#&syndor

[flygefisk]

i will not ask you where you came from i will not ask and neither would you

syndor (he/they), who lives a humble life. he seems content, with his garden and his chickens, but there's something behind his eyes. maybe he's running from something.

howl (any pronouns), who has a second chance. it died with blood under its nails and came back different in some ways- but the wildness is still part of him.

(tw for blood, death mentions under the cut)

once, long ago, there was a god. it was a wild, ancient god, one of blood and lust and life. a forest god.

the god scented blood on the air, dragon blood. it cared little for the civilized folks, as most gods do. it cared little whether they lived or died. but it was a curious god, so it tracked the scent, bounding on deer's hooves to its source.

the god's paws left no tracks in the blood-soaked earth around the dragon's remains. the god considered the creature for a moment: the blade buried in its stomach, hands and coverings stained dark, its face contorted in rage. there was another scent here, under the obvious blood and rot, one even more familiar to the god.

a wild something, indescribable even to the god of such things, coiled around the body that was once its own. it stared up at the god, its teeth bared. the god raised its head and howled in its many voices, joined soon by the wolves and coyotes and hawks and hares of the forest, a mournful harmony of all wild things.

the something howled too, until its song became a scream, letting loose all the sorrow and love and rage of a life that would never have been enough.

the forest went silent. the god lowered its head and nuzzled the something, like a doe to her fawn, like a bear to her cub. wild things understand each other. they don't need words. the god heard the something's quiet plea:

another chance.

-----

once, not so long ago, there was a man. he walked through an overgrown forest, dirt on his hands and his shovel. he loved walking in the forest, listening to the sounds of nature. it was calming.

he paused near a burbling creek to wash the sweat from his face. he sighed in grim satisfaction- tired, sore, numb. but it was over, at last.

the man realized, after staring into the water for long minutes, that something was different. wrong. the forest was silent here. his eye was drawn to a large stone behind him- half his height or more, veined with black and glittering white patches. on its face, a hand print painted with something dark.

a strange impulse took over, something wild within him, and he began to dig.

-----

once, now. a scraping sound. crumbling earth. cracking twigs. then, light. sunlight. warm and bright and so welcome after so long in the dirt.

the creature reached out from its grave. its hands- long, clawed, discolored- shook as it pulled itself up. it blinked against the morning light, yawned as though waking from a long nap.

it almost didn't notice the man with the shovel. he stared at it, his expression unreadable. it ignored him, letting the world wash over it: a cool breeze on its face, the sound of the water, of birds and insects, of wind through the leaves, the cloying scent of dark earth giving way to flowers and trees.

finally, the man held out a hand- blistered, rough, covered in soil- and the creature let him pull it from the earth.

the man removed his cloak, wrapping it around the creature's broad shoulders. it rubbed the fabric between its clawed fingers- soft, warm, dark like good soil- and smiled. it should have been frightening, with its sharp claws and sharper teeth, but the man just smiled back.

wild things understand each other.

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello my sweet angel babies! Thank you all for the love and kind words! Here is another chapter, now there are going to be two perspectives in this, so when you get to the end, you will see what I am talking about hehe. Enjoy ! <3

Chapter 87: The Other Woman

Days float by as your anger continued to simmer.

Your visits to the Gardens became frequent, irritated energy bouncing through your body, leaving your nights to be restless. And yet to your surprise, Aegon was nowhere to be seen.

You had thought that with his sudden dismissal of his brother to Harrenhal at the news of your pregnancy, that he would make himself present. 

And yet, he hadn't. 

And when Aemond had returned a few short days later to the Red Keep, you had been just as surprised once more. 

Was this a test? 

The two brothers working in tandem to see what you would do?

Or was Aemond's visit truly shortened by his desire to come back to you?

When Aemond arrived back to Kings Landing, his demeanour had shifted once again. He walked around you carefully, chose his words with even more care, and had even refrained from touching you. It was as though he was waiting for you to make the first move. Or maybe he was waiting to you to strike him.

Or perhaps the Prince was waiting for you to respond to the letter you had not read.

When the Prince had returned, you had been seated at the Gardens, nibbling upon a honey drizzled slice of pear, the sweet nectar coating your mouth thickly as you gazed out at the water, concentrating hard to see if you could see any speck of Dragonstone or Driftmark. 

A large shadow moved across the water, and you had craned your head to look up, spotting your husbands large, green, war dragon flying atop the Keep. Her mossy wings, torn in some places, and a deep scar along her side shining in the sun, curtesy of Syndor.

Your resentment bubbled at the sight of his return, and you suddenly felt no desire to continue munching upon the many sweets and treats that your maids had insisted upon giving you. You stood, dusting the crumbs that had settled into your lap onto the stone floor and moved with little haste, knowing that Aemond would most likely seek you out as soon as he landed.

You let yourself begin to walk down towards the beach of Kings Landing, brushing your fingertips atop the many different flowers that you passed. It was not until you came across the fragrant rose bushes that you paused in thought. 

Reaching forward, you grasped a large, blooming, blood-red rose, and snapped it from the bush, bringing it up to your nose to inhale deeply. It was a beautiful colour, and from the exact same bush that Aegon had plucked one for you from. 

You smirked.

You continued on your walk, winding down the path until you reached the stone jetty, finding yourself standing deathly still, rose in hand, as you looked out at the water.

You were waiting for the inevitable.

Waiting for him.

For your shadow.

To come seek you out. To speak to you. To see you.

To beg. To plead. To apologise.

Or perhaps, punish you for your temper.

It was not until you heard soft, steady steps behind you, that you knew he had come, just as you had anticipated. 

Aemond had come to straight to you. 

Not to his King. Not the the Lords. Nor the Small Council. Not even to your shared chambers to disrobe. 

The One-Eyed Prince came straight to you from the back of his dragon.

Bringing the rose to your nose, you inhaled again deeply, and hummed. With a cool breath, your voice flitted towards him, not bothering to turn around.

“Didn’t expect to have you back so soon, Aegon. What did Otto want with you?” And with your last word, you spun, rose still raised up to your face to look at your husband that you knew was behind you.

At the sight of him, you dropped the rose limply to your side, “Oh. Aemond.” You sniffed, “You’re back.” 

His brows were already furrowed, “What did Aegon want with you?”

Those were the first words from his lips.

His first words after coming back from his whore.

You saw red. 

Gritting your teeth you spun away, moving to walk back up the path to the Keep and away from the steady rolling waves of the beach. 

“How was the Whore of Harrenhal?” You snipped, taking the steps in lazy strides, unhurried to get away from him as you twirled the rose in view as you passed.

Aemond’s eye flicked to the flower, then back at your face, his jaw tensed.

You continued up on your path, letting your uncle stew in the possibility of you and his brother having spent time together in his absence. The possibility of Aegon courting you with another rose.

And whilst you had expected it, the Prince did not follow you.

Instead, he stayed rooted in his spot at the bottom of the stairs, watching as you slowly walked up them, singular red rose in hand that you brought intermittently up to your nose to smell.

Aemond found you a while later in the Library, clearly desperate to speak to you, his own insecurities about his brother racing in his mind.

He found you seated on one of the armchairs before the fire, tome in lap with the rose tucked behind your ear. The red atop your hair stood out starkly, and brought out the subtle blush of your lips that you nibbled on gently. 

To Aemond, you looked as though you were engrossed in the story, or perhaps your mind was wondering to a certain older uncle as your fingers danced over the long, thorned stem. His approach did not rouse your gaze, for you knew it was him, choosing to ignore his presence all together.

The One-Eyed Prince stood in front of you, his height doubled yours, as you sat primly in the chair. The air in the Library was tense, and you played upon it, a finger tracing the petals of the flower absentmindedly as you continued to ignore him. 

“Y/n.” Aemond spoke lowly, trying to gage your attention, “I didn’t see her. I attended to my duties, and that was all.”

You hummed boredly, before lifting your gaze to him, the Prince’s jaw locked, hand on the pummel of his sword as he looked at you. You let your gaze drop pointedly at the hand, and to your surprise, he released it, dropping his arm down by his side.

“Aemond.” You sighed, standing, shutting the book in your hands as you stepped forward towards him. You thrust the book against his chest, “I don’t believe you.” 

His hand came to grasp the book, ‘The Loves of Queen Nymeria’, as you brushed past him, making your exit from the library as swiftly as possible. Not hearing his footsteps behind you. 

You found your way to the Godswood, where you always found yourself in troubling times, still holding the rose in your hand as you looked up through its branches. 

You hoped that your parents received the raven.

And even prayed to the Gods that they did. 

What would happened?

Would it be done?

Would she be killed?

How would you know if it had happened?

What if they didn’t get your raven?

You swallowed and sat amongst the roots as you always did, needing to clear your mind, your back against the trunk of the tree as you looked up at the light that shone through the leaves. The tree vibrated with the wind, and in that moment, and as through the wind swept away your doubts, you knew they had gotten your raven.

When the sun had begun to lower in the sky, you took yourself back to your chambers, knowing that your husband would be there waiting, and you would have little place to run.

He would talk to you, and you would listen. 

For a time. 

Aemond was just as you had expected him to be, a creature of habit, sitting in his armchair before the fire, goblet of wine in hand. When you entered the chambers, his head had lazily turned to look at you, eye grazing up and down your body before pausing on the rose you held in your hands. You moved across the chambers and placed it on the small table beside your bed, sighing. 

With contagious irritation, you moved to the side of the room and poured yourself a goblet of wine, sitting opposite Aemond on the chaise as you rose the cup to your lips, sipping the strong spiced red, anger simmering beneath your skin. 

Though, it seemed as though Aemond had bitten off his tongue, and the two of you sat in silence before the warmth of the fire, words unspoken, until the maids entered to light the candles of the chambers, and shortly after, bring your dinner.

You both moved to eat together, a tension filled silence engulfing the room. The quiet chewing and sipping was drowned out by the ever rising beat of your heart in your ears as you looked at him.

You were furious, and angry at the little part of yourself that was relieved to have him back.

Aemond placed his cutlery down onto his plate politely, sensing your heated gaze upon his face. How you wished you punch him in the side of his mouth. To dig your fingers into the cavity where his eye once sat. If only you ha-

“I did not see her.” His voice cut through the tension, and you swallowed thickly, placing your own cutlery atop your plate as you reached forward to grasp your wine. You took a gulping sip as you watched him from over the rim, waiting for him to undoubtedly continue. 

“Kīvin zijo va se Jaes Uēpys se se Sīkuda.” I swear it on the Old Gods and the Seven.

You huffed, taking the goblet from your lips, "Nyke jorepagon pōnta pryjagon ao ilagon syt aōha pirtra.” I pray they strike you down for your lies.

Aemond sneered, "Gaoman daor pirtir. Daor naejot ao. Dōrī naejot ao.” I do not lie. Not to you. Never to you.

You hummed, sipping again, “Pār īlon kessa ūndegon lo iksā pryjatan ilagon iā daor.” Then we shall see if you are struck down or not.

Aemond’s hand on the table twitched, “Kesan daor ūndegon zirȳla arlī, nyke teptan ao ñuha udir.” I will not see her again, I gave you my word.

You pressed the smile away from your lips with a frown. You nodded in agreement, picking up your cutlery again and moved to cut through a steaming piece of meat, dark gravy poured over the top, “Se kostan kivio ao, bona kesā daor.” And I can promise you, you won’t.

You will never see that whore or your bastard child again. 

And it will be because of me.

Aemond nodded, but not because he knew, which made you all the more smug, “Iksā ñuha ābrazȳrys, iksā emare ñuha riña. Ñuha jorrāelagon iksis syt ao, se ao mērī.” You are my wife, you are having my child. My love is for you, and you only.

You let out a bitter laugh, “Should have thought about that before you fucked a child into her, shouldn’t you?”

The Prince stayed silent and went back to his eating, cheek twitching with words to say, but none passed his lips.

"Has the bastard been born yet?" You hummed, stabbing another piece of meat and bringing it to your lips as you chewed, Aemond's gaze darkening.

"No."

"Then how would you know that if you had not seen her?" You blinked at the Prince, biting the inside of your cheeks.

"It would be hard to not notice a chil-"

"A bastard of silver hair in a place where Strong blood once resided. I often think on it," You cut another piece of meat with your knife and fork as you felt Aemond's eye burning a hole in your face, "Would the child look like you, or would it come out resembling a Strong boy."

Aemond did not speak, and so you continued, "For years, my brothers and I, despite my obvious parentage, faced the sharp whispers and gossip fuelled by your mother. Exacerbated by you. And now, you are to have another bastard of your own. And not one that you can easily pass off as Aegon's, if she is truly a Strong."

Resting your chin on your palm, you tilted your head looking at him, "Do you even know if Helaena's children are yours? Or at least one of them? I suspected the twins, but Maelor has Aegon's soft face." You paused, watching anger fall over his face, "I wonder if mine will have it."

Aemond's hands slammed on the table as he looked down at his plate, anger radiating off of him.

"Would it not be a cruel joke from the Gods for you to have sired the King's heirs, and he to have sired yours?"

"That child is mine." He growled.

"I suppose time will tell. The bastard certainly is."

"You mean to provoke me. I have performed my duty as well as I can."

"And yet, your whore is pregnant. Who's duty was that? Certainly not that of a Prince."

Silence moved across the table as he stared at you down his nose.

In disgust.

In anger.

In rage.

"I left you a letter." His voice was impatient, as though the piece of parchment would have explained all.

"What letter?" You cocked your head, feigning ignorance.

His brow was drawn, "I left it on the table."

You raised your eyebrows in mock remembrance, opening your mouth, "Oh." Aemond's face seemed, as though the letter would soothe your only rising resentment.

"I burnt it." You smiled at him widely, and resumed your eating.

Aemond's lips twitched as he looked at you, tongue pressing on the bottom of his lip in agitation.

"Sorry, was it something important?"

Aemond did not respond, hands tightening around his knife and fork, his eye narrowed.

You hummed, chewing a piece of potato slowly before you swallowed, "Anything of importance can surely be spoken to me, and not written down on some parchment like a child writes an apology to his mother."

Aemond tossed his knife and fork onto the table angrily, standing from his chair, hands in fists as he looked at you. You looked up at your uncle, and daintily placed your cutlery atop your plate.

"What are you going to do, Aemond? Hit me? When I am with child?" He blinked down at you, eye flickering to your stomach and back up at your face again, shoulders still tensed.

"I told you when you left, when you broke your word to me. I would never forgive you. You did this. Not me." Your hand pressed to your chest angrily, "I am owed this anger. The Gods will surely forgive me, but will they forgive you?"

Sorrow burrowed its way down your throat as anger crawled up it, you looked at him, and the two met in the middle. A thick and heavy stone that was lodged in your throat that you desperately tried to swallow.

Tears stung your eyes, and you watched as Aemond's anger simmered at the sight of it. Any response that was on the tip of his tongue was lost, and Aemond moved away from you to sit at the fire, singular eye staring into the flames, leaving you to sit at the table alone.

Before long, your meal was over, and your two maids came to clear the table, and ready you for bed, slipping a silk chemise over the top of your head, unbraiding your hair, and letting the thick waves cascade down your back.

Aemond had crawled into bed before you, and you had fluttered about the chambers, delaying the inevitable, and enjoying the way he shifted beneath the sheets watching you as he waited. 

When you went to bed, and settled beneath the sheets, you rolled and turned your back to him, tucking your hands beneath your chin as you fought the urge to not laugh. It was all too much. Too much anger. Too much joy. It got all twisted and mixed together, turning your chest alight. 

You could feel the heat of his gaze from behind you and chose to ignore it, closing your eyes as Aemond blew the remaining candles out beside your bed. The chambers were basked in darkness, and eventually Aemond rolled away from you in a huff. 

A grin peaked through on your lips, hidden in the dark, and soon you fell to sleep.

DRAGONSTONE POV

A few short hours away from the shores of Kings Landing, a raven had finally arrived to Dragonstone. The small, black corvid had made its way across the sea to deliver a message to the Queen.

Queen Rhaenyra had been in her chambers, robe wrapped tightly around her body as Daemon leant his head against the front of her stomach. The once Rogue Prince, seated on an armchair by the fire, his wife standing before him, carding gentle and soft hands through his silver white hair.

"Come to bed, my love." Rhaenyra whispered, hand cupping the older mans cheek.

Daemon lifted his head to look up at the woman he adored, her violet eyes glowing in the light of the fire. She was ethereal. Beautiful. And he loved her more than anything in the world.

His large hands came to grasp at her hips, pulling her forward and into his lap, Rhaenyra straddling her uncle on the large chair. Her hands came to the tops of his shoulders, before skimming up to cradle his face.

"The hour is late." She argued, with no true argument on her lips.

"I did not know there were certain hours in which I could love you." The man smirked, hands rubbing against the flesh of her hips.

As Rhaenyra smiled, she dipped her head to catch Daemon's lips, and a knock came at the door.

Both silver heads turned sharply.

It was late.

And there would be only one reason for such a disturbance.

The pair shared a look before Rhaenyra climbed off the King Consorts lap, moving quickly as she called out to the knight to enter.

Ser Erryk Cargyll pushed through the door, bowing and apologising for the intrusion, his helm off, light brown hair pulled back and away from his face. Daemon came to stand behind his wife, always behind or beside her, to show strength, to show unity.

To be there and support her.

As one.

"There was a raven." The pale hand of the knight moved forward, parchment in his open palm as he gave it to the Queen, who all but snatched it from him.

There was no seal, and the parchment was scrunched and bent. As Rhaenyra opened it, and Daemon moved to stand beside her, they read the short message from their daughter, the Queen's hands tightening on the page.

Rhaenyra stiffened, posture straightening as she looked at the knight before her, "Wake the Maester and the Lords. We have word from the Princess."

The knight bowed, swiftly slipping out of the chambers as Rhaenyra turned to face her husband, who's eyes glinted with a dangerous rage. She could feel the fury that curled around him, and she felt her own burn her just as hotly.

"Go," Came the steady voice of the Queen, her hands dropping to her side, parchment still in one tight fist.

Daemon tilted his head, silver hair shimmering in the chamber light, as though he was unsure of what his wife had said.

Before he could open his mouth to respond, the Queen spoke again, tone final, and anger crackling just beneath.

"Before the Council can talk me out of it."

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[corviids]

no one asked but this is what syndor looks like

[thpsd]

[imjulia-andilikecats]

Hiii Julia

Would the Calore brothers habe dragons if they existed in the Red Queen universe?

Since I have finished watching House of the Dragon, I'll use that as reference.

Definitely! The Calore Brothers will both have dragons.

Though I would set it on medieval/middle age Red Queen universe, cause if dragons exist alongside the technology in the canon RQ series, those flying lizards are toast.

Warning: Very lengthy Headcanons for the dragons of each Calore. (I know dude, you only asked if they have dragons but…I’m feeling extra today 😉).

Tiberias Calore VII (Cinnamon Calore)

Dragon name: Syndor (Which means “Shadow” in Valyrian, I used google for this) 🐲💛

Cal was one month old, when the dragon egg near his cradle hatched. It was strong and healthy, nearly bursting out of its shell, as it emit a mighty shriek. With it jet black scales and ruby spikes, it looked like a menacing lizard, as it immediately wrapped itself around baby Cal for warmth. Though as it slowly grow, they noted the odd coloring of it underbelly, a bright shimmering gold, contrasting its wings and scales.

As it grew thrice the size of a horse, Cal road Syndor as often as he was allowed. Even convincing his younger brother, Maven, for a ride. Since he often saw him look longingly at his dragon and even the other dragons on the pit. After the ride, Maven patted his should, thanking him then emptying his belly on his boots.

As Cal grew of age, sixteen, he flew Syndor towards his first battle against the Lakelands. They won of course, with Cal’s strategic genius and Syndor’s hellfire. The war ended in just a day.

Years went by, as the mighty Syndor flew over distant territories or would be territories of the crown. Its black wings grew massive, almost covering the sun.

Battle-hardened, it looked menacing. Enough to make any unruly lord swear loyalty to Cal, just by looking at it.

If other lords chose to challenge them, Cal would simply fly Syndor around the their castle walls making his dragon flap his wings hard enough to rattle their castle guards. Landing Syndor at the gates for everyone to see, as it release a bone rattling roar, its underbelly gleaming like molten gold, glowing red spikes and midnight wings shown in full display. Earning its title “Golden Shadow”.

Note: Cal would be like Aegon the Conqueror but without the double incest, cause he would be too busy swooning over this brown haired beauty, who manage to steal silver coins from his saddle that was strapped on Syndor.

Maven Calore (The Drama King)

Dragon name: Seeker (It has no Valyrian translation. Google why!)🦇💎

Maven's Dragon on the other hand, took multiple tries. As the dragon egg laid near his cradle did not hatch.

Nor did the second, third or even fourth.

Which deeply madden Elara, leading her to exile the royal servants that brought the eggs to him.

At the age of seven, Maven desperately wanted his own dragon, that he sneaked his way into the dragon’s den to get himself an egg. Which he successfully acquired, as well as the ire of its mother. Maven would have been a charred lump, if it weren’t for the dragon keepers.

Maven patiently waited for the egg to hatch, hovering it close to the fireplace and even sleeping on the floor next to it.

He obsessively watched over it, that he was not tending to his princely duties. Which annoyed his mother, as she stormed in his room, demanding him to give her the egg.

Maven, not wanting to part with it, threw the egg away from his mother and into the fire.

To the surprise of both, a crack started to bloom on the shell and there it was, a dragon.

It was small but chatty. Its beady eyes already trained on Maven, as it waddled its way to his cupped hands. It had dark grey scales, the color of gravel. It would have looked like an unremarkable lizard, if it weren’t for the dark purple spikes lining its spine, like gems embedded on dark rock.

However, what caught their eye, were its wings. They were uneven, one looked normal but the other, barely the size of a pebble. Incapable of flight.

Which displeased the queen, as she wanted her son’s dragon to soar high above everything, especially over his perfect half-brother's squealing demon.

She wanted to get rid of it, have her son go to the dragon pit again to claim another. However, the sight of him, smiling happily with the flightless thing kept her from acting upon it. She’ll convince him another day. (That didn’t came).

Maven did not mind its wings. He never liked flying to begin with, as the memory of Cal making him ride Syndor and vomit covered boots, made his stomach grumble unpleasantly.

Maven’s dragon eagerly followed him around with its long, gangly limb. It stayed by his side during his studies, nipped at the teachers when they upset Maven, snatched cooked meat from his plate as he eat and even dove head first in Maven’s scented baths.

As time passes, Maven’s dragon grew 12 feet in length. It scales hardened, its teeth, a sharp pearly white. It slithered elegantly among the lords and ladies that reside in the Whitefire castle, as it grown accustomed to human interaction. Even becoming fond of the brown haired serving girl, that its master seem quite smitten with.

It developed a habit of poking holes on the castle walls, climbing at the highest ceiling and crawling through tunnels with its narrow body.

Rumors said that Prince Maven would ride his dragon, as it silently climb outside the castle, listening to court gossip. Which earned its name of “Seeker”, others would mockingly whisper “Little Seeker” as it looked minuscule compared to Syndor.

It won’t be “little” for long. As the sudden death of King Tiberias, the heir accused of murder and branded as a kinslayer, the moment Cal and the servant girl, rode away with Syndor.

Lead Maven to usurp the throne with the help of his mother.

Seeker was given a new purpose. It could never fly, nor could it spy as it grew too large not to be detected, but it was still a dragon.

The non-believers that proclaimed their loyalty to Cal, either in public or in secret, were brought before King Maven and his dragon.

As a proud lord, pushed to his knees to swear his loyalty to Maven, only to spit on the floor and call him a pretender wearing a warrior’s crown. King Maven, emotionless, motioned for Seeker, who was wrapped around the foot of the throne.

 The loyal Seeker, raised it large head towards the lord. It had grown massive, after devouring those that stood against its master. The lord faced Seeker defiantly, as the dragon bath him with its flame, illuminating the throne room with a sickly blue light.

Note: Maven would be like Aegon II, but like...minus the drinking and being a mega creep.

[yellow-faerie]

I've just been doing some general housekeeping around my fics folder and my AO3 and...holy shit I have a lot of ongoing writing...

(Also I am now just Yellow_Faerie on AO3 - and I have a few more pseuds for various fandoms where I intend to write more than one fic for organisation purposes mostly)

Anyway, if you want to see the complete list of Fae's WIPs, I'm going to put it under the cut (and also if you are curious about any of them, send me an ask or a message because I am constantly desperate to talk about my fic...mostly so I can avoid writing the fic)

Tumblr Prompts (so you know which ones I have still sitting in my drafts): -Mandis and Beedle, Many Iterations - 5 people Person A thought they were in love with + 1 person they actually were -Curufinrod - 5 times person A called Person B beautiful + 1 time Person B called Person A beautiful -Mandis and Beedle, Minish Cap Incarnation - "Take that back! I am not short!" -Angbang - "Stay here. For me." -Aroace Elven Tindómiel & Alloroace Gil-Galad - "Did I ever tell you the story of that constellation?" -A Guide To Raising Elflings, Eönwë/Mairon - "After everything, you still don't believe I love you?"

AO3: Tolkien [Niphredilien] -A Guide To Raising Elflings -All Good Things Come In Threes -Time and Music Rewrite -The Naming of Fëanáriel Istarniel -Love in Thirteen Days -A Lighthouse in a Storm -No Oath AU -Mairon Time Travel AU

Star Wars [Nabbo_Handmaiden] -Syndor Rewrite -Ahsoka, Barris and Trilla Bonding -Queen's Death -Leiaverse -Bad Batch Complete Rewrite -Rebel Jedi Order AU -Nim Pianna Fix-It AU -The Younglings

ATLA [Yellow_Faerie] -There Are Many Reasons to Commit Treason

DSMP [Dark_Waltz] -Dancing With Your Ghosts -Mandatory Superhero AU

TMA [Yellow_Faerie] -Mandatory Time Travel Fix-It -All Ways Lead to Hilltop Road -Sasha Lives AU -Naomi Herne Fic

The Sandman [Jessamy_Protection_Squad] -Anything Goes Series -Jessamy Reincarnation AU -Modern AU

LoZ [Yellow_Faerie] -Mandis and Beedle -Hero of Dreams

Merlin [Yellow_Faerie] -Ygraine Lives AU -Camelot's (Very Much Not Magic) Postal Service

Skyrim [Yellow_Faerie] -Long Live the King

House MD [Eat_Names_Take_Ass] -Eclipse -Mandatory Kid Fic

The Witcher [Yellow_Faerie]

Sherlock Holmes [Yellow_Faerie] -Enola's Siblings -Gwyneth Holmes

[shirkers2018dirsanditan]

i love syndor he’s so funny. but lester is missing his son prez so bad

[voices-of-the-stars]

HOUSE SYNDOR OF MOSSOVY

House Syndor is a rather old house to still be around for the land of Mossovy. There have been many a King of Mossovy from the house over the years and the most recent were within the last fifty. To be the king, one must only be elected by others that have claimed land and gained masterly titles.

Known for settling near a creek that runs into a great river so dark that there are claims the water is black, the Syndors have always been viewed as people with little fear for the dark. They are hunters at heart, with many trophies to show for it. For long centures, they have kept the lands of Mossovy safe.

But even they struggle now as the maegi's hold grows ever stronger in the land.

Black Creek, of which they're Masters, is a village within the forests of Mossovy. The village itself is roughly the size of King's Landing (for comparison's sake) and despite its location within the forest, thrives with trade from Majak and stray peoples from outlier villages and cities outside the edges of Mossovy's forest.

[garudabluffs]

The Return: Trump's Big 2024 Comeback    

The Most Successful Con In American History Laid Bare

When you compare Trump’s cons with the $50 trillion that the GOP has swindled out of the American working class and given to the top 1 percent since 1980, Trump looks like a piker                                             OCT,.19/2022

“It started back in 1971 when tobacco lawyer Lewis Powell wrote a memo to his friend and neighbor Eugene Syndor, the head of the US Chamber of Commerce, warning that the end of capitalism was on the horizon because of Ralph Nader’s consumer movement and Rachel Carson’s environmental movement.

In that era, Americans had a lot of trust in their government — around 80 percent of Americans said they trusted government — as did the citizens of virtually all the western European countries. Today, as Powell’s work has borne fruit, the Pew Research Center says only 17 percent of Americans say they trust their government.”

T.H. : “I once sat in a US Senator’s office with a media billionaire who owned almost a thousand radio stations, hundreds of which carried rightwing shows. I asked him if he’d consider putting progressive shows on even a handful of his stations and he told us bluntly, “I’ll never put anybody on the air who wants to raise my taxes.”

“This is the greatest con in American history.”

READ MORE https://hartmannreport.com/p/the-most-successful-con-in-american

19 Comments

[flygefisk]

OOOO OK YOU ASKED FOR PEOPLE TO ASK ABT YOUR DRAGONS IM SO DOWN, so much so im going off anon for this shit /pos gods im obsessed with howl and synder rn, the writing was phenomenal!!! Since on my side fr is doing its maintenance thingy I cannot look at your lair, but id looove to know more about them!!

Like for example, is there any more about Syndor you can lore drop about? Is he a regular ol guy (species wise) or a lil something else?

Oh and Howl!!! Im sorry if its obvious and I just missed it cause its late but what is she?? It sounds like shes some sort of badass zombie but Id love to know

OH AND i am in fact very curious about the most recent anciets you got, they are so so cool!! I adore gentle giant characters, hugging the big ladies finger rn <333 I unfortuantly dont have a lot of ideas for names for either, but the sea monster is giving me K, A, or M vibe names, ones that sound sing songy to speak!

aaaa thank u!! i have. No confidence in my writing tbh so i very much appreciate it <3

syndor, biologically, is a very average dragon. he's just been through some stuff. he is trying very hard to keep his past in the past. after all, his present is so wonderful.

howl's meant to be a little bit unfathomable, so fair! but they're not a zombie- the body they're in is totally alive. mortal, even. it bleeds! it hungers! i guess they were reincarnated, but with more intent.

i had written more about what howl was before their death but didn't like the pacing, so i scrapped it. the tl;dr version is she was a girl (who was actually transmasc/genderqueer in an era where that was not an option), murdered by a suitor. a wild god found the body, found the wild thing that was howl, and gave it a new life. their initial story + the scrapped portion is under the cut if you want the whole thing!

howl and syndor are kinda two sides of the same coin- howl is completely free from its past, living in the present, happy. i'm not sure how much they remember of their last life. syndor, though, is hiding from his past, it sits like a shackle holding him back. he lives in the present, not out of the joy of life, but because he can never go back and feels he doesn't have a future.

they're good for each other like that. syndor helps howl navigate a new world, howl helps syndor find his own way.

tbh i was kinda thinking calypso for her! iiii haven't had a lot of time to think about either of them tbh, its been. a rough week asfsds

once, long ago, there was a girl. this girl was a farmer's daughter, loved by all in the village for her kindness and beauty.

the girl had many suitors. carpenters, merchants, knights, all loved the girl. she never courted any, though. her father hoped she would marry, find some wealthy husband who could support her, and was always quietly disappointed when she turned them away at the door.

the girl knew what she was supposed to do. she often spent time with the other girls in the village, laughing at their talk of boys and secret kisses and nights spent hidden away together. she knew she was meant to marry a man and have his children and clean his home.

to the girl, this sounded like hell on earth.

the girl had something she was hiding- something that lived within her, something wild and angry, that she could not describe. the something rioted against the idea of being a housewife, reviled the thought of motherhood.

its snarls and howls grew louder and louder with every suitor. she was sure that one day, the something would eat her alive.

-

once, long ago, there was a prince. this prince enjoyed traveling his country, meeting folks from all walks of life, giving gifts that, to him, were pocket change, and, to his subjects, were life-changing. it would be easy to assume this habit made the prince a kind man.

the prince met the farmer's daughter, and was struck by her beauty. he took her polite smile and sweet laughter as acceptance of his courtship.

the prince gave the girl and her family lavish gifts- jewelry, silken gowns, bottles of fine wine each costing more than her home. the girl's parents were overjoyed, of course. they would be nobility, if she married the prince, rich beyond their wildest dreams.

the wild something in the girl howled every time she saw the prince. it snarled when he kissed her hand, screeched when he placed another golden chain round her neck.

she imagined its teeth gnawing at her bones, so full of hatred it tore its own skin with sharp fangs and claws. she imagined her own mouth full of fangs like that. she imagined those teeth tearing into the prince's throat. ripping out his honeyed words. clawing out his selfish eyes. staining that fine silk and velvet with dark blood.

how sweet that would be.

-

once, long ago, there was a farmer. he had a daughter, a kind and beautiful girl loved by all who met her. and his daughter had a suitor, a prince who loved the girl.

the farmer loved his daughter, and wanted her to be happy. he felt that she was unhappy sometimes, though she always wore a sweet smile, and he felt it was due to their lifestyle. he was certain if she married the prince, she would be happy. safe from poor harvests and harsh winters. warm, well-fed, and happy.

the prince came calling one day, while the girl was out, so the farmer happily told him where she had gone. the farmer hoped today would be the day the prince proposed.

the girl was picking berries along the creek- she loved walking in the forest, listening to the sounds of the wind and birds and insects rather than the incessant chatter of the village. quiet and peaceful. the wild something was angrier than it had ever been, but it seemed calmer in the forest.

until her quiet afternoon was interrupted. the prince on his white horse, his voice so loud and vain and self-obsessed. the girl's father had been right, the prince had come to ask the girl to marry him. again.

no, she said, for the dozenth time. the wild something growled. he asked again, insistent and irritating. the wild something snarled. again and again he asked, until it was more of a command than a question, and the wild something howled and bit and clawed until it leapt from her throat, her sweet voice full of rage as she rejected him once and for all.

the flash of metal, the tearing of fabric, of skin. the spilling of blood.

she died with his blood under her nails.

-

once, long ago, there was a god. it was a wild, ancient god, one of blood and lust and life. a forest god.

the god scented blood on the air, civilized blood. it cared little for civilized folks, as most gods do. it cared little whether they lived or died. but it was a curious god, so it tracked the scent, bounding on deers' hooves to its source.

the god's paws left no tracks in the bloodsoaked earth around the creature's remains. it touched the weapon buried in the thing's stomach, ran its talons over the strange covering it wore, brushed a bit of hair from its face. the god considered the creature for a moment: its face contorted in rage, its hands and coverings stained dark. there was another scent here, under the obvious blood and rot, one even more familiar to the god.

a wild something, indescribable even to the god of such things, coiled around the body that was once its own. it stared up at the god, its teeth bared. the god raised its head and howled in its many voices, joined soon by the wolves and coyotes and hawks and hares of the forest, in a mournful harmony of all wild things.

the something howled too, until its song became a scream, letting loose all the sorrow and love and rage of a life that would never have been enough.

the forest went silent. the god lowered its head and nuzzled the something, like a doe to her fawn, like a bear to her cub. wild things understand each other. they understand the cycle, that nothing lasts forever and nothing really dies. the god understood the something's desperate plea, no need for words.

another chance.

-

once, not so long ago, there was a man. he walked through an overgrown forest, dirt on his hands and his shovel. he loved walking in the forest, listening to the sounds of nature. it was calming.

he paused near a burbling creek to wash the sweat from his face. he sighed in grim satisfaction- tired, sore, numb. but it was over.

the man realized, after staring into the water for long minutes, that something was different. wrong. the forest was silent here. his eye was drawn to a large stone behind him- half his height or more, veined with black and glittering white patches. on its face, a handprint made of something dark.

a strange impulse took over, something wild within him, and he began to dig.

a scraping sound. crumbling earth. cracking twigs. then, light. sunlight. warm and bright and so welcome after so long in the dirt.

the creature reached out from its grave. its hands- long, clawed, discolored- shook as it pulled itself up. it blinked against the morning light, yawned as though waking from a long nap.

it almost didn't notice the man with the shovel. he stared at it, his expression unreadable. it ignored him, letting the world wash over it: a cool breeze on its face, the sound of the water, of birds and insects, of wind through the leaves, the cloying scent of dark earth giving way to flowers and trees.

finally, the man held out a hand- blistered, covered in soil- and the creature let him pull it from the earth.

the man removed his cloak, wrapping it around the creature's broad shoulders. it rubbed the fabric between its clawed fingers- soft, warm, dark like good soil- and smiled. it should have been frightening, with its sharp teeth, but the man just smiled back.

wild things understand each other.

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: HELLO, wow. Thank you for all the love as per usual! It makes me giggle and kick my little feet reading your messages ! I know I probably sound like a broken record at this point but this is a DARK FIC, PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD READ THE WARNINGS. Please do not expect fluff and romance...

Without further adieu, enjoy <3

51: The Return to Kings Landing

You had walked quickly up to Dragonmont, finding Vermithor before mounting him, brushing his bronze scales as you looked about the island, to commit it to your memory. Footsteps of another had interrupted your gazing, as Aemond rounded a cliff and came to stop, looking at you atop the Bronze Fury. 

You could have sworn you saw your husband smirked, but paid no mind to it, commanding the large bronze dragon into the sky to fly back to what you used to call home. Not too long after, the sound of familiar grumble came from behind and your heart had skipped a beat, looking back to see Vhagar and your uncle seated atop.

This time she was not chasing you.

This time she flew with you.

The flight to Kings Landing was not too long of a journey, and you had allowed yourself to silently cry atop the dragon as Dragonstone became smaller, and smaller behind you. It was something you could do alone on your dragon, despite the burning presence of Aemond, who now flew ahead of you.

As King’s Landing came closer, the sun had begun to set, casting a rusty glow across the vast stone structures. Vermithor landed down near the entrance to the Dragon Pit, where Syndor had once waited for you. Letting you slide from his back, your fingers stroked the ropes Jacaerys had put on him before he took off to the skies again, leaving you at the mouth of the cave. 

You let your feet carry you through the pit, walking into the Keep alone. Not waiting for Aemond, and wherever he was, to escort you inside.

If this was to be your home, then you would act like it.

Although, it was odd to be back in truth.

To be back in a place where you had not long ago escaped from. To be back where so much had happened. To willingly walk yourself right back into the vipers nest. To where so many horrors had been witnessed and committed in the name of the crown. 

In the name of the Targaryen legacy.

And whilst you let yourself walk without purpose, you found your feet had led you somewhere you had always sought solace in times of need. 

The Godswood stood tall, and exactly where it had before. Its dark ruby leaves moved gently in the breeze and night began to fall over the realm. Its bark was still rough to the touch as you let your fingers graze over it.

It was the one thing in the Keep that had remained the same.

The one thing that had stayed true.

As you rested your cut palm against the bark, you watched as a small part of coagulated blood pulled away from the skin, causing new blood to flow. The dark, red liquid dripped gently onto the bark of the tree, starkly standing out against the brown of the bark.

You looked at the face of the tree, staring at it as you dug your palm sharply into its surface, feeling the sharp edges of wood dig into the open cut of your hand.

It was grounding, that pain.

Made you focus on one thing, instead of the racing thoughts inside of your head.

Servants walked through the halls and corridors, and passed through the courtyard where you stood. None stopping to greet you, nor stopping to report you. It seemed that they were all aware of the reasoning to your presence, and to your return.

You closed your eyes, praying to the old Gods to hear you. To save you. To take mercy upon you. To forgive you of your sins. Of your wrongdoings. 

To protect you from what was to come. 

And as you prayed, you felt someones gaze upon you, skin prickling with unease. You ignored it and kept on, lips softly moving as you begged for mercy and forgiveness.

“The God’s won’t hear your prayers.” Came the soft voice of your husband.

You balled your hand by your side into a fist as you were pulled from your prayers, attempting to desperately start again.

Please Gods, let me survive thi-

“Come. I will show you to our chambers.” 

Our chambers.

Our.

You let your hand slide from the bark of the tree, taking one last glance at the red leaves above you before you turned to face Aemond. He stood not too far way, in his riding leathers, hands held behind his back and posture stiff. His lips were pulled into a soft smile and it made you nervous. 

Why was he smiling at you like that?

What was wrong with him?

You lifted an unsure foot over the roots, and began to walk down the grass towards him, watching as your husbands smile grew wider. The blood on his lips had mostly gone, from flaking away or perhaps the gentle lapping of his own tongue.

Though the blood on his forehead was untouched. It had dried a darker shade, almost a deep brown like the bark of the tree.

His posture was so similar to how he had been at Storm’s End. Leg lazily jutted out with his arms behind his back. That smile you realised, was most likely a smug one. 

The cat who got the cream. 

The man who finally got the wife he wanted.

“I wish to return to my old chambers.” You spoke, and you watched as Aemond’s head tilted to the side, as he lazily looked you up and down.

“No.” Was all he said before he turned, not waiting for you to follow him. 

You stood unmoving as you watched him leave, feet carrying him swiftly across the grass to the cobblestones. You thought of not following him, and returning to your own chambers. But you did not know if it would be locked or guarded, nor did you know of how he would react. 

Now was not the time to be a steadfast fool. 

And so you let your feet carry you towards him, following the man like a dutiful wife, albeit ten to fifteen paces behind him. Watching his legs work, and his hands that were clutched tightly behind his back. Hands that were now permitted to touch you. Hands that would undoubtedly bring you pain and suffering. 

One hand gripped the others wrist, the cut hand on display as dried blood had begun to settle on his palm and finger tips. You watched it flex and tighten, fingers digging into the cut at random as he continued onwards to his wing of the Red Keep.

You wondered if it would be his chambers, or new ones. If you were to return to the chambers you had been in, not so long ago, makeshift dagger in hand as you plunged it into the soft flesh of his shoulder. You wondered if he would disrobe himself before he took you. If you would get to see with your own eyes the damage you had done to him. 

Not unlike how he would see the scars he had given to you upon your body. Almost too many to count during such a short period of time. He had truly put his mark on you in every way possible. 

Your body.

Your heart. 

Your mind.

Every piece of you now belonged to him.

The castle began to darken from the setting sun, and the torches along the corridor served to light the path ahead. Aemond did not pause, nor did he slow down as he approached his chambers. 

The chambers you had been in before. 

So there was no new chambers for you. Just the haunting memory of the old one. You wondered if it kept him awake at night? Or if he stayed there to serve as a reminder of what you had done to him.

As he approached, a knight pulled open the doors for him, nodding his head to you both. You watched as his silver hair disappeared into the chambers and you slowed your step. You could not make a run for it. You know you couldn’t, but your body wanted to. 

Your mind wished for you to run, to escape the inevitable of what was to come. 

You knew what was expected of you the moment you entered those chambers. Now that you were man and wife, it needed to be consummated. But this did not mean that despite knowing, that you would ever be ready for it. 

You had always thought it would be different.

Perhaps loving and gentle, shared with someone you loved. Perhaps if Aemond hadn’t grown into the man he was now, you would have willingly given it to him. The thought made your heart rise into your throat as you palms began to feel cold and clammy. 

Step after step, you slowly moved forward to seal your doom. 

When you reached the knight at the door, he waited for you to enter, not looking at you, instead looking over your head as though you weren’t even there. Clearing your throat, you straightened your back and held your head high, before swiftly walking into the dark green chambers. 

It was as you had remembered, though this time, brighter. The fire place raged with flames, and candles were lit upon every surface to light the room. Your eyes flitted to the side of the bed, and the passage in which you had snuck through to get him.

It was still there, and he had not blocked, nor barricaded it. 

“You wouldn’t be able to leave that way, if that’s what you are thinking of.” His voice called across the room.

Aemond stood to the side, filling two cups full of spiced wine, not even looking at you. He must have sensed or known that your eyes would flit straight there. As his large hands grasped the wine, he made his way towards you, holding a cup out.

It was almost like an offering of peace.

A treaty.

You timidly grasped the wine from him, and he watched you with a hum, before he pulled his goblet up to his lips and sipped deeply, turning to go sit in an armchair by the fire. You stood where you were, in the middle of the room, near a large round table that was surrounded by six chairs. Books sat atop the table, and one in particular caught your eye. 

Atop the table, in a pile, was your book. 

Faded red cover, golden lettering and all.

How?

“Sit.” Your uncle beckonned, eye not having left the fireplace. 

Slowly you walked towards him, before sitting in the chaise opposite, letting your eyes roam over his form. 

Aemond sat lazily, and comfortably in his large green armchair. Hand holding the goblet as he sipped, whilst the other rested upon the arm of the chair. It reminded you of the first night he had snuck into your chambers.

“Drink.” He commanded, and you obeyed. 

You would not argue with that.

You would surely need wine for what was to come. 

Would it be painful? Would he enjoy hurting you? Would you bleed as you had been told you would?

You pulled the goblet up to your lips and emptied it, resting the cup in your lap as your fingers trailer over the rim, waiting for his next command to strip and lay on the bed for him.

To lay spread for him.

To be ready for his brutality.

But he didn’t.

And instead, your husband continued to sip the wine, not talking, nor moving, until his cup was empty too. Once his goblet was dry, and he had sat for many moments more, he turned his face to look at you.

The light from the fire cast a sharp shadow across his face, causing his already pointed features to look more defined. He was hauntingly beautiful you mused.

A shame.

And a waste.

“The King wishes for us to dine with him this evening. To celebrate our union.” Aemond told you, eye roaming to where your hands had stilled at the lip of the cup.

Aegon.

You were to dine with Aegon this evening. 

Memories of your last meeting in the dungeon flashed through your mind. His hands on your throat, the feeling of his cock brushing roughly against your sex. Nausea began to roll through your body, and your heart ran a marathon within your chest. 

“He will not touch you.” 

Aemond’s voice pulled you from the dark memories of your mind. You blinked at him uncertain. 

Aegon may not touch you, but Aemond surely would.

And you did not know who would be worse.

For all of Aegon’s devious desires, they were laid bare to the world. He did not hide himself nor his actions. Where as Aemond held his close to him. He did not let anyone know of the man he truly was, nor what he truly desired. 

What was worse?

The knowing of such cruelty, or the unknown of what cruelty lies before you.

Aemond watched as you spiralled with your thoughts before he abruptly stood. He stalked towards you, looking down as you clutched harder at the cup in your lap. A large hand came towards you and you could not help but flinch at the movement. 

If he noticed you jump, it did not stop him, as he plucked the goblet from your hand, moving to the side of the room, to place both of your empty cups back where the decanter was. 

“I will have the maids come and dress you for the evening.” 

Aemond swiftly walked across the room, opening the door before exiting, leaving you in the vast emptiness of the space of the chambers that you would now call yours. 

Chambers that you would now live and breathe in for Gods knew how long. Chambers that you would eat, and sleep and bathe in. Chambers in which you would share a bed with your husband, and have him put his seed in you.

Chambers where you may begin to swell with a child. 

It was all so much, that you found you could not even cry at the thought. You do not know how long you spent sitting where you sat, eyes still on the fire, that when the maids came to pull the heavy riding leathers from your body, and replace them with robes for dinner, you did not resist. 

Nor did you resist when the familiar gaze of your now husband watched on as they stripped you. Nor did you resist when he crowded you so suddenly, hand on the small of your back, as he moved to lead you out of your chambers towards the dining room you had all dined in before. 

It was not until you were halfway there did you come back to yourself.

It was not until your feet had begun to feel heavy, and the scarring on your side began to feel tight, did you realise you stood in the corridor, with Aemond standing beside you, eye half lidded as he looked at you. 

It was not until then you realised you had stopped walking, and noticed your surroundings. 

“Zaldristos.” Aemond uttered, as he looked down at you. 

That was what broke the spell.

You swallowed thickly and looked down at yourself.

You wore a deep red dress, almost the colour of your combined blood. It was tight, but not too tight, the sleeves were soft, and upon each wrist were embroidered dragons.

One the left side, a black dragon, embroidered scales shimmering in the light of the torches. 

One the right, a green dragon.

A dress you had not seen before.

As you looked at the gown, Aemond hummed, moving forward again, neither touching you nor waiting for you to follow. You were left to trail behind him towards the familiar wooden doors, with their soft rounded tops.

He waited at the entrance for you, as the two knights held each side, only when you stood beside him did the doors open, and the room was revealed to you. 

It had changed. 

There were no familiar curtains or tapestry on the walls. The table had been replaced and the chairs reupholstered. The room had no sigils of the House Targaryen, and instead were replaced with gaudy green tapestry, and symbols of the Seven Faith.

What was left of the small reminder of home was now gone. 

Alicent had been busy.

“Prince Aemond Targaryen, and his Lady Wife, the Princess Y/n Velaryon.” Came the low timber of Ser Criston Cole. 

Lady Wife. 

His.

It felt so strange.

Your eyes settled to the table. 

Aegon sat where your Grandsire once had.

It was wrong.

Unnatural.

To see the seat where Viserys had sat, and laughed, and smiled with vigour, to now be replaced with someone who sneered, and drank, and whored, was blasphemous.

The conquerors crown sat heavily atop his wavy hair, and deep green robes were upon his person. On his right sat his mother, the Dowager Queen Alicent, and his left, Ser Otto Hightower. 

Further along the table sat Lord Larys Strong.

And as you looked at him, you could scarcely see any resemblance to his brother, Ser Harwin Strong. You wondered what he thought of Aemond slaying his entire House?

But he was most likely just as vicious, having become the Master of Whispers to the Queen, and now your uncle, the King. His face held an odd look to it. He had sad brown eyes, and was built thinly.

A lean man with no strength of his body, only his mind. 

A dangerous man indeed.

You had heard and only witnessed once yourself that the man had a clubbed foot. Perhaps his family gave him grievances like yours had to Aemond.

Perhaps he was relived to be rid of them.

Lord Jasper Wilde, and a familiar blond head of Lord Tyland Lannister sat at the table, watching you silently as you walked up the few small stairs to the table. 

You were in the presence of the Kings Small Council. 

They had all been invited to witness the proof of your union, and proof of your despair.

“There they are!” Came the sickening boom of Aegon’s voice as he roughly pushed himself up to stand, palms opening out widely as he smiled smugly at you.

“The newly weds! Congratulations on your union brother,” Aegon kept his eyes on you as he spoke, “And welcome back to the Keep, Princess. You left without so much as a goodbye last time you were here.”

He was goading you. 

As you reached the level ground, Aemond stepped forth and pulled a chair back for you, looking at you expectantly to sit in it. You hesitated, before coming forth and sitting in the chair as he pulled out his own and seated himself.

Alicent’s watchful gaze did not leave yours.

Her face was unreadable, but the same sour, downturned lips you had gotten used to as a child was ever present. You felt the gaze of everyone at the table upon you. You held your fingers in your lap, digging your nails into the cut of your palm, which was now bandaged from the maids. 

You had not even felt them do it.

“Apologies that I could not make it to witness such a beautiful union. But now we can celebrate together.” The Usurper King continued, clapping his hands loudly together.

You did not take your eyes from Alicent, keeping your gaze locked on her as he spoke.

This is what you have done.

You started this.

Your only solace was knowing that you had taken one of her sons, the way she had taken Lucerys from you and your mother. 

You heard the giggle of Aegon as his hands clapped together again in excitement.

“I don’t think I’ve heard my niece be so quiet before. Have you broken her already, Aemond?” 

You grit your teeth, and pushed your finger deeper into your palm, feeling the bandages wet, and still, you kept your eye on the woman who started it all.

Aemond simply hummed, before acknowledging his mother who sat opposite him.

“Don't tell me she has snatched your voice too, brother? One minute in her cunt and already you’ve gone soft.” Aegon snickered.

“Aegon.” Came the warning voice of Otto Hightower. 

The energy at the table was so tense, that even the guards and knights stationed about the room shifted uncomfortably on their feet.

“It is good to have you back in King's Landing,” Otto began, “I am sure that you and Aemond shall settle in together in no time.” He gave you a warm smile, and it made you more uncomfortable than Aegon’s comments. 

Aegon let out a high pitched laugh though his nose, before clicking his fingers out beside his head. The noise and movement made you stiffen.

Alicent witnessed the reaction.

And soon the table was being filled with foods and more wine, your own goblet being filled, which you snatched from the table and emptied rapidly. Aegon watching, smile widening. 

As the Usurper King sat back in his large chair and drank from his cup, he kept his eyes on you as he told you of plans for the treaty and how it would work. Insisting that the North would surely love to have your mother as their Queen, which the both of you knew; they wouldn’t. 

In fact, it seemed that everyone at the table knew.

Just as you had expected.

When your plate was filled with foods, you found that you had no appetite for it, instead turning to your cup, which you drank from heavily, having it refilled by the cup bearers more than thrice. 

And before long, conversation flittered around the table stiffly about the union, and expectation for children, much to Aegon’s delight, and your disgust. And so you let yourself retreat back into your mind, letting their words become a distant hum as you stared at Alicent, drinking from your cup.

The Dowager Queen did not sit still as you stared at her. Her eyes would meet yours and flit away to look at the three Lords at the table and her sons, before she would gaze back at you, finding that you had not moved her from your sights. 

“Tell me brother, have you bed her yet?” Aegon’s voice pulled you from your numb haze.

No reply came.

“Do you remember how it is done? I’d be happy to show you.” He snickered, and the Lannister let out an uneasy laugh.

Alicent growled Aegon’s name again and Otto began to speak before Aegon interrupted him. 

“We should hold a bedding ceremony, to ensure that the deed is done properly. I can talk you through it.”

You let your gaze leave Alicent for the first time, and turned your head to look at your husband beside you, who sat straight in his chair, hands bunched in balls by his side.

His jaw was tight and tensed, and his brow was furrowed. 

“Come now brother, surely you have not forgotten what I showed you on your thirteenth name day.” Aegon laughed, pulling his goblet up to his lips. 

You watched as Aemond’s mouth pulled into a sneer.

“The King is merely joking with you, My Prince. We are all in good spirits for this union.” Otto tried, and failed to cover for the King.

“You heard the old bat, we are all in good spirits! You are finally wed to the one woman who had given you any attention at all. Sure, she is a bastard-“

“Watch your tongue.” You sneered at the King, resolve disappearing.

“So she speaks!” Aegon declared proudly to the table, looking at the Lords as they all smiled unsurely, “Finally. There is my niece who I know and love. Though I fear if you are able to speak, perhaps my brother did not fuc-“

Aemond shot up from his seat at the table, fists tight on the wood near his plate as he stared down at his hands. You looked up at your husband who breathed deeply, knuckles white as he fisted them.

“Aem, brother.” Aegon mock cooed, “You know I am only teasing. Come,” He looked across the table, picking up his goblet, “Lets raise our cups to this fine union!” 

The Lord’s and the Dowager Queen picked up their cups, holding them towards you both.

You kept your gaze on Aemond, whose head slowly turned to you to meet your eyes, his violet orb half lidded and scowl upon his lips. He looked full of rage, just barely controlled beneath the surface of his bristling posture. 

Your hand came up on its own, to reach out to touch him, to calm him, but as soon as your hand moved, you found that Aemond looked down at in in disgust before he seated himself, no longer looking at you, instead stiffly grabbing his goblet before him. 

You mirrored his action, trying to push down your budding fear and anxiety, now that Aegon and riled him up. 

He had done it on purpose.

“To my brother, may she warm your heart and your cock, and may you make me a grand-uncle soon enough.” He smirked, before turning his gaze on you, “And to my wonderful niece, may you warm his bed, and birth his heirs, and feel the warmth of his love.”

“Hear, Hear!” Came the confident voice of Tyland Lannister, followed by everyone else, seemingly ignoring his crude remarks.

Or perhaps, they had gotten used to it by now.

He was their King, whether they liked it or not.

Neither you nor Aemond spoke, but drank deeply from your cups, before placing them down. 

A beat passed before Aemond spoke.

“Excuse us,” His voice cut across the table, stilling the King in his excitement, “I wish to spend time with my wife.” 

Your husband stood from his seat, moving to stand beside yours waiting. He did not hold out his hand, nor offer to assist you in any way, simply stood and expected you to follow as he bid the table a good night, bowing stiffly to his brother, anger rolling from him in waves. 

Standing you stared once more at Alicent, before turning on your heel to follow Aemond out of the dining hall, and back to your shared chambers. You did not spare a glance to Aegon, nor the other Lord’s, nor did you spare a glance at your husbands face.

You let Aemond lead you to the chambers, his strides quick and purposeful, until finally you reached the room, and you were inside, and the door behind you was shut softly with a thud by the knights. 

And then you were alone, with your husband Aemond, on the night of your wedding.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

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[garadinervi]

Adrian Frutiger, Lebenszyklus / Cycle de la vie / Life cycle, Syndor Press, Cham, 1999

[the-hewn-clan]

SYNDOR AND VAR • WARRIOR OF SHADE

And that would be just fine and what a lovely time that it would surely be

A strange creature, too many eyes, too many limbs, voice overlaid like static. Don’t look too closely- they hunt their prey swiftly.

[thewanderers-fr-blog]

Syndor by FallingFreely on FR!

[shirkers2018dirsanditan]

poor syndor is literally in hell being stuck in a useless unit with herc and dozerman. and herc is being a BITCH fucking over bubbles and risking randy’s life too with his bs