referred to the glistening wetness leaking out of her hole and then he brought his tip to it circling her entrance.

"Tell me how much you want it, little one."

"Please, my prince. I need it so badly, please. Just take me," Ysia whimpered, her words quiet but so frustrated it almost made him feel sorry for her.

"Which way do you like it? You want me to shove it into you and take you roughly until you ask me to stop or do you want me to be gentle? What's it gonne be, mhm?"

Her lashes fluttered teeth grazing over her bottom lip as she tried to form her thoughts into sentences but Oberyn was quicker cupping the lower half of her face, fingers digging into her skin which made it impossible for her to speak up as her mouth was forced into a pout.

"And do you think you get to tell me how to fuck you?"

He smiled, his face radiating a friendliness that contrasted with his words and then Ysia felt his tip slowly working itself inside of her.

"Ohhh… fuck," her face twisted in pleasure eyes watering as the thickness of his shaft stretched her so deliciously. "Mmm… fuck. Fuck, yes."

Oberyn's lips parted an inaudible escaping and his fingers wrapped around her waist as he filled her to the brim her wet hole welcoming him inside like a warm and kind hug.

"That's it… That's such a nice little cunt you have there. Bet she's made so many men's heads spin, isn't that right?"

He growled lowly feeling her clench around him signalising him that she was ready for him to take her the way he wanted to.

"You want me to fuck you, pretty girl?"

Ysia nodded and wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him in for a kiss but Oberyn wouldn't give it to her so easily and put a finger on top of her mouth.

"Then you're going to ask for it nicely."

The girl let out a desperate whine legs enclosing around his waist giving further proof of how much she wished he would finally take her properly and as much as Oberyn felt the urge to slam his cock so deep inside of her that she would whimper his name, he first wanted to wait for her to use her voice.

"Please fuck me, my prince. Please. I need it and I'm going to be good. Please."

Waves of pleasure went through his body at her thin voice and the slight tremble of her bottom lip and what eventually made him bottom out was the way Ysia teared up and he felt that he didn't have a choice but to pound her sweet pussy.

She whined in enjoyment this time shutting her eyes as she fully focused on the way her walls were stimulated by his cock each time he thrusted in her. Her surroundings were blurry, Oberyn being the center of her mind at this moment and he would be lying if he claimed that he felt differently about her.

Ysia was… a godess. He had rarely fucked a cunt that took him like this; she was tight and warm and it truly felt like the two of them were meant for each other. He bit his lip watching her with hungry eyes although she had hers shut. Oberyn didn't care though; her drenched core along with her face drawn with pleasure and her breasts that he had started to knead again were enough to satisfy his every need and soon he felt that he was close to reaching his high.

Therefore he reached between her legs, ignoring the way she twitched at first when Oberyn's thumb made contact with her clit and circled around the nub with a stubborn determination to make her come for the second time tonight.

"Tell me when you're close, my love. I want you to come with me."

A quiet "Yes" escaped her lips although he wasn't quite certain whether she had actually heard him at first. And then suddenly, a lot more unexpected than her first orgasm of the night she felt the tension in her thighs and lower belly losen and she quickly grabbed his arms, her nails surely leaving marks.

"I'm coming. I'm coming, my prince, fuck…"

A deep grunt left Oberyn's throat and the girl wasn't certain whether it was caused by his own release that followed shortly after or his disapproval of the fact that she hadn't warned him earlier but either way, the explosion of emotions in her head overshadowed everything else and all she could do was hold on to him and savour the feeling of his seed painting her walls.

"Oh seven hells!" Oberyn growled and firmly clenched her waist while delivering slow and deep pushes into her quivering cunt.

"Oh fuck. Oh my sweet little girl, that's it…"

He breathed heavily his head dropping so his forehead was pressed to her collarbone and then hissed out little curses while the two of them gave themselves a moment to catch their breaths and process the heaviness and intensity of their releases.

Feeling the drowsiness catching up with him, he decided that he should move before he fell asleep and reluctantly lifted his head from her body. Ysia's eyes were closed as well but when he ran a finger over the area under her eyes a smile formed on her lips which was then followed by the fluttering of her eyelids.

"You were a very good girl," he whispered once her pupils were on him. "A dornishman is hard to satisfy but you did, sweet love. And you shall be rewarded for it."

Ysia giggled, her hands stroking his tired shoulders that were tense from holding his body up for so long.

"Thank you, my prince."

"Are you satisfied?" Oberyn then asked and the girl couldn't help herself but widen her eyes.

"Of course I am. Have you listened to me these last minutes?"

The prince smiled a crooked smirk tracing the outline of her lips with his thumb and then pushed it past her lips, his eyes darkening.

"I'm glad to hear that, love."

Ysia gently sucked at his thumb eyes closing in relish but after a brief moment he already removed his hand and then suddenly rolled off her to pick his clothes from the ground. The girl sighed in disappointment but then crawled to lay on her stomach watching Oberyn get dressed with heart-shaped eyes.

"Why are you in such a rush all of a sudden, my prince?" she purred and gave him her most innocent doll eyes. "Is fucking me all I'm good for?"

The prince chuckled adjusting his robe and then leaned down to her to stroke her chin with his finger.

"No at all, pretty kitten. I think you're good for a lot of things. But you know… there is another woman that seeks my attention from time to time. A woman that I don't want to keep waiting. Her name is Ellaria, you know? She's a dornishwoman and she is fierce, just like me. I bet you would like her. Just as I know that she would find great pleasure in touching you… I would like her to meet you, my little girl. I bet we could do great things together, the three of us."

Ysia nodded with big eyes and then smiled widely when his lips pressed a tender kiss to her brow.

"I would like that too, my prince. I enjoy being with women and I want to make her feel good just the way you made me feel good with your mouth."

Oberyn chuckled the vibrations shooting through her body and then he pulled back after having cradled her soft cheek one last time.

"And I would enjoy seeing you make her feel good."

He walked a few steps backwards, a mischievious glance shimmering in his eyes and then took a handful of coins that were definitely too much for one night with her out of his pocket and placed them on the table.

"This will not be the last time you see me, sweetling. I will make sure of that."

Ysia rolled on her back watching him upside down and tilted her head but before she could answer him he had already slipped through the door leaving the little girl empty-headed and dizzy, her head buzzing with the aftermath of this special encounter.

[dreaming-of-the-reality]

Kind of getting sick of this whole “Lucerys was innocent” narrative and that B&C is justified because of Luke’s death.

When a house or a person declares for Team Black, they become the enemy of Team Green. You are supporting Rhaenyras claim to the throne against Aegons and therefore seen as the enemy.

When Lucerys CHOSE and volunteered to fly (because they would be faster than ravens) to Storms end in an attempt to gain support for Rhaenyra, he was declared an enemy of Team Green. His death was a consequence of his own action.

Your own Action 🤝 Your own Consequence

If Luke had refused to go in person, and Team Green had just decided to kill him, then yes he would’ve been innocent. But that’s not the case.

Stop comparing Lucerys to Jaehaerys and claiming that it was a fair exchange. It wasn’t.

Jaehaerys is six years old, probably has no clue what the hell is even going on, he doesn’t get to choose who he supports, and ends up being murdered for something his uncle did.

So people protesting the “there was no reason to kill Jaehaerys” by using Lucerys death as a fair reason, need to open their eyes to the reality of the show, which is that regardless of how much you loved that character, it does not make them innocent to everything.

I don’t care how cute he comes across to you. He chose his side, and died for it. He was mature enough to understand that by 13-14 years old. I’m not saying he definitively deserved to be murdered, because I don’t think he did, but I won’t be out here claiming he’s innocent when he’s not.

———

A justification I am also seeing a lot now, is that “well Jaehaerys is team green by default because he’s Aegons son”

Myrcella Lannister was murdered in Game of Thrones. She was innocent but was killed because she was associated with the Lannisters. She was killed as an act of “revenge” because Oberyn was killed in a situation he chose to put himself in. She was not responsible for any bad blood between the Martells and Lannisters, nor was she responsible for the actions of Cersei or Joffrey.

Jaehaerys Targaryen will be murdered in House of the Dragon. He is innocent, but will be killed because he is associated with Team Green. He will be killed as an act of “revenge” because Lucerys was killed in a situation he chose to put himself in. He is not responsible for any bad blood between Team Green or Team Black, nor is he responsible for the actions of Aegon or Aemond.

So stop with this ridiculousness. What’s to come is not right, it is not justified in any way shape or form, and it will be devastating and sad.

[visenyaism]

I thought that last comment you got about Ned enabling Robert was really interesting and well-put! I was wondering, do you think after basically painting himself into a corner allowing Roberts behavior for years did Ned have any “good” options to deal with the information that Joffrey was illegitimate? Or like do you think because the “royal bloodline” thing is bullshit anyway Ned would’ve done better to just never tell anybody (since he’s clearly willing to take that kind of secret to the grave anyway)

as the only other person in the whole realm who is hiding a succession-disrupting bastard from robert I really think Ned is kind of talking to himself in a way during his conversation with cersei. it’s why he gets so frustrated at her for not having been a better wife to Robert, because NED was a pretty good wife to Robert, and yet neither of them can stop him from killing their children if he finds out the truth. There’s this direct parallel between being the hands of the king and dealing with an abusive monarch and being the queen and dealing with an abusive husband that I think is pretty interesting to explore.

Ned knows that Robert will just kill Cersei’s kids if he finds out the truth, because Ned knows he would not hesitate to kill Jon. Obviously, he would counsel against it, but Robert would do it, and Ned would disassociate and then go home. He’s trained himself to be a very passive figure in Roberts life while Robert just destroys everything around him so not think there’s anything he can do to stop that act of violence. in his head, he is doing the absolute most that he can by warning her to run. There is no situation in which Ned takes this to his grave. he is too loyal to robert and too society-brained. he copes with the Robert situation by blaming Cersei for Robert’s behavior.

ultimately, I think the commonality between Cersei and Joffrey, and Ned and Jon makes Ned sympathize with Cersei a bit but he’s never empathizing with her at any point. he would sell her out if Robert had lived.

[hadesisqueer]

zutara makes more sense than kataang though. zuko and katara are character foils. theyre the opposite and the same at the same time. they represent yin and yang

I'll say it a lot of times: I personally do not ship Zuko and Katara, but I actually have nothing against those who do. People can ship and dislike ships and that's okay, as long as they express their opinion with respect. Which is what I'm about to do, by the way.

1) Two characters being foils of each other doesn't necessarily mean they're meant to be connected in a romantic way. A big example: Adam Taurus and Yang Xiao Long, from RWBY. If you watch that show, you quickly realize those two are obvious character foils, very different but very similar at the same time, to the point they have practically the same super-power. However-- are they meant to be connected romantically? Um, no. In fact, one of the things that makes them foils of each other is that they're actually romantic rivals, with Adam being Blake Belladonna's ex-boyfriend and Yang being Blake's new love interest and girlfriend, and their relationships with her being parallels and the complete opposite. So, again: character foils ≠ romantic. Another example are Daenerys Targaryen and Cersei Lannister.

2) This is not about shipping on my behalf, but about me disagreeing about Zuko and Katara being yin and yang. While I agree that Katara and Zuko have many things in common and can be considered foils, I'd argue that if you're looking for someone who is completely different and yet the same as Katara down to the fact that they're both the same age, both second daughters with older brothers, both prodigies by their own right with very rare and dangerous abilities —lightning and bloodbending—, both deeply affected by their relationships with their mothers and their losses in complete different ways, both with character arcs that also parallel each other-- that is not Zuko. That is Azula. To me, Azula is Katara's actual, biggest character foil, down to their relationships with their brothers also being parallels of the other. Azula is also one of Zuko's character foils, too, obviously.

3) Zuko's biggest character foil in the show is Aang. The Avatar and the Fire Prince who later becomes Fire Lord, a direct parallel to Roku and Sozin who started as friends and ended as enemies while they started as enemies and ended up friends. The boy who fights with positive jing, and the boy who prefers negative jing. The boy who was scared of his destiny and ran away, and the boy who was desperate to find his destiny and wanted to run towards it, wrongly believing it was capturing Aang. The Avatar whose destiny is redeeming Roku as the Avatar and stop the war, and the Fire Prince whose destiny is helping the Avatar and redeem himself and the Fire Nation. Aang, who thought he had to choose between being the Avatar and his beliefs as an Air Nomad and realizing he could actually have both, and Zuko who thought he had to capture the Avatar to achieve his destiny as the Fire Lord and later realizing his destiny was actually helping the Avatar and also being the Fire Lord. The cinematography of the show itself shows their parallelisms MANY times, the most obvious one being Aang being represented by the red dragon and Zuko by the blue dragon-- which are a reference to yin and yang. Because ships aside and all, it's not Zuko and Katara, but Zuko and Aang who are the representation of yin and yang in Avatar the Last Airbender.

[tamayakii]

their angel au thought

imagine if Darling died in a tragic way, perhaps similar to how Helaena or Lucerys died depending on which team she would be “in”.

Her ghost would haunt the halls of the red keep, wailing at the foot steps at what was once Aemmas and Rhaenrya’s chambers. She watches Aegon III’s children grow up and witnesses the maiden vault, to Aegon the unworthy taking the throne and his nine mistresses and his great bastards. To the blackfyre rebellion, then Dunk and Egg. And then the Mad king Aerys.

Her ghost was most volatile during the reign of the Mad King, storms often wrecking against the Red Keep- Screams of a woman would be heard from one of the royal chambers, items would be broken and paintings would be torn from their frames but it only seemed to pick up more since the sack of kings landing.

Mrycella and Tommen were the only one who had seemed to have decent experiences with this ghost, besides the servants of the castle.

But still, the storms ravished kings landing like no other on certain days like clock work. Only three maesters since the Dance of The Dragons came to believe it was indeed a ghost, others would scoff at the notion but all of the evidence was too coincidental to pass it off as nature. Perhaps it was the gods showing their disdain for the current state of Kings Landing, but no one would able to figure it out as the incidents came to a stop once Queen Cersei gave birth to her second daughter, an angry babe that was pushed into the world screaming louder than any child the Maesters had heard before.