#Chapter 34

[laios-daily]

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part thirty-four: so close, yet so far

word count: 5.0k

warnings: this chapter includes descriptions of unhealthy behavior and alcohol abuse. reader discretion is advised.

thirty-three | thirty-four | thirty-five

They sat outside the little bakery, elbows brushing on the cramped metal table, half-eaten pastries between them. The hot chocolate here was decent — she wouldn’t go so far as to say good — and she teased him for it with a smile and a glint in her eye that made something in his chest warm a little.

They spent their time passing wordless judgement on the terrible playlist overhead, debating whether almond croissants were overrated, flicking stray crumbs at one another. Liam was unusually quiet, but she tried to let it be.

The two of them sat in the corner by the windows, sharing a perfectly toasted almond croissant and a pair of mismatched mugs. She furrowed her brows at how much of his drink still remained in his cup, likely gone. When she looked up at him, she found his eyes already on her.

He tilted his head with a knowing smirk. “What, have I got powder sugar on my face again?”

She smiled around the rim of her coffee cup. “Maybe.”

He chuckled, low and short. Then his eyes flickered back to the street outside, distant for a breath. It was then that she brought it up, all tentative and careful. “You mentioned your brothers. Um, the other night.”

The words felt like skipping stones — light on the surface, hiding how deep they wanted to go.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment, drawing out the word like he was stalling. He stirred his coffee absentmindedly, though it didn’t need it. “I did. I mean, I do.”

“Will I…. ever get to meet them?” she asked, aiming for lightness but hearing her hesitation betray her.

The man across from her shrugged, casual but too quick about it. “Eh, they’re all usually pretty busy.”

It was a bad excuse. She knew it. He knew she knew it.

“They sound pretty important to you,” she said instead, trying again, busying her fingers by folding and unfolding her paper napkin.

You’re important to me too, she didn’t say.

Lando's posture shifted, barely, but enough. There was a slight stiffening of his shoulders, and a tension in his jaw. He still held the coffee, but he wasn’t drinking anymore.

It hit her then—that twitchy, haunted kind of defensiveness he slipped into when something precious was threatened. Like if he admitted it mattered, the world would hear it and take it away.

The wave of vulnerability had apparently passed, and she’d have to wait patiently until the tide rolled in again. That seemed to be a pattern with him, she’d noticed – sometimes he’d unknowingly show her a glimpse of his heart, holding it out with careful, trembling hands like it was something precious to be held. But moments later he’d retreat within himself once again as soon as he was aware of what he’d done. That’s when he’d put the soft parts of himself away where no one could reject or abandon them like he had once been.

Her gaze traced over his silhouette against the soft light that emanated through the murky sky outside, the passing clouds casting flickering shadows over the contours of his face.  

“Don’t leave me.”

“Just… please. Stay.”

“Last night… it shouldn't have happened.”

She breathed deeply and gave him a sad little smile, the kind that didn’t ask for anything back.

“It’s okay,” Y/N said softly. “I didn’t mean to push.”

I just wanted to be part of your world. I wanted to meet the people that matter most to you. I wanted to be part of your world the way you are part of mine.

He said nothing.

She set the napkin down. Even though it was soundless, it still felt loud to her somehow. “I was only curious. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”

A beat of silence passed. Then another. She could just feel herself flushing with the awkwardness of it, a hot undercurrent of regret crawling up her spine as her face grew hot unpleasantly. 

Stupid, stupid, you always want too much—

But then he spoke, voice low and rough around the edges.

“I… Just…”

He seemed to struggle to find the words. 

“Give me a little time, yeah?”

She blinked, startled.

He wasn’t looking directly at her anymore — his thumb brushed over the rim of the mug like he needed something to do with his hands — but even she could tell that his words were real, earnest in a way that almost hurt to hear.

Her heart twisted, traitorous and tender all at once.

“Okay,” she whispered, smiling at him through it, even when it hurt. “Take all the time you need.”

I’ll wait as long as it takes.

The awkwardness didn’t quite leave after that, shifting and swirling between them like smoke. But there was something else beneath it too. It was a sincerity – a thread tying them together, thin and invisible, tugging a little tighter with every truth shared.

Outside, the clouds floated between all the shades of grey, like even the sky couldn't decide whether it was going to storm. Y/N watch people stroll past the windows, deep in conversation and huddled together, wearing their sweaters and light coats.

Inside, she watched Liam stir his coffee too many times and thought:

I’ll wait. As long as it takes.

Meanwhile, Lando’s thoughts had already drifted well beyond the cold coffee in front of him. Being reminded of his ‘brothers’ made a pang of guilt go through his chest. Even the image of his parents grave didn’t fail to remind him of a different one — the solid granite headstone that he placed with his own two hands after he buried his friend. 

He needed to be more careful if he wanted to make sure he didn’t make a mistake again. He would die before he let anyone lay a hand on them again. He’d die before he let anyone lay a hand on her. It would be a cold day in hell before he let them take someone else away from him again.

No matter how much he wished he could continue to live in these half-delusions of stolen moments of peace that lived far away from the blood running down the back alleys of Monte Carlo, he knew that he was also the one who would have to put his gloves on and get his hands dirty. 

After all, there was dirty work to be done, and there was no man in all of Monaco who was better at what he did than Lando Norris. 

It was a few days later when the large door to Lando’s office creaked open hesitantly.

When Carlos stepped through the heavy oak doors to the boss’s office, he half-expected to find it empty, like it had been most nights lately. Truth be told, the rest of the Circle still hadn’t quite gotten used to Lando being gone so much now, to him haunting someone else’s walls instead of his own more often than not.

But tonight, the old desk lamp was the only thing lighting the room, throwing warped shadows across the mess inside. Carlos stopped short.

When he looked inside, he froze.

Papers carpeted almost everything in sight – the desk, the floor, even pinned to the walls. The walls were littered with a hodgepodge of photos, CCTV stills, maps, receipts, scraps of connection that barely held together. A timeline snaked across the length of the room, erratic and angry with time stamps circled in red pen several times over. Eleven from where he stood, he could distinguish certain images in the sea of evidence. 

Grainy street cam images of a blurred figure moving past the caféA printed photograph of the type of knife used on DanielCross-references between the Leclercs and Gasly’s crew, the names scrawled with a furious hand. Points of contact. Suspected hideouts.

It looked like the inside of a man’s unraveling mind.

In the center of it all, Lando Norris stood like a statue, pale under the dim light, staring at it with the hollow-eyed intensity of a man who hadn’t slept right in days. Maybe longer.

One hand raked through his messy curls, his other hand drumming against a photo of the front of Brews & Books hard enough that the edge bent under his fingers. Lando didn’t look up when he spoke. His voice was low and scratchy, raw from misuse.

"Y’need something?"

Carlos swallowed thickly. "No, boss. Just… erm, I am just checking in."

For a long moment, the only sound was the relentless tap of Lando’s fingers. Carlos carefully stepped closer, unsure whether approaching was the right thing to do. It was only when came near that he was able to notice that the room wasn’t the only thing unusual. Lando wore an unfamiliar expression on his face, dark circles under his eyes and he seemed to be muttering something under his breath until Carlos came to stand beside him.

“There’s something missing," he said, voice low but shaking with fury. "I keep going over it. In my head, in the street cams, Logan’s pictures, the data—"

He turned around, his hand suddenly slamming down and sweeping across the desk, sending papers, pens, an old coffee mug crashing to the floor. Even the Spaniard flinched back, caught off guard.

"It doesn’t make any fucking sense!" he bellowed, chest heaving. Lando leaned over the desk, his hands gripping the edge so tightly his knuckles went bloodless. For a second, it looked like he might tear the whole thing apart with his bare hands.

Lando ran his hands through his hair yet again, standing up only to begin pacing his office back and forth like some caged animal. He spoke again then, but this time quieter, his voice colder than ice.

"I’ll kill them."

His dark eyes were wild, glittering in the dim light.

 "I’ll hunt ‘em down like dogs," he whispered. "Corner them like the fuckin’ rats they are.”

“Mate, what are you saying? If–”

It was like the Brit didn’t even hear him.

“I’ll break his fingers one by one so he can’t ever hold a weapon again. I’ll cut his tongue out before he can even think of fucking lying to me. I'll– I’ll find something he loves and rip it apart right in front of him so he knows what it feels like."

His voice dropped even lower to something more sinister. He stood, pacing the room, hands running through his hair, eyes wild as he rambled like a madman.

“What they took…” His voice trembled as if he could hardly speak the words, fury rising in his chest. “What they took from us, from me, from– from her…”

He froze, as if suddenly realizing something. His gaze darkened. “How dare they try to fuckin’ touch her? How fucking dare they?”

He turned abruptly, fixing Carlos with a look that made his blood run cold. “They made a mistake. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure they pay for it. I’ll teach them a lesson, alright. I’ll find their weakness because everyone has one. And when I do…”

He clenched his fists, teeth grinding together, his voice now dripping with malevolence. “I’ll find Leclerc. I’ll– I’ll rip him apart if I have to. I’ll leave him on the floor, gutted, so everyone will know. So everyone will see what happens when you try to take what’s mine!”

Carlos, still standing in the doorway, took a deep breath, forcing himself to swallow the knot in his throat. “Lando…” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “We need to talk about this, hermano. You are not thinking straight.”

But Lando didn’t answer him. He was already back at the desk, his eyes locked on the screens, desperately searching for something that would make everything fall into place, a last missing piece.

He wouldn’t rest until he found it.

Lando’s hands shook as he sifted through the files again, muttering to himself. He was practically stumbling now, so consumed by the need to find answers, to pinpoint the one thing that would make all of this make sense. His eyes were wide, dark with frustration, and the bottle of whiskey had already been cracked open, half-gone, and yet he kept reaching for it.

“Alright, no more drinks tonight,” Carlos grimaced, scrunching his nose at the pungent smell of alcohol from Lando’s breath. He took a half glass that Lando seemed to have forgotten about for the time being and poured it into a potted plant nearby instead. “And when is the last time you slept, eh?”

Carlos moved to the other side of the desk as he watched Lando focus intently on pouring himself a new glass. He gently plucked it from his hand and set it down far out of his rech, hoping he was too inebriated by now to go after it. He wasn’t too far off, it seemed, as Lando just went on, lost in his thoughts.

“Fuckin’ gunman was too smart,” Lando muttered, eyes glazed over. He didn’t even notice Carlos moving the glass. “He avoids all the cameras, didn’t leave a trace. Look, see? He uses the hat. I hate hats like that.”

Carlos turned his attention to where Lando was rapidly pointing between a series of photos, snapshots of the gunman leaving the scene of the shooting that killed that old lady. 

Lando continued, undeterred by the lack of audible response. “S’not… messy, y’know? He’s not– not arrogant like Gasly or Leclerc. They would’ve been more sloppy. They don’t give a shit No, this guy’s... this guy’s different. He’s, uh, tall. Tall and fast. Maybe… Maybe it could be Esteban? Yeah, yeah... but Esteban doesn’t have the cause…”

Carlos bit back a sigh, sitting down across from him. He didn’t want to interrupt, but he couldn’t let Lando keep spiraling like this.

“But if it’s not Esteban,” Lando continued, his voice rising in pitch, the frustration clear, and he stumbled over his words, “then who the fuck is it? Who’s fast enough, who’s quick enough to get in and out like that? The little one? What his fuckin’ name, the little Leclerc… Him, maybe?”

Carlos didn’t even get a chance to butt in, before lando cut himself off, mind whirling faster than even he could keep up. “It could, he’s fast, but–” He growled in frustration. “But– No, no, he’s too young, too dumb. Fuck! I don’t know.”

He slammed his fist onto the desk again, hard enough to make the bookshelves tremble against the walls.

Carlos’s voice was calm, soothing, though the older man was struggling to keep his own anxiety in check. “Lando, you need to take it easy, mate. You are not going to figure this out in one night. You need to sleep. You need to rest.”

But of course, Lando was well beyond hearing him. His mind was running a thousand miles a minute, trying to piece together the jumbled mess of thoughts that never seemed to fit. He was a man unraveling at the seams, and all Carlos could do was watch, powerless.

“Charles — no, it’s not him, not his height,” Lando muttered, shaking his head violently, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk. “It has to be someone on his fucking behalf. Someone quick, young, someone who could’ve gotten in and out fast... but who? Fucking who, Carlos?”

Carlos leaned forward, trying his best to keep his voice level yet again. “We don’t know, hermano. Let’s slow down, alright? We’ll figure it out, but you need to take a step back.”

But Lando’s eyes were wild, unfocused. He wasn’t listening. “It’s Pierre,” he hissed, almost to himself. “It’s Pierre who would’ve known about her shift—Kika works with her. He could’ve... he could’ve known when she was there.”

Carlos knew there was no use in trying to reason with him right now. Lando had worked himself into a frenzy, and the more Carlos tried to calm him down, the more agitated he became. It was like watching a man fighting himself, and Carlos wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up.

He couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Lando,” Carlos said, his voice sharp. “Stop! Just— stop it. You are not thinking straight. This isn’t right.”

But Lando wasn’t listening. He wasn’t even aware that Carlos had been speaking. He grabbed another file, tossing it across the desk, frustrated. “I’ve got the CCTV, I’ve got Logan’s pictures, I’ve got the bullet shells—what the fuck am I missing? What is it?” His voice cracked, barely audible now. “I’m so fucking close.”

That’s it.

Carlos sat back, his mind racing. He couldn’t let Lando keep going like this. It was clear he wasn’t going to listen to reason, not like this. The younger man was running on empty, and the all the liquor he’d consumed wasn’t helping. The man needed rest, not more whiskey. He needed someone to help him see past the blur.

With a deep breath, Carlos made the call.

“Max,” he said quietly, into the phone. “Lando’s... not alright. Can you come get him? He’s not in a good place right now.”

As the conversation ended, Lando continued to ramble, his words barely making sense, his movements jerky. “I’ll get them, Carlos,” he muttered, his voice lower, darker. “I’ll fucking get them for what they did. To her. To me. To Daniel.”

Carlos stood up, his hand on Lando’s shoulder, trying to guide him away from the desk. “Come on, mate. You’ve been at this for almost two days. You need rest. You’re not gonna get answers like this.”

Lando didn’t respond. He just stared at the wall, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes dull and bloodshot.

Max Fewtrell arrived moments later, his face taut with worry. He looked at Carlos and then at Lando, who had fallen silent, his body sagging as if the fight had been drained out of him.

“Take him home,” Carlos said, his voice resigned. “He needs sleep. He needs... something.”

Max nodded, walking over to Lando and gently taking hold of his arm. “Come on, mate,” he said softly. “Let’s get you out of here.”

There was an odd knock at the door. Not urgent or rhythmic, just... offbeat and uneven.

Unfamiliar.

Carefully, she opened it to find a stranger standing there, slightly out of breath, his arm slung firmly around a half-conscious Liam. Liam, who looked like he’d been poured into the shape of a man and then left out to dry, his form rumpled, sagging, his eyes glazed.

“Hi,” the stranger said, awkwardly clearing his throat. He appeared young, likely around Liam’s age, if she had to guess. He seemed well kept, so she could probably rule out him being one of those weirdos that lived down the block. “I— I’m Max. He’s, uh...” He gestured down to the weight dragging on his side. “He’s drunk. I think he could use some company tonight.”

She nodded once, her hand already reaching out for Lando’s weight. “Thank you for bringing him home, Max.”

Max gave a small smile, half-gratitude and half-apology. “Yeah. Of course.” He hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more, but Lando groaned and shifted, and that was cue enough. 

Instead, what he said was, “He’s heavier than he looks. Good luck.”

With a nod, Max turned and disappeared down the hallway and into the night.

She eased Liam inside, his full weight slumping into her side until he was half-carried, half-dragged to the couch. He mumbled something that might’ve been her name, or perhaps it was a string of consonants meant to sound like it. Lando leaned more of his weight against her. “Smells like you,” he mumbled, somewhere between recognition and comfort, and she huffed a laugh, guiding him inside.

“Yeah, well. That tends to happen when you’re in my apartment.”

“Mm,” he hummed.

When she dropped him gently onto the cushions, he sighed as if he’d been holding tension in for hours.

Then, he blinked up at her.

“You were reading,” he slurred, his eyes falling on the book still splayed open on the armrest. “You always read.”

“Well, yes. I like reading,” she replied with a soft smile, moving to tidy up the blanket he’d bunched with his elbow.

He reached out suddenly, his fingers catching a lock of her hair between them. “I like your hair.”

Her breath caught, half-amused. “You told me that last week.”

“I did?” He frowned, like the thought surprised him. Then his face relaxed into a crooked smile. “Smart me.”

Once she got him settled on the couch, she helped him out of his jacket one sleeve at a time. He flopped back with a groan, arm over his face like the light hurt.

“You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. His hand dropped to the side, head turning until his gaze settled on the book she’d set face down on the coffee table.

Her fingers brushed the hair back from his forehead, and he sighed like the tension was melting from his spine. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The TV flickered quietly in the background, the only sound in the room besides the rhythm of his breathing.

“I don’t like being drunk,” he admitted softly, voice slurred but honest.

“Then why’d you drink?”

He paused at that. She leaned back to look at him , waiting patiently to listen to his answer like it mattered.

“Because if I stopped thinking tonight, I thought maybe I’d stop feeling too.”

She didn’t respond right away. Truthfully, she didn’t know what to say – so she settled for saying nothing. Instead, she just ran her thumb along his temple, slow and steady.

He looked up at her then — not smiling, not joking, just watching her like he needed to memorize the shape of her kindness.

“I like it here,” he said, voice quiet as if he was sharing a secret someone else might accidently overhear. “With you.”

She could’ve said something witty, or maybe even deflected like she always did. But tonight, she just whispered, “Good. You know you’re always welcome to stay.”

He smiled again, sleepier this time and let his eyes fall closed for a long blink as he leaned his head back against the couch.

“Don’t disappear, yeah?” he mumbled.

“I won’t,” she promised, soft and sincere. “I’m not going anywhere.”

After Y/N returned from the kitchen with some electrolytes and pain medication for the inevitable hangover he’d suffer tomorrow, she returned to find him sitting up again, halfway between sleep and consciousness. His eyelids were fluttering, barely hanging on. 

He reached for her before he could stop himself, one of his hands curling itself loosely around her wrist, the pad of his thumb tracing absent, slow circles against her skin. There was nothing sexual or even intentional about it – just a kind of tethering, like he didn’t want to drift too far.

“You’re good t’me,” he mumbled, barely comprehensible. “Don’t get it. But I like it.”

Her heart fluttered so rapidly that it felt like her breath had escaped her, and took anything she could have thought to say along with it. She focused on the only thing she still could, just brushing his hair back from his face with her, feeling something soft and stupid settle in her chest.

Finally, the soothing motion of her hand stopped, causing him to blink  groggily. “Alright, buddy,” she murmured, “let’s get you horizontal. You should probably get some proper rest.”

He blinked owlishly, looking up at her as if it was his first time ever seeing her. “But you were readin’.” he slurred.

She glanced at the book she’d put aside when she heard Max knock on the door. “Yeah, I was.”

“That’s nice. You read nice things.”

“I try to,” she laughed. “Come on, lay back before you fall over, stupid.”

“Nice,” he said, genuinely. “You’ve got the kind of face that should always be near a book. Or in a paintin’. Or…” He swayed. “In my lap. Wait—no. Me? My head. In your lap.”

She couldn’t help it — she snorted. “You’re so articulate when you’re drunk.”

“Mm, yes, ’m very talented,” he replied solemnly, then immediately missed the couch by a few inches and collapsed half-on, half-off it with a dull thump.

She rolled her eyes, crouching beside him to help maneuver his limbs. “Alright, Casanova, come on.” She guided him up and onto the cushions, and when she finally sat down, he immediately curled onto his side and nudged his head into her lap like it was where he belonged.

She froze for just a second — surprised at how naturally he did it, how much he seemed to trust her this way. Her fingers hovered over his curls, indecisive, before she allowed them to settle there gently, simply resting their comfortable weight.

Oh, Liam. Why do you do this to me?

It took what was probably a concerning amount of effort for her to try and breath very, very slowly in hopes that it would quiet the way her heart was hammering against her ribs. It would be quite embarrassing if he could hear it.

Mortifying, really.

Just as soon as she’d deemed her efforts mostly successful, his eyes fluttered closed before opening again slowly, like he was afraid he’d miss something if he blinked too long. 

His fingers brushed her wrist again, then lazily trailed to the hem of her sleeve. He smiled up at her, squinting like she was glowing under a sun only he could see.

“So pretty, you are,” he murmured, words thick and slow. “Can’t believe you’re real.”

Oh, fuck me.

You can’t just say things like that.

To his credit, however, it was hard to distinguish of he was even aware he’d said that aloud, or if he simply thought he was talking to himself. She raised an eyebrow, amused. “I’m, uh, I am very real, I assure you.”

Apparently satisfied with her answer, his eyes fluttered closed. “Mm. Dunno, you feel like a dream. Like, the good kind. One of the good ones. The ones you wake up from and try to fall back asleep for.”

She swallowed, heart tripping over itself.

“Liam…”

Her heart gave a quiet, reluctant thud.

“You should sleep,” she said gently, brushing a few stray curls from his forehead. It was like she couldn’t help it – hopefully, he’d be too hungover in the morning to remember any of this.

“But you were reading.” He blinked up at her, almost pouting. “Read to me?”

“I’m not reading that to you,” she laughed, nodding at the very nonfiction-looking book. “You’ll have nightmares about European history.”

He hummed like that was a genuine concern. “You’ll protect me?”

She smiled despite herself. “From Napoleon?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Of course. Always.”

A beat passed. He blinked slowly, his long lashes brushing his cheeks. Y/N had always found it remarkably unfair how he naturally had such long beautiful lashes, ne that framed his eyes so perfectly it was like God personally wanted her to suffer knowing how beautiful his eyes were 

“I like your laugh,” he murmured, already drifting. “And your hands. And your whole… you-ness.”

She didn’t answer. She just kept brushing his hair back, slower now. His breathing evened out, lips slightly parted, finally quiet in a way she hadn’t seen him all week.

“Can you still read to me? I just… I like hearing your voice.”

She couldn’t help but smile at the way he asked, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Hm? Y- yeah, of course. Just relax, you can close your eyes too, if you want to.”

Lando’s lips twitched in a sleepy grin, and he gave her a slow nod, letting his body go limp. She wasn’t sure if he’d heard her last words, but he wasn’t fighting it anymore — his tiredness was taking over. She turned to the book, brushing a few stray hairs away from his forehead as she began reading lowly in the quiet room.

He shifted a bit, restless at first, but she kept going, her voice steady and warm as she read. It wasn’t anything special, really — just the hum of her voice and the rustle of pages. But then he shifted again, and again, clearly unable to get comfortable.

She paused, glancing down at him. “Hey, something wrong?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand, tentative and slow, stretched up from his side and reached for her free one. She blinked, unsure at first, but then she let him take her hand. He pulled it gently to his head, bringing her fingers to lightly brush against the soft strands of his hair, as if seeking permission.

This boy will be the death of me.

She didn’t question it. She just let him, sensing the need for something more than what words could give him right now.

A small smile tugged at her lips as she began to play with his hair, the soft, rhythmic motion easing into something natural. His head tilted slightly, almost imperceptibly, as he leaned into her touch.

Without saying anything else, she resumed reading. It was a slow, gentle ebb of words, her voice falling into a soothing lull as the minutes passed. By the time she reached the end of the page, his breathing had already deepened, soft and steady. 

He was out like a light — his face relaxed like’d never known anything but sleep as restful as this. Like he’d never known stress, or fear, or grief. Like those things would never be able to reach him again.

Even once she stopped reading out loud, she couldn’t help but smile to herself, continuing to run her fingers through his hair as he slept. Something in the quiet comfort of that moment made her chest tighten, but in the best way — like she was finally allowed to just be, without the weight of the world pressing down on her, or him. Like she was allowed one more glimpse of him, another sliver of this dream she’d begun to crave so deeply.

It was a pocket of peace, the two of them in this bubble. The last thought she remembered having as her own eyelids began to drift close was how much she wished she could freeze this moment in time, a snow globe capturing the sweetest of dreams.

a/n: i'm so sorry this wasn't out when promised. yesterday was a shit day. sorry if this is shit.

[plantcomic]

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Please leave a nice comment for me maybe.... reblog stuff... Thank you. Also happy midsummer!!

[every-sebastian-michaelis]

[small-wha]

[manga-meow]

[damn-stark]

Chapter 34 Erasing myself from the narrative

Chapter 34 of Moonlight

A/N- 🤭

Warning- ptsd, ANGST!!!, swearing, talks of blood, and death. SPOILERS!! FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

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

Episode/Pages- 561-578

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

If you close your eyes now, as you twist your son's hair in between your fingers, you can still remember the whiffs of your mother's sweet perfume hitting your nose as she stood behind you. You remember her warmth that radiated off her body and embraced you, providing a comfort only a mother could. You remember the gentle touch of your mother's soft and delicate hands as she carefully gripped strands of your hair and braided them herself.

She was the King's heir so she tried to keep herself busy to learn everything an heir should, but she always took time out of her day to braid your hair. She made it her mission to learn how to braid so your hair would be protected.

It’s been years since then, but you remember it all as if you had lived it yesterday.

Sometimes after a good night's sleep, as you stir awake you believe for a flicker of a second that you’re still there, in the Red Keep with your mother and your brothers, but you then snap out of your grogginess and decades have passed by, aging you to an age you mother never reached.

“Maekor,” you call out to your eldest son and child with your husband. “Has your brother tried talking to you?”

“Which one?” He queries as he can’t possibly read your mind about which out of four brothers you could be referring to.

“Torrhen,” you mention as you take another strand of hair to continue the same process. “He’s…been having a hard time again, and I reminded him that he could talk to you or Jace. I just don’t want him to feel isolated if he doesn’t want to talk to me.”

Maekor sighs deeply and licks his lips before he gives you a response. “No, he hasn’t. I’ve hardly seen him.”

You hum and slump in your seat, letting his half-twisted hair go and dropping your head to fix your rings. “Well, could you try talking to him? I know I shouldn’t ask you, but he’s reluctant to talk to me, and you know how he feels about his father,” you begin to grow quieter with every word that comes out of your mouth. “I know it shouldn’t be your burden to bear, but you’re his older brother, he might feel more inclined—”

“I’d argue Aerion is the eldest,” a third voice interrupts you; one suave and taunting.

When you lift your head and peer back you see Jacaerys, your third child and second son with your husband. Albeit, he also counts as your sixth child out of seven if you count your three children with Aemond. But if you count your husband's firstborn with his first wife, Jacaerys is your seventh child out of eight.

It's all such a mess…

“Jacaerys,” Maekor scolds his younger brother.

“Mother,” said man greets you sweetly as he reaches you and bends down to press a peck on your cheek before he walks forward so he can be in front of you and Maekor.

“You stink of sweat,” you point out with your nose wrinkling in disgust. “Have you been out all night?” You probe.

Jacaerys steals a wooden chair and drags it back to swing his leg around it and sit with his chest pressed against the back of the seat. “Yes, I’m enjoying my last moments of freedom before I’m forever enslaved as a brother of the Night's Watch.”

“To be a brother of the Night's Watch is a great honor,” Maekor reminds his brother who immediately shows that he disapproves of that ideology.

“Says you,” Jacaerys quips as he folds his arms over the back of the chair and then rests his chin on his arms. “You’re a second son. You’re father's spare if anything happens to his firstborn son.”

“Jacaerys,” you gently scold your son as you stand up to continue twisting Maekor’s hair.

“Mother,” he mocks you and then continues to spew his regular complaints. “It’s true. He won’t ever have the responsibility of having to join the Night’s Watch. He’ll never be sworn off women, or be forced to live at the wall with outcast men.”

“You don’t even like women,” Maekor remarks under his breath.

“I do,” Jacaerys points his finger at his brother. “But that’s not the point! The point is that you won’t ever have to be forced to join the Night’s Watch.”

You finish with the twist you were working on and then drift your focus to Jacaerys. “You don’t have to join the Night’s Watch either, Jace. You have dragons blood in you—”

“So I can either be forced to procreate with one of your cousins' daughters and be tied down that way forever, or be trapped at the Wall until I die.” He scoffs, making Maekor groan.

“You’re in a mood.”

You step away from Maekor and approach Jacaerys with a knowing smile that makes him lower his head. “Mother,” he mutters and you crouch to be at his level.

“You can do whatever it is your heart desires,” you tell him in a sweet and sincere voice. “If you don’t want to join the Night’s Watch, you don’t have to. If you don’t want to get married and you just want to get on a ship and travel, then you will get on that ship and I will bid you goodbye.”

The tension holding Jacaerys’ shoulders and jaw captive let him loose, and in its place, a softness unfurls in his eyes that makes them glisten like glittering snowflakes on an untouched blanket of snow.

“But father…will be disappointed if I don’t join,” Jacaerys reminds you, or more so shares the only reason why he feels like he has to join. “It’s my duty. Maekor cannot join, and Torrhen…is too burdened by his visions to be fully there. It lies on me to bring that honor to our family.”

You huff and lift your hand to stroke his cheek. “No, my love, your father wouldn’t be disappointed. He understands what it’s like to want things too, and if he didn’t I would make him because you, my darling boy, are our son and we want you to be happy. We want you all to be happy”

As tough as Jacaerys acts, he’s still the most sensitive out of all your children, so his eyes well up, but he doesn’t let himself cry. He lowers his head and you slide your hand back to cup the back of his neck.

“So if you don’t want to join the Night’s Watch, then don’t, okay? I’ll be proud of you with whatever it is you choose.” You assure him as you press a kiss on the back of his head before you let him go and stand up to return to Maekor, leaving Jacaerys with his head hanging low.

“Anyway, talk to Torrhen, okay? Maybe go out together or I don’t know, do brother stuff,” you continue your conversation with Maekor. “Just let him know he can rely on you.”

“I will,” Maekor assures you. “I won’t disappoint you, mother.”

——

*NOW*

Gardens that were once vivid and full of life are now bare and haunting without Helaena here to fill them with the pure love she had for insects and plant life.

You never understood her fascination for the gross critters, but she loved to talk about them and show them off when she’d catch them, so you always listened of course. You’d walk around the garden side by side until she grew tired or you had somewhere to get to. Now…not even the chirping of an insect is here to keep you company. Sure, it’s due to the winter climate, but without her, the gardens are so desolate either way.

“Your Grace?”

You perk up at the sound of you being called and turn away from the fountain thinking you might see Cregan. Even though you’ve been rejecting his summons and have been averting your gaze when you’re in the same room, you still hope that when you turn around it's him joining you in the gardens.

Alas, when your eyes fall on the figure approaching you, for a split second you freeze as you swear to every god, new and old, that it's your mother. You see her beautiful face untouched by any fire. You see her long golden-silver hair flowing behind her, and captured under the soft hue of the cold sun. Albeit, when you blink she vanishes and Lord Kermit is approaching you in her place.

“Were you expecting someone else?” Lord Kermit catches the disappointment on your face and offers you a teasing smile.

“Ah,” you breathe out and fix an invisible wrinkle on your light sea-green gown. “Well perhaps,” you admit shamelessly. “My cousin Rhaena should be arriving at the city soon, and I’m still waiting on responses from the Lord and Ladies we sent pardons to, so,” you pause and sigh as you fix your ring next. “Yes, actually. Sorry.”

Lord Kermit scoffs and reaches the fountain you’re sitting on to respond. “No, it’s alright. You are a very busy woman. I do not envy it.”

You scoff softly and then pat the empty spot beside you. “Will you sit with me? At least for a moment?”

Whether out of obligation, because he was seeking your company, and or because he had nothing better to do, he takes you up on your offer, filling your heart at least with a flicker of warmth.

“I am only out here now because Lord Stark says that if I’m with him whilst he’s questioning suspects, they might feel obliged to hide the truth, so,” you sigh. “I'm here.”

Lord Kermit looks around at the gardens and huffs. “Out here in the cold?”

You giggle. “It’s either here or wait impatiently for me to be questioned next.”

Lord Kermit drops his head at that and mutters his thoughts. “It’s mad that Lord Stark is questioning you too.”

Your face falls and you slowly lower your head, finding your reflection painted on the water's surface. “Why is it so mad?” You ask as you stare long and hard at the woman staring back at you.

“Because…you’re the Queen Regent and you shouldn’t be put to question.”

“Is that all?” You whisper and catch Lord Kermit’s confusion reflecting on the water's surface.

“Had it been me?” You clarify. “Would it be so mad then? Would it make me a villain?”

You keep your eyes on your reflection and you know you don’t see someone full of guilt looking back at you. You don’t see someone wicked either like others paint you out to be. You don’t know who or what you see exactly, but you know guilt and wickedness is not something on the surface.

“Many would see a villain,” Lord Kermit admits, pulling your gaze to his flesh-made face with an immediate sadness.

“But I wouldn’t see the same,” he continues, making your breath catch in your throat. “He would have deserved it and you would have had all the reason to do it. Even if the weapon was less than honorable.”

You blink repeatedly and hum in response before you drop your gaze on the water's surface again and ask yourself if settling with someone understanding like Lord Kermit would be something you’d like, considering Cregan’s current position in these current affairs.

Lord Kermit is not ugly. He’s quite handsome with his fire-kissed hair and he’s a Lord and a Warden no less. He’s seen you fight so he wouldn't be against it, and he’s not afraid of Astraea, so settling for him wouldn’t be terrible. After all, you also have a duty to your family to restore your line now that most of it is gone. However…could Cregan really turn out to hate you so much that he wouldn’t consider a future with you anymore? After so much longing to be together and finally have the opportunity, would he really throw it away over a man who’s not even worth the fuss?

Are you really not worth that much to him?

“Tell me, Lord Kermit,” you interject in a much sweeter tone. “Has snow reached Riverrun?”

Lord Kermit is caught off guard by the sudden change in subject but he welcomes it and matches your energy right away. “Perhaps. I have not been home in some time. I imagine the winter snows have reached Riverrun by now…but I really wish it wouldn’t.”

“Oh?” You probe. “You prefer the rain?”

Lord Kermit chuckles and your lips pull to a smile.

“It’s not always raining, alright?” He retorts. “It's a common misconception.”

You smile wider and he continues. “There’s actually a lot of sun. I myself prefer the sun.”

You nod gently in comprehension before you cut in. “Me too. I love the sun, hot summer days by the sea or in the sea. I wish it would be summer now because then at least I could keep myself busy by diving.”

“Diving?” He questions and you nod excitedly.

“It’s fantastic and liberating. There’s so many secrets to uncover, and so many different sea creatures to meet. Even in rivers!” You point out with a grin as you’re filled with warm memories. “The world is truly endless underwater,” you muse and glance down at the water filling the fountain.

Lord Kermit hums with a sense of admiration before he interjects boldly. “Well then I’m sure you would be fond of the Riverlands, there's so many different waters to explore.”

Your smile falters but you don’t drop it even if it fades in your eyes, leaving them dull and uninterested. You’re about to give him a response, but you then catch the sound of footsteps and as if waiting for someone to come rescue you, you immediately drop the matter and snap your attention to the incomer, catching Cregan approaching with his gaze hardening on Lord Kermit.

“Lord Stark,” the young lord greets almost bregudgly

“Lord Tully,” said man responds and then glances at you expecting some kind of greeting, but you keep quiet, making him interject. “I see a lot of you as of late. Have you grown to like the Keep?”

Lord Kermit steals a glance at you as you keep your eyes pierced on Cregan as if you want to curse him or undress him with your eyes. Lord Kermit doesn’t realize that though so he just looks at you to gain his answer.

“I have grown quite fond of its beauty, yes,” he references you and Cregan catches it and sucks in the inside of his lip to try and keep from showing his emotions.

“Do you need something, Lord Stark?” You act clueless. “Lord Kermit was talking to me about the Riverlands.”

Cregan’s eyes drift to you and you hold his gaze and press him speechlessly.

“Well yes, I do, you are next for questioning,” he says what you already knew.

“You did not have to come all this way,” you taunt him, making him scoff.

“Well you left me no choice, you weren’t outside of the throne room,” he quips and you hum and then stand on your feet, but turn to Lord Kermit first as he mirrors your actions—“Thank you for keeping me company,” you tell the young lord and offer him a small curtsy, making him bow in response with a charming smile on his face.

“Thank you for letting me be in your company,” he redirects and tries to hold your gaze, but you quickly turn away and spare Cregan a glance before you walk ahead of him. He then tries to walk at your side but you speed up and fill the silence by talking to Ser Cane about nothing truly important, you just don't want to leave space for Cregan to talk to you.

When you reach the throne room, in the echoing silence you find yourself feeling nervous. Usually being with Cregan would calm down any unsettled nerves, but as of now being in his presence and knowing what he’s after without the guarantee that you’ll be supported no matter what makes you nervous. More so as he has the guards leave the room except for Ser Cane.

“We both know why you’re here, my Queen,” Cregan is the first to break the silence while you keep your back facing him as you slowly wander the room trying to prolong the matter—“there’s no use dancing around the question or the answer.”

You slowly peer at him over your shoulder and bat your lashes as you graze your finger on the wooden seat he has below the Iron Throne.

“Then ask what you’ve been dying to ask me, my Lord,” you quip and look away to start ascending the stairs that lead to the Iron Throne.

“Did you provide the poison to the King?” He asks, doing what he said, but you purposely prolong the silence by reaching the Iron Throne first and sitting down on the cold and hard seat.

You’ve never let yourself sit on the Iron Throne before; especially not when Aegon was king and not after he died. No matter how much you dreamed of sitting on it once upon a time, when you finally had the ability to do so you never could do it because it was a reminder of everything you lost for it. Now though…you sit on the throne not because you’ve grown an interest in it. You sit on the throne to tip the power scales back to you so Cregan remembers that you are the Queen Regent first and foremost.

“No,” you deadpan and don’t actually lie. You didn’t give Aegon the poison, you might have provided it for his murder but when it came down to it it was not you who slipped it in his wine.

“Hm,” Cregan hums in comprehension and slowly walks to the foot of the Iron Throne to be closer without climbing the steps. “You were his wife. You were closer to him more than anyone in this castle. You shared a marriage bed. You had the opportunity to see him whenever you desired. It would have been easy for you to slip the poison in his wine.”

Your lips droop to a deep frown whilst your eyes harden, but also start to slowly grow red as tears well up, making Cregan’s reflection clear as all your attention is on him.

“We were married under the eyes of The Seven, yes, but the marriage was never consummated,” you clarify. “He tried many times to consummate it, but after his injuries, he was not the same. So after a while of failures, he stopped summoning me to his private chambers.”

Cregan nods and probes further. “And you slept in different quarters?”

You scoff and nod stiffly. “After the death of his son at the beginning of the war, they had the King and the Queen sleep in different chambers, so no, we never shared the same quarters. We never shared a bed. I was his Queen because there’s no consummation needed to gain the title, but besides that, we were basically strangers.”

Cregan drops his head and lets out a deep breath before he continues. “You had more motive than anyone here to see him dead though. You were in the middle of a coup when he died too, so it would have been easier to slip him the poison. Or have others do it for you.”

You blink and draw out a small breath. “Perhaps, but what do you think, Lord Stark? You know it all, and you have gained all the testimony’s from the other suspects, so tell me now Lord Stark if you think it was me.” You sneer as you lower your chin to pierce your watery glare on him and await his answer.

“No more dancing around,” you press. “Tell me and then ask me directly.”

Cregan draws in a deep breath and you let out a shaky breath as you grip onto the throne so hard that the blades start to break your skin.

“I,” he parts his lips and looks into your eyes to find his answer in the eyes of the woman he loves more than life itself. And that’s what blurs his judgment. “I like to think you didn’t. Did you? Did you poison him?”

Based on his answer you draw in a deep breath and lie because what he expects is what he wants to hear. He doesn’t want to blame you, but he would and that’s what drives you to lie to the man you love.

“No, but if I had, did I not have every right to? After what I told you, from what you know, do I not have every damn reason to kill him in any way?” You remark and grip harder onto the Iron Throne, to the point blood begins to leak out of cuts growing deeper the tighter your grip gets. “Would it have mattered what weapon was used to kill the monster that ruined not only my life but everyone else’s? Tell me oh noble Stark.”

And with that Cregan’s rose-colored glasses fall from his eyes and he finally sees you, the woman he lived with for 5 five years. The fierce woman who wields a sword and walks through fire without getting burnt. He sees a fierce dragon in his midst and he starts to realize that he might be wrong about you and that you are more than likely lying.

“You were in the middle of a coup it’s not so outrageous that it could have been you,” he lets it be heard and you tilt your chin up and query.

“And since I was in the middle of a coup wouldn't it have been easier for me to slay him with my sword? So the masses could be witnesses?”

“Most of the Smallfolk hate you for the violence you used against them,” he counters right away, and you don’t stay quiet for a second. You hit him right back.

“And they hated my mother because she raised the taxes after their king's men stole the money. I am also a woman. After they killed my dragons I stopped caring about what they like or hate. They may cry a river and I would not bat an eye. I’m keeping them alive, that's all that matters.”

Cregan takes in what you spat and finds himself caught off guard by this change in you, but then again if he wasn’t letting his heart get in the way, your change wouldn’t be at all surprising.

“Proving you wouldn’t care if you used poison or not,” he rebuttals, making you sit back and tilt your head low to scowl.

“No,” you counter bluntly. “A weapon is a weapon. He was a monster,” you spat and cloud your vision. “He deserved what he got. He deserved more suffering actually, but he got his end so why can’t you just let him rot?” You hiss. “You defend him with so much passion because of your honor, but if you weren’t so blinded by it you would know what I do. You would see it in my eyes and the eyes of many, but you’re blind and it’s so easy to tell.”

You get up swiftly and storm down the steps. When you reach him, when your chest is grazing against his you tilt your head, glance at his lips, and then look him in the eye. “Believe me if you want to, I don’t care. He’s dead and my brother's life doesn’t hang in the balance anymore. I can breathe again. That’s all that matters to me.” You swallow thickly and he licks his lips before you shove past him and storm out of the throne room.

Once you’re at the door and the moment they open your grandfather walks up to meet you under the frame and grabs your shoulders.

“I will think about what your father and your grandmother would have wanted,” he whispers and for the first time in a long time, he presses a kiss on your forehead, showing you a kindness he hasn’t shown you in so long.

“Grandfather,” you whisper back but he lets you go and walks away. When you turn the doors close behind him, forcing you to wait where he left you with your bloody hands clasped, and your heart sinking.

The tears you were so against fall down your cheeks and when you try to wipe them off blood stains your face. The blood doesn’t even get to dry before the doors open and your grandfather walks out with his hands restrained and guards now holding onto him to make sure he doesn’t escape.

“Grandfather,” you cry and run over to grab his arms with more tears mixing with the stains of blood running down your cheeks. “What are you doing?” You direct at Cregan. “Let him go.”

The man you’re now looking at stares at you hard and then mutters. “He admitted to poisoning the King. His freedom will come when he’s dead now.”

You shake your head and your grandfather cuts in. “Hush now. You are Queen. Do not shed any tears for me, Your Grace. I did what I did for you and the good of the realm. There’s no shame in it.”

Your heart. The poor withered thing starts to hurt and you cry harder. You even look at Cregan with a heartbroken look. “Please don’t kill him. I demand it. I beg. Please.”

Cregan looks away and clenches his jaw as he finds your weeping too hurtful to bear. “It has to be done and your demands can’t overpower it. He dies tomorrow at sundown. You can say your goodbyes then. Let’s go,” he then directs at his guards and leaves no more room for arguing or pleading. He couldn’t stand it, and he knew prolonging the matter would only hurt more.

“Cregan,” his name comes out shakily from your lips and he hears it but he doesn’t pay it any mind. He can’t or he’d break.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

With mustered excitement, you shift from one foot to the other as you watch Rhaena, at last, descend her dragon after almost a year of not seeing her.

With fewer friends to talk to even though the Red Keep is buzzing with people, finally having someone you know you can confide in and a shoulder to cry on is like a light breaking in the darkness. Albeit you don’t run to her right away, you let her reunite with her sister. You let them enjoy their own moment before you finally depart from your spot and run to her to greet her with an embrace.

“Rhaena,” you whisper out in relief and hold onto her tightly.

Said girl returns your tight embrace and whispers your name too before she immediately expresses her condolences. “I am so sorry about what happened. I am so sorry about Rhaenyra. I should have been with you all. I’m so sorry.”

She pulls back to grab your arms and look you in the eye with pity and grief of her own. “Will you forgive me?” She asks.

Your breath shudders and your eyes sting as you immediately offer her relief by nodding. “Of course, but there was nothing to forgive anyway.”

She draws out a heavy breath that seems to have been weighing her down and lets her eyes linger on you for a moment before she steps back to look at her sister. “Now what is it I hear about the two of you being at odds with each other? Now when we’re supposed to be at our strongest?”

Both Baela and you avert your gaze out of shame and stiffen as the tension is quick to slip around you.

“I know what happened, you had opposing mindsets on the matter, but the sin was committed and our family was eradicated, forgive each other or live the rest of your lives like Rhaenyra and her brothers did,” Rhaena scolds you both and pinches your arms, making you roll your head down and then slowly bring your eyes up to meet Baela’s shameful gaze.

“I’m sorry, Baela,” you interject first. “That’s all I can offer you because if I said I regretted what I did then I would be lying and I don’t want to lie, so I’m sorry.”

Baela rubs her offended area and sighs deeply before she also directs her apology at you. “I hope you forgive me too. I shouldn’t have let it go on for as long as I did. I am sorry.”

Her bottom lip begins to tremble and yours quickly does the same. Before either of you could be seen shedding a tear though, you step in for an embrace and shed your tears then, when you’re both out of sight.

“Thank you,” you mumble and cling onto her. “For forgiving me.”

Baela rubs your back in response and you linger in the embrace for a moment longer before you pull away and face the twins. “Do you want to go see Aegon?” You direct at Rhaena, and she immediately looks at you puzzled.

“What about our grandfather? What are we going to do to stop Lord Stark from killing him? Lady Arryn told me about the letter Alyn sent. Does Lord Stark really want to fight another war?”

“He’s eager to keep shedding blood,” Baela grumbles whilst you sigh and then try to offer her some consolation.

“I will talk to Lord Stark soon, do not worry…” you trail off as you don’t have much confidence in yourself, but you still try to be positive on the matter. In response, the twins share a look and you think it’s because they catch your own doubt, but they start to giggle.

“What?” You probe.

They share a knowing look and leave you clueless as they grab your arms and lead you back inside. However, perhaps you should have stayed outside, or gone a completely other way to visit Aegon because on your way there, in a corridor that overlooks one of the many training yards, your heart crushes at the sight of Cregan talking to Lady Alyssane Blackwood.

They’re talking close to each other, closer than they need to be. Not as close as Cregan and you tend to talk, but so close you could know each other's scents and pick them apart.

As to what could have brought them so close, you don’t know, you wouldn’t know either, but you begin to wonder about it. The thoughts are so plaguing that it’s hard to think about anything else but him sharing his warmth with her the same way he would share his warmth with you. You think about him letting her hear him laugh his deep rich laugh that so easily brings a smile to your face. You think about his pale and soft lips belonging to her and no longer letting you be the only person to know how they taste. You think about the tender way he loves even though he has a cold exterior.

You think about him and her and ask yourself why he shouldn’t find his happiness elsewhere? You thought about settling down with someone else if he can no longer find a way to love you, so why shouldn’t he also find his happiness?

He should!

You don’t want him to be happy with anyone else, but he should be happy with someone else who isn’t you if that’s what he wants…

Alas, that’s not what’s important when the time comes to meet up. You had every need to go down to the courtyard and interrupt him and Black Aly, but you controlled your intrusive thoughts and remained with your cousins and the children until it was time to talk to Cregan.

Even then the twisted and jealous part of you expected Black Aly to be at his side, but when he met up with you he came alone.

“Your Grace,” he greets with a bow.

You draw in a small breath and offer him a simple greeting. “Lord Stark, I’m glad you came.”

He scoffs. “Of course, I came. You summoned me, my Queen.”

A warmth unfurls over your cheeks and a smile threatens to spread on your lips, but you manage to keep it away and instead move to the side to point him toward your favorite secret spot. “Walk with me?” You ask and he nods right away, letting you face your sworn protector.

“Stay here, Ser,” you command him, but you see his hesitation right away, making you quickly try and reassure him. “Don't worry, Lord Stark will be my companion, if anything happens he will protect me.”

Ser Cane’s eyes fall on said lord and they turn heavy as he passes him doubt. Not because he doesn’t trust him, but because he’s seen you cry over him and you’re the most important thing to Ser Cane.

“I swear I would never let any harm come to her,” Cregan also assures him. “Rest easy good Ser.”

Ser Cane hesitates some more, but he doesn’t disobey, he steps back and he lets you and Cregan walk off alone, causing tension to fall over you and Cregan as you both take in the fact that you’re alone and no one will be a witness to your conversation. It will be like when you were young and sneaking off to find some discreet place where you wouldn’t be caught.

“Should I expect Lord Kermit to be at the end of this trail, or have him interrupt us?” Cregan breaks the silence to be cheeky.

“Why would he?” You remark and look back at him over your shoulder, catching him looking at you annoyed.

“Because he always seems to be around you…” he mutters and lets his voice get drowned out by the crashing waves that grow louder the further downhill you get.

“No, not true. It only seems that way because you come to find me when we happen to be talking,” you defend yourself right away so he doesn’t get the wrong idea even though yesterday you were making him jealous on purpose—“but we’re not here to talk about him.”

“Good,” Cregan quips, causing the corner of your lips to twitch to a smile that’s fleeting as the weight of why you brought him here grows heavier.

“Why did you bring me all the way out here?” He presses as his eyes wander the sunless horizon and the never-ending sea drifting a cold breeze that adds to the already icy wind—“Is this…the spot you would come to with your husband?”

You scoff and shake your head. “No. Well we would come here together on occasion but this is not our spot, this is my spot. I would come train here with my sword…” you trail off before more memories can come along and dampen the mood you set to ask what you need from him.

“Ah, so this is the spot? Hm. Couldn’t have imagined it any differently.”

You huff at his comment and then proceed to welcome the silence, letting it linger until you finally reach the platform and you’re faced by the mighty sea and a rather white cloudy sky that threatens to drop snow on the dry lands. Behind you is a staircase that leads back to the Red Keep, green hills, and Cregan who soaks in your presence like one would soak the sun in their pores.

There’s no need for the sun when he’s with you though, that much he knows for certain.

As to why you brought him here? He knows that too, but he keeps basking in the sight of you for a moment longer. Besides, you also seem to be in agreement with maintaining the tranquility because you remain unmoving with your eyes focused on the body of water. It’s not until Cregan falls beside you that you break your gaze away from the horizon and slowly look at him with softened eyes already brimming with salty tears, and downturned lips already spilling your plea.

“I know…what my grandfather admitted to was wrong, but Cregan,” you say his name ever so softly, in the way you always say it when you’re aching deeply and want nothing more but his comfort. “You can’t kill him,” you beg. You don’t demand a thing. You beg him.

He hears that clinging onto your shaky voice and drops his head while he mutters your name. “I can’t spare him because of what he means to you. That’s not fair. He’s still a traitor,” he presses. “He should die a traitor's death just like everyone else.”

You nod your head. “I know. I know what he did, but you know what Alyn will do if you kill him. He will bring more war, more blood, and more destruction.”

He swallows thickly and his eyes harden. “There’s worse ways to die. Winter is here,” he insists and you hold his gaze as your mind races with what to say next. A way to get him to agree and not commend someone you love to death.

“If you kill him…you will have to kill me,” you blurt and try to spark a fire in your eyes, but your ferocity at this very moment is nowhere to be found. You’re not mad, you are passionate about saving your grandfather, but right now, with Cregan you feel desperate.

“I was a part of the plan to kill Aegon. I organized the council and plotted and schemed so if you kill my grandfather then you will have to put me to the sword too,” your voice shakes and he looks at you with disbelief as if he was already committing the act.

“No, no, do not say that,” he hisses. “Do not put me in that position because…you know what you are to me,” he finishes off softly, letting you approach him to grab his forearms and bring each other closer.

“I will lay down my life with his,” you press. “People will pay to see it and I…will be better off because of it—”

“Why would you say that?” He cuts you off.

Tears roll down your cheeks and you shrug. “I told you,” you speak softly. “I died with my mother. Aegon took all the meaning from my life.”

Cregan’s eyebrows knit together and his grey eyes glisten. “Am I not meaning enough?” He asks with a vulnerability you take into account.

“You are, but I cannot bring myself to keep dragging you around. You,” you pause and think back to what you saw. “You deserve to have a good life with someone who does not bring so much drama and such a heavy burden of grief. I…I’m broken, Cregan. You deserve someone stronger who doesn’t cry all the time because lately, that’s all I can do. You…”

“I,” he continues for you. “I want you. I have wanted you since the moment we met. The moment you had to leave, and even now. You are not a burden, and your grief is normal after what you went through. I don’t like that you think that way about yourself.”

You look at him with hurt and he brings his hands up to cup your cheeks, making your breath hitch.

“I want you my darling love,” he whispers against your lips. “Say you want me and…I will give you what you want. Say you will marry me at long last and be my wife, and what you want is yours. Come home with me so the gods don’t break us apart again.”

You didn’t confess to actually providing the poison, and maybe he has an idea, or maybe doesn’t. You don’t know and you’ll never know. That’s a secret you’re willing to take to the grave so he’ll continue loving you.

“I want to be your wife,” you assure him and begin to smile through your tears. “I want to go home with you.”

A wobbly grin breaks on his face and he leans in to the point his lips graze against yours, but he doesn’t kiss you. “I will kiss you again when you become mine under the eyes of the old gods.”

You giggle. “Is that so? We do share a child together,” you share teasingly, causing him to gasp and back away to face you with disbelief.

“I will never be truly certain,” you continue sweeter. “And her name will never change for her safety and my own, but Daenerys is yours. I don’t know how it's possible for Daenys to be Aemond’s, and Daenerys to be yours, but I know it in my gut that Daenerys is yours. She has your eyes.”

“She does?” He asks breathlessly, and you nod.

“Grey like a brewing storm.”

He laughs softly and you close the gap between you to press your hands on his chest. “Come meet her tomorrow?”

“Why not tonight?” He asks impatiently.

You sigh. “I need to talk to Baela and Rhaena. I want to get married here so what’s left of my family is present,” you explain. “After that, we can leave. I want to leave. And when we do I won’t be here to be regent, meaning Aegon will be left alone. I need to make sure he’s not left defenseless.”

Cregan hums. “I would offer a longer stay but the longer we do stay, the harder it will be to get home with winter upon us.”

You nod in comprehension since it was already something you expected.

“So it’s fine if we get married here?” You query as you stroke his chest. “I know the Godswood isn’t as beautiful as the one in Winterfell, but is it fine?”

He nods without hesitation and offers you a sly smile. “We’ll have two ceremonies. One here and one at home.”

You smile brightly and he quickly cups your jaw and looks at you with a love-struck gaze. “I missed you,” he says as he admires your smile.

“I missed you too,” you redirect before you wrap your arms around him and pull him for an embrace that he immediately returns, causing tears to come rushing to your eyes.

“Cregan,” you mewl as the weight of comfort hits you. “My mother is gone.”

“I know, my darling love,” he coos against your head. “I know. I’m sorry.”

——

*LATER*

With your grandfather spared, the weight of guilt no longer sits on your shoulders, and the strain of more heartache no longer endangers your heart. There was a threat of war if Cregan harmed your grandfather, but now that's no longer in your midst so everyone can take a deep breath. Only worry lingered as Cregan put the men who helped you get rid of Aegon to the sword, but pleading you to spare their lives is not the same as exposing your part in the entire plan, so you turned a blind eye and watched them die in the evening under the rain.

After that worry still tensed you up as you had to talk to your cousins about leaving everyone and everything behind. And you do wish that your reasons for leaving were as simple as just marrying Cregan and becoming the Lady of Winterfell, but the truth is your reasons for leaving are a bit more selfish than that. That’s why it’s so hard bringing up the matter when it’s just the three of you alone.

Then again it's hard to talk about any matter. There's a lot to talk about but it all seems wrong to bring up, so maybe bringing up your matter to break the silence will be relieving.

“I have to share something,” you finally push yourself to interject and raise your eyes to watch Rhaena stop braiding Baela’s hair.

“In exchange for sparing our grandfather's life today, Cregan told me to marry him.”

A smile quickly pulls on Rhaena’s face but when she doesn’t see you smile her lips slowly begin to droop.

“I obviously agreed not only to spare our grandfather's life but because I do love him,” you pause and Baela presses impatiently.

“But?”

“I’ll be leaving with him back to Winterfell the moment he leaves,” you reveal and swallow back nervously and quickly continue before they can ask the loaded question. “That means leaving Aegon behind and it breaks my heart having to leave him behind, but…I can’t continue living here. Everywhere I look, every corner I find myself to be reminds me of Aemond, and if it’s not him it’s my brothers, and if it’s not them it’s my mother. I'm being tortured every minute of my life and I,” you gasp. “I don't think that I can continue carrying on like this. I can’t,” you breathe out and slap your hands on your thighs. “So I have to leave, I have to abandon my title as regent and I have to abandon Aegon.”

“But,” Baela quickly argues. “Aegon is still a child. He can’t rule yet. Who will rule in his stead until he becomes of age? Who will protect him if not you and your dragon?”

You sigh and mutter your response. “The two of you, or either one of you. You are also Daemon’s daughters, and Rhaena has Morning. You’re strong too, you have the fire to be Regent, don’t underestimate yourselves.”

Baela and Rhaena share a look but you drop your head before you can know what it means.

“I will continue being Aegon’s sister but I can’t be his mother, nor can I be Regent. I…can’t…I’m sorry.”

They respond with silence, making your stomach knit together as you think that they’ll hate you for putting this burden on them, but then the sound of clicking heels echoes in the silence, and when you look up you catch Rhaena approaching you before she throws her arms around you.

“It’s not just your burden to bear, so don’t feel guilty for leaving. We’re here, we will look out after Aegon in your stead because we’re his sisters too,” Rhaena assures you and also seems to be scolding you for thinking so selfishly as if you don’t share Aegon as a brother.

“Yes,” Baela follows along before she walks over and joins you and Rhaena with an embrace. “You can leave the realm to us. We will make sure he’s not picked apart by vultures.”

You scoff lightheartedly and return their hug with more force than the one they’re using. “Thank you,” you offer them softly. “Thank you for understanding.”

“You get married to your barbarian,” Baela teases. “And expand our blood there.”

You giggle and nod. “Yes, yes, I will.”

With that said, with neither of them reprimanding you for leaving, the knot in your stomach comes undone and it doesn’t feel like you’re going to puke or give out with all the weight. You’re put at ease—or you feel as tranquil as you can feel with everything else still tormenting you.

At least you can go on with your wedding without guilt. You acknowledge that leaving Aegon and abandoning your title as Regent is selfish, but you didn't see a future if you went on as you were. It’s depressing to admit, but it’s true. And leaving it all behind won’t heal you, all the pain will follow you, but if you leave there is no endless abyss, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, and perhaps the most selfish reason of them all; Cregan.

After so much yearning there’s finally no obstacles, no other uncle coming in the middle and breaking you apart. At long last you can meet under the great, vibrant Heart Tree and become one.

Getting to that day did take a while, there’s so much to deal with after a war is over, but once The Reach, Casterly Rock, Storm’s End, and Old Town accepted your terms and swore fealty, and once Alyn was no longer a threat, you finally came to the day of your wedding. And given that this will be your third time getting married you shouldn’t be nervous, but fuck, knowing that the man you love is waiting at the other end of that aisle is nerve-wracking.

“Are you ready?” You recognize your grandfather's voice before you see him approaching you—“Third time is the charm right?” He tries to ease your nerves. And you do laugh, but your nerves don’t disappear.

“I’m ready,” you assure him and draw out a deep breath.

Your grandfather reaches you as you stand a few feet away from the Godswood, and looks at you up and down before he parts his lips. “You look absolutely beautiful.”

Your breath catches and your gaze softens. Before you can thank him for the compliment he continues.

“My wish about Aerion being my heir and my ward still stands if that’s what you want.”

You blink in surprise and stand dumbfounded for a moment before you breathe out and nod softly. “Yes, of course. Once he’s old enough I’ll take him to you.”

“Good,” he says quietly. “I’m glad, I thought I had ruined my chance after I stood against you when you needed me the most.”

You gulp a thick lump and then shake your head. “You stood by your morals. I was mad but I can’t blame you. We’re headstrong. That’s how we are as Velaryon’s, right?”

He chuckles and nods. “That’s exactly right. You continue to be headstrong, little siren. Keep fighting. Live your life as you please in the North. It’s what your father and your grandmother would have wanted.”

Tears fill your eyes and you nod in comprehension. “I’ll teach Aerion everything my father taught me about ships and sailing. I’ll teach him everything you taught my father and my father taught me,” you assure him in a shaky voice. “I’ll make it a bit easier on you.”

Tears fill the eyes of the great and fearsome Sea Snake as he nods gently in comprehension. “That would be great.”

You draw in a shaky breath and he points to the Godswood and asks one more time. “Are you ready?”

You draw out a deep breath and let your tears dry out before you agree one more time and make your way to Cregan.

Now every breath and every step that you take brings you closer to him. Bit by bit your thumping heart grows louder in your ears as it beats harder with every ba-dum. Your running breaths grow unsettled as the thought of him unravels your mind, and it feels like you’ll grow mad until at last you enter the Godswood and meet his intense grey eyes under the clear blue winter sky.

He’s so beautiful. So god-like in his best fur, his most expensive leathers, and with that perfectly structured face. Even if you saw him the night before, the very sight of him leaves you swooning as if this is the first time seeing him in your life.

And he could say the same thing about you, but he has so much more to say. His heart almost feels like it stopped the moment his eyes finally find you in your rich long-sleeved grey-white silk dress adorned with beautiful gold designs that match your golden circlet. He swears a Valyrian goddess is walking toward him with the way your cloak shaped like dragon wings embraces you, and the sun seems to shine just for you.

He always knew you were beautiful, more beautiful than anything his eyes have seen, but right now, as you approach him you are truly angelic, divine, and mystical. You are every kind of beauty people use to describe goddesses.

It makes it so easy to get lost in one another when you both think like that about each other. You can’t begin to care about something so mundane as time, what’s surrounding you, and who are all the souls watching your eyes glimmering under the sight of one another because you’re so lost in your own world that none of it matters, just you and him, two hearts and two souls at long last joining together after so much longing.

Now nothing can tear you apart. You are one in it all except in what truly matters, physically, but little by little the barrier of space grows thinner and thinner as you walk to him under the Heart Tree until only thin barriers keep you apart.

“Who comes before the Old Gods this afternoon?” Cregan interjects, sending chills down your spine.

Your grandfather then proceeds to speak your name and hesitates for a second before he continues. “…of the House Velaryon. Whoms here to be wed. A woman grown. True born and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?”

Cregan steps up and bows his head. “Cregan of House Stark. Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Who gives her?”

You keep your eyes on Cregan and he spares a glance at your grandfather, but he comes back to you as if afraid something will take you out of his sight just as you're mere moments away from becoming man and wife.

“Lord Corlys of House Velaryon, grandfather to the bride,” he gives his response and then turns to face you. “My Queen Regent, will you take this man?”

Your eyes flicker to your grandfather to offer him a sweet smile before you let him go and step forward to give your response without hesitation. “I take this man.”

The corner of Cregan’s lips lift to a blissful smile and you mirror him before you at last break the last barriers of space keeping you apart and join hands.

Once again, even if you have felt his warmth and his hard hands before, feeling them now in this instance feels like the first time. A small shock even passes between your fingers when you touch hands, but it’s quickly forgotten when you walk to the Heart Tree and bow before it.

You are now supposed to bow your heads in submission, but before you can you and Cregan hold each other's gaze and smile at each other before you bow and spend a few more minutes in silence.

When Cregan is done praying, he looks to you, and you look to him and stand back on your feet. He proceeds to let your hand go, welcoming a chilly breeze against your palm so he can grab a fur cloak with his house sigil. He is supposed to take your own maiden's cloak off but since you’re not a maiden, and you were previously married, he doesn’t take anything off. He proceeds to put his cloak over your shoulders, signifying him taking you under his protection and taking you into his family, making you man and wife. You are now one. At long last!

It’s a special moment that will be unforgettable. It’s a joyous moment! Blissful, and almost relieving, like you can finally breathe.

You get drunk off those feelings and live on like that until the moment you reach your new and forever home. Not because you regret marrying Cregan and becoming the Lady of Winterfell. You’ll never regret that. You take in the ancient castle resting just past the snow-covered hill, and you’re hit with a wave of melancholy as you think about everything that happened in the past two years that brought you to this moment.

Astraea is burdened with the same wave of emotions so a melancholy song that’s mistaken for bliss from everyone but you is what welcomes you home.

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A/N- TWO CHAPTERS LEFT!!!

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[saydesole]

Happy Birthday to me 🫶🏽🤎

[every-tsurumi]

A wraith, bound to this world by some unfinished business.

[hisokapanels]

257 - Volume 4, Chapter 34

[violentdelightshavevioletends]

"And I thought this might serve as a peace offering between us, and maybe..." I press my lips in a line and look down at the vial.

"Stop debating and just give it to her," Mira orders with an exasperated sigh. "My sister is too polite to suggest that it might help smooth the waters and make tonight a little less awkward for those involved. Remind Xaden of home and all that."

Talia lifts her brows, and I hand over the vial and its dehydrated, light-green leaves. She takes the gift with a bewildered smile. "Is this....

"Dried arinmint," I reply.

Gods bless Brennan.

— Question: did Xaden’s mom help Violet poison them?.. was she unaware, or intentionally ignorant to look the other way? Or did Violet really just trick them?

[laios-daily]

[everyryuujisuguro]

[basedkikuenjoyer]

Agaffection! I love the gag of smashing their names into words and emotions. Angrichie was a good one earlier as well. The big mage consortium under the ocean has been a great arc. Love seeing the magical and wondrous things going on there. Not to mention the alternate test for the interrupted one last arc. Just gotta impress the whimsical sage dude no biggie. It all came to a nice conclusion, but I loved this little part getting there:

Orugio dropping a wisdom bomb. Big difference between just throwing up your hands saying you don't know what to do and asking specific questions about something you don't quite know how to do.

[every-sebastian-michaelis]

[small-wha]