#would fairies have daemons? unsure

[1tbls]

been thinking about AF and daemon AU.

i read one fic where artemis had a lemur demon, and i really liked that 👍🏻 like with ms. coulter's daemon, primate daemons are associated with intelligence, but also an element of the cold and calculating, which obviously suits artemis.

however, for me, monkey and great ape daemons also have a touch of brutality or connection to baser instincts. and i don't quite get that same feeling from lemur daemons? i see a lemur daemon as being more in touch with the creative or unconventional. a little more contemplative and reserved. just a touch of whimsy. just as artemis prides himself on maturity, but also chases after fairies.

i get the most artemis vibe from the fork-marked lemur and the silky sifaka, though perhaps the latter is a little too on the nose. they look a little more silly than he would probably prefer, perhaps before she settles she's often in the form of a magpie or other corvid? similar vibe but a little more subdued.

next, butler :) i think a dog daemon is essential for butler for their association with service. my thought process was that it needs to be a dog, something huge and menacing, bite as bad as its bark, but also deeply loving and caring.

regular guard dogs felt right out because there's a persistent hardness to them as daemons. they serve and protect, but where's the softness? now livestock guardians are perfect. they blend in with the herd, take them as family all their own, and the teeth come out for anything that threatens their wooly friends.

here i chose the kangal. the daemon needed to be something big and muscled, but not too fluffy or sweet looking. great pyrenees got ruled out for fluffiness, central asian shepherd dog because their faces look just a little too goofy :p kangals win because they're huge and have a resting bitch face. i also like that the breed is from turkey, a bridge between europe and asia, since butler is described as eurasian.

juliet is a hard one, especially since it's been a while since i've read the books where she's a significant character. the key characteristics i associate with her are strength, extroversion, glitz, and unconventionality, particularly in family expectations. so, my two thoughts:

my first thought was to pair juliet with a wild cat. i think it creates a nice juxtaposition between the butler family expectations of service to the fowl household and her choice to strike out on her own. the same way wild cats may look so much like our pets at home, may not even be physically imposing, but are still dangerous predators. i like caracals specifically because they're a bit stockier in build, and also the ear tufts make them eye-catching like juliet's wrestling outfits :p

not as much thought in choosing the rainbow stag beetle as another option, except that i wanted another option because feline doesn't feel like a 100% fit for juliet to me. "rainbow" stag beetle because jade princess, and a stag beetle because they look tough but mostly they just like to show off (not that juliet isn't actually tough, but she's more interested in the performance than viciousness or sadism.)

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (31/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 4559

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: Arianwyn asks for an audience with her uncle Viserys. He has not woken since the family dinner two nights before, and she is not sure that he will even hear what she says. She is not even sure what she wants to say. Still, she needs to say it.

Warnings: None

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The King

Arianwyn had only ever visited the King’s chambers once. But she had been a babe then, and her memories were faint. She could vaguely recall the sheer size of the model of Old Valyria and the magnificent white stone domes and towers that adorned it. Though, she was unsure whether that was truly a memory, or only an image she had conjured from all the times Aemond told her of it.

Aemond had always so admired his father’s creation. It was one of the few subjects Arianwyn could always rely on to get him talking, even on his quiet days. He would go on and on about how accurate the King had been in his design, how it had been necessary for each tower to be precisely the right size and carved in excruciating detail, or else the magic of the spectacle would be ruined.

He would empty entire shelves in the library to explain to her what each building was, the purpose of each tower, and the magic that had helped to build them. Of course, Arianwyn already knew most of the information – they had discovered it together. But listening to him, basking in the excitement he so rarely showed, never got old.

Despite his enthusiasm, Aemond had never been invited to work on the model with his father. Alicent had tried to console him by emphasizing that it was the King’s ‘personal’ endeavor and that he shared it with very few people beyond the stone masons and other artisans who completed the actual craftsmanship.

But then the King had called Jace and Luke – and only Jace and Luke – to help him assemble one of the Blood Mages’ towers.

After that, Aemond never mentioned the model again.

Perhaps it was the memory of the heartbreak in Aemond’s eyes when his nephews told him why they were late to sparring practice that horrible day, or maybe it was simply the low light in the room. Still, when Arianwyn set eyes on the model, she could hardly stand the sight of it.

It had all been carved of the same white stone, as if the entire city had risen simultaneously from the earth. But there was no truth in that.

Valyria, like the Freehold itself, had been built over hundreds and thousands of years from stones brought from across the known world. It had been even more than stone, with some buildings said to be hewn from massive crystals, grown from the earth itself by many years of taming vines and trees, or even made of pure Dragonglass.

Compared to the vibrant and extraordinary Valyria that lived in her imagination, the model seemed small and mundane.

Alicent caught Arianwyn’s gaze lingering on the model and stepped around it. “Before we were married, I used to sit with Viserys while he worked on it. He enjoyed having someone there to listen to the history, or perhaps just to look impressed.”

But the words only drove the pain deeper into the girl’s heart. How Aemond would have loved to sit at his father’s side and listen to him tell the story of their shared ancestors.

Fortunately, the Queen saw the pain and regret in Arianwyn’s silver eyes and stepped away from the model to take her hand and lead her into the bedchamber.

The light there was even dimmer, with only a single oil lamp lit by the King’s bed. Arianwyn had to look quite closely to see his chest rise and fall. He was still breathing, if just barely.

His golden mask was gone. Instead, the decaying side of his face had been covered with clean strips of cloth, making it easier to look upon his face. The memory of him at dinner two nights ago had been thankfully drowned out by the whirlwind of events – both good and bad – that had happened since, but it still haunted her.

“The Maesters tell me that he may yet be able to hear us, even if his body will not allow him to respond,” Alicent explained, gesturing to a pair of chairs next to the bed. She let Arianwyn sit in the one nearest the King, taking the further for herself. “There have been times when he can say a word or two. Or move his hand, or smile.”

Arianwyn looked to the Queen, “Have you been with him often since he fell asleep?”

Alicent grimaced. “Not as much as I would like. But… it pains me too much to see him like this. There is only so much I can bear.”

There was nothing Arianwyn could say to ease that pain, so she simply looked back to the King.

“Hello, uncle,” she said.

The King gave no indication that he heard her. She had been warned that it was likely, but it still caused her heart to clench.

“It’s Aria,” she continued. Then she remembered, the last time he had used her name, it had been at Driftmark, and he had not called her ‘Aria.” She leaned forward again. “It’s Arianwyn. Your niece, do you remember me?”

The Queen also leaned forward, speaking with careful enunciation. “Arianwyn arrived several days ago. With her father, Prince Daemon, as well as Rhaenyra and all the rest from Dragonstone.”

At the mention of Rhaenyra, the King whined softly, turning his head toward the women.

Of course, Arianwyn thought. It was always Rhaenyra.

Alicent pushed past that particular hurt and continued, “Aria has some wonderful news to share with you, my darling.”

At the Queen’s signal, Arianwyn looked back to the King, trying to force a smile to her face. “Yes, I do. Well… Aemond and I have been married. We are very much in love.”

Again, the King was still.

It broke Arianwyn’s heart. That just the mention of Rhaenyra could rouse him from his sleep, but not her, not Aemond, and not their marriage.

Once, she had thought the King cared for her as if she were his own daughter. Of course, he was distant, as he was with his children by Alicent. But whenever he saw her, he offered a smile. When they found themselves seated next to each other on the ramparts of the training yard, he would ask her thoughtful questions about her studies or her progress with Emrys. And he had always given her sweet gifts on her nameday.

But now, as she recalled each fond moment, Arianwyn wondered whether it was ever really her that he was so fond of, or whether she had only ever been a substitute for her father. Just like she was to Rhaenyra.

In their eyes, she would never be anything more than Daemon’s daughter.

Though her face was as still as the stone Valyria that sat in the next room, a tear ran down her cheek, stinging her skin as it mingled with the cool air.

“May I speak with him – alone?” she asked the Queen.

Alicent wiped the tear away as she stood and did not speak until she reached the door. “I will stay nearby.”

Then she closed the door, and Arianwyn was alone with the King.

She did not know what to say. Words and memories raced through her mind too fast for her to catch. Her tears continued to fall as she felt the world spin around her.

“I always hoped you would be the one to escort me at my wedding,” she blurted out, hearing the words for the first time as they left her lips.

For a moment, she fell silent as the admission sunk in.

“All my life, I knew my father did not care about me,” she said, allowing her mind to simply spill over. It seemed safer than agonizing over her words until they split her skull. “I knew he would not want to escort me, if he even bothered to attend. So, I wanted it to be you.”

The King took a deep, shaky breath but did not reply.

“Ser Criston Cole did it instead,” she explained. “Even if we were not so hurried, I think it would have had to be him, anyway. Or perhaps Aegon – no, actually. Not Aegon. It was almost painful to watch you walk to the Iron Throne. I don’t think you could have made it to the Weirwood tree.”

Arianwyn blinked, forcing herself to stop talking and take a breath. “Oh, I have not told you that. We were married under the Weirwood tree, not in the Sept. It was my idea. I was scared, and I wanted the protection of not just the Seven, but of the gods of my ancestors – my Royce ancestors. Obviously, the Targaryen gods are of no help anymore.”

She laughed at her pitiful attempt at a joke, made even more so by the fact that she was still endeavoring not to cry. Beyond the first, no other tears had fallen.

“I have not told you that either, that I was afraid,” she fought the urge to take his hand, crumpling the fabric of her skirts in her fists. “I was terrified. I was so sure I was going to die. That Daemon was going to kill me. He almost did.”

Arianwyn lifted her hands to her throat and her bruises. The markings had reached their darkest stage. To anyone looking from a distance, it would look like she was wearing a deep plum scarf or perhaps a necklace. But the King could not see it, for his eyes were still closed.

“Did you know?” she asked, lowering her hands. “Did you know what he was capable of when you sent me with him? How much he hated me, and the memory of my mother? Did you know what he did to her?”

She had to take a breath to calm herself so she wouldn’t scream.

“You must have had some idea, especially after Gerold and Lady Arryn came to speak on my behalf and Aemond showed you his note. I never thanked you for forcing his hand when it came to Emrys. He was my only escape on that gods-forsaken island. But even with him, and Brynna, and everyone else from Runestone, it was miserable.

“The isolation in that little tower was bad enough. But then they made me eat dinner with them every night, and they would never talk to me. About me, yes, but never to me. Jace and Luke – and Baela, sometimes – took it as a game. They would take turns saying mean things. About me, about Runestone and the Vale, and even about Aemond, sometimes. They wanted to see if they could get me to break. To snap and make a fool of myself. To scream and curse them, or something.

“But I never did. I think they thought it was because I was weak. In truth, I was just afraid of what Daemon would do if I did react. And I guess I was right to be afraid, I finally did snap a few days ago, and he threatened to kill me.”

Though she knew she was safe now, the memory still sent a shiver through her.

She grimaced, “Eventually, they gave up. What fun is it to mock someone who doesn’t react? Jace continued to tease me, but never at dinner. He learned that if Daemon wasn’t there, I would fight back. It amused him. Luke never did, not after he saw Emrys.”

That particular memory brought a quiet laugh, but it soon faded.

“As horrible as it was, I do think that Aemond had it even worse than me.”

If Arianwyn had not been keeping her eyes locked on her own hands, she would have seen the King frown slightly and furrow his brow in distress.

“No one has told me much in detail, especially not Aemond. And I don’t hold that against him. I know if I ask, he will tell me. But I think he was very, very sick, so I am not sure I really want to know.”

She looked back up at the King after his previous expression had already fallen back into one of pained sleep. “Did you know? How sick he was? How hard it was for him to adapt to the loss of his eye? Did you ever visit him as he healed? Do you know how much you hurt him?”

No reply.

“Do you know how it hurt him to know how much you didn’t care – don’t care? Do you know what it does to someone to know their father does not love them?”

She had to take another calming breath before she continued. “He could hardly believe it when I told him I loved him. I actually don’t know if he does believe it, not entirely. That is what you did. When you brushed what Luke did aside simply because Aemond called them bastards – which I know you know they are – and when you did not rebuke Rhaenyra for calling for his torture –!

“By the gods, she was serious, uncle! She was willing to torture an already mutilated boy in order to maintain her lie! A lie that no one believes! That is the woman you want to be Queen?” she scoffed.

“You took away his ability to believe he could be loved. If his own father had such disdain for him, why would anyone else feel any different? Even if he became the greatest warrior, the best scholar in the world, the most dutiful son, he could never feel worthy of anything beyond the indifference you showed him.”

Arianwyn leaned back, tilting her head to the ceiling to try and stop her tears from falling. “The Stranger is close. I know you’re supposed to forgive people when they’re on their deathbeds… but I can’t.”

She looked back at her uncle, not seeing the broken, dying man that lay before her, but the man he had been on Driftmark. The man he had been when he brushed Aemond aside, when she first began to hate him.

“You broke him, Viserys,” she cried. “So thoroughly, I don’t know if I will ever be able to fix him.”

Lacing her fingers through his, ignoring the chill that went through her at the feel of his cold, papery skin, she continued. “But I will try. If it takes all my life, I will not stop until he is whole again. I promise it.”

Abruptly, she stood, wiping away her tears and smoothing her skirts. She looked upon the King’s hollow face one last time, watching him take a slow, shaky breath.

“There,” she said. “A deathbed promise. That’s better than forgiveness, isn’t it?”

Though she knew it to be futile, she waited for a reply. But, of course, it did not come.

“Goodbye, uncle,” she said and turned away.

She left the room so quickly that she did not see his fingers uncurl as he reached out for her. The sound of her own crying was too loud for her to hear him whisper.

“Aria, I’m sorry.”

Next Chapter

[navree]

I need to hear all your alicent/criston thoughts after this episode!!! My religious repressed courtly love babes!

(anon i have been singing the "i want more of alicent and criston having scenes together" song since literally episode two it's why i shoved criston into my alicent fic for no reason)

I've said this already but it really is a perversion of Lancelot and Guinevere, a twisted version of the fairy tale trope of the fair maiden and her knight in shining armor. And that's amazing because a lot of GRRM's stuff is about deconstructing things like fairy tale and fantasy tropes, the entire Dance is a deconstruction of the "deposed heir must rally to regain their throne that was stolen by a relative" fantasy/fairy tale plot.

One thing I genuinely really love about Alicent and Criston's dynamic is that it is heavily religion based. It's where they found common cause. Alicent in the scenes we got with her after her marriage to Viserys and before the first time jump is exactly the kind of person who would find solace in religion, a lonely person who is isolated from all her friends, unsure who to trust, in a marriage she did not seek out, no familial support, exactly the kind of person who would look to higher powers to make her feel better, and Criston clearly is already deeply religious based on describing his liaison with Rhaenyra as a sin, even though in the moment the big issue was the violation of the law that had occurred, not the violation of religious norms. It's something that binds them together, and it's something that heavily tinges their interactions.

Criston says in this episode that "every woman is an image of the Mother" and what is Alicent? She's a mother, that's primarily what her role has been throughout her entire marriage (when Viserys wasn't exercising his marital rape license for us to see on screen no I'm never gonna be not angry about that scene) and what a lot of her interactions have been, and not only that, to him she is The Mother, she was the holy figure that appeared out of the fog in the godswood as he was about to kill himself because he'd soiled his cloak and his good name and saved him, in his head she literally redeemed him. And Alicent sees a friend, she sees someone she can bond with, now that her dad is gone and Rhaenyra isn't to be trusted and whatever rapport she has with Larys clearly hasn't been built yet. The scene in her rooms has a cute moment where she pats the bench to have him sit next to her and be more at ease, which I love because it's precious, but also because it shows that she just wants a friend and companion, and Criston is clearly willing to be that for her, and eventually becomes that for her.

They are, simply put, exactly what the other needs, and that's why they cling to each other the way that they do.

But I also appreciate that Criston isn't blindly loyal, that there are things that he won't do, that when Alicent told him to take out Lucerys's eye he said no. I like that it's something he could do without completely breaking whatever's going on with them apart, I like the depth that it adds beyond just the Queen and her gleefully subservient man. He's willing to defend and protect her, yes, like when he goes to enter the fight between her and Rhaenyra and has to be stopped by Daemon (there are parallels there, there's something more to talk about there but now isn't the time), but in this episode, when she goes to shield Aegon and gets him out of the way by telling him to look to Helaena, he doesn't try to dive in front of her, he lets her put herself on the front lines. There is no relationship in this show that is not fraught with power dynamic differentials, and this is the closest we will get to people seeing each other on something that might resemble an equal footing.

It's about trust, it's about bonding, it's about friendship, it's about religious fervor shared, it's about camaraderie, it's about a twist on fairy tale tropes and the nuclear family, it's about Criston feeling "everything" for Her Grace, the Queen, it's about Alicent knowing that and letting it remain present but unspoken nonetheless.

One last thing before I stop subjecting you to my ramblings, anon, and I haven't thought on it much because honestly this was the first episode since, like, episode six to give us any concrete Alicent and Criston scenes, but I think anything they could do with these two would have been so much less impactful if there'd been any kind of physical intimacy. It really works that they're both so determined to be honorable and good and pious that they wouldn't go there, or even think about talking about anything that would bring them there, and it really drives home their twisted version of courtly love (love is for love's sake so no fucking, Alicent is the exalted lady therefore Criston cannot sully her with something as sinful as fucking, love being an enobling factor so we can't endanger that with fucking, the unfulfilled desire that is literally the basis of courtly love so in order not to have the whole thing fall apart, no fucking).

I'm really looking forward to how they explore that more, especially once the Dance starts and all the traumatic things happen (Blood and Cheese are gonna happen early on in season 2 and Alicent was there for that, I'm ready to see the aftermath!!)

[secret-engima]

Unsure if the ask was sent since my computer crashed so sending it again, woo. I'm basically imagining a what if where The Emerald City troupe somehow enters one of your FFXV AUs and holds a show. Galahdians come and are like wondering if they somehow stepped into a fairy ring, since they see two girls somehow creating illusions that trick your mind, a boy gliding through air without any wire or mechanism, a horrifying daemon that can talk and somehow is not attacking anyone, 1/?

bluepaladine

said:

Another boy who can change forms at will and always speaks in cryptic sentences. Finally they see the Ringleader, a boy who is both young and ancient, who has seen millennia and only seen years, who seems to be from the past, present, and future all at once. (The gremlins decided to hold a show with their semblances since they basically got nothing to hide from in this universe anyways, meanwhile Torchwick is going crazy back in their home universe) 2/2 Sidenote: Finally got a tumblr acc yay

Me: *laughs quietly* oh gosh this would be chaos central. The kids putting on a show and some of the Galahdians coming to see and being both amazed and Terrified. Because surely they have stepped into the domain of the Old Folk to be seeing this. Magic and wonders and monsters that do no harm. And they all tentatively follow any rule they can puzzle out for fear that the little Ringmaster who is child but ancient and deadly but kind will not let them go. But he does, and the next day they tentatively return to find that the tent and everything else associated with it has vanished like it never was.

They are understandably freaked out.

[littledraga]

Moonstone and Sunshine Chapter 2

Posted, I will figure out links when I’m not running late for work. Enjoy!

The first thing Ignis noticed when he started to come to was humming. It was a tune he remembered, somehow.It felt like the memory of a memory. The voice was soft and kind, and he wished he could lay here and listen to this voice all day. Though he wasn’t sure where here was yet. Where ever it was, it was soft and warm. He wanted to nuzzle deeper into the softness, but fingers were threading gently through his hair. Ignis couldn't remember when he had felt so relaxed. If it ever ended, he knew it would be too soon.

Slowly opening his eyes, he looked up to eyes that shone like moonstones and started. The memory of waking up this morning came flooding back to him. Trying to sit up a strong arm pressed him back down. Panic bubbled in his chest at how easy he was pushed back down; he should have been capable. Eyes darting around he found he was laying in the other man's lap and felt heat creep back into his cheeks.

The other had gone back to humming and running his fingers through his hair. The thought of struggling, just rolling away came to him, but he found himself unable. More he just didn’t want to. Ignis found himself relaxing in spite of himself and eventually let his eyes close and enjoy the attention.

That seemed to satisfy the other, Prompto; he reminded himself. The humming stopped, and he spoke, his voice was still cheerful but quieter now, seemly aware of Ignis' distress.

"That's better. You don't remember bringing me here do you?" Ignis' eyes shot open, staring up at the other. Ignis knew he had stayed home that night and gone to bed alone, Prompto had to be lying. He laughed this time, and it was warm, like the perfect cup of coffee in the cold mornings of winter.

"I guess not. You brought me here when you used the page. "Sunshine, oh what did you say." He spoke Niflse, the word from the book Ignis had struggled with yesterday.

"Ah, tart." He giggled again, an impish sound. Ignis was nearly frustrated with how much he enjoyed the other man’s voice.

"I guess it's a good way to translate it. I don't know how to either." Pausing, the blond worried over his bottom lip before speaking again.

"I guess the easiest way to say it; You summoned an imp? A Fairy, or do you call us all daemons now?"

Ignis scuffed at the word daemon, turning to look out the window. The sun was shining brightly through the large windows, casting its warm light on both of them.

"Well you aren't a daemon, or you'd be dead in the sunlight." Prompto made an uncomfortable sound at the notion, and Ignis felt guilt grip him. Ignis was a good diplomat, but this was far more difficult, he should be kinder. Turning to face Prompto, he tried to smile.

"That's a good thing though, right? Well maybe not," Ignis hummed and thought aloud, "I don't really understand, for all I know you'll kill me anyway."

Prompto suddenly stood, crawling back up onto the bed curling his legs in on himself and staring out the window, refusing to look at Ignis.

Ignis sat up rubbing the back of his head from where it hit the carpet. That must have been the wrong answer then, not that he knew what the right one was. How was he supposed to know what fairies did with humans, they weren't supposed to exist.

Looking him over, Ignis took a chance to fully look him over. His hair seemed to be a little more tamed as it framed his face, and skin was fair and covered in freckles. They dusted over his cheeks over his shoulders, and he was sure he could see some on his chest as he hugged his knees to him. He was beautiful, though maybe all fairies were, he didn't know.

"So, if you're not going to kill me, what now?" Shining eyes turned to glare at him, and he saw they shown with tears instead of laughter. For all of his training, Ignis was still terrible with people on a personal level, and it shone through now more than ever.

"You summoned me! Why would you think I would kill you?" His voice was loud now, yelling at Ignis from his perch on the bed. Tears spilled from his eyes and down his cheeks and Ignis was on his feet before he knew what was happening. Nearly falling onto the bed Ignis wrapped his arms around Prompto and held him against his chest. It was a strange urge, needing to hold him and comfort him so, but Ignis needed to make it right.

"I'm sorry, Prompto. I didn't mean to make you cry. The page promised sunshine and spontaneity. I thought maybe it'd encourage me to try new things and bring happiness. I wasn't expecting to wake up to a man in my bed." There was that giggle again as Prompto relaxed and leaned against Ignis. The more he giggled, the more Ignis never wanted to let the other man go. This was a lot to take in at once, or even at all he thought.

Looking up to Ignis, though he felt it more than he saw it, the blond tucked under his chin. Prompto spoke again, his voice wavered, but he sounded better than before. Little victories Ignis supposed.

"That's what I am, or at least what I do. I bring sunshine and spontaneity to your life. I'll be here for you when you feel sad or stuck. It's my job to make you happy and encourage you to try new things. Like playing with magic!" The words sank in, and Ignis felt his mind go fuzzy.

"You'll be here?" He's pretty sure he felt a nod against his chest.

"Right, I'll be with you. Or I can stay here if you'd rather." Prompto was just fine with it, and Ignis was confused. This ordeal sounded like a terrible deal for the young blond.

"But, does that mean you're trapped? Did," he swallowed and licked his lips, had this been a mistake?

"Did I trap you with that book? Is that what this is?" Prompto suddenly pulled away, putting enough distance between them to thoroughly look at his face. Ignis thought he was studying him before a broad smile broke across his face.

"You're a good human. I like you." Ignis blinked in surprise, that was hardly an answer to his question. Honestly, that only gave him more concerns. Before he could press, mouth opening, Prompto shook his head and held a finger to Ignis’ lips. The contact made Ignis blush again. There had been a lot of touching this morning, more than he had felt in a long time.

"You're over thinking everything. I take care of you, and you take care of me. That's all there is to it." Take care of Prompto? Ignis tried to talk around the finger on his lips, and Prompto giggled again, pulling his hand away.

"And how do you take care of a fairy, might I ask?" The blond shrugged a shoulder and smiled. Ignis knew he was in over his head, but he couldn't find it himself to care. Right now everything felt right like this was how things were supposed to be. And for now, this was how it was so it was better to get used to the idea.

"Well, why don't we start with breakfast? What would you like?" Eyes wide Prompto felt like he was vibrating in his arms.

"Really? I get to pick breakfast?" At that moment he looked childlike, beaming at the offer. Ignis could only nod.

"Toast!" He exclaimed and paused, pursing his lips, "Not toast toast. The sweet toast. On the stove and you put syrup on it." For the first time that morning, Ignis laughed. A full laugh that left Prompto looking up at him, almost affectionately. Clearly pleased with himself at least.

"French toast it is, then. Come, come, I can't do anything about it in here, let's get to the kitchen." Squealing with delight, Prompto was up and out the bedroom door in a flash.

Standing up Ignis thought about making his bed, but that could wait. He had a fairy to care for he supposed. For now, that came first.

Looking across the table at the other, Ignis chuckled quietly behind his hand. Prompto had gone overboard with the syrup, and it was covering his face.

"I think a shower is in order after breakfast." Prompto's face dropped at the words, but he nodded. Ignis was perplexed, but unsure how to ask so stayed quiet instead. The rest of breakfast was silent, even as Prompto helped load the dishwasher. Guiding Prompto to the bathroom, he pulled out his favorite towel. It was huge, fluffy, green and the softest of all of them.

"Is it safe to assume you know how to work a shower?" The blond nodded, fidgeting with the waistband of his pants. Ignis couldn’t fathom why Prompto was nervous over a shower, but it was necessary, and he was willing so he would wait to push the issue.

"Alright, let me know when you've finished, please. I'd like to start my day with a shower as well." Prompto looked up suddenly, eyes wide again, this time it seemed in shock instead of excitement.Again Ignis was confused, but this time, “Is there something the matter, Prompto?”

With a shake of his head, Prompto smiled up at Ignis, moving to the shower. Entirely unconvinced, Ignis stepped out of the room, there were still things that needed to be done after all.

After tidying up his bedroom, Ignis made his way back to the kitchen. He would need to make sure Prompto had something for lunch while he was gone. Introducing the prince to a fairy he had summoned playing with a spellbook hardly felt like a good idea. For the first time this morning, it fully dawned on him. Ignis Scientia, one of the smartest men in Insomnia, advisor to the heir apparent, had not only been playing with magic, but he had summoned a being because of it.

Letting out a rather unbecoming groan, Ignis leaned against the counter he was working on. One hand braced against it, the other slid under his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. There may not have been laws against using magic, but nothing he had read had ever mentioned summoning something that wasn’t supposed to exist. He would have to talk to someone about this eventually. Until then, Ignis went back to work preparing lunch for his new companion. He could figure everything out later.

It wasn’t long after Ignis had finished preparing sandwiches and a light salad that Prompto emerged from the bathroom, hair still damp, clinging to his face. Eyes lingering on soft cheeks and pink lips, Ignis forced his eyes away as he felt them travel down to follow the trail of freckles that speckled against his skin.

“I have duties that need attending too, so I’ve prepared you a lunch,” gesturing to the small spread in front of him before he started to place them in the fridge to keep.

“I’m not sure what you like so I made a few different kinds. Hopefully, you will find some of them to your liking.” As Prompto looking over the sandwiches, Ignis tried to ignore the way his bottom lip began to protrude. He wasn’t sure if he could handle Prompto being upset again.

The blond looked up at him through thick lashes, hair still clinging to his face. He looked so innocent and sweet, Ignis had to fight back the urge to hold him again. His resolve slipped farther with the soft words the other murmured.

“You’re going to leave me alone, already? Did I do something wrong?” Again tears shone in those moonstone eyes, and Ignis couldn’t stop himself as he bundled Prompto against his chest. It was the first time he could take in the size difference between them as the blond tucked neatly under his jaw as Prompto pressed his face against the hollow of his throat.

“I’m sorry, Prompto. You’ve done nothing wrong. I just have things to attend to and bringing you with me would cause questions I don’t have answers for right now.” As he spoke, Ignis gently rubbed Prompto’s back, grateful that he was relaxing under the touch. Feeling Prompto wrap his arms around his middle, arms warm against his bare skin, Ignis felt heat flood his face. Pulling Prompto away from him as quickly, and gently as he could, he tried to smile down at him.

“I’m sorry, I need to get ready for work now. Why don’t you watch some television while you wait? Or I have a selection of books for you to choose if you’d rather?” Prompto smiled warmly at the mention of books and nodded. Setting Prompto up with a book had been simple enough, and now he lay on the couch reading happily. Taking advantage of the time, Ignis slipped away to the bathroom to prepare for the day.

“I’ll be back later tonight. I’ll make dinner when I do, alright?” A quiet hum was his only response, and Ignis chuckled as he stepped out the door. If only his charge were as avid of a reader as Prompto.

Making his way down the hall, Ignis checked his schedule on his phone. Once he dropped Noctis off at the Citadel, he could use the libraries to find out what he could about what he’d done for an hour before he had to begin his training with the crownsguard and his studies. If he managed to rush through his own work, he could get more time for his personal research.

[backseat-imagines]

How would the Chocobros react to their shy and short beloved, S/O, being a Shiva-like fairy (as well as Shiva's baby sister)?

I got an order of frosty apostles coming right up!

Noctis wasn’t quite sure what Gentiana meant when she had once told him that he’d have a fragment of herself to always watch over him. Maybe if she said she was watching over him in spirit but… that’s not entirely what she meant.

It was only until much later that he figured it out; a friend, who only very recently went steady with him, had to disappear for just a short while- Only to return and appear out of nowhere, by Gentiana’s side. And only to appear just to freeze a whole squadron of MTs and daemons and without the use of having to toss out a bottle of elements like any of them had to he had to.

Noctis is a smart boy, it doesn’t exactly take him long (not even a whole 2 seconds) to realize what this means.

The gig is up and they show themselves for who they really are, and Noct has so many questions. Mostly of why they never seemed to be there to help when it counted most- like the incident surrounding Leviathan. “I can not interfere with the plans and wishes of the other Astrals.” Okay, fine. But what about the train then?

Maybe it’s a little unfair to be unloading all of those pent up feelings though, even if they do have a relation to the almighty Glacian and that happens to grant them power beyond most anything.

But above all else he’s mostly unsure about them just due to this newfound knowledge. Knowing that the Astral’s are tied to his family and his destiny; there is a difference of them being involved in his life and fate, and actually being involved with him. Surely they know what lies in store for him? But if that’s what they want then might as well let them enjoy he ride while it even lasts.

The time of darkness came to pass, and it didn’t take too long for Ignis to start getting back to feeling like he had his old life back- as least as far as fighting and cooking went. All that was mostly thanks to Cor and his love for trying to help him get back on that track.

But once he had gotten back and was trying to fight on his own again, that was when they started to disappear on him. Even though he was sure they were more than capable of taking care of themselves, this was a world filled with daemons. It was had to not worry. Especially since anymore he hardly got to see them- it seemed like they were out fighting almost 24/7. While that was noble of them… Ignis was ready to plead with them to sit back and take a moment to take care of themselves before they worn down and got themselves hurt- or worse.

In fact that’s what he had set out to do when he had Talcott drive him to the destination they were last in. It’ll be the first time in a couple of weeks that he even got to hear their voice in person…

Lo and behold, when he found them they were in the middle of a fight. Ronin, Arachne- that’s all the monsters he could hear. But as soon as he stepped up to aid them, throwing his daggers into the spine of Arachne, more trouble came to try and stamp on them. Just from listening he could hear it was a terrifyingly large hoard, and they were closing in around him. But then the air around him turned cold, the sounds of the monsters stilled and quieted, and all of the sudden all he could hear was shattering. What… just went on?

“My dear, would you mind filling me in on what exactly just happened? Spare me no exclusion of detail…”

First Leviathan was the plot-twist in his life and now… One of the pieces to Shiva? Did the Astrals have it in for him or what?

Ignis reserves his belief for a second until a cold palm touches him and icy breath blankets over his jaw and he can feel the shards of ice forming on him already. He pulls back away from their touch.

Ignis is skeptic about them now. For what business does an Astral have with him? Any business they have with a human, outside of the kings or the oracles, likely can’t bode well. And if they were here just because they wanted to be with him- what a silly notion; a lifelong relationship to him will seem like a brief summer fling in their life. They’ll outlive him for a good long time, so what were they coming to gain from something that will be so short lived?

Gladio thought there was something a little different about them. They always seemed to be up at all times of the day and they never seem to get exhausted. They had knowledge of times that had long since passed that was never in the history book that he knew and it was almost like they were a scholar. Extreme heat didn’t seem to bug them, come to think of it he never caught them really sweating, and holding their hand through the hot and humid streets of Lestallum they still felt relatively cool.

All of it he brushed off. Some people needed less rest. Maybe their body was really good at regulating it’s own temperature. And it’s not impossible for people to have read or heard a different (sometimes more correct) spin of history. The only part that started to make him think something was a little different was every now and then their eyes seem to flash another color.

What finally gave it away was after Gladio had went through Gilgamesh’s trial and emerged victorious. Wanting to test his newfound strength, they offered to spar with him. They had greatly underestimated him to begin with, so lord only knows how unprepared they were when Gladio hauled off after them and put all of his power into it.

Before they knew it they had to hold off his greatsword with their own hands. As soon as cold steel made contact everything in a short radius was covered in snow and ice- and through the cloud of frost that puffed out he could see the glowing of their eyes- they were an entirely different color again- and patches of their skin changed too.“The hell?”“Far better than I was expecting. O’ shield of the one true king, the true trial of your merit is nigh.”

Gladio certainly didn’t expect for them to have transformed on him like they had. But one thing was for sure, it actually explained a whole lot.

I don’t imagine Gladio gets himself too excited for it. He’ll prod them over their past, after all who wouldn’t be curious? But he doesn’t make too big of a deal. (Though he is proud of himself for getting a chance to be smashin’ what’s essentially a deity by Eos standards. Who else has that kind of bragging right?)

“I have a secret to show you.” They coo playfully into Prompto’s ear. Prompto loves secrets. He likes to poke his nose in where he can, like with how he tried to peek in Noct and Luna’s book or when he was trying to listen in on more of the scoop about the Nifs from Aranea. He often eaves dropped as well, both accidental and purposeful, and it was something he just couldn’t help but to do! Now that they have a secret for him? He was all too happy to let them lead him by the hand just to learn something juicy about them.

“Uhh, babe? Why are we outside?” For some odd reason they lead him outside, drawing him deeper into some woods and stopping by the lake. They gave no verbal answer, they only told him to “stay there, and watch” while they stepped closer to the body of water.

A polar wind started to blow and a sudden frost started twirling in the air. The clothes on their body had begun to disappear and suddenly their hair and skin started to turn into the colors of an iceberg.Were they? No- can’t be? But they are?

The lake had gone frozen, and they were standing on top of it’s ice. “Apostle of Shiva” they call themselves and beckoned him over why extended out their hand for him to take. He does- skin felt colder than the dead.

Prompto gets struck by wonder and awe first- who would have ever thought someone as cute and as meek a them would have been- “Oh. Em. Gee. I need to get a couple shots of this!” He says excitedly as he reaches for the camera. Prompto is a curious one; non-stop clicks of the camera, trying to capture every angle, and as he does so he’s full of nothing but questions. What’s it like? Have you ever shattered anything- a person? Do you cool your own glass before taking a drink? Let’s say if I licked your hand… would my tongue get stuck? What are the others like? What the Shiva herself?

But the sense of wonder eventually fades and a sense of unease rests in his belly. Being in the presence of someone who was god-like was awfully daunting, even more so than being around royalty- he feels lowly. And all of the sudden he feels so small.

Don’t get him wrong, it’s cool and all, but out of all the people in Eos, why did they choose him of all people? A lingering thought keeps coming back to haunt him of what if this was some kind of even the Gods of Eos were just wanting to use him as some kind of amusement.

[the-livewire-blog1]

@starscourgedking

Iᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴀ strange mix of boring and pitiful to watch a Magitek vomit his emotions at his feet. Fears of becoming what he was, fears of his purpose in life, even though he was blessed with such a simple one; to serve the Empire. Prompto had managed to fail in even that.

Still, he had found a use for the man in realising his value to his friends. Noctis would come running to save him, and walk into every little trap on the way.

Until that time, Ardyn was stuck with this.

“I’ll tell you a little story,” He replied to Prompto’s piteous plea, “and perhaps it will ease your heart somewhat. Once upon a time, there was a man, a healer if you will. He was very good at that, and a well enough king if the records hold true. One day, the king and his guard went to save the world from a twisted little parasite that had rained upon the world, one that turned men into monsters. The healer absorbed all those parasites, all those monsters, that he might save the people. And, as he had the light of the Oracle with him, he could stave off the darkness he had absorbed. Win-win, as it were. And oh, they rejoiced for this…but the gods did not. The gods, you see, have such a specific plan in place, and they are shackled with pride…to stray from this plan, to better their judgement, wounds their pride. They tore the light away from the healer, reclaimed the power of the Oracle from him, and left him in that darkness…one parasite was enough to drive a man quite mad, but millions…

“Well…the healer spoke very similar words to you just now. He begged the gods to kill him instead, in fear of what he would become. That he would have no choice in what the darkness would make him. The gods refused to grant him this too, and at the time, the healer cursed them all in his mind…but in hindsight, he began to see this as a blessing. He embraced his purpose in life, instead of merely giving up and twisting into some boring daemon…” Ardyn made to grab Prompto’s jaw to look in his eyes as he concluded his tale, “…He decided to wage war on the gods…so, Prompto, how about it? Instead of running scared of your life, of what you are…why not embrace it? You cannot choose what you are, Prompto…but you can chose what it will make you.” 

Prompto felt like he was being torn apart, only from the inside. He didn’t want to be a daemon... Gods, it was terrible. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to breathe. He was tired of trying to fight against Ardyn, tired of trying to.. stay alive. But becoming a daemon was the worst thing that could happen. Prompto looked up at him as he mentioned a story. What could it possibly be about?

He didn’t want to listen anyways, trying to focus on fighting whatever was tearing him up inside. Prompto wasn’t eager about story time with Ardyn, but hoped it could help give him some answers. He didn’t truly understand what he was talking about. He had questions but he didn’t ask them. He stayed, curled up at his feet, hardly looking up at him.

Prompto wondered how Ardyn knew this. “I-Isn’t this.. just a fairy tale?” He asked quietly, unsure of himself. He wrapped his arms around his torso, hugging himself. He didn’t know what to do. He was being torn apart slowly, and he hated it so much. Ardyn had triggered something inside him, something that he was meant to be- but... he didn’t want to be a daemon.

He continued to listen to him, almost whimpering at the thought of being denied death. Prompto’s jaw was grabbed and he lifted his head, looking up at him. “B-But I don’t-” He was terrified, terrified of the monster he’d become. At a particularly sharp pain, he yanked himself away, crying out in pain. Whatever it was, it was getting to be too much. Prompto reached up, grabbing his head and pulling at his hair.

Then, his vision got strange. For a second, it blurred. Then, he began to feel liquid leak from the corners of his mouth and eyes. “O-Oh gods-” Prompto stuttered out, feeling cold. He looked down at his hands, looking as his skin turned ashen, veins standing out, black against his skin. “W-What did you do-” Prompto’s voice was pitched higher, distressed. But, there were certain tones underneath his voice.

“W-What do I do-?” Prompto asked Ardyn. “I-I’m-” He wanted to cry. He didn’t want to be an MT but this was seemingly worse. The tearing feeling he felt slowly settled, calming down but leaving the blond shaking. He seemed... felt.. stuck? “W-What happened?” Prompto looked up at Ardyn, as if he had all the answers in the world.

[ronsenburg]

why can i only write sad things

I haven’t written anything of substance in over five years, and I have all these sweet, sappy headcanon ideas that I want to get out, but the only thing that is coming is THIS- 

Prompto loses track of time, eventually.

The moment Noctis disappears, so does the light. They try, at first, to keep to some schedule, searching through the “day” and making camp in what would be the night. But with each day that passes, the amount of daemons they encounter increases, until finding a safe place to camp becomes a luxury they’re rarely afforded. More often than not, Prompto sleeps in short stretches huddled behind a rock, Gladio’s jacket spread under him to keep the moisture from seeping into his clothes. Despite his dreams of a golden sunset over a wide open road, when he opens his eyes, the darkness remains. He can feel his body slowly forget the rhythm of day and night, that final fragment of normalcy drifting away until he sleeps only when he can no longer bear the burden of being awake.

They travel this way for days, or weeks, or months. Prompto can no longer be sure. Each village they encounter, once bustling hubs of civilization, has crumbled into ruins, inhabited only by a host of goblins and giants.

Noctis is no where to be found.

Prompto’s body begins to slow. He can feel his reflexes lagging with each new battle, his aim slipping as his eyes take longer and longer to find focus in the dark. A chill settles into his chest. He falls into unconsciousness shivering and wakes abruptly, gasping for breath as a cough rattles through him. Ignis sits near him silently, a warm hand placed steadily against his back until his breath comes naturally once more. Prompto falls back asleep with his head resting against the other man’s shoulder, listening to the sound of his even breath.

They push on.

At each town, Prompto collects relics of the people who had once lived there. In his camera bag he carries a battered stuffed bear, a leather bound book of fairy tales, half a porcelain teacup, and a tarnished silver ring. Gladiolus admonishes him each time he stops, concerned that the weight- both literal and emotional- will slow him down, but the pieces are too important to leave, a quiet memorial to the lives they had failed to save. Behind the counter of a diner Prompto finds a letter, hastily scribbled on the back of an old order ticket.

My darling, it reads, Where are you?

We can’t stay here.

Headed to the cave.

Please meet us there.

He wonders if they made it or if the virus had found them first.

He leaves the letter on the counter, just in case.

At first, Prompto is conflicted, unsure whether he can continue to fight knowing that each bullet that fires from his gun will connect with a creature that was, however distantly, once human. He wonders if any part of them can still remember what it was like before- the taste of homecooked food, the warmth of the sun as it hit skin? He wonders if he had never escaped the capital, would he remember? Would he have ever known in the first place? And is it fair for him, so close to becoming one of them, to be the one to end their lives?

But when an iron giant appears from behind them, looming imposingly above Ignis, Prompto doesn’t hesitate. Three shots ring out, loud and sudden against the darkness, connecting with the daemon’s flesh. 

The giant staggers, one shoulder obviously damaged, but doesn’t fall. He watches as it rights itself, it’s remaining arm raising a sword high above it’s head.

Prompto turns at the sound of Ignis’s cane clattering to the ground.

AND-

It needs stiches. Ignis does the best he can to mend it, but potions have long run out and the supplies in their first aid kit are low. Blood seeps slowly through his bandage, and Gladio winces.

“I believe it’s time we returned to Cape Caem.” Ignis says finally.

It feels, suddenly, like all the air has vanished from his lungs. Prompto hears himself protest, but isn’t aware of the decision to speak. “We haven’t found Noct yet.”

Ignis is silent.

“He didn’t stop looking for me!” Prompto yells desperately, but the words are punctuated by a deep cough, strong enough to make his body shake. He weezes as he struggles to catch his breath.

Ignis’s tone remains even. “And what benefit will you be to Noctis if you die in the process?”

Prompto looks to Gladiolus for support, only to find the other man regarding Ignis solemnly. “You sure?” he asks, and Ignis nods once.

Gladio grits his teeth.

“Time to pack up.”

- AND ITS ONLY GOING TO GET WORSE.

[goldenchocobo]

Because you said fairies, wizards, werebeasts and vampires would have Dæmons, does this mean that the mythical creatures I listed recently, along with sprites, selkies, archdemons, Atlanteans, cambions, cecaelias, fallen angels, Djinn, imps, leprechauns, nephalem, nephilim, nymphs, tengu and trolls have Dæmons as well, in spite of being unsure about all of them?

Wizards, werebeasts and vampires are humans turned monsterous and/or magical from normal humans (usually) So they’d have Daemons, as they were human before their transformation (or attained magical ability).

Sprites, Trolls, Selkies and Leprechauns are Fae- so they could have a Daemon, but it would be strange or unusual, like the Fae we read about in the book- she has an entire cloud of butterflies as her Daemon; possibly.

 Archdemons, Nephilim, and Imps are Demons or Angles- and Angles in the books appear and do not have Daemons. 

Djin are spirits/otherworldly beings

Nymths are usually classed under a nature Spirit or I think lesser god?

Tengu are Yokai.

Cecaelias are classed as ‘creatures’ and fall under the same class as ‘half-human, half_’

The only two in the ‘maybe’ pile are: Cambions- since they’re half human. And Atlantians- depending if you go with the myth of them being advanced humans living on an island (yes to having Daemons), or merfolk (under the same class as ‘half-human, half_’ .)

I had to google what Nephalem were and the first sentence google provided me with was: 

“ The Nephalem were the first humans upon Sanctuary, created as a result of the union between Angels and Demons. The creation process is unknown, although it is for certain completely unlike human procreation. Such a Celestial union granted the Nephalem great power. “

So in Diablo lore at least- they’re human, just made differently.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (28/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 3150

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: Six years after the beach on Driftmark, the Queen of All Dragons and Emrys, the young black dragon called Balerion, Second of His Name, by the smallfolk of King’s Landing, finally meet.

Warnings: None

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @trap-house-homiecide @50svibes @literishdegree99 @dc-marvel-girl96 @henriettadreaming @multiple-fandoms-girl @gyuxmilk @somemydayy @kittykylax @whore-of-many-hot-men

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Vhagar & Emrys

“Wake up, Aria,” Aemond whispered softly, brushing a hand through her hair. “It’s almost dawn, and I have great plans for us today.”

Arianwyn groaned, rolling across the bed and out of his grasp. “What ‘great plans’ could possibly require my getting out of bed before the sun has risen?”

He laughed, “As I recall, you woke before the sun rose yesterday.”

“Yes,” her voice was muffled as she buried herself beneath the blankets, “but you may also recall that I did not get out of bed until much later. Of course, you may try and tempt me with more lecherous activities. But I have had very little sleep these last two nights, and I will not make promises I may not be able to keep.”

Aemond leaned back from the bed, unsure how to proceed. He had been awake for some time and had already dressed in his riding leathers, something he was surprised that she had not noticed. After six years apart, he had forgotten just how much mornings disagreed with her.

But as much as she hated mornings, she loved dragonriding more.

“I suppose we can just laze about,” he said, lying beside her atop the blankets and furs, “but Vhagar is always in a better mood earlier in the day. And I would not want her in a bad temper for her first meeting with Emrys.”

The soft morning light was blotted out by fur as Arianwyn threw her blankets off – and on top of him – as eagerly as a prisoner ridding himself of his chains. Then, without a word, she leapt out of bed and ran to their dressing room to begin donning her own riding leathers.

Aemond laughed, “So your husband cannot tempt you, but Vhagar can?”

“Vhagar is a Queen!” she shouted back. “The ‘Queen of All Dragons!’ I cannot disobey the wishes of a Queen. A mere Prince, on the other hand…”

Her teasing was cut off when Aemond snuck into the dressing room behind her, wrapping his hands around her waist. She giggled, leaning back into his chest.

“Surely, I am more than a ‘mere Prince,’” he whispered, pressing his cheek against hers as he began to lace her leathers. “I am also the Lord of Runestone. That must elevate my standing.”

“Lord Consort of Runestone, my love,” she corrected, turning her head to kiss him. “And in my eyes, there is no higher standing.”

He yanked on the cords of her cuirass, squeezing another delightful laugh out of her. “I am honored, my Lady.”

Once he finished with her cuirass, she let him continue to dress her, stealing a kiss whenever he came close to her lips. After one such kiss, he dropped one of her bracers on the floor as he instinctively moved to cup her face.

“If you don’t stop, we’ll never make it out of the castle,” he scolded with a grin.

Arianwyn pouted, “You really want me to stop?”

He sighed as he knelt to pick up the bracer. Few dragonriders wore actual armor when they flew outside of battle, but Arianwyn always did. Her once ordinary brown riding leathers had been fortified with thin plates of engraved bronze – the symbol of her house.

It was not one of the original sets of plate armor that had been passed down by her ancestors, but a reproduction. None of the ancient suits would ever fit Arianwyn – she was far too small, and the Bronze Kings had been massive men. Still, the Lady of Runestone needed her Runes.

As he finally latched her bracer in place, he examined the writing wrapped around her wrist. An incantation, a plea for strength, agility, and the blessings of nature. Perfect for a cavalryman, or a dragonrider.

“I don’t want you to stop,” he admitted. “But I also don’t want to take all this off only to have to put it back on again. And Vhagar is waiting for us.”

“And Emrys,” Arianwyn added, looping her arms around his neck. “He has missed you.”

Aemond smiled. He had always shared an unusually close bond with Emrys – closer than most bonded dragons would ever be with anyone other than their riders. It had always puzzled the Dragonkeepers, but it gave him comfort. He always knew that should he never claim a dragon of his own, he could ride with Arianwyn atop her little black dread.

“I have missed him as well,” he said, pressing a kiss to his wife’s forehead before leading her out of the dressing room. “I expect he must be as large as Meleys by now.”

Arianwyn laughed as she left their bedchamber and sat at the breakfast table. “Not quite that large, but large enough that I expect we terrified some of the smallfolk on our way into the city.”

As he sat across from her, Aemond beamed. But his smile faded as he watched her pour a cup of grey tea and take a sip. He said nothing, instead focusing on keeping his expression neutral.

They had made an agreement last night. One year, just the two of them. To allow them time to make up for six years spent apart. To make Runestone their home. After that one year was up, then, and only then, would they start their family.

It had been a compromise – Arianwyn wanted to wait longer, and Aemond didn’t want to wait at all. He was so desperate for a family.

One that would love him unconditionally. They would love him for the man he was, rather than the position he had been born to. To them, he would be a father, rather than a second son. The spare, should anything happen to Aegon. The warrior Prince expected to gladly lay down his life for his brother, to fade into the pages of history, noted only for his forgettable place on the great Targaryen family tree.

At Runestone, with Arianwyn and their family, he could be – would be – so much more.

For now, he would have to wait. But waiting could be bearable, so long as he was with her.

“Where shall we fly today?” she asked as she finished the tea, breaking Aemond from his musings.

“I had no particular destination in mind,” he said, loading his plate with boiled eggs, bacon rashers, and a thick slice of fresh bread. “We can go wherever the winds take us.”

“Or wherever Vhagar takes us, if she is truly as stubborn as you’ve described,” she laughed.

Her wide, giddy smile was irresistible. At that moment, Aemond thought that a year with just the two of them was, in fact, a wonderful idea.

-

They took separate coaches, as while Aemond was going directly to the Tourney Grounds, Arianwyn went first to the Dragonpit to retrieve Emrys.

The Dragonkeepers had been informed of the Prince’s plans, and the young black dragon was already saddled and waiting for his rider when she arrived. As soon as she emerged from her carriage, he let out an excited trill and pulled against his restraints.

“Lykirī, Emrys,” Arianwyn called. “Nyke jāhor sagon konīr aderī. Yn istin ȳdragon naejot Dantis ēlī.” Calm down. I will be there soon. But I must speak to Dantis first.

He whined, a pitiful noise from such an intimidating beast, but indeed settled, however impatiently.

Arianwyn turned to Elder Dantis, the highest ranking Elder of Dragonkeepers. He was a stern old man, but his love for the dragons was strong and true. And he had always been sweeter with Arianwyn and Helaena than the boys – they were far more interested in the scholarship of the dragons.

“How has he been? I regret that I have not come to see him,” she asked, speaking in the common tongue to prevent Emrys from listening to their conversation – he always pouted when she spoke about him to others. She donned her gloves as they strode across the courtyard, thinking for a moment that the old man may not reply. It would be like him to do so.

But her fears were unfounded. Dantis stopped some yards from Emrys and turned to Arianwyn. He reached forward, toward the collar of her riding leathers, pulling it aside so he could see the bruises there.

“This happened two nights ago, yes?” he asked. More of a statement than a question.

Arianwyn nodded.

Dantis grimaced, “He felt it.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, bewildered by the statement.

But the Dragonkeeper only pointed to Emrys, and to his throat. The smoky grey-black of the scales on his neck were marred by two pink gashes just beneath his jaw.

“Two nights ago,” Dantis explained, “he awoke from his slumber, greatly disturbed. He roared with such ferocity and desperation. When we made it to his den, he was clawing at his throat as though something was restricting his breath.”

Arianwyn knew well how that felt.

“We could not get close to him. His fire was burning so wild and so hot. For a moment, it even…” he trailed off, taking a deep breath. “He has Balerion’s blood. That much is certain.”

But Arianwyn could not tear her eyes from the marks on her beloved dragon’s neck. He had done that to himself. Because he felt her pain, as her father came so close to killing her.

“Do not fret, my Princess,” Dantis said, his stern demeanor fading if only for a moment. “The wounds are small; they will heal quickly. This is a sign of the strongest bond between rider and dragon. One that few, even in your line, have possessed.”

His words provided some measure relief from the guilt that swept over her. But it also piqued her curiosity. “Who else has possessed such a bond?”

“Queen Rhaenys and Meraxes are the first that I am aware of,” he replied, seemingly excited that someone was finally interested in the history of the Targaryen dragons. “King Aenys and Quicksilver. Some believe Queen Alyssane and Silverwing also shared this bond, though I have my doubts. And, of course, your new husband and Vhagar.”

At that, Arianwyn turned away from Emrys to look at the old Dragonkeeper. “Aemond and Vhagar?”

From what she had learned from his letters, she always thought their bond to be strained. Aemond often wrote about Vhagar acting on her own accord and disobeying his commands, particularly when it came to flying upside down. It was why he had ordered so many restraints put on his saddle.

“You were there that night, Princess,” Dantis said, equally as confused as her. “Surely you heard her roar when he lost his eye.”

Arianwyn laughed, though she was not sure why. “I’m afraid I was too busy roaring myself, Elder.”

She had also been crying as she attempted to staunch his bleeding. And fainting. But he did not need to know those particular details.

“Oh, she roared like I had never heard,” he confirmed. “It was a breathtaking sound. Not unlike Emrys, two nights ago.”

“Why are these bonds so rare? Each rider must bond with their dragon. They could not mount them otherwise. What makes some stronger than others?”

Dantis had a faraway look as he pondered the question. “I do not know, Princess. Nor do I think it is our place to know. The dragons are beyond us, it is folly to think we can ever truly understand them.”

With that, he bowed to Arianwyn and motioned for the novice Dragonkeepers to bring Emrys forward.

Emrys bounded toward his rider like a happy pup, unable to contain his excitement. He nudged her with his snout, prodding her until she embraced him. Though at his size, it looked more like her simply splaying her arms across his scales rather than a true embrace.

“Ēza mērī issare hāre tubissa,” she laughed. It has only been three days.

He snorted, shaking his head dismissively as if to say, “Yes, but it has been a difficult three days.”

Bringing his nose to rest against Arianwyn’s neck, his hot breath soothed the aching pain of her bruises as he looked into her eyes and whined softly.

“Iksan sȳz. Kessa giēñagon,” she said. “Hae kessa ao.” I am fine. It will heal. As will you.

He squinted his large icy-blue eyes in an expression of suspicious disbelief that would look at home on the face of a cranky toddler, but seemed to accept her words.

Arianwyn patted his jaw. “Gaomagon jaelā naejot jikagon rhaenagon Vhagar?” Do you want to go meet Vhagar?

His eyes went wide, and his tail swung with wild excitement as he pushed her toward his side with his snout. Laughing, she walked alongside him, running a hand across his smooth scales until she reached the saddle.

“Ziry se Aemond issi umbās syt īlva,” she whispered as she strapped herself into her seat. “Sōvēs!” She and Aemond are waiting for us.

Emrys hardly needed the command. He was already surging forward in the courtyard, building the speed he needed to take to the air. As he soared higher and higher, he let out a jubilant trill, the sound echoing off the red tiled roofs of King’s Landing.

In the sky, Arianwyn felt her heart beating in tandem with his. Even as he twirled excitedly through his ascent, she never felt afraid.

Dantis was right; their bond was strong.

For a moment, she could almost feel a tugging on her heart, a thread connecting her to this great beast. But as she chased that feeling, trying to take hold of that thread, it faded.

Even when undetectable, the connection was still there. Emrys turned south toward the Tourney Grounds without needing a command, leaving Arianwyn free to simply enjoy the flight. To savor the cool air and the wind. To relish in her freedom.

Daemon and Caraxes were far away, their threats without teeth. There was nothing stopping her from flying forever, from going wherever she wanted.

Nothing except for the fact that she was already precisely where she wanted to be.

As the city fell away behind them and the sprawling fields of the Tourney Grounds came into view, Arianwyn saw Vhagar for the first time in six years.

The sight of the massive beast still took her breath away. To think that there were once hundreds of dragons even larger than her in the world, that her ancestors wielded such unfathomable power was, at once, humbling and awe-inspiring. And the fact that her husband had not only claimed her, but formed an extraordinary bond with her, made Arianwyn’s heart swell with pride.

Aemond was standing by Vhagar’s head when Emrys landed on the opposite side of the field, his hand on one of the many ropes attached to her saddle. The she-dragon was tense, her tail flicking back and forth rapidly as she assessed the new, small creature across from her. But Aemond kept speaking to her, telling her – again – of how he had spent years loving Arianwyn. How they had grown together. How it had been him, at only a few months old, who had selected the glistening black egg for her cradle.

How, since the last time he saw Vhagar, he had married Arianwyn.

Indeed, Vhagar turned to him, drinking in his scent to find it mixed with another. The smell of cold wind and smoke.

“Issa ñuhon,” he whispered. “Se iksan zȳhon.” She is mine. And I am hers.

Vhagar made a hesitant sound, still unsure. Ever since she had felt his pain on that first night, she was always so protective of her rider.

Sensing her skepticism, Aemond leaned in to reassure her. “Īles konīr bona bantis.  Ao ruaratan zirȳla lēda rizmon.  Skori īlen ōdrikagon, ziry mīsatas nyke.  Ēza va moriot mīsatas nyke.” She was there that night. You covered her with sand. When I was hurt, she defended me. She has always defended me.

At the memory of spraying that scared little girl with sand, Vhagar let out a rumbling growl that Aemond had always interpreted as laughter. At least she was relaxed enough to find humor in his words.

He turned to Arianwyn, now standing beside Emrys, who was staring at Vhagar with wide eyes, and beckoned her forward with a wave of his hand.

“Gaomagon daor sagon zūgagon,” she said quickly to Emrys before leading him forward. Do not be afraid.

He leaned into her as they walked slowly across the field. When they were close enough for Vhagar to make out the details of the young dragon, she rose from her crouch, her head tilting like an owl spotting its prey.

“Lykirī, Vhagar!” Aemond shouted, tightening his grip on her reins. “Iōragon ilagon!” Stay calm, Vhagar! Stand down!

But she did not. She huffed, the sound almost a command.

A command that Emrys obeyed.

While Arianwyn had frozen where she stood, Emrys continued forward, despite his rider’s shouts for him to return to her. He did not stop until he stood directly before the Queen of All Dragons.

Though he was nearly as large as Syrax, a dragon twenty years his elder, he was still dwarfed by Vhagar. But he stood perfectly still as she craned her neck to examine him. Arianwyn had told him not to be afraid, so he would not be.

Aemond continued to shout commands to Vhagar, begging her to withdraw.

But she did not. Rather, she pressed her cheek against Emrys’ neck, purring with affection when he nuzzled her in return.

The Prince was still frozen in shock when Arianwyn came to his side, out of breath from her sprint across the tourney field. “What are they doing?”

Vhagar had wrapped her tail around Emrys as she carefully inspected each horn on his head, the younger dragon crooning under the attention.

“I think…” Aemond laughed, wrapping his arms around Arianwyn, holding her just as his dragon held hers. He had never seen Vhagar like this, especially not with another dragon. She had always been happy to keep her distance from the others, but something about Emrys sparked something new within her, a youthful joy he had never seen before.

And then it was clear. “I think he reminds her of Balerion.”

Arianwyn laughed with him as they looked upon their dragons, the fearsome beasts that had given their family the power to conquer the realm, snuggling each other like a pair of cats. “Her and all the city, apparently.”

The dragons continued their display for so long that by the time they finally turned to their riders, Aemond was sitting on the grass, leaning back on his arms as Arianwyn slept soundly with her head in his lap.

“Issi ao olvie tetan?” he asked, somewhat sarcastically. Are you quite finished?

Vhagar blew a defensive puff of smoke, while Emrys ducked his head sheepishly.

Aemond chuckled, shaking his head as he nudged his sleeping wife. “Wake up, Aria. We’re finally ready to fly.”

Next Chapter

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (33/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 2845

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: Aemond and Arianwyn awake with grand plans of spending another day together. But they are met with the news that the King has died in the night, leaving not only their plans unsure, but the fate of the realm.

Warnings: Adult content, Minors DNI.

Author's Note: Again, sorry this took an extra day. That book series I was telling y'all about? It had the absolute WORST ending I have ever read. I was so mad I couldn't write. And by the time I had calmed down, I had gotten out of the Aemond state of mind and had to reread the whole fic up to this point to get myself back into it.

Oh well, those books are already in the recycle, I'm back to writing, and I promise I will deliver y'all a much, much better ending (eventually)!

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @trap-house-homiecide @50svibes @literishdegree99 @dc-marvel-girl96 @henriettadreaming @multiple-fandoms-girl @gyuxmilk @somemydayy @kittykylax @whore-of-many-hot-men @slavicvvitch

(Please let me know if your tag isn't working, and I'll do my best to correct it! And if you would like to be added to the list, just shoot me an ask!)

The First Death

The King was dead.

Viserys was dead.

His father was dead.

Aemond felt cold hands closing around his throat, yet he could breathe freely for the first time in his life.

The world was spinning around him, yet he had never felt so steady.

His heart pounded wildly in his chest even as he felt a sense of calm wash over him.

He was relieved.

He was distraught.

He was happy.

He was heartbroken.

He was finally free.

He had never been more trapped.

They were supposed to go to Runestone.

Once Arianwyn had her trousseau and his mother had her feast, they were supposed to leave this all behind. Make their own home – together.

Not as a Targaryen Prince and Princess, the second son and his wife. But as the Lady of Runestone and her Lord Consort.

They were supposed to be alone together, as husband and wife.

For one year, they would spend every moment they could in each other’s arms. They would wake each morning together. Fly across the realm together. Spend each night – or really, any and every moment they could – entwined together.

After a year of marital bliss, they were supposed to start their family.

They had agreed: a whole army of children with Arianwyn’s hair and Aemond’s eyes. Each one with a dragon egg to warm their cradle, as Aemond had been denied.

Aemond already had a list of names in the back of his mind.

Their firstborn – their heir – would need a name befitting a Royce. A name of the First Men.

Yorwyck, perhaps. After the first Bronze King. Yorbert or Robar would also be fitting. Or something less traditional. Throughout his studies, Aemond had found several names that caught his eye. Aneurin. Caradoc. Tarian. Edan. Cadogan. Rhisiart, even. If they were feeling adventurous.

But their heir could be a daughter, according to the laws of the Vale. A son was preferred, but a girl could inherit, just as Arianwyn had.

Rhea was an obvious choice. Though Aemond was still unsure how he felt about Rhea having her daughter as an act of revenge, he knew Arianwyn would love to honor her late mother.

Still, there were other options. Though there were fewer historical names for women, at least as far as Aemond knew. But there were so many beautiful names for women in the Old Tongue. Isolde. Guinevere. Rhiannon. Ceridwen. Nimue. Eluned. Nerys. Briallen.

They would have to have so many daughters.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he did not want to give his children a Valyrian name.

A Valyrian name was a burden. A reminder of the legacy that preceded them. A legacy of conquest and glory. Of dragonriding heroes and silver-haired kings. Of cruel fathers and forgotten second sons.

He would not pass that burden on to his children.

“Aemond?” Arianwyn whispered as she stepped in front of him, bringing him back to reality.

The morning came crashing back.

Waking with her in his arms, kissing every inch of her until she had awoken as well. Her sweet, sleepy smile when she finally kissed him back.

Taking his time with her, as he had not had the chance to last night when she climbed on top of him. Worshipping her with his mouth until she screamed with unbridled pleasure. Finally burying himself inside her as he held her close. She had muffled her cries in his neck as she came, driving him to release only a breath later.

Their slowness to emerge from the bedchamber had given Elsie the time she needed to relace all of Arianwyn’s armor. Again, Aemond dressed her himself. But this time, he teased her, punctuating every movement of his fingers with a kiss.

He had lost his composure faster than she had, however. His hands were still tangled in the laces of her cuirass as he fell to his knees and devoured her again, lapping up every drop of her release with his tongue so as not to stain her riding trousers.

They had walked toward the courtyard hand-in-hand when they were intercepted by Orwyle, who nervously redirected them to find the Queen without telling them why.

That had led them to the corridor outside Helaena’s chambers, where they had encountered the Hand with a look of fearsome determination on his gaunt face.

Otto Hightower, perhaps the only man in the Red Keep who could look down upon Aemond, seized his grandson’s arm to bring them to a halt. He looked briefly at Arianwyn before turning back to the Prince.

“Your mother will need you now, Aemond,” he said, his voice that of a commander, not a grandsire. “Do not fail her.”

Aemond did not reply, only held Arianwyn’s hand tighter and nodded before continuing to Helaena’s rooms, faster than he had before. On her little legs, she had to jog to keep up with him.

He had a sinking feeling that he knew what Otto had meant. He didn’t want to believe it to be true.

But then he saw his mother. She sat next on the couch, reaching out to comfort her daughter – she had never gotten used to Helaena’s dislike of being touched. His hurried steps drew her attention, and the moment she looked at him, he knew it to be true.

The everlasting exhaustion in her eyes was sharpened by fear. Fear of what would happen to her, her children, and her grandchildren. That fear now encompassed Arianwyn too.

Her gaze softened at the sight of him, and she whispered an apology. For as soon as he saw her face, he knew that Runestone would have to wait. Arianwyn would have to wait. Their family, their entire life together, would have to wait.

King Viserys was dead. Whether it be to install Aegon on the Iron Throne or defend her from Rhaenyra, Alicent would need Aemond’s sword.

-

Even as Aemond looked down at her, Arianwyn knew he was not truly seeing her. Darkness danced in his eye and the shadows of his face. It was almost as though she could see his anxious thoughts swirling around him.

“Aemond?” she asked again. But he still did not respond. Her only indication that he had heard her was a subtle twitch of the left corner of his lips and the nearly imperceptible reddening of his scar.

Something was very, very wrong.

She turned to Alicent, desperate for an explanation. “What has happened? What is wrong?”

The Queen stood and came to stand by their side, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. Tears shone in her eyes as she spoke. “The King is dead. The Stranger came for him in the night.”

“No,” Arianwyn whispered. Her knees buckled, but Aemond instinctively wrapped an arm around her waist, keeping her steady and standing. She was not sure whether that had been his purpose, or whether he needed to hold her as much as she needed to be held.

“I saw him last night,” she murmured, laying her head against Aemond’s chest. “I talked to him.”

“I know, darling,” Alicent said, lacing her fingers with Aemond’s with one hand while she petted Arianwyn’s hair with the other. “You brought him comfort in his final hours.”

But she had not. She had said many things, but none of them were comforting.

Still, she did not cry. She had already shed enough tears for that man. So instead, she simply pressed further into her husband’s chest, wrapping her arms around his waist to try and return to the comfort she had felt when she woke in his arms.

The Queen looked up at her son as he lowered his chin to rest on Arianwyn’s head. His eye was still distant, and no matter how hard she squeezed his hand, he would not look at her.

“I spoke to him as well,” she said, giving up and releasing his hand. “He changed his mind, Aemond. He wanted Aegon to be King.”

At last, Aemond flicked his good eye, wide with apprehension, to his mother. “He did?”

It took great strength to push back, again, against the doubt that Viserys would trust his eldest son with the throne. “He did,” Alicent insisted. “He told me so, in no uncertain terms.”

Arianwyn could feel his jaw clenching as he pressed his chin further into her hair and wrapped his other arm around her shoulders. Whether he was pleased with the King’s change of heart, she could not tell.

“Where is Aegon?” he asked.

Alicent grimaced. “I do not know. Ser Criston is searching for him now. We are to wait for him here.”

“I can have my men search, as well, my Queen,” Ser Warren Crayne said as he stepped cautiously into the room.

Arianwyn had almost forgotten he was there, that he had followed them from their apartments. She had made a promise last night to never take her guards for granted again, and she meant to keep it. It had been her plan to ask him to sit with her in her carriage on the way to the Dragonpit, to ask him for help in finding a way to show her appreciation for the whole regiment.

She would not be going to the Dragonpit today. She did not know when she would get the chance to thank her guards.

“That is a kind offer, Ser Warren,” the Queen said, moving toward the old knight. “How many of your men are familiar with the Keep?”

Their conversation faded as Arianwyn looked up at Aemond. “Are you alright?”

The haze in his eye finally faded as he looked back down at her, though his face remained stoic. “I don’t know.”

“Is there anything I can say? Anything I can do?”

He shook his head, pushing his forehead against hers. “I wanted to go to Runestone with you.”

Her chest tightened, and she had to blink back tears. “We will go. We will fly there on dragonback and make it our home. I do not know when, but I promise we will.”

She had made so many promises lately. She was starting to wonder if she would be able to keep them all.

-

They stayed in the solar for more than an hour as they waited for the guards to return with Aegon.

Alicent paced throughout the room, picking at her nailbeds or fingering her necklace. Every so often, she would stand by the door, hoping her presence there would somehow summon Aegon.

Aemond had quickly claimed one of the chairs by the empty hearth, staring silently forward and stretching his fingers as his mind raced. Arianwyn sat, at first, on the arm of the chair, playing with his hair and stroking his cheek to try and ease his mind.

Eventually, her position began to make her rear sore, as though she’d been astride a horse for hours. So, she lowered herself to the rug beside the chair, resting her head on Aemond’s crossed legs while he played with her hair. He always needed something to occupy his fingers when he was anxious. Arianwyn was more than happy to be that something.

Helaena did not stay long. After only a few minutes of waiting, she excused herself to go sit with her children, muttering about a “beast beneath the boards” as she left.

The room had fallen into a tense, uncomfortable silence by the time Ser Criston and Ser Warren finally returned.

“Prince Aegon’s not to be found within the castle walls, Your Grace,” Criston said, ensuring the door was shut firmly behind him. “Your father has sent Ser Erryk into the city to find him.”

But Alicent only sighed and dropped her head, looking decidedly downcast.

“Surely, that is a good thing,” Arianwyn said as she stood from the floor. “Ser Erryk is Aegon’s sword shield. He knows him well, and will be able to find him quickly.”

Aemond frowned, letting his hand fall back to the arm of the chair as they both looked at the knights.

“Yes, but he will bring Aegon to my father,” Alicent countered. “We must avoid that at all costs. But Ser Erryk has the advantage.”

Arianwyn was about to ask why when Aemond tugged on her hand in a silent signal to remain quiet. He did not explain further; he was presently trying to avoid Ser Criston’s gaze and the suggestion he knew the Kingsguard would propose. He did not want to leave Arianwyn, not when everything was so unsure. She must be kept safe.

But so must the new King.

The Queen approached the knights at the door. “I trust again to you, Ser Criston, and to your loyalty. Aegon must be found, and he must be brought to me. The very fate of the Seven Kingdoms depends on it…” Her voice faded as she leaned closer to Cole.

But Arianwyn would not have listened to her, anyways. Aemond pulled on her hand, drawing her attention back to him. He looked up at her, his face again wreathed in shadow as he confronted the conflict inside him.

To protect her, or Aegon?

When he took her as his wife, he had sworn before the gods, both old and new, to protect her.

For more than six years, he had honed himself into a deadly weapon for the sole purpose of keeping her safe. So that when the time was right, he could rid her, and the entire world, of the monster that was Daemon Targaryen.

But his duty to Aegon went back to his birth. From his very first breath, he was a second son. The younger Prince. It was his fate to fight for his elder brother.

That was what was written in the history books.

The younger brother went to war to die in the elder’s place.

The younger brother died to defend the elder’s crown.

The young brother always stood behind, putting aside his own desires, ambitions, and happiness to ensure the elder would be remembered in the history books.

Arianwyn was his soulmate. Aegon was his brother – now his King.

Duty had always been everything for Aemond. It had guided every moment of his life. Every action he took. Now that it was pulling him in two directions, how could he ever choose?

But then Ser Warren Crayne spoke, his deep voice carrying across the room. “I am not as familiar with the city as Ser Criston, but it is my duty to protect Princess Arianwyn and all those she loves. So, I will do all I can to return your son to you, my Queen. The remainder of my men from Runestone will stay here, to protect the three of you.”

Aemond’s heart lightened at the old man’s words.

Yes, it was his duty to protect his wife. But happily, he shared that duty with the twelve finest knights of the Vale. Knights who had protected Arianwyn all her life, even when he was half an ocean away.

It was thanks to them that he did not have to choose.

“You will stay here, Ser Warren,” Aemond commanded, squeezing Arianwyn’s hand once more. “With my mother and Arianwyn. I will go with Ser Criston.”

Arianwyn’s brow furrowed with concern. Knowing Aegon, she was all too aware of what part of the city – which street in particular – they would be required to go to search for him. She did not want Aemond to have to return there. Not due to jealousy or mistrust, but because she knew how much his last visit to the pillow houses had wounded him.

But before she could protest, he stood from his chair and embraced her. When he pulled back, he cupped her face in his large hand and kissed her. Gently. Slowly. Saying everything he needed to without making a sound.

Trust me.

I will be fine.

I will return.

It will all be alright.

When he finally pulled away, he looked down at her again with a question in his eye. He would not do this without her approval.

Arianwyn nodded, running her hand from his shoulder to his heart. She listened to it beat once, twice, imagining the Runes she had once traced there shining through his skin.

“Go,” she whispered.

“No,” the Queen called, hurrying across the room to grab his arms. “That would not be my desire, Aemond.”

He held her back, and spoke with quiet confidence. “Cole needs me, mother. I know the city better than Ser Warren. And Ser Erryk isn’t the only one who knows Aegon’s doings.”

Alicent looked to Ser Criston, then to Arianwyn, hoping one of them would support her. But they both remained silent. They knew he could do this – knew he had to do this.

He was the second son. It was his duty.

With one last glance and a hint of a smile to his wife, Aemond left the room with Criston Cole by his side. They walked out of the castle and into the city with a singular mission: to find the new King.

Next Chapter