#Chapter 35

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part thirty-five: normal people

word count: 4.6k

warning: just tooth rotting fluff? pls lmk if i missed anything!

thirty-four | thirty-five | thirty-six

She’s standing in the kitchen, barefoot on tile, a half-filled grocery list balanced on her palm and a pen tucked between her fingers. There’s a smudge of ink near her knuckle where she pressed too hard writing “milk (again)” and a half-eaten apple next to her elbow.

She tapped the pen against her chin and called out it in what she hoped was his general direction. “Anything you want? I’m headed to the shop today.”

The man didn’t even glance over. “Nah, don’t worry about me. I’ll eat at home.”

She blinked. “What home?”

“Mine?”

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now? Bold of you to act like you don’t live here part-time.”

“I don’t live here. I just visit. Often. And sleep on your couch sometimes. And eat your snacks.”

“Right. Like a polite, British raccoon.”

She could hear the dull thump of him flipping a cushion over and resettling. Y/N shook her head and capped the pen before turning, leaning her hip against the counter to get a better look at him. 

He was sprawled on the couch, hoodie slightly askew, curls crushed on one side from a nap he definitely took while she was in the shower. He was watching her lazily now, like she was some interesting artwork he still hadn’t decided the interpretation of yet.

He raised a brow at her, unbothered. “I’ve been busy.”

“Uh-huh.” She jotted something else down. “With my fridge.”

“Your fridge is elite. It feeds me. It listens when I talk. It’s never judgmental.”

“It’s empty,” she replied, dry. “Because you keep eating all my stuff!”

“That’s on you, really. For buyin’ food that tastes good.”

Even though he couldn’t see her, she rolled her eyes on principle. “So, again. Anything you want?”

He yawned, blinking the leftover sleep from his eyes. She tried not to stare at them too long.

“Don’t fuss, I’ll live,” he waved her off.

She looked at him over the top of her list, unimpressed. “Look, either you tell me what you want, or you come with me and pick it out yourself.”

That certainly got his attention. He blinked, propping himself a bit more upright against the back of the couch.

“You want me to come… grocery shoppin’?”

“No, I want you to stay here and text me cryptic things like ‘grab snacks’ and then complain when I don’t buy the right ones.”

He grined. “Hey, that was one time.”

“Three times,” she insisted. “And I still don’t know how you made that much of a fuss over cheerios. Cheerios!”

“They were sad circles,” he muttered.

“You’re a sad circle.”

He smirked. She narrowed her eyes, thinking.

“Fine. Come with me then. Pick out your own stupid cereal. Or snacks. Or whatever it is you pretend you don’t want and then steal from my cabinet.”

She expected some sarcastic brush-off, or a mumbled excuse about being busy. Instead, he stretched his arms above his head and yawned theatrically.

“Alright. I’ll come.”

That made her pause. She glanced up from the list, surprised to find him already looking at her. “Wait, really?”

“You said I could come.”

“Like, for grocery shopping.”

“Isn’t that what you just said?”

“Yeah, but you’re agreeing. Without protest. That’s usually grounds for suspicion.”

He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Now why would I deprive you of my wonderful company, hm, sweetheart?”

She makes a face and flips her notepad shut. “And look at that, he’s humble too.”

“I know! I’m the total package, really.”

“Oh, you’re something, alright.” She’s trying not to smile, but it sneaks through anyway. “Also you have to wear proper sneakers. Those fancy dress shoes of yours won’t save you from slipping in the produce aisle.”

“Oh?” He grinned, finishing the last of his morning tea before he got up to put his shoes on. “That sounds a bit specific. You gonna tell me the story behind that, or will I have to force it out of you?”

“It was a tactical slide,” she mumbled quietly, already defensive. “I was testing the floor.”

“You fell, didn’t you?”

 “...Into a stack of lemons.”

“Well, now we know they bruise easily,” he laughed, watching her cheeks turn pink.

She shook her head, turning away before he could see the way her expression softens. He was coming with her. Maybe that didn’t mean anything. 

Or maybe it meant enough.

The sliding glass doors of the grocery store swooshed open, and Lando hesitated on the threshold like he��d stepped into another country.. He stuck close to her side, trying to act casual, but his eyes flicked around like a tourist in a new city.

She, on the other hand, pulled her trolley with practiced ease. It was a little squeaky, but she simply kicked the wheel, and it was suddenly good as new. She started to throw a few basics into the cart — butter, milk, bread — before she had to turn back when she noticed that Liam was still frozen like a deer in headlights.

“...This is it?” he asked.

She looked over, eyebrow raised. “What were you expecting? A red carpet? Spotlights?”

He blinked up at the fluorescent lighting. “I don’t know. I guess I thought grocery stores had, like… more drama.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Dunno. Thought there’d be a big wheel of cheese or something. That’s what I imagined as a kid. This place is kind of underwhelming.”

“That’s because it’s a supermarket, not a Bond film.”

Still, she couldn’t help the grin pulling at her mouth as he trailed after her, pushing the cart with more focus than strictly necessary, eyes darting across shelves like he was trying to figure out the logic of it all.

“Why are the carrots all in bags?” 

Liam squinted at the wall of orange like it was a code he was supposed to crack, before he made a disgusted face. “And why are some of them hairy?”

“They’re not hairy,” she said, amused, nudging the cart forward. “They’ve just got roots. It means they’re fresh.”

“Right,” he says dubiously, poking at one with his index finger like it might bite him. “That seems fake.”

She furrowed her brows, shooting him a worried expression. “What, you think carrots come waxed and perfectly orange from the ground?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he says honestly, and she glanced at him, more curious than judgmental.

She watched as he trailed behind the cart, gaze drifting over shelves like it’s a museum, eyes snagging on price tags and multipack deals like he’s never seen a grocery store before. He doesn’t reach for anything himself, just keeps pace with her, occasionally making faces at the labels.

Idiot.

He looked so serious standing next to the pasta.

“There are… so many kinds.”

She tries her best to hold back a laugh, but with limited success. He just looked so adorably lost.

Liam picked up a bag of rigatoni, turned it over like it might give him directions.

“What do you even do with these? They look like pipes.”

“Cook them, Li. Like a normal human person.”

He put it back, unimpressed. “Too much work.”

She rolled her eyes, already grabbing a box of fettuccine and tossing it into the cart.

They kept moving, and he noticed things. 

Little things.

The way she’d linger at one shelf and then trade whatever she picked for the store brand. Or how she’d turn something over in her hand — cookie butter, frozen berries, good Greek yogurt — look at the price, and then gently set it back down without another glance.

She never said anything about it. Just… kept walking, focused and practical.

But whenever he picked something — sugary cereal, overpriced fruit, dumb snacks that just looked fun—she never said a word about those, never even glanced twice at them let alone put it back. 

Sometimes she teased his tastes, sure – “That’s not trail mix, that’s a cry for help.” But she never once made him switch his things out for something cheaper.

It sat weird in his chest. He wasn’t sure why.

They were halfway through the produce aisle when he nudged her shoulder.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“You didn’t grab that yoghurt you like.”

She blinked, then shrugged. “Maybe next week. Not this time.”

“What? Why not?”

She snorted. “Because I like paying rent.”

He opened his mouth to argue but she’d already turned to inspect a bunch of bananas. She looked over her shoulder and saw the furrow in his brow.

“Relax. I’m not dying, Liam. I’m just budgeting.”

Beside her, he went quiet for a moment, contemplative.

“You’ve really never done this, have you?” she asked softly, halfway down the spice aisle.

“I mean, I’ve been inside a grocery store,” he defended. “Just not… this part. Not with a list. Or a trolley. Or… the intent to budget.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” she said, smiling faintly as she placed the store-brand cheese in the cart and put the fancy one back on the shelf.

But when she turned, he was still looking at her.

“Do you always do that? Swap stuff out for the cheaper version?”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “Well, when you’ve got six bucks left in your bank account, you do a lot of math in the cereal aisle.”

Lando furrowed his brow.

“That’s... that’s a thing? I mean, does it really matter?”

She shrugged, tossing something else into the cart. “If it’s only a few cents, not so much. But if you’re on a budget, it adds up. It’s the difference between getting snacks for the week or just dinner.”

He paused, watching her. She had the same neutral, measured tone she’d use when she explained the different drinks to a customer at the café — like it was all no big deal, just the reality of things. But to him? It was like he’s seeing behind a curtain he never noticed before.

“Weird,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Seems exhausting.”

She rolled her eyes, but there's a softness in her smile.

“You get used to it. Don’t tell me you’ve never had to budget for something.”

He gave her a look. “I... no, not really.”

She snorted, amused. “That explains a lot.”

She’d laughed of course, but for once, Lando’s mind wasn’t focused on that. Something flickered across his face — shame, maybe, or perhaps realization. But he didn’t comment on it. At least, not out loud.

Instead, he glanced into the cart again.“So why haven’t you told me to swap my stuff out?”

“You mean like the bougie almond chocolate clusters you added?”

“They’re elite, thank you very much” he said, clutching the bag to his chest in mock offense.

She laughed, shakes her head. “I figured if you're coming, you get to pick what you like. Budgeting is my problem, not yours, Liam.”

It landed heavier than she meant it to, but he didn't call her on it. He just walked a little closer after that, watching her more carefully. He let his arm graze against hers, choosing not to comment when she picked up avocados and then put them back because they were too soft. He noticed her pause at her favorite crisps, and then reach for a cheaper bag instead.

By the time they both reached the checkout, he’d gone noticeably quiet. Not in a moody way, just thoughtful.

She started pulling items from the cart onto the belt, muttering totals under her breath like it’s muscle memory, making sure each item was accounted for. He zoned back in only when she got to the end and started fishing for her wallet.

As the cashier continued to scan, she pulled out her card without hesitation. And Lando, just as casually, reached forward and tapped his before she could blink.

He stepped forward casually, card already out. “I’ve got it.”

She blinked. “No. No, you don’t– Liam– no, seriously–”

“I insisted on the elite chocolate clusters, yeah?” he said breezily. “Consider it my penance.”

“You can’t just pay for my groceries like it’s a takeaway. This stuff’s expensive—”

“Sure I can.” His tone was still light, but there was a hint of something else in it, a bit of quiet determination. “You feed me. Let me feed you back.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but something about the way he said it, like it wasn’t just about food at all – made her stop.

He went ahead and put in the security pin for his black American Express card, the register beeping once in confirmation. She exhaled, torn between touched and annoyed, but mostly just a little soft.

“Liam.”

“Y/N.”

“That wasn’t a competition. I can pay for myself, you know.”

“Wasn’t trying to win. Just figured if I’m gonna live in your fridge, I should at least pay rent.”

“You—” she stared at him, speechless for a moment. “You are so annoying.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t ask you to—”

“Don’t care.”

She tried to frown but it came out crooked, somehow fond. 

Maybe it was a trick of the light, but he liked having her look at him like that.

And when she looked at Liam, he just looked smug. But quiet, too – he didn’t make a big deal out of it. He didn’t expect some grand thank you or a gold star.

They walked out side by side, her bag slung over one shoulder, his hand casually holding the other.

“Fine,” she muttered. “But you’re still carrying everything up the stairs!”

“Of course. I wouldn’t dare think otherwise. Anything else, princess?

She rolled her eyes as they headed for the exit, but once again she couldn't quite bite back the smile tugging at her lips. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately, she’d noticed – smiling like an idiot over stupid things, things she didn’t remember finding nearly as amusing before.

Lando noticed. There wasn’t much he didn’t notice when it came to her. She laughed, and this time, it was him who turned to look. Just for a moment. Like maybe, just maybe, this whole thing — shopping carts, pasta, her — was a dream that might not feel so far away after all.

“You’re impossible,” she huffed, shoving him playfully with her elbow since her hands were a bit preoccupied.

He looked over at her, his expression softening for a second as he grabbed the receipt.

“Oh, please. You love it.”

She smiled to herself, like a secret just for her

Maybe she did.

She stood at the counter, staring at the ingredients she'd just bought. Dried basil, tomatoes, a bottle of parmesan, and even fresh garlic, which was definitely a step up from the stale garlic powder she’d just finished using last week. A warm, homey feeling settled over her as she inhaled the earthy smell of the herbs. Maybe it was the rain, maybe it was the quiet, but something about it felt tangibly comforting.

The rain had settled into a steady rhythm outside her windows, soft enough to be soothing, loud enough to justify a cozy evening in. Her kitchen, small and usually quiet, felt suddenly full—with the scent of fresh basil and garlic, and the presence of one very unhelpful young man.

“Do not touch that,” she warned, pointing a wooden spoon at him without turning from the stove.

Behind her, Lando froze mid-bite, a suspiciously square cube of cheese caught between his fingers.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You literally were already doing it.”

“I was testing it. For poison. Very noble of me, really.”

“Right. My hero.”

He popped it in his mouth anyway, shameless, and leaned back against the counter like he belonged there. Like he hadn’t just eaten a chunk of the cheese she needed for the pasta.

She grabbed the cutting board and started mincing garlic, her mind wandering.

"How does pasta sound for dinner?" she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. "It's been a while."

From across the kitchen, Liam poked his head around, looking a bit too much like an excited puppy, just without the wagging tail.

“You makin’ food? I can help.”

She glanced over her shoulder, met with his eager eyes.

“It’s alright, Li. I’ve got it.”

“Nonsense.” He drawled, his voice teasing, but his expression was dead serious. “I am a pro in the kitchen.”

She chuckled, turning back to the garlic on the cutting board. “Right. You’ve cooked before?”

“Uh... well.” He hesitated. “Here n’ there, you know how it is. Probably more than you though.”

She raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “You want to bet?”

He walked over and leaned on the counter, watching her chop, completely ignoring the pan on the stove where the oil was already heating.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I could teach you a few things. Like how to avoid burning garlic,” he said, a smug little grin curling at the corner of his lips.

Before she could respond, she heard a faint crinkle, followed by a too-loud sizzle.

“Shit!”

He only laughed, while Y/N quickly scrambled to turn the heat to the lowest setting so that she wouldn’t end up burning dinner before dinner had even started. Once she was able to take a sigh of relief, she pressed a relieved palm to her chest, breathing deeply.

Maybe if he wasn’t so distracting–

Wait.

It was way too quiet.

“Liam!”

When she turned around, he was halfway through a slice of mozzarella cheese, the piece he’d swiped clearly meant for the sauce, his face lighting up with satisfaction.

“What? You said you were cooking. Thought that meant I was in charge of quality control. I’m bein’ helpful, you know.”

“That was for the pasta, dumbass!”

“It’s delicious, though.” He shrugged, utterly unbothered. “No big deal. I’ll just, y’know... fix it.”

She turned back to the stove just in time to smell the garlic before it could start to sizzle too much again. In a panic, she grabbed the pan, shaking it slightly to cool the oil, while Lando watched from the counter.

“You do realize, that was your fault, right? I was just getting into my groove.”

“Your… groove?” He pretended to contemplate for a second before shaking his head, a wide grin splitting across his face. “Sounds fake.

She shot him a look, but he was already back to the counter, grabbing another small lump of cheese.

“You really want to help, don’t you?” She sighed, exasperated but fond.

“Of course I do.” He came over, dropping a few more chunks of cheese into the sauce pot. “S’what I’m doing,” he said, in the same tone someone would say duh.

“You’re helping? That’s news to me.”

He blinked owlishly, with exaggerated innocence. “M’ taste testin’ everythin’, of course.”

Y/N glared at him, but that only made him laugh. “I’m just trying to help. I’m a good guy, remember?”

She rolled her eyes, reaching for a wooden spoon. “Yeah, I remember. You’re a ‘good guy’ who swipes my cheese and tries to burn my food. Useless, you are”

“You wouldn’t even know how good I am unless I helped, though.” His grin was teasing. “I mean, look at this sauce. It’s gonna be perfect, angel.”

She glanced at him just in time to catch him swallowing the last of yet another bit of cheese. She turned back to the stove with a muttered, “Unbelievable.”

I give up.

“You’re welcome.”

“For what? Sabotaging my dinner?”

“Enhancing it. With flair. Personality. Drama.”

“You’re about to enhance the floor with your face if you keep talking.”

“Aww, you flatter me.” He grinned and strolled over, peeking over her shoulder. “What’s this bit?”

“Garlic. I’m sautéing it,” she explained, her eyes flitting to his, the flecks of gold glimmering back at her as something soft and weighty settled over her. Like a nice comforter, she thought. 

“Looks like it’s about to catch fire.”

Shit. How does this keep happening?

“Because you’re distracting me!”

She hissed and quickly turned down the flame, stirring the garlic before it blackened. Lando winced, hands raised in surrender.

“Sorry. Sorry. Very serious chef business. I’ll shut up.”

He did not, in fact, shut up.

He was still talking as she chopped tomatoes, still talking as he offered to stir and then immediately flung sauce onto the backsplash. He was still talking when she asked him to hand her the pasta, and he held it hostage until she agreed to let him pick the playlist for dinner.

But eventually – finally, eventually – she softened. Especially when he leaned a little too close trying to smell the sauce and got tomato on his shirt.

“That’s what you get,” she said, the sternness in her voice not matching the care with which she dabbed his sweater with a damp paper towel.

I’d ruin a thousand expensive sweaters if it meant you’d touch me with such gentleness each time.

“Didn’t even flinch. You’re getting used to me.”

“Or I’m building a resistance, like a virus.”

“Romantic.”

She snorted, giving him a playful shove with her hip.

As she plated the food, the rain picking up in a gentle percussion outside, he watched her with a quiet curiosity. Something softened in his gaze. He noticed, maybe, how methodical she was. How calm. How she hummed without realizing. How this, all of it—dinner, rain, soft light—felt like a life.

Not something he’d ever known, but something he was beginning to desperately want to know more of.

She handed him a dish and flopped into her favorite armchair. He’d told her a thousand times to get rid of that ancient thing, that he’d happily take her to get something better, yet ho couldn’t count on two hands the number of times he’d found her curled up in that same spot, study or scrolling or dozed off unintentionally.

He liked knowing her favorite spot.

“My sister always used to ask for this when it rained,” she said casually, interrupting his thought as she swirled her fork in the pasta. “Said it was ‘good food weather.’”

“She’s right.”

“You didn’t even taste it yet.”

“I meant the vibe. But yeah, probably the food too.”

She laughed softly. The kind of laugh that felt like an exhale. Then:

“When I moved here, I used to cook too much. Like… way too much. Didn’t know how to portion for one person. Used to give the rest to the neighbors or just eat it cold the next day.”

“That’s kind of sad.”

“It was,” she admitted. “But I like cooking. Makes the place feel… alive, I guess. Kinda like a real home, you know?”

Lando took a bite then, chewing thoughtfully. He looked up at her, eyes warm.

I wonder what it’d take for me to give you a real home.

“Well, this one’s perfect. Even with the distinct lack of cheese.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I mean, it could use a bit more cheese—”

She threw her napkin at him.

The TV flickered in the corner, casting slow, shifting light across the room. Some wildlife documentary murmured in the background—lions in tall grass, a monotone narrator talking about territory and belonging—but neither of them were really listening. They were stretched across the couch, tangled by comfort rather than touch: her legs curled under her, his shoulder tilted back against the cushion, her head resting against his chest.

Lando wasn’t even sure when they’d gotten like this. He just knew he hadn’t wanted to move. Still didn’t.

The room smelled faintly of garlic and basil from earlier. Rain still tapped gently against the windows. It was the kind of night that didn’t need much. Just presence.

She was stretched out across the couch, limbs heavy from the rain and pasta and comfort. He hadn’t meant to stay this long, but the hours had blurred into each other, soft and quiet and safe.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It rarely was. If anything, it was the kind of silence that felt rare — like the world forgot about them for a while. Like they could exist in this small pocket of space and not have to explain themselves.

After a long pause, she murmured, barely above a whisper, “Do you ever think this is strange?”

Lando shifted slightly, looking down at the top of her head. Her face was turned slightly toward him, half-lidded eyes catching his. He blinked, slow.

“No. Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said, fingers gently playing with the cuff of his sweatshirt. “Just… do.”

“We’re not strange,” he said, a little too fast. He tilted his head, brows drawn slightly.  “It makes sense.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “How do you figure?”

“Dunno. It just–  just does.”

She laughed, her whole body shaking gently against the weight of him. “Thanks, Sherlock.”

He smiled, that lazy crooked kind he did when he wasn’t trying too hard. “I just mean, like… we talk, right? And it, like, works. So, y’know…”

“Gee, just what every girl dreams of hearing,” she teased, poking him.

“I’m serious, though!” he insisted, shifting a little under her. “I tell you loads of things all the time.”

She turned her face into his chest slightly. “No you don’t, dummy. You like being mysterious too much for that.”

“I’m not mysterious,” he protested, offended in that fake way he knew would make her laugh. “I’m, like… normal.”

She laughed then—soft and a little wistful. “I’m not sure anything about us is normal.”

She laughed softly at her own words, but he didn’t laugh with her. He went quiet instead. And when the silence stretched a little too long, she shifted, heart thudding faintly at the idea she’d struck a nerve.

The room went still. The flicker of the TV washed over them in dim pulses. She noticed he hadn’t replied.

She blinked, worried suddenly that she’d struck something too deep. So she pushed herself up a little, reaching instinctively for his shoulder.

“Wait—I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that—”

“If this isn’t normal…” he interrupted, voice softer, smaller than she’d ever heard it, “…is that bad? I kinda like it like this. Not normal.”

The words landed somewhere deep in her chest.

She paused. Lando didn’t look at her. He was staring straight ahead, as if admitting that was hard. As if he wasn’t used to speaking things that close to the heart out loud.

“I kinda like it like this,” he added, voice quieter still. “Not normal.”

She couldn’t help it. Her heart melted at the honesty of it.

She settled back down beside him, this time a little closer as she exhaled softly, more a thoughtful hum than anything. Her features softened instantly, lips curling into a sleepy smile, her body resting back against him.

“Hmm,” she whispered. “I can do not normal.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. She settled back down against him, head resting lightly on his chest now. His hand moved almost instinctively to her back, warm and slow and steady. 

She dozed off with her arm wrapped around his torso, her hand resting on his ribs.

Still, he stayed awake longer than he meant to, watching the way her face relaxed into sleep. He didn’t move – he couldn’t bring himself to.

A few minutes passed. Maybe more.

And when he was sure she was asleep — eyes fluttered shut, lips parted just barely—he dipped his head just enough to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. Let it linger.

Then, quieter than a prayer:

And then, when he was finally absolutely sure she was asleep – her eyes fluttered shut, lips parted just barely – the room grew quiet and the storm softened outside. Only then did he lean forward, just enough to press the barest, most gentle of kisses to her forehead.

“I’m not a religious person,” he whispered, so low it felt like a prayer, “but sometimes I do think God made you for me.”

She didn’t stir. But his heart did something dangerous in his chest.

He didn’t stop it.

a/n: another chapter! i originally had this chapter plotted totally differently, but it felt too forced, so this happened instead. what do we think?

[dasistblod]

This bit of table talk is living in my head rent free

[violentdelightshavevioletends]

“Of course, that’s what my subconscious would say—exactly what I need to hear.”

— Violet Sorrengail to our favorite hallucinated best buddy

[manga-meow]

[damn-stark]

Chapter 35 I live. I tell your story

Chapter 35 of Moonlight

A/N- Happy New Year and I really hope you all like it!

Warning- some angst, FLUFF!!! Talks of death. SPOILERS!! FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

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

Episode/Pages- Past 578

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

*25 YEARS LATER*

Flying in the sky is a lot like swimming in the sea. On warm days when the sun is out the sky is blue just like the body of water. The sky is endless just like the sea is. And on any random day, the sky is cold or chilly because you’re up so high, and when you’re in the water the deeper you dive the colder the waters get.

Unlike when you’re in the water though, there’s no constant need to keep surfacing for air though. True, sometimes the air in the sky gets thin, making it hard to breathe, but you don’t need to hold your breath and keep coming up and down. You’re just on your saddle, drawing in crisp air through your lungs, you’re breaking apart wet clouds, startling flocks of birds, or sometimes even joining their beautiful formation as you and your dragon become one with the endless sky touched by only you.

Isn’t it so fascinating that besides winged creatures you and Rhaena are the only ones who can touch the sky and be a part of the endless horizon?

You think about that often and always take great pride in the fact that you have your dragon now that you live so far from the sea. You might be dramatic but what would be of you if you couldn’t touch the sky whenever you wanted to?

You don’t want to know. You lost so much, but Astraea has been your constant companion since you were an infant. If she hadn’t made it—-well you don’t want to think about it.

What you will think about once you dismount your dragon is breakfast. Everyone must already be around the table—except for Jacaerys maybe. He’s never on time anywhere.

“Ser Cane,” you greet your old but fiercely loyal sworn protector.

“Good morning?” He asks as he watches you walk past him before he follows at your tail like always.

“Great,” you let him know and turn around to watch your dragon back peddle before she walks forward and flaps her giant purple wings to gain momentum before she departs for the skies again—“you were late,” you point out as you drop your gaze on the man and raise your eyebrows teasingly.

“Or you woke up earlier,” he retorts. “My Princess.”

You snicker and then turn around on your heels to face forward. “I knew you’d be here when I landed so I didn’t want to bother you before it was time.”

He sighs in defeat knowing nothing will change. The only advantage to this disadvantage is that at least his heart doesn’t strain with worry because he knows that the people of the North love you, and your dragon is fierce. You can be fierce too but you stopped carrying weapons on your person long ago, so you’re left vulnerable when you’re alone, but you ignore that.

“Cregan!” You call out when you spot him walking toward the dining hall, and he immediately comes to a stop as he hears his name. When he turns, his grey eyes brighten as he sees you picking up the skirt of your gown to run over to him.

When you reach him you throw your arm around his and then lean toward him to press a kiss on his lips, making him smile sweetly.

“How was your flight?” He asks against your lips as he savors your kiss as if he hadn’t tasted them in the morning.

“Refreshing,” you share with a smile before you turn forward and walk to the dining hall side by side now. “You’re late to the table how come? Did something come up?” You ask curiously as you look at him trying to find the answer on his face.

“Yes, some of the lads needed my help. I almost thought I wouldn’t break fast with you and the boys,” he says.

You hum and let your eyes flicker to the corridor as you walk inside the stone building. “You should have taken Jacaerys with you so he could work up the courage to talk to you.”

Cregan turns his head and probes. “About?”

You draw out a deep breath and then turn your head to look him in the eyes. “It’s not for me to say. I just wanted to let you know that he wants to talk.”

He hums and shrugs. “He’s welcome to talk to me anytime he wants. He knows that.”

You keep your eyes on him and sigh, he hears it and he sees your softened eyes full of love start to harden and create a deep crease in between your eyebrows as they furrow in response. “What?” He presses.

“We’ll talk about it later,” you say and leave him wondering what you could mean.

“Okay,” he scoffs softly.

You huff and rub his bicep with your other hand before you slip your hands away from his arm and walk ahead and enter the dining hall first, causing all the chatter to silence as all the attention falls on you and Cregan walking in a bit late.

“For once I am not the late one,” Jacaerys breaks the short-lived silence, making his older brother Maekor scoff in annoyance.

“Grandmother! Grandmother!” Maekor’s twin boys both then shout in sync with excitement, making Maekor’s wife lean down to scold them for shouting over the table in the same way their uncle just did.

“Good Morning everyone,” you announce. “Please as you were. Sorry, we’re late.”

“Good morning,” Cregan greets as he makes his way to his seat.

“Mother,” Rickon, Cregan’s first-born son with Lady Arra Norrey, greets you as you sit down between him and his father.

“Rickon,” you redirect and stroke his chin gently.

“How come it’s alright for you to be late because of your dragon riding, but it’s frowned upon when I’m out all night?” Jacaerys remarks as he reaches over the round wooden table to place food on his plate, making you sit back and slowly look at him with curiosity.

“Can you ever shut up?” Maekor hisses at his brother.

Yet you only add fuel to the matter. “Because it’s not truly the same is it? And you’re out all night without guards doing…well, I do not wish to know what.”

Jacaerys scoffs and proceeds to add. “Father and you go out at night as well—”

“Jacaerys,” Maekor cuts his brother off sharply, making the corner of your lips twitch to a smile that you share with Cregan.

When your husband sees your reaction his lips upturn to a smirk and he passes you a look that says, “that's your son.”.

You snicker in response and he then strokes your chin before he reaches over the round table without needing to be told and passes you what you wanted. After you all serve yourselves breakfast there’s a serenity that blankets the round wooden table, the oldest boy of Maekor’s twins walks over and sits between Cregan and you because he says he wants to tell you a story that never gets told because he gets sidetracked on a matter you start to make sense of before you get lost as you drift your attention to Torrhen.

Your youngest son and child has always been quieter than his other siblings, even before his dragon dreams and Greenseer notions started. Some people might even say that he blends into the room, that’s how quiet he is, he’s never expected to be the loudest one, but he’s never lost to you. He's like the brightest star in the night sky, you always find him like right now, and at this very moment he seems lost in his food as if he’s trying to decipher something within it.

You hope he’ll snap out of his stupor as he feels your eyes on him trying to decipher what thoughts might be forming in his mind, but he seems to be hundreds of years away from where he actually is. Thus you intend to call out to him to snap him out of his stupor and begin a small conversation, but just as you part your lips the dining hall doors open, and the maester walks and makes his way to you.

“Princess,” he whispers by your ear as he pushes a scroll toward you. “This just came to you from the Riverlands. It has an unknown mark on the wax.”

You grab the scroll and turn it, seeing the wax and identifying who the sender is; it’s Alys.

“Thank you, Maester,” you say back with a smile directed at the scroll.

The Maester quickly bows his head at you and Cregan before he scurries off, leaving the room to you and your family once again.

“It's Alys,” you let Cregan know since you know he’s curious about the raven scroll.

“Hm, I wonder what she could want,” he comments and you giddily smile at the scroll one more time before you tuck it away so you can read it later. As of now, you finish your breakfast with more enthusiasm since you're anticipating reading the scroll, which is why you finish quicker than the others.

“I’ll be in the Godswood,” you let Cregan know and kiss his cheek. Before you can lean back and walk off you grab his shoulder and slide your lips to his ear. “Talk to Torrhen, please my love.”

Cregan’s eyes slowly find your son and you follow his line of gaze, noticing that he’s only eaten half of his food and the rest is just sprawled around his plate as he keeps playing with it.

“He’s…having a hard time and I know he doesn’t say it or it may not look it, but he really does need you,” you continue to whisper as you focus back on Cregan. “So talk to him. Take him with you to help you, okay? And be…warm, hm.”

Your husband's grey eyes snap to you and he raises his eyebrow to question your comment.

“He’s your son. Our youngest child, keep that in mind, okay?” You press to give him some idea as to what you could mean without having to explain it right now.

“Alright,” Cregan says back with confusion but he doesn’t press on the matter, he just lets you know he comprehends, letting you leave to go read your letter and respond to Alys in the Godswood like you tend to do when she writes.

“Dear, Princess,

I write to you in regards to Prince Aemond—“

You blink repeatedly in surprise and quickly lean forward to continue reading with a new sense of urgency.

“—some of the King’s men traveled to the God’s Eye in search of your lost ancestral Valyrian sword and stumbled upon it on the lake's surface still attached to your late husband's skull. The men want to recover the blade, thus I thought I’d ask if you would want to recover his bones to do with it as you please or let them disregard it back in the lake. Let me know as soon as you can, the King’s men don’t find value in the bones of the enemy.

-Your friend, Alys Rivers ”

You blink again with surprise and sit back to go over the news the letter contained over and over again, with each time the scab over your heart tearing little by little.

For ten years all you thought of when you thought of Aemond was his death. You remembered the grief and agony that tormented you when you saw him fall into the water and never get out. You remembered how empty you felt without him. You remembered how much you missed him every time you looked into Aerion and Daenys’ eyes. Your memories were never kind until ten years passed.

After a decade of agony, you stopped aching and looked back fondly at your memories. It’s true you’ll never stop missing him or the rest of your family, you’ll be cursed to grieve them until your memory fails you or until you die, but you’re at peace, so to learn that they found his bones, rattles you. You thought you’d never get to lay his body to rest or have your two children that you share with him see him one last time…

Thus now that you can give him a proper funeral you won’t let it go to waste or have his bones return to the lake. You’ll give him a proper Valyrian funeral and have Aerion and Daenys attend. You know the Riverlands still remembers him as a terror of the trident and the rest of the realm remembers him as a kinslayer, but you don’t need them to stand next to you as you burn his bones, all you need is the children you had with him. Fuck everyone else and what they might think when they hear what you do.

As for what Cregan might think…

——

*LATER THAT NIGHT*

After a rather long day, after thinking about Aemond since you read that letter, and after putting your conversations with your husband aside, Cregan and you prove your son Jacaerys right and find yourselves in a discreet hot spring where you know no one will disturb you. And you know that because you only stumbled upon the hot spring when you were a ward sneaking off in the middle of the night with your lover.

“Did you talk to Torrhen?” You finally get to ask after only since you didn’t want to risk being overheard by one of your sons or anyone else eavesdropping.

“Uh,” Cregan hesitates to answer as he undresses.

You look back at the sound of his response and raise your eyebrow even though he has back-turned, letting you see his pale ass as he takes his pants off. “Cregan,” you press.

Said man turns at the sound of his name coming from your lips and lets his pants fall before he proceeds to shake them off, and then walk over to you.

“Need help?” He asks smugly.

You swat his hand away and back away as you untie your gown and let it fall around your ankles, leaving yourself in a lighter gown.

“I told you to talk to him and Jacaerys,” you press impatiently.

Cregan pulls his leather vest off and then takes off his shirts, leaving himself completely nude to jump in the hot water while also ignoring you.

“Cregan Stark,” you hiss and finish undressing before you face him from dry land with your arms crossed over your chest.

“Can you get in the water,” he counters and waves you over. “I can’t think properly when you’re like that.”

You roll your eyes and join him in the water before you look at him with irritation all over again. “Explain why you did not talk to Torrhen or Jacaerys.”

Cregan meets your gaze and his eyes wander down to your breasts so you cross your arms again and press him. “You did not have to talk to the both of them. Just one for now. Why didn’t you?”

Cregan’s grey eyes slowly scale back up to meet your gaze and he sighs deeply before he finally shares what he’s been holding back. “I…tried. I did, but I could find a way to offer him what you want me to give him. And he brushed the matter aside, I did not want to pry.”

You take long blinks as you let his words sink and when you remember that he did not have the same attention from his parents growing up, you let out a deep sigh and approach him to gently grab his arms.

The thing is that his parents were good to him, but his mother died when he was fairly young, and his father wasn’t as open and warm with him as your mother and your father were to you and your brothers. Cregan is a man and he was the eldest, he needed to be tough to face every challenge head-on, so he wasn’t talked to with sweet words laced with honey like the way your mother talked to you and your brothers. He wasn’t told to let his feelings out, they needed to be kept in, whereas your brothers had your mother's shoulders to cry on.

It’s because of that upbringing that it’s second nature for you to be present and warm in your children’s lives. It’s hard for Cregan to be so with his sons, but with your daughters it’s a different story, he was terrifyingly overprotective when your daughters still lived with you. Now they’re too far from him to be menacing to any dangers that could put them in harm's way. And! You don’t want him to be the same way with your sons, you just need him to be someone they can open up to. They need him.

“I’m not telling you to do the impossible, just be…warmer,” you explain your thought process. “Press Torrhen to open up. He really needs you, my love.”

Cregan slowly lowers his head and his eyebrows knit together as he grows conflicted. “I don’t know how to help him,” he confesses quietly and with shame laced in his voice.

“I…” you trail off and hesitate. “I admit it’s not easy. We don’t see what he can, but,” you pause and raise your hands to grab his jaw and tilt his face up so you can look him in the eyes. “Tell him you’re there for him. Be someone he can rely on, instead of someone to avoid. He thinks that you think of him as mad. That you wouldn’t understand and that he’s a burden.”

Cregan shakes his head and his eyes begin to brim with tears. “No,” his voice quivers. “Never. I know there are things in this world that cannot be explained. I mean you fly a dragon and walk through fire, my ancestors were wargs. Some of us live to fight the dead beyond the wall, he’s not mad. I just…haven’t tried I suppose. I’ve relied on you too much to be their support when…it should’ve been the both of us.”

You stroke his cheeks and nod gently. “You understand.”

Cregan raises his hands to cup yours and keep them on his cheeks as he whispers. “I love that you’re so caring to our children. I admire that about you, did you know?”

You giggle as your heart swoons even though this is all something you already heard. “I like to be reminded from time to time,” you tease him and lean in to slowly take him in for a passionate kiss, making him let one of your hands go to slither it to the back of your neck and keep you secured against him as he just deepens it and lets his tongue dance with yours.

When you wrap your arms around his neck he lets his other hand slide down to cup one of your ass cheeks and knead it as he only lets you take in small breaths before he continues to devour you completely in sync with your movements.

One would say he’s gone months or years deprived of your lips, but this morning you woke up early to fuck before you started your day. He’s just as needy as you are, so when you finally pull apart it’s after you’re both heaving from a quickie in the hot spring.

“What did your witch friend say?” Cregan finally asks, making you laugh and kiss his forearm as he has it wrapped around your neck while he keeps his chest pressed against your back.

“Alys,” you correct him with a giggle before you draw out a deep breath and go serious. “She let me know about the King's men diving in the God’s eye to recover my family’s Valyrian sword, ‘Dark Sister’, from Aemond’s skull, and she asked if I want her to have the men recover his body for me or let it sink back in.”

You feel a breath unfurl over the back of your neck before he shares what he’s thinking. “What did you respond with?”

“Yes,” you let him know without shame because it’s not like Aemond’s corpse can do anything to harm him or you—“I want to give him a proper funeral. For me and Aerion and Daenys. I sent them and Daenerys a raven to go to Harrenhal so they can be a part of it and so I can see them.”

Cregan hums and you turn around to face him whilst you remain wrapped in his arms, only now his hands are wrapped around your waist and you have your hands pressed against his chest.

“I sent a raven to Alysanne,” you say in reference to your (second) daughter and second born child with Cregan, who was named after Good Queen Alysanne because she’s someone you admire and because of her good relations to the North—“I told her to go to Harrenhal too, so maybe you and the boys can come? I’m sure Rickon can handle being Lord for a while.”

“He’s told you, hasn’t he? He wants to do more?” Cregan asks and you can’t help but smirk, giving away your answer.

“Perhaps, so come with me,” you plead. “Let's see our children. And our Alyssane is with child, it gives you the opportunity to see her.”

The corner of his lips pulls to a smile and he lifts his hand to grab your cheek. “If that’s what you want.”

You nod right away and look at him with a pleading look to sway him to what you want.

“We could also visit my brothers at the Red Keep while we’re out there already, and…maybe we or I can ask Alys to help Torrhen,” you share that last bit quieter as you sound desperate for anything to make Torrhen feel better about his abilities.

“If he wants to go that is,” Cregan interjects and you drop your head on his shoulder.

“If I ask him he will,” you tell him confidently before you go back to being worried. “I just hope Alys can offer him some peace of mind.”

“I’m sure she can. She’s already offered, hasn't she?”

You nod softly and he starts to caress the back of your head as he leans down to press his lips against the top of it. “See? Then there’s nothing to worry about. She’ll help him with what she can.”

You nod as you take his comfort and linger in the silence for a short while before you pull your head back to look at him giddily. “I was thinking that on our way back from Kings Landing, I could stay with Alysanne until she gives birth. I’ve been at Daenys and Daenerys' side when they had their babes, I want to do the same with Alysanne.”

He huffs and presses a kiss on your forehead. “I’m certain she’ll appreciate it.”

“That’s if she doesn’t want her father instead,” you tease the fact that your daughter favors Cregan more than she favors you.

“I’m certain she’ll want her mother there at her bedside when the time comes,” he offers reassurance. “I’ll go after and we can return home together.”

“On dragonback?” You probe as you mindlessly trace circles on his chest. “It will be quicker.”

He sighs and lolls his head down but he can’t refuse you, so he gives in. “On dragonback,” he assures you, making you giddy before you go on spewing about your failed attempt at knitting Alysanne a blanket for her babe before you both talk and enjoy the silence and your alone time together.

When the kids started getting older and you added more to your family way back then, Cregan and you would sneak off to steal time for yourselves. After all, having four children to start off with right way and then increasing that number to four, to five, to six, seven, and then eight doesn’t leave much privacy, so you had to rely on sneaking off like when you were young. Now as the kids are old and the girls have left to start their own families Cregan and you simply enjoy spending time away from the castle from time to time. Eventually, before dawn, to get some sleep in, you would return home. Just like now.

——

*SOMETIME LATER. THE RIVERLANDS*

“I have forgotten how ugly the Riverlands are,” you hear Jacaerys comment under his breath. “I do not get why people live here.”

“You’ve only been here once,” Torrhen corrects his older brother with some impatience after a long ride of dealing with him in a small carriage that only persisted of Cregan, you, him, and Jacaerys; Maekor and his family took a different carriage from the harbor, and Ser Cane is leading the way on horseback with a few other guards.

“Once was enough to dictate that I don’t like it. As to how Alysanne lives here is beyond me,” he says snobbishly.

“It was her duty to her husband. She, unlike others, understands the responsibility of duty,” Torrhen retorts sassily, causing you to lift your eyes off your book to watch the pair of brothers.

“Hm,” Jacaerys huffs as he flashes his little brother a feigned smile, “you sound like Maekor and Rickon.”

The corner of Torrhen’s lips twitch to a smirk and he counters back quickly. “They are our brothers.”

Jacaerys feigned smile falls flat and he looks back at his brother with a scowl. “Why don’t you doze off—”

“Jacaerys,” you warn him and finally lower your book to give them all your attention.

Said man drops his scowl and sighs deeply before he looks out the window and adds another comment. “I don’t think choosing to marry Ellis falls in the line of duty. Duty would be if she had to marry him, but she chose to.”

“She still has to move to Raventree Hall for her husband. She uprooted her life to come live in the Riverlands. That’s duty.”

Jacaerys eyes fall on you and he simply shakes his head. “It doesn’t bear heavy weight though, does it?”

You sigh and hold his gaze with pity as you know where he’s coming from. You just don’t add anything to the matter, choosing silence and acknowledgment instead.

“Mother,” Torrhen calls out and steals your attention. “You mentioned once that you thought of moving over here, how come?”

You put the book aside and glance at Cregan with a teasing smirk before you look back at your sons and share what you told daughters before. “Before your father and I married, when I was Regent, Lord Kermit Tully fancied me.”

“And you him,” Cregan inputs with annoyance so you nudge his arm and quip.

“No, I did not!” You chuckle. “Sure he was handsome, but I did not fancy the man. He was just someone I considered marrying to do my duty to my family.”

“But?” Jacaerys probes, letting his curiosity get the best of him.

You look at Cregan and offer a much warmer smile. “Your father and I worked out our problems and he asked me to marry him first, so I did.”

Cregan flashes you a smile before he wraps his arm around you and pulls you to him. “I would have challenged Lord Kermit for your hand, do you know that?”

“Would that have been after you had killed my grandfather or before?” You snap him as you pull your head back to shoot a pointed look.

“You wouldn’t have married me if I had?” He teases as he leans toward your lips.

You shake your head, making him smirk and quip.

“Then I would have stolen you.”

You giggle. “Oh would you have, oh, so honorable Stark?”

Cregan smiles wider and he nods as a response before he whispers. “If you had said no then, then that’s when I would have let you go.”

You hum and look at him with amusement and fondness. “It's a good thing you did not commit to killing my grandfather then,” you add, making your sons share a disgusted look that Cregan and you miss as you’re too busy gazing into each other's eyes.

“Well it’s a good thing I wasn’t born a Tully,” Jacaerys cuts in, making Cregan and you slowly peel your eyes away from each other to look at your son.

“They’re honorable people, Jacaerys,” Cregan defends them. “They’re good fighters that risked their lives for your grandmother Rhaenyra and your mother. You should not say things like that.”

Jacaerys lets his eyes linger on his father before he drifts his eyes away and turns his body to be able to look out the window some more. When Cregan is assured that his son won’t move he looks at you, making you look at him to take note of the confused look he gives in response to Jacaerys reaction.

You can’t offer him much but grabbing his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze to reassure him because you know it’ll pass quickly, he just needs to leave it be.

After that as a silence sets within the carriage, you notice the carriage slowly rolls to a stop and as you look out the window the first thing you catch a glimpse of is your firstborn, your Aerion waiting for your arrival.

You then see the grey eyes of Daenerys and behind her, you catch Alysanne with her husband Lord Ellis Blackwood, and your entire being lights up, but your attention is completely stolen by Aerion. So much so that before the carriage can come to a stop, you get up from your seat. Once the wheels stop moving against the ground you don’t wait for the doors to open, you burst out of the carriage with your eyes darting to your son.

“Aerion,” you greet excitedly before you pick up the skirt of your gown and run over to greet him with an embrace. “Aerion,” you whisper once you have him in your arms.

“Mother,” he greets in his deep gravelly voice that is like sweet music in your ears every time you hear it.

After lingering in each other's embrace you pull back and cup his cheeks. “Look at you,” muse and study his towering figure which appears to be more buff than the last time you saw him. “You’ve put on more muscle.” You point out.

He chuckles breathlessly and drops his head causing your hands to fall back to your side.

“How did the waters treat you?” He asks and lifts his head to look at you with his father's blue eyes that hit you with a wave of longing for a man who's been dead a long time.

“They were on our side, thankfully,” you assure him and caress his arms as if trying to grasp the fact that he's flesh and bones. “How was your ride here?” You redirect, causing a sparkle to shine in his eyes as he flashes you a beaming smile.

“Safe and good. Thank the gods.”

You smile softly and muse. “Yes thank the gods.”

You linger in his presence as if you hadn’t seen him a few months back for his name day and just take in the sight of him. Out of all your children who left, his departure hurt the most. Maybe it was because he was just seven years old when he went to ward with your grandfather Corlys, or maybe it was because when he was a boy he looked so much like his father, and having that beautiful reminder leave you was like losing Aemond all over again. And it was not just a temporary loss, you lost that reminder forever when Aerion stopped looking less and less like Aemond as he grew older. Now he only has Aemond’s eyes as a sole similarity, but besides that, Aemond is lost in Aerion forever.

You would argue that Daenys bears a heavy resemblance to Aemond, but the truth is she grew out of her father's looks rather quickly. She’s slim and tall just like him, and her attitude and the way she carries herself is just like him, but she hates and you mean hates when you compare her to Aemond. She takes offense to it so you stopped looking for her father within his only daughter to please her. Besides, it was easier to stop comparing the two because Daenys’ blue eyes changed when she was a babe to the same shade of brown as Alicent’s. Which must be some cruel joke the gods chose to play on you because how can you hate the woman who bore those brown eyes first but love the girl who bears them now?

In any case, you move away from Aerion and immediately take in his wife and your daughter Daenerys.

“Hello, my lovely girl,” you greet her warmly and embrace her tightly.

“I almost thought I didn't exist in the presence of my husband,” she sasses you, causing you to pull back and shake your head in response.

“Stop that,” you scold her lightheartedly and then take her face like you took Aerion’s and just admire her pretty face.

“I missed you,” she lets you know kindly, making her grey eyes soften.

“I missed you too.” You redirect without hesitation and stroke her face.

Daenerys smiles with dimples appearing on her cheeks and then lifts her eyes to the sky. “Where is she?” She asks.

You follow your daughter's line of gaze and before you can search the skies intently Astraea dives out of the cloud bank and lets out a rather greeting roar that makes all your children grin from ear to ear.

“There,” you point to your dragon flying by to most likely circle around to land close by. “Where are your kids?”

Daenerys returns her attention to you and drags out a deep breath. “Home. It’s a short trip away from home. We did not want to make it a big deal.”

You hum with a hint of sadness, but you don’t let it linger to avoid making her feel bad, instead, you think of a solution. “Well, I’ll have to pay you a visit with Astraea then.”

Daenerys smiles cheekily. “Sounds like a good idea. The kids will love it.”

You offer her a sweet smile and just as you’re going to move down the line to greet Alysanne, shouts break through the air and echo, “Aerion!” As all your sons cry out for their older brother with so much excitement before they run over and tackle him to trap him in a group embrace that he gladly welcomes as he matches their excitement.

“Dany,” you hear Cregan say before you hear him approaching his daughter who isn’t publicly acknowledged as his daughter, but is. And she, along with all your children knows that. It’s not a secret Cregan and you kept, and it’s not one that can be uncovered due to her white-silver hair and the fact that she was born at the same as Daenys, so no one is the wiser. Thankfully.

“Mother!” Alysanne calls out dramatically, making you turn to look at her and cover your mouth out of pure admiration as you take note of her little belly.

“<My little Siren,>” you greet giddily in a sing-song voice in Valyrian before you skip and jog over to catch her in an embrace as she runs over to meet you halfway.

“<Mother>,” she redirects with a hint of relief. “<How I’ve missed you.>”

You rub her back and nod gently. “I’ve missed you too. How are you feeling?” You ask right away and pull back to caress her belly. “Nauseous? Tired?”

Alysanne, who loves to be pampered and given attention to looks at you with a sweet and helpless look. “Tired. I’m always tired, but I feel much better now that you and father are here.”

You stroke her cheek and then stroke her chin. “I’m here for you now, okay?”

She sighs with more relief and nods in comprehension before her eyes dart to her father approaching her as the boys are still hogging Aerion’s attention, and she immediately looks at Cregan with a pout and her eyes brimming with tears, captivating all his attention just like a siren captures their prey

“My darling,” he coos and she coos back.

“Father.”

You roll your eyes and then finally give attention to Alysanne’s husband. “Ellis.”

“Princess,” he greets you with a bow just like his father Lord Benjicot Blackwood always did, however, Ellis’ smile is much more charming than his fathers ever was.

“How are you, my boy?” You ask him with genuine curiosity as you take him in for a short embrace.

“Honestly?” He says as you both pull away—“I’m nervous. My father says that I shouldn’t be, but I am. Alysanne is…” he sighs with concern. “Very important to me. I treasure her, and I hear what happens to women. I don’t want that fate for her.”

You swallow back nervously and remain positive yourself. “It happens, but it won’t happen to her. Just try to remain strong, and level-headed, and remember to breathe. She’ll be okay, and so will your babe. In any case, I’ll be there when she gives birth.”

Ellis lets out a relieved breath and nods in comprehension. “Good. Thank you.”

You offer him one last smile before you glance over at the others and see that Aerion now has Ser Cane captive while Cregan is talking to both Daenerys and Alysanne, letting you let out a small and content breath before you let your eyes wander to the distance to find none other than the women who summoned you here, Alys. She’s keeping to herself in the distance, letting you have your time with your family, but also making sure that you know she’s here too.

Once you make eye contact she turns away and walks away all mysteriously except there’s no mystery as to where she’s going. To avoid all the attention, she disappears into the Godswood, so you let Cregan know where you’re going and then approach Torrhen.

“Darling, meet me at the Godswood when you’re done here, okay?” You let him know as he’s still getting carried away with his brothers. “Have Ser Cane show you the way.”

Torrhen's face doesn't drop the smile he carries, he just agrees with a quick nod. “Of course mother.”

You give his arm a gentle squeeze before you watch Astraea land nearby, drawing the attention of Daenerys and Alysanne and whisking them toward her. And even though she won’t let the girls ride her, she still welcomes the attention they give her, and if the occasion arose she would protect them too just like she protects you. Therefore you’re able to leave her with your family without a second thought to walk to the Godswood to join your good friend Alys underneath the Weirwood tree.

“Hello…old friend,” you greet her as you approach her figure facing the old Heart Tree.

“Princess,” she returns in a kind voice before she turns around and shows off her face untouched by aging. “It’s a pleasure seeing you again.”

You smile brightly and when you reach her you grab her hands and caress her knuckles. “You must tell me what you do to not age. Maybe I want to live forever too.”

Alys laughs softly and with her thumb, strokes your cheek. “You age gracefully, my friend. Besides, my time will come when my flesh and bones will return to the ground and bring new life.”

You snicker teasingly at her choice of words and she catches it right away and scoffs before she moves back and points her chin to the exit. “You’re missing one. Where’s Daenys?”

You draw out a solemn breath and offer her an answer. “She couldn’t come. She said her daughter Naerys just recovered from a cold. She didn’t want to risk exhausting her so I am going to her after Harrenhal.”

Alys hums and then draws out a deep breath as her looks give a flicker of pity. “I had your husband's bones wrapped. All that’s left is you putting them on a pyre.”

You swallow thickly and nod stiffly in comprehension before you look down at the rings around your fingers. “I’ll do it after dinner. When the sun sets. I don’t want to leave him waiting longer.”

Alys nods once and as you look up at her face you see her eyes once again drift past your shoulders. You follow her line of gaze by peering over your shoulder and notice Torrhen approaching hesitantly.

“Mother?” He calls out quietly and you flash him a smile before you turn swiftly and meet him halfway to walk him toward Alys.

“Alys you remember Torrhen, don’t you?” You ask with hints of excitement as you show off your son to your friend—“Torrhen this is Alys Rivers. My friend. You met her once when you were fairly young so I don’t think you remember her, but this is her.”

There's a flicker of recognition that flashes in his grey eyes as he takes in the woman who has not aged a day since the time she went to visit Winterfell.

“Hello, it’s nice to see you again,” he greets her kindly, making her close the gap between them by grabbing his face and looking deep into his eyes with a narrowed gaze filled with curiosity.

“Gods,” she mutters. “You look every bit like your father. Shame.”

“Alys,” you exclaim with a wobbly smile threatening to spread on your lips.

Said woman lets Torrhen go and steps away, letting your son pass you a concerned look that you try to assure by caressing his arm.

“Do you have your mother's talent?” She asks your son and his eyes dart to you before they find her again and he shakes his head.

“No.”

Alys sighs with disappointment before she turns to you and asks for your permission to take him to help him, and you of course give it to her with a single nod out of desperation.

“Torrhen,” you say and bring his attention back to you whilst Alys walks closer to the weeping face carved on the tree. “I want you to go with Alys right now and let her help you.”

Your son's dark eyebrows slowly knot together and he probes. “What? Why?”

You exhale deeply and grab his hand to offer him your explanation. “I mentioned that she can do magic and she also has visions. Do you remember?”

He nods and you sigh and continue softer.

“Well, she might be able to help you understand what you can do in ways I never could. So I need you to be honest with her, okay? Tell her everything you dream and see, hm?”

He blinks slowly and interjects with a hint of disbelief. “You told her about my visions and dreams?”

You nod and his jaw hardens as his lips form to a small and displeased pout.

“I’ve seen you, Torrhen. It all takes so much from you, especially lately. I just want to offer you a solution, okay, so please for me,” you press and touch your chest. “Let her help you. She won’t take them away but maybe she can offer some relief to all the chaos, hm?”

Torrhen clenches his jaw harder but a huff of air runs out of his nose before he faces you again and hesitantly nods.

“Good,” you whisper and stroke his cheek before you step away from him and turn your head to Alys to offer her a small smile before leaving the Godswood.

After that before dinner and during dinner, you bask in the bliss that you feel over having almost all your kids under one roof again. Rickon and Daenys are missing but you don’t let who you’re missing stop the joy bursting in your heart. You know what awaits you later, and all the feelings that will come with it so for now, before you’re riddled with grief, you find joy in the sound of all your children’s laughs.

You admire the way Cregan interacts with Maekor’s twin sons, while also helping him create those splendid memories in your grandson's minds. You coddle Alysanne as she demands your affection in what she calls her time of need, but in doing so you also feel pride and happiness as you see how much Ellis loves and cares for Alysanne. He might look intimidating as he towers over with his tall and slim figure, and with his dark hair and the mysterious way he looks at the world, but he’s really sweet, funny, and affectionate. He surely makes Alysanne feel better as she deals with a wave of different emotions during her pregnancy, and that makes you glad; it reminds you of Cregan and you when you were with child multiple times throughout your life, letting you know that you couldn’t have asked for better for your daughter because Cregan has always been so good.

Moreover, you continue to get drunk in the buzzing emotions, in the way Daenerys and Aerion look out for each other as their brothers get carried away with the wine and pull them into their madness. You watch the way Maekor’s wife fails at reining him in as he’s too driven by his high from being with his brothers. You even join Jacaerys in singing a few sailor shanties and upbeat songs.

There’s only short moments of silence here and there but life travels through the haunting halls of Harrenhal. Even when you drift away and at last bring yourself to what’s left of Aemond Targaryen; your uncle, best friend, and great, epic love of your life.

“<I'm sorry it took so long,>” you talk to the perfectly wrapped bones laid down on the stone table. “<I thought they’d never find you, but here you are. I’m sorry.>”

You get closer and closer, with each step feeling a heavy weight of grief and sorrow that you haven’t felt in a long time fall over your chest and push you down and further down while faded memories once so vivid swirl through your mind.

“<Your face is a blur,” you admit, “I’m older now, but I have not forgotten you, I swear. And I still miss you.>”

You reach the side of the table he was left on and feel your breath shudder and a grip tighten around your throat.

“<You must have been lonely, Aemond. Oh…Aemond. Why didn’t you listen to me?>” You ask a pile of hollow bones with tears crawling to your eyes and making your voice sound shaky. “<Why did you have to be so driven by your ego? We…” you pause and draw in a shaky breath. “The truth is I’m happy with the life I have. I built it. Me. Yes, there are bad moments, but I made this life I’m living now. I built my family with my husband. I have loved like my mother. I have taught my children to love the same way my brothers and I loved each other…the same way my mother taught us how to love, so I can’t say I wish my life was different, but…but…>” You sniffle and press your hands on the surface of the table.

“<…There are times when I wonder what our life would have looked like. Would it have been as beautiful?>” You ask the emptiness of the room where his ghost doesn’t even linger. It’s just the presence of his remains, you, and the dancing flames giving the chambers light.

“<I like to think so because I knew you. You had a good heart and you just wanted to be loved…>” you scoff softly and finally lift your hand off your side to very slowly and carefully lay your hand on his head, feeling a wave of sorrow hit your heart and causing streams of tears to break out of your eyes.

“<I wish my love could have been enough for you Aemond,” you whisper and lower your lips to his head. “But as selfish as you were about my love and you loving me, it didn’t satisfy you. That’s why you’re gone and I’m sorry for it. I’m sorry for everything. Even though I was unfaithful, even though I was mad you killed my brother and my grandmother, even though…so many other things I still loved you with all my heart. I still do. I love you as if you were still alive. I will love you forever.>” You finish and breathe out before you press a gentle kiss on his forehead and keep your lips pressed against the cold surface.

The door proceeds to creak as it opens, causing you to stand up to your given height and steal a peek over your shoulder. When you catch Aerion walking in you wipe the tears off your face and let out another breath before interjecting.“Are you ready?”

Aerion sighs deeply. “Mother.”

“Do you want time with him?” You ask as you think that’s why he called out to you, but when you turn around to face him he doesn’t look sorrowful, he looks like he’s dreading having to say something.

“What is it?” You ask curiously

Aerion draws out another heavy breath and takes a step forward before he swallows nervously and shares what he’s keeping inside. “I will not take part in the funeral.”

You scoff and confusion flickers on your face. “What do you mean?” You mutter. “He was your father Aerion.”

Said man shakes his head stiffly. “No. He was not. Cregan was my father, Ser Cane and Corlys were my father, Aemond Targaryen never was. He might be the reason I am here, but he is no father of mine,” he finishes with a hint of disgust and your face falls with utter disbelief.

“That’s why Daenys is not here either,” he adds and drops his head to talk to the ground. “She wanted no part in it either. We are sorry for you, mother, but we do not care for him.”

“Aerion,” you warn with no actual threat in your voice.

“Do you really expect me to grieve for a man who took part in the reason our family was killed? A man who was at fault for why my grandmother is not here?”

“He had no fault in that,” you cut in for Aemond’s defense. “You know that. He might have been against my mother, but I was too at some point.”

“But you never killed your brothers—”

“He did not kill his brothers,” you cut him off but he quickly snaps back.

“That’s not the point!” He heaves and you look at him bewildered as he meets your gaze with the same eyes of the man he despises—“He was a bad man, who left. Every chance he had to stay with us he used to turn around and leave. I will not grieve for someone like that. His blood may run through my veins but I will never call him father. I will never remember him as such, and I will never claim him as such either. I am sorry mother.”

Aerion steps toward you and cups your shoulder to lean in and press a kiss on your cheek before he abandons the room and leaves you alone, letting you let out a small sob.

What could you say to make him feel otherwise? His mind is made about his father and he has a right to feel what he wants because he’s a grown man. You can’t beg him to look at things differently, you’ll probably talk to him but never beg him.

If only he could remember how much his father really loved him, but alas…he can’t.

“I guess it is just me and you, huh?” You direct to Aemond’s remains as you turn and face him again. “It’s okay. You always preferred it that way anyway.”

You let out a deep, shaky breath and then collect his remains to walk out to the pyre that was built for you and place his remains on top.

When the remains are where you want them to be you step away and that’s when it sets that Aerion kept his word; he doesn’t come. No one does and you don’t expect anyone to join you because no one knew him but you, and he would have hated it if Cregan were in attendance so it’s just you, Ser Cane, and Astraea standing around the pyre, but you’re the only one grieving him.

Alas, in the silence of the night of Aemond’s lonely funeral, as you hesitate setting his remains ablaze, two pairs of footsteps echo as they approach, so with the little energy you have you look back and gasp softly when you see Daenerys and Alysanne are joining you.

“Maekor and the others are drunk and we didn’t want them to ruin it, so we came alone,” Daenerys shares before you can ask what she’s doing out here. “We didn’t want you to be alone. And father didn’t want you to be alone either.”

You sniffle as your heart swoons and you mewl as your emotions get the best of you. “Thank you, my girls.”

Alysanne wraps her arm around your shoulders and Daenerys holds your hand, giving you the strength you need to at last say the word to send Aemond off at long last.

“Dracarys.”

.

.

.

.

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Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens @silverlightsaber @rosey1981 @amortentiaaaa

[every-sebastian-michaelis]

[every-claudia-phantomhive]

Day 3: It's all in the details

[dungeonmeshititlepages]

[every-black-butler-food]

[glmfic]

Whoo! 18 years together and counting!

To properly celebrate, this year I am transforming into a writer!genie, and I would love to hear from you, my dearest and bestest readers!

Ghost Hunters, Lies, & Money is nearing it's final chapter...if you could make three wishes on what you would like to see happen in the end, what would they be...? Let this writer!genie know (reply to this post or message me) and with a little magic, you may just see your wishes comes true in my next updates! <3

Thank you to every single person in the last eighteen years who clicked on GLM and decided to stick around through thousands of words and long waits between updates. I am so sooo grateful. You guys are my inspiration <3

ps: there are two scenes left to write in chapter 35...would you believe me if I said I could be dropping an update anytime? Just call me Beyoncé.

[hinaiyano]

You're the one imprisoned in a cage

MAN, THE NEW KAGURABACHI CHAPTER HAD ME SOBBING,,,I-I, WOW...

[every-ronald-knox]

[small-wha]

[violentdelightshavevioletends]

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

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

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

"Dried arinmint," I reply.

Gods bless Brennan.

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

[manga-meow]

[eglee]

Hotaru no yomeiri 🌸