cinderkaliningrad

[cinderkaliningrad]

THE MONK AND THE PRINCE

THE WINTERNIGHT TRILOGY from the perspective of ALEKSANDR PERESVET.

CHAPTER 1. - The boy and the angel.

We all know the relationship of Vasya and the frost demon Morozko, as well as the story of Konstantin with the devouring demon Medved. The most influential and relevant characters in this saga have always had a supernatural companion… All except Sasha. But what if Aleksandr Peresvet had never been alone, what if instead of a pagan demon he had had an angel from Heaven?

It was a warm, bright morning in Lesnaya Zemlya at the beginning of the warm season. A child's cry echoed through Pyotr Vladimirovich's estate in the first light of dawn. The mistress of the land, Marina Ivanovna, had given birth to her second son. ‘His name will be Aleksandr.’ Marina said with a smile. ‘He was born at dawn.’ Pyotr murmured proudly. ‘It's a good omen.’

The morning light warmed the room as it streamed through the window. Then a small breeze blew in, caressing the black locks on the newborn's head. Marina, who had a little magic, thought she heard a voice say to the baby, ‘You will bring The Light into the world, little one.’ Marina's gaze remained fixed on her son's cradle and she thought she saw someone stroking the child and smiled.

Between the felt and woollen blankets, Sasha opened her eyes to the world for the first time and marvelled at the light of it. Turning her head, she was met head-on by a pair of silver eyes staring unblinkingly at her. Beside him in the cradle was a little girl, with pale hair and wings on her back. All children are supposed to cry at birth, but Sasha pulled the corners of her mouth up and laughed. That seemingly meaningless gesture gave hope to Pyotr Vladimirovich, who said proudly, ‘This one is special, Marina. Our son will be great.’ His large hands, hardened by the use of sword and axe, cradled the newborn. ‘Love the world, little Sasha, the world will reciprocate.’

❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉ ❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉ ❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉

Years later, two children were running through the wheat fields. ‘Wait for me, Zadira!’ Pyotr Vladimirovich's second son shouted to the winged girl. She turned to him and stuck out her tongue. ‘Let me think about it… No.’ She kept running towards the river until she stopped on the bank. But the boy was going too fast and his long legs wouldn't let him slow down. With a ‘chof’ the two ended up on top of each other in the river.

‘Clumsy.’ Zadira laughed at Sasha and splashed water at him with her wings.

Shielding himself from the attack with his arms, the boy approached his guardian angel while she was distractedly flapping furiously over the surface of the river to get him wet. And when he was close enough, he wrapped his arms around her, restraining her movement. ‘I've got you.’

‘Let go of me, human!’ shrieked Zadira kicking at the air. She blushed like a human maiden as Sasha carried her like a bride towards the riverbank. Sasha let out a playful giggle and prodded her angel in the side to tease her. The girl squealed again and the two of them scampered off again. - Someday I'll be so fast and so agile that you'll have to run after me -thought the boy as he shook the water out of his hair.

❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉ ❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉ ❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉

Sasha and Zadira grew up and learned together without anyone seeing them, as the angel was only visible to him. She instilled in him a curiosity to explore, a love of freedom and devotion to God.

‘Isn't she beautiful?’ Zadira asked him as she braided the mane of a mare. This one had a tame character, had been born the same year as Sasha and was named Mysh. Pyotr had promised his second son that he would ride her when she was old enough. And that day was not far off. Sasha was growing at a good pace, he had always been a tall and healthy boy, like a young oak tree. Though he was not as broad and stocky as his older brother, Kolya. Normally, Sasha was enthusiastic when his father let him look after the horses. That day, however, he was subdued and seemed absent.

‘Yes, beautiful.’ Replied the boy with a distracted air as he brushed the mare's right side with some reluctance. Zadira had her wings spread over the beast's shoulders and was sitting on the withers. In an oversight, Sasha didn't see where her hand was going and ended up combing the angel's plumage. Zadira ruffled her feathers and retracted her wings, disgusted by the rough texture of the brush's bristles. She looked like an angry owl. ‘Sorry.’ He dropped the brush onto the hay in the stable and hurried to take the angel in his arms. His brow was furrowed, he'd been making a lot of mistakes doing his homework lately and it frustrated him. He hadn't been able to fully concentrate on anything for a while.

‘It's okay.’ She shook her head, taking the heat off the matter. ‘You've been distracted lately, Sasha. Is something wrong?’

‘Mother's pregnant again, she'll be due in the winter. She keeps saying she's fine, but I've overheard Dunya talking to father and the old woman fears the worst. Mother is too thin and old to bring children into the world. I know that is the duty of women and yet…’ Sasha pressed Zadira's body to her chest in a helpless gesture. ‘I fear for her life, Zara. I love the baby. But every time I think of my mother giving her life for my brother's or sister's, my heart shrinks.’

‘It's normal.’ She muttered. ‘It's your mother. You care for her.’

Distressed, the child pressed his cheeks against the plumage of his divine protector and two tears fell from his eyes.

In early November, with the first snowfall, Marina gave birth to a baby girl and her soul was reunited with her ancestors at dawn. The news was colder than the winter that was closing in on the ranch. The pain of the loss of that good and vivacious woman, who had been wife, mistress and mother, nestled deep in the hearts of the family she had left behind. So deep were its roots, that it blossomed into bitter resentment towards the wretched creature who would never know her mother except through the stories others would tell of her. Especially in Pyotr and his daughter Olga. The girl, barely eight years old, loved baby Vasya like the children she dreamed of having in the future. But a part of her bled at the thought that it was that tiny green-eyed being who had taken her mother away from her.

At the funeral, as many tears were shed as snowflakes fell from the sky. Amidst the grief-stricken crowd, the second son of Pyotr and Marina held Zadira tightly to his chest. The daughter of God did not move throughout the ceremony and was indulgent in letting Sasha drench her wings with his sadness.

❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉ ❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉ ❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉⊱•═•⊰❉

[cinderkaliningrad]

"Lady Midnight"

From the Winternight series by Katherine Arden <3

Step-by-step tutorial for this piece, plus many others, is available on my Patreon!

Print Store

[cinderkaliningrad]

Did you know...? (The Winternight Trilogy)

Did you know that Sasha has a film? The animation is quite bad, but I think that frame by frame (as drawings) it's a work of art. If you watch the film, you will never imagine the Winternight trilogy scenarios the same.

I don't know how accurate is all historically, but since it was made by Russians (by the Ministry of Culture and the Patriarch of Moscow), I don't think it to be a mess like Gladiator.

[cinderkaliningrad]

Aleksandr Peresvet, who was monk, saint and hero.

[cinderkaliningrad]

Saint of my devotion.

He wanted to demand promises, pledges, confessions, if only to delay the realization that there were some things he couldn’t change. But he bit back the words. He knew they wouldn’t do any good. She had survived the frost and the flame, had found a harbor, however brief. Perhaps that was all anyone could ask, in the world’s savage turning.

—Aleksandr Peresvet, from The Winter of the Witch

[cinderkaliningrad]

"We shall wed her to MOROZKO, the lord of winter. Can any maiden ask for a finer or richer bridegroom? Why, he is master of the white snow, the black firs, and the silver frost! [...] Some say he is naught but a cold, crackling breeze whispering among the firs. Others say he is an old man in a sledge, with bright eyes and cold hands. Others say he is like a warrior in his prime, but robed all in white, with weapons of ice. No one knows." The cold man—the frost-demon—stood in the center of the room, and at least she could look at him. His dark, unruly hair hung to his shoulders. The sardonic face might have belonged to a youth of twenty or a warrior of fifty. Unlike every other man Vasya had ever seen, he was clean-shaven—perhaps that was what gave his face the odd note of youthfulness. Certainly his eyes were old. When she looked into them, she thought, I did not know anything could be that old and live. (x,x)

[cinderkaliningrad]

Ma' Fuking God, the accuracy!!!!

We just had our first decent cold front in Florida this past week, and the cravings for my wintery read list sky rocketed. I still haven't found a genre I love more than a strong-headed MC going toe-to-toe with and 'conquering' a demon of legend. Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik and the Winternight Trilogy by Katherine Arden top this list for me. 

Here, Morozko and Vasya are finally catching each other at the peak of their own character arcs and very slow burn dance, while the world is burning around them.

Highly recommend the audiobook for Kathleen Gati's immersive narration! Prints of this available in my bio link!

[cinderkaliningrad]

The bear and the neurodivergence.

A/N: I am not a psychologist, I am just neurodivergent and I have studies in social education. This is just a headcanon. - Minus the dissociation, I think that's pretty clear.

DISOCIATION:

Has anyone else noticed that magic in this world is literally dissociation. In Morozko's words: "forgetting that something exists." For example, when Vasya sets something on fire, she simply forgets that it is not on fire. Or when she's invisible, she just forgets that she's visible. And for her to summon Morozko and literally teleport him, she forgets that he's not there. Sasha literally has to snap Vasya out of her trance by reminding her who she is.

A/N: If I was in this world, I would really be so f*king powerful. I would be a hazard, dude.

AUTISM:

This is a personal theory, but has no one considered that Sasha is very autistic? He is hyperfixated on horses and religion (he has a huge, almost obsessive fixation on religion from a very young age), he does not like crowded places, socializing is not his strong point, he finds it difficult to empathize and he gets angry when his routines change (he gets irritated when people try to change something in their lives in general). Sasha often doesn't feel afraid, even when he's messing with his head, but the levels of anxiety he has cause him to even grow gray hair (according to my calculations in the last book, he would be about 26-27 years old). He finds it difficult to show his emotions.

PTSD:

Vasya clearly goes through hell from the time Olga and Sasha leave Lesnaya Zemlya until the end of the book: her stepmother mistreats her, her people reject her, she feels guilty for the deaths of her stepmother and father and remembers their deaths slight. She has nightmares, and everything gets worse after the scene after the horse race in the second book: from there, Vasya turns pale when she is grabbed in the same place where Kasian grabbed her (as seen when Sasha touched her ). She is afraid, she has trouble sleeping and she is on edge all the time.

[cinderkaliningrad]

So cute, I love.

The Fellowship (and Gollum) Alignment Chart!

[cinderkaliningrad]

[cinderkaliningrad]

[cinderkaliningrad]

lotr but nobody knows anything about the other races

Pippin thinks Legolas is a woman

Boromir is convinced that the hobbits are all 15 max

Everyone thinks that Merry and Pippin are twins, except for Legolas, who is convinced the hobbits are quadruplets

Sam thinks that Aragorn, Boromir and Legolas don't have to eat to survive

Legolas doesn't mention things he sees or hears because he thinks the others have noticed them too and just assumes they have a plan

Pippin complains that he is hungry and Legolas just gives him a handful of grass. Pippin is so confused that he just takes it, and now Legolas tries to figure out what hobbits can eat by just giving them random shit, like

Things the hobbits have accepted and likely eaten later (a list by legolas)

-Grass - Leaves

-Stones - a hair tie

-A feather - one of Gimli's shoes

The hobbits and Gimli just assume that this is what elves eat

[cinderkaliningrad]

Medved and Konstantin are so gay/bisexual 🏳️‍🌈

“Who are you?” asked Konstantin, breathing fast.

“Did you never see my face before?” asked the creature. “Ah, no, at Midwinter you saw the beast and the shadow, but not the man.” He got slowly to his feet. He and Konstantin were nearly of a height. “Never mind. You know my voice.” He cast down his eyes like a girl.

“Do I please you, man of God?”

[cinderkaliningrad]

Summary: Aemond is an introverted and sad boy, marked by constant bullying from his older brother and his nephews. But even the most lonely and different children have faithful friends.

TW: Aemond and OC are children (he's 11 and she's 16), she/her pronouns. Sad, angst, bullying, friendship. Death of a tiny creature. Kid!Aemond x Witch!OC Reader.

A/N: Aemond before having Vhagar and losing his eye, this happens around the time when Lucerys, Jacaerys and Aegon tease Aemond with the pig. The witch is a firebender and healer called Nhaenya.

Masterlist >>>

The witch waves her hands in the air, and out of the chimney comes a flock of funny little fire dragons, causing the prince to laugh. ‘They're so small and cute... They look so real.’ He compliments her on her handiwork. ‘How do you do it? You're amazing.’  

‘I'm just a witch.’ Nhaenya replies in a humble tone, but Aemond shakes his head. ‘Don't say that! You are extraordinary.’ His words make her smile. With a wave of his hand, the little dragons disappear into the fire again, causing delight in him. ‘Why did you make them disappear?’ the boy protests. 

‘They must go home.’ She says in an amused tone, Nhaenya likes to keep the magic in everything, even the simplest things. 

‘Are they real?’ Aemond asks. 

‘Maybe. Call them.’ She points to the fireplace. 

Aemond kneels in front of the fire and calls to the little dragons. ‘Come, little ones... Come. I want to see you again.’ He is disappointed when nothing answers his call. Behind him, the soft laughter of the witch is heard.

‘My prince, Zaldrīzes rȳbus, lo mērī udrirzi Valyrio eglio ȳdrassua.’ 

Aemond tries again to call them back. ‘Māzīstēs, zaldrīzestēs, māzīstēs.’ A small beast emerges from the crackling flames to the surprise of Aemond, whose face lights up with joy. ‘It worked! It worked! They're real!’ 

‘As real as magic and dragons are.’ She takes every opportunity to give Aemond a hint of the illusion and innocence that should fill his childhood. She wants nothing more than his happiness, and would like him to always smile, because she knows what it's like to grow up too fast. Lost in her thoughts, she doesn't notice when the prince takes the little fire dragon in his hands and with a smile asks, ‘May I keep him? Please.’ The little creature made of fire walks over the prince's palms, tickling him. Nhaenya takes a vial with a permanence spell, so that the little fire dragon will not dissolve over time when the fire that creates it loses its magic. ‘Well, that's fine. But only because you asked nicely, my prince.’ He puts the little fire dragon in the jar and closes it. ‘You must keep it here or the magic will dissipate.’

Aemond smiles broadly, his eyes still on the little dragon, now safely trapped in the jar. ‘Of course, of course,’ he says quickly, carefully taking the jar with the little dragon from her hands. ‘I'll be very careful with that, I promise.’

He looks up at her, his eyes sparkling with excitement. ‘And thank you... for everything. I... I should be going. Mother will be waiting for me,’ he says, his face drooping a little as he remembers the real world outside this magical bubble.

She smiles warmly at him. ‘I'll see you soon, don't worry.’ He nods and leaves with the jar tightly hugged to his chest. Aemond walks down the hallway, holding the jar containing the little fire dragon tightly in his hands. He glances at it from time to time, a small smile on his face, before looking ahead again. As he turns a corner, he suddenly bumps into someone and almost drops the flask. He comes face to face with his mother, Alicent. She looks at him with a stern expression, narrowing her eyes slightly as they fall on the jar he is holding. Her mouth opens in an obvious frown of disapproval. Emond gulps, suddenly feeling very small and childish under his mother's gaze. ‘Mother... I was...’ He falls silent, his mind struggling to come up with a good excuse.

‘I don't want excuses.’ Alicent reprimands her in a stern voice. ‘To your room. Now! By the gods... Can't you focus? Stop this damned obsession with dragons. And what have I told you about talking to the witch? Can't you listen to me on one thing? And give me that damn flask you're holding, you're too old to have toys!’ Behind the queen, Ser Criston stares impassively at the scene. 

‘It's not a toy! It's magic and it's mine. It's my dragon!’ protests Aemond, pushing the jar out of his mother's sight.

‘Aemond, please. Why can't you just settle for...’ Alicent looks into the eyes of her son, who stares defiantly at him with the jar hugged against his chest. She lowers her tone, ‘Someday you'll have a dragon, I promise. But that thing, it's not a dragon. Give it to me, please. I don't want you to get your hopes up about something that isn't real.’  

Slowly, Aemond takes steps back. ‘It's real, he's alive.’ Alicent walks towards him with an outstretched hand, until Ser Criston loses patience and hovers over the boy after a couple of strides. ‘Heed your mother, my prince. All will be well.’ 

Aemond tries to run to keep the flask from being taken from him, but Ser Criston grabs it and a struggle begins between the two. Meanwhile, Alicent, tries to command her protector to leave her son without much success, once again, she is a powerless and impotent woman in the face of men. 

‘No!’ The young prince shouts as a wrong move by the knight throws the flask against the ground, causing it to shatter into a thousand pieces. The little dragon lies confused on the damp ground, stunned by the blow and the fall. 

‘Ser Christ, enough, no need for violence!’ Alicent shouts. But the knight ignores him and grabs the fire spirit with his gloved hand with such force that it extinguishes his magic. The magical creature created from Nhaenya's power makes a pitiful little sound as it is crushed by Ser Criston, causing the queen to put her hands to her mouth, while Aemond lunges towards him to force his hand open.

‘Stop, you're hurting him!’ Aemond is finally able to open Ser Criston's hand, only to discover that there is nothing left of his little fire dragon but a lump of coal. The boy's face turns pale and his hands fall to his sides. ‘You killed him...’ 

Alicent shakes his head, trying to ignore his son's pain and his knight's actions. ‘It wasn't real, Aemond. He was the illusory creation of a witch. Think about it, it could have been evil. That witch has no respect for the gods, you should not trust her.’ ‘He was my friend.’ He whispers, taking the lump of coal between his fingers and then rushing off to his chambers. ‘And she's not evil, she's my friend!’  

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Next chapter >>>

[cinderkaliningrad]

Summary: Aemond is an introverted and sad boy, marked by constant bullying from his older brother and his nephews. But even the most lonely and different children have faithful friends.

TW: Aemond and OC are children (he's 11 and she's 16), she/her pronouns. Sad, angst, bullying, friendship. Death of a tiny creature. Kid!Aemond x Witch!OC Reader.

A/N: Aemond before having Vhagar and losing his eye, this happens around the time when Lucerys, Jacaerys and Aegon tease Aemond with the pig. The witch is a firebender and healer called Nhaenya.

Masterlist >>>

Aemond's eyes darken in coldness and sadness as he watches his nephew, Prince Jacaerys, command his dragon during training at Dragonpit. 

‘Dracarys, Vermax!’ Shouts the young prince to his beast. Thereupon, the little green dragon spits fire on a goat and rushes to devour it. 

With that, the instruction ends and quickly the dragon keepers leave the place, leaving the four princes alone. 

‘Aemond.’ Aegon places a hand gently on his younger brother's back. ‘We have a surprise for you.’ 

‘What is it?’ he replies, skeptical, already more than used to the constant practical jokes played on him by Aegon along with the Velaryon brothers. 

‘Something very special.’ Lucerys assures him, jumping in front of them. The boy lets out a chuckle before scurrying off towards one of the entrances to the dragon nests in the corners of the arena. 

‘You're the only one of us who doesn't have a dragon.’ Aegon continues his speech, the intonation of his voice is soft, gentle one might say and he delivers the words slowly. 

‘True.’ Aemond's voice, however, is sterner. He does not make eye contact with either of them as they walk together towards the place where Lucerys has run and rolls his eyes every few moments. Aemond's steps are heavy and short, listless. 

‘And we felt bad for you.’ Aegon explains, his left hand forcing his brother to walk forward, while with his right he gestured grandly. Jacaerys walks silently beside the two blond princes, merely nodding at his uncle's words: ‘So... we've found you one. 

‘A dragon. How? Aemond's words are laced with distrust, but beneath them, his child's heart wishes that his brother's words were true, that for once in his life, they were going to be good to him. 

‘The gods provide.’ Aegon says in a grandiloquent voice. 

From the entrance to the dragons' nests, high-pitched roars can be heard rumbling through the walls of the undercroft, which is poorly lit by a pair of torches. The light is insufficient for Aemond to discern anything in the darkness. Up the ramp Lucerys appears, carrying a pink pig tied in a harness with wings and a tail attached. Aemond's body goes cold and his chest shrinks: yet another practical joke, but this is the last straw. 

‘Behold...’ Aegon speaks in a dramatic voice. 

‘The Pink Terror!’ The three princes chorus and laugh as they introduce the animal to the boy. 

‘Careful when you ride it. The first flight always costs.’ Aegon has the audacity to give his little brother recommendations, only to make the sound of a pig in his little brother's ear. Action that is cruelly followed by Jacaerys.  

The three pranksters walk away from Aemond laughing, leaving the boy alone and humiliated in front of the pig, which chews something in its mouth. The boy's body trembles, trying to hold back the urge to scream and cry and his purple eyes stare into the dragons' pits and finally he enters.

It is not long before the young prince, now covered in soot, is dragged by a white-cloaked knight to his mother, the queen. 

‘I've been given a pig!’ Aemond cries out in pain at the misunderstanding that everyone in his family seems to have for him. He just wants to be like everyone else. ‘They all laughed...’

Alicent then opens his arms to embrace his son, but he steps back and walks away. 

*** 

In a well-lit room, a young witch walks around carrying back and forth different herbal poultices, potions and elixirs. The tables are littered with scrolls, mortars, glass jars and ceramic pots. Nhaenya wears her black and white hair tied in a messy bun from the long hours of work and her face is reflected among the test tubes and vials. On the right side her eye is jet black and on the left, amethyst. And between her hands she is busy crushing herbs and flowers when Aemond enters without even knocking. 

‘My prince’ Nhaenya bows to him. 

‘I... Forgive me for entering without knocking.’ Aemond's platinum hair is in disarray. He tries to fix his appearance a little with his hands to look a little more princely without much success. 

She looks at him empathetically, she knows what it's like to feel like an oddball in the place where you're supposed to fit in. The witch's hands tingle, asking to embrace the boy, yet she can't: it wouldn't be right to touch a member of the royal family so freely. Instead, she makes an awkward, exaggerated move towards the lab. ‘Well... You know you are always welcome here, young lord.’

Aemond, who would normally give his full attention to the witch's strange artifacts, but today is too frustrated to notice the clutter on the work tables. ‘I know.’ His face doesn't fail to reflect discontent. After a small pause, he blurts out abruptly, ‘It's just... Everyone thinks I'm weak and dumb for not having a dragon.’ 

Nhaenya, always quick to speak, responds without hesitation. ‘Then your father, the king, would be weak. For his dragon, Balerion, is dead. And your cousin, Rhaena, has no dragon either. Surely they do not mock her. The words of ignorant hearts may wound, but these should not weigh on your soul. Though I know these weigh on your conscience.’ Nhaenya tries to console him with logic, she has never been the best in the world at expressing affection and circumstances don't allow it either. But the young woman's words soothe the prince. 

‘You are right.’ He says. ‘But it's hard when they call me names. I try to ignore it, but... It hurts. And the pig thing... It was humiliating.’ 

She sighs, wanting so badly to give him a hug. ‘A witch's word may not matter much, my prince. But you are stronger than any of them. You have no dragon, but you have shown more bravery and strength than any of them just by enduring their cruel treatment.’

Aemond's face lights up slightly as he listens to her, looking at her with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. Normally no one would dare speak ill of princes, but Nhaenya is not afraid. ‘Thank you.’ A small smile appears on Aemond's face. ‘Your words mean a lot to me. I'm glad someone understands.’

‘Strength does not lie in having a fire-breathing flying lizard. There will always be amazing people who don't have dragons, and their feats will surpass those who do. Just as there will be weak people, even when they are mounted on such beasts.’

For a moment Aemond processes her words. ‘I never thought of that.’

She smiles at him. ‘If you don't have a dragon in a year, I promise I'll teach you magic.’ 

‘Sounds good.’ The witch's words end up bringing a smile to the boy's face. 

‘You have fire in your blood. And one day there will be fire in your hands, in whatever form it takes.’ The young sorceress promises him, in her slender hands a little fire dragon is born. 

‘Whoa! That's amazing.’ Aemond, for the first time in quite some time, shows genuine excitement at something. Though he quickly remembers to behave like a prince and tries to control himself. He clears his throat and straightens up, but his tone of voice is gentle. ‘Can you do more?’ 

Next chapter. >>> Final chapter. >>>

[cinderkaliningrad]

I promise you a little fire dragon

Summary: What if during Aemond's childhood there was a witch from Asshai in Red Keep? Aemond is often bullyied by his nephews and older brother about being dragonless, and he finds solace in the witch company, who gifts him a little fire spirit to make him company.

TW: Aemond and OC are children (he's 11 and she's 16), she/her pronouns. Sad, angst, bullying, friendship. Death of a tiny creature. Kid!Aemond x Witch!OC Reader.

A/N: Aemond before having Vhagar and losing his eye, this happens around the time when Lucerys, Jacaerys and Aegon tease Aemond with the pig. The witch is a firebender and healer called Nhaenya.

Chapter 1 - They all laughed.

Chapter 2 - It was my friend.

Chapter 3 - A little fire dragon.

[cinderkaliningrad]

Perfection

𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒’𝓈 𝓃𝑜 𝓌𝒶𝓇 𝓈𝑜 𝒽𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒢𝑜𝒹𝓈 𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝓌𝒶𝓇 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓀𝒾𝓃, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓃𝑜 𝓌𝒶𝓇 𝓈𝑜 𝒷𝓁𝑜𝑜𝒹𝓎 𝒶𝓈 𝒶 𝓌𝒶𝓇 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝒹𝓇𝒶𝑔𝑜𝓃𝓈…” ❤️‍🔥