#Hardly any mention of Rhea

[dastardlydaemon]

The da.emon tag tho.... good grief 🫠

[meraxesmoon]

Hello, could you please do some headcanons for Mysaria and Rhea (separately or together is fine by me - love a good crackship-) raising their daughter (via sperm donor Daemon)?

Thank you!!!

Doing these separately, but the poly version is so interesting to me, lmao.

Mysaria mentioned that she never wanted to have a pregnancy, but we see that she cares deeply for children. That being said, I don't think she'd make the worst mother. She's a rather good one, actually. She loves her daughter, and she's a protective mother.

Mysaria wouldn't let Daemon know about their daughter, though. She knows what kind of man he is, and she doesn't want her precious daughter around him. A big part of Mysaria's character is just her wanting to be safe, and she'd want the same for her daughter.

I've read a few fics where Mysaria's daughter ends up as a prostitute, but I don't think this would end up happening. She wants to keep her baby safe, and we see that Mysaria didn't like being a sex worker, so I think she'd keep her child relatively sheltered.

I mentioned how Rhaenyra is possessive of her children, and Mysaria is the same way with her daughter. This plays into why she keeps their daughter a secret from Daemon. She doesn't wish to share her baby with anyone, even if it is her father.

Rhea, on the other hand, is just plain aggressive when it comes to Daemon and their daughter. Their baby is a result of their one and only night together, when they had to consummate their marriage to each other. Rhea adores her daughter, but that doesn't make her hate Daemon any less.

He's away from Runestone all of the time, so it's likely he doesn't know she's had their daughter unless he hears it from someone else. Rhea wouldn't be the one to tell him. She's content being the only parent in her daughter's life. I have mentioned that Royce! (Name) is very sweet and gentle, and despite being the absolute opposite of her mother, I imagine they would get along very well, even if (Name) had the typical Valyrian look.

While Mysaria is a possessive mother, Rhea is a prideful one. She's extremely proud of her daughter, no matter what she may do in her life. She's supportive and caring despite her outward appearance to those around her. Rhea adores her daughter, and Daemon hardly ever crosses her mind. If it were up to her, her daughter would never marry. Rhea just wants her baby to live a happy life, and men usually ruin said happiness.

If we're going the angst route, the last thing Rhea thinks about before being killed by Daemon is the safety of her daughter.

She's the ultimate girl mom.

they're so gorgeous, daemon fumbled so hard 😭🤞

[aphrodisiac-siren]

Paramour

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: When the succession of the Driftmark throne is put into question, Rhaenyra returns to the RedKeep along with her children, her husband Daemon and his daughter by the late lady Rhea, Y/N Targaryen, who is once again reunited with her childhood friend Aemond who she had grown distant with over the years.

Friends to strangers to lovers??

AN: There is a three day gap in between Y/N’s arrival and the hearing, which is when this entire chaotic but cute thing takes place lol

Part 1

Part 2.

Aemond Targaryen, first of his name, the most exceptional swordsman in the realm and the rider of the mighty Vhagar, queen of all dragons found himself pacing in his room. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides while he tried to calm his heart, hammering against his chest.

He hadn’t felt even an ounce of fear or nervousness when he went to claim his war dragon as a boy, but here he was at the age of nine and ten, nervously awaiting his promenade with the princess Y/N. He didn’t understand why a simple walk was making him this worked up, it was not as if he were courting her.

Taking a deep breath and after one last glance into the mirror, he left the comfort of his chambers and headed to the Godswood to await the princess. The moment he took a step outside the doors of his room, his serene and serious demeanour took over, masking away any sort of nervousness he was feeling. Aemond had grown rather good at it over the years, suppressing and hiding away his emotions.

Aemond was a punctual man, Y/N was not. She had taken a fair amount of time to get to the Godswood and almost resorted to fibbing that she’d forgotten the way after being absent at court for far too long but she decided against it and just apologised profusely.

“It’s quiet alright, I only just got here” the prince lied to put a halt to her stream of apologies. He wished he’d picked a few flowers for her whilst he awaited her arrival, that would’ve been a nice gesture. But part of him did not want to be nice to her, what good did being nice ever do to him?

Y/N found it hard to decipher his mood based on his monotonous voice. He was standing only a few inches away from her and yet it felt as if he were miles away. So cold, reluctant, distant. He ushered for her to walk first before he followed, matching his steps with her’s. The first few moments were awkward to say the very least, neither one knew what to say.

“It’s so peaceful here” Y/N simply stated as she stared up at the branches from which a few leaves departed, whisked away by the cool and gentle breeze. She regretted not draping her cloak over herself before she left. The evening chill was something she she’d completely forgotten about whilst she was in a hurry fixing her appearance for her walk with Aemond. All that effort only for him to reward her with silence.

Aemond simply hummed in agreement to her statement. Gods, he needed to get better at talking which didn’t involve a hidden or a direct insult. Aemond had taken note of her shivering ever so slightly as she hugged her arms. The lack of an eye did not diminish the sharp vision of his existing one. He did not have his cloak on either, he was warm enough in his leather coat. Perhaps he should’ve worn his cloak, he thought, just so that he could offer it to her.

“You seem cold” he spoke in a low voice “maybe we should continue our promenade within the castle where it’s far more warmer”

This was hardly the stroll Y/N was expecting with neither of them talking whilst they just aimlessly wandered about. She’d had worse courtships than this and she wondered if this was the reason behind Aemond never being mentioned as an ideal suitor by any of her other noble lady friends.

Aemond escorted her through the castle to one of his favourite places which was a little balcony by the east wing that provided an excellent view of the castle gardens. He was rather surprised that despite the awkward silences and his reserved nature, she hadn’t come up with an excuse to leave yet.

“You’re not as talkative as you once were” Y/N smiled to herself as she leaned on against the granite ledge of the balcony. She inhaled a long breath, basking in the faint floral smell that was carried to her by the wind, that tussled her hair in a dreamy way “you used to be quite the talker”

“People change” Aemond bluntly stated before he too took a step forward to rest his forearms on the ledge, leaning forward. He made sure to stand at her left so that she might be on his right and not in his blind spot, which would make sneaking glances at her quite difficult. He had never told her but he had started to develop a fancy toward her when they were younger and even though Aegon teased him about not being man enough to tell her, he never confessed. And boy, was he glad that he didn’t because the moment he lost his eye, resulting in that horrible scar which at first just looked like his face was deformed and mutilated, Y/N had been taken to Dragonstone; never to be heard from again. That alone had made him so upset and sorrowful. He was still hopeful, maybe his scar might fade. Maybe by some miracle, his eye would heal. Maybe then she would want him again. But none of it ever happened. The scar stayed, the eye gone and Y/N lost.

He silently observed her, out of the corner of his eye. She had a slight smile gracing her lips as she admired the greenery below them. The breeze that blew against her hair in a gentle fashion made her look ethereal almost.

“I’ve missed you” she blurted out all of a sudden which took Aemond by surprise. If she truly meant it, she sure had an amazing way of letting him know. Six years after he’d almost moved on, she shows up looking like some heavenly being and proceeds to tell him she had indeed been thinking of him all these years. Maybe she was just bored at court and was taking him to be her little plaything until she left for Dragonstone again.

“Did you now?” Aemond chuckled mockingly which made Y/N furrow her brows in confusion at his reaction “does the lack of an eye not bother you anymore?”

“When did I ever say it bothered me to begin with?” The princess was taken aback by his response to her innocent confession “I’ve never-“

“Oh save it princess” he groaned lightly as if he already knew what she would say. He’d heard people apologise many a time using the same phrases in each instance he caught them hinting that they seemed disgusted by his appearance “I am not affected by it, do not fret”

Lies, he was. And furthermore, he knew he would be shattered if he heard her say she was equally just as disgusted by his appearance as the others were. But he would not admit it, his pride wouldn’t allow it.

“Why are you being like this?” Y/N was both hurt and annoyed “If you did not wish for my company, you could at the very least have the decency to tell me you are no longer interested in this mess of an encounter instead of just being silent the entire time and only speaking when you wish to blame me for something I never said” 

“You did not need to say it” Aemond snapped “your actions were loud enough”

Y/N didn’t know what instigated the sudden shift in his behaviour that sent him from silent to accusatory in a matter of a few minutes.

“If that is all, I shall take my leave, my prince” the young girl sighed, feeling quite defeated. Why did she even bother with him? He was giving her such vague answers instead of proper ones.

“Oh of course” Aemond scoffed before he proceeded to mumble under his breath “do what you do best, leave when you’ve grown sick of me“

Y/N wanted to snap at him again but then she felt something that Aemond had been reluctant to show the entire time he was with her: emotion. He sounded so very different when it was laced with the emotion he was feeling. His voice was soft, gentle with a bit of a despondent undertone. 

“leave when you’ve grown sick of me”

“Why do you feel that I left you?” she asked, wanting to know more about what got him into this mindset “why would you think that I would want to leave you?”

He did not respond.

“Why would you think I am perturbed by your appearance?”

That seemed to make him turn to look at her.

“Aren’t you though?” he asked as if he were simply confirming that what he felt was the obvious truth “why wouldn’t you be?”

Any sort of irritation Y/N was feeling merely moments ago at his odd outburst had vanished when she saw him looking at her. She thought he might let the mask fall, let her see what he was feeling, let her see him. Instead, his face stayed the same, expressionless. It was his voice that did the delivery of his emotions. He sounded like he was almost pleading for her to tell him the truth and save him the torment.

She gingerly placed her hand on his and she looked up at him adoringly as felt him shudder ever so slightly upon the contact. His skin felt soft and warm under her cold palm.

“I was there when the maester stitched shut your wound. I was there the next morning to bring you milk of the poppy when you were screaming in pain” Y/N recalled each event as she momentarily looked away, finding it difficult to maintain eye contact “I was there during the late hours of noon when they changed the bandages. I held your hand when you cried and kissed your bruised knuckles because I couldn’t kiss at the wound without inflicting more pain”

Aemond patiently listened to her, thinking back upon the morning after he’d lost his eye. He was in pain both physically and mentally. The one half of his face burned as if someone had set it ablaze while he felt the weight of now being incomplete for the remainder of his life. And in the midst of all this, his sweet friend Y/N had tried to comfort him by kissing his contused knuckles.

“My father used to kiss away the pain when I scrapped my knees” she sweetly told him “I hope it helps, at least a little bit”

“I was never frightened at the sight of you then, what makes you think I would be now?” she finally turned to look at him, her pretty purple eyes sadly looking into his “and least of all, I never left you because of your injury, Aemond”

Aemond’s lips parted ever so slightly the moment his name escaped her lips. This was the first time in years he had heard her say his name. He wanted her to say it again, he liked the way it sounded when it was her voicing out the syllables.

“You never wrote to me” he simply stated.

“I did” the girl’s face contoured into a look of pure confusion “you never wrote back”

“I never received-” Aemond paused to recollect his memory before he gently shook his head “No, I never received a letter from you”

He used to ask Aegon almost every day if his Y/N had written and each day the older boy used to groan in annoyance and tell him no.

Another silence engulfed them and this time Aemond decided he would be the one to break it. Without thinking, he asked her the first thing that came to mind.

“Are you presently courting someone?”

Aemond mentally face palmed and he was contemplating jumping over the balcony. He hadn’t spoken to her in years, he wasn’t entitled to such Information and deep down he did not wish to hear her answer, unsure why a certain response might leave him feeling hollow.

“Apologies” he cleared his throat “I did not mean to pry”

“No need to apologise” Y/N chuckled “I am not presently courting anyone. Does my prince wish to remedy that?”

Aemond broke into an amused grin at her comment. Granted it was just a joke, he found her forwardness a little amusing. She always used to be the bold one between the both of them. It was her who he had given away his first kiss to, another instance in which she made a bold request resulting in a simple peck, nothing more; short yet sweet which was soon forgotten about. He was only nine at the time.

“Perhaps under different circumstances, I would entertain your fancies” he hesitantly rubbed the pad of his thumb against her fingers “but I shall save you the embarrassment”

“Embarrassment?” Y/N’s smile faltered. Didn’t she just tell him that she never saw any problems regarding his appearance “I wouldn’t call being on your arm anything even remotely close to an embarrassment”

Aemond looked down at their hands and he almost interlaced their fingers together but decided against it.

“What might you call it then?” he asked, playing into her little game.

“Nothing bad that’s for sure” she chuckled as she playfully eyed him “I suppose I shall have a word for it when I experience it”

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (12/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 3527

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

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

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: With the knowledge that she will not soon be released from her father’s control, Arianwyn finds what comforts she can on Dragonstone, and receives a gift from Aemond.

Warnings: Mentions of rape.

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @trap-house-homiecide @50svibes @literishdegree99

The Girl in the Tower

The King was true to his word – the very same day Arianwyn received the message from Ser Gerold, another Raven arrived from the direction of King’s Landing. She watched with a soaring heart as the bird disappeared into the Ravenry from the window of her own tower. Over the past month, the cushioned ledge where she so often read had become her refuge. But now, she could return to her true sanctuary – the skies.

Her heart continued to race as she imagined the King’s words being read. But it was not only from her excitement at the prospect of finally seeing Emrys again. It now also came from the creeping fear of how her father would react to the command.

Though her skin nearly ached with the desire to don her riding leathers and run to her beloved dragon, Arianwyn stayed by the window. She could hardly focus on the words in front of her, her mind racing as she imagined what Daemon might do.

She was sure that he would burst through the door at any moment, eyes blazing with anger. He would scream at her, berate her. He would swear to make her life on Dragonstone as miserable as he could. He would insult her mother and perhaps even gloat at how he had killed her and escaped all punishment.

Arianwyn’s only consolation was that he could not hurt her. He knew the Vale was willing to go to war for her – he would not risk that. At least, she hoped he would not.

Her hands began to shake with fearful anticipation as she sat in her window. Long minutes passed, then hours, but still, Daemon did not come.

If only that soothed her fears – but she knew that the longer a dragon’s fire burned, the hotter it grew.

When the guards came to escort her to dinner, she wanted so badly to refuse them. But she had promised to be strong for Aemond and the memory of her mother. She would not hide.

So, clasping her hands behind her back to stop their trembling, she followed the armored men through the dark stone corridors to the dining hall. On Aemond’s advice, she had begun drawing maps of the immense castle so that she would not have to rely on Daemon and Rhaenyra’s servants to find her way around. While she did not bring a map with her to meals – she did not want to give her siblings such fodder to ridicule her – she now took greater care in observing the route they followed.

Arianwyn was fairly confident that, if she needed to flee the dinner that night, she could make it back to her rooms by herself.

The rest of her family – though she remained hesitant to use the word – was already seated when she arrived. After more than a month, she had become accustomed to the silence that descended on them whenever she appeared. But, at least the quiet did not last long anymore.

As soon as she took her seat, the family resumed their conversation. Arianwyn stayed silent, keeping her head down as she ate. While she never looked at him, she could feel Daemon’s eyes on her and his fiery rage. But she did not look back at him. If he was going to spew his anger at her, she would not let him do it with an audience.

At the end of the meal, when everyone else stood from the table, Daemon remained seated.

“I will join you in a moment, darling,” he said to Rhaenyra. “I need to have a chat with Arianwyn.”

Rhaenyra glanced at her eldest stepdaughter with an expression that Arianwyn could not decipher. Then, after a moment, the Princess looked back to her husband and nodded. As she swept out of the room, the other children followed, whispering amongst themselves. Baela turned back as the doors began to close, giving her half-sister a wicked grin.

Then Arianwyn was alone with her father.

Remaining where she stood, Arianwyn clung to the back of her chair to keep herself steady. Even now, she did not look to her father.

After several minutes of silence, he at last spoke. “Did you know I received a letter from my brother, the King, today?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her eyes trained on the candles in the center of the table.

“Do you know what was in that letter?”

She took a deep breath before responding. “Ser Gerold wrote that – ”

“I did not ask what your bumbling fool of a cousin wrote to you,” Daemon snapped. Arianwyn’s head shot up at the insult to her beloved cousin.

At last, she saw the rage on his face. His cheeks were flushed as red as Caraxes’ scales, and his brows were tightly furrowed. Though she knew it was a sin, Arianwyn took pleasure in seeing him squirm under Viserys’ thumb. She would beg forgiveness from the Mother later. For now, she would enjoy this.

Daemon snarled, “I asked if you knew what my brother wrote to me.”

“I have some idea,” Arianwyn answered, suppressing a smile.

Her father sighed, leaning back in his chair. “You are to be granted access to your dragon. But not without limitation – so abandon any fantastical ideas about flying away.”

“When can I see him?” Arianwyn asked. It almost did not matter that she was still confined to the island so long as she could finally get out of the castle.

Daemon stood, stalking around the table until he was an arms-length away from her. But she was, at last, finding her confidence. She released her chair and turned to face him, chin held high. Her father looked disappointed as if he was looking forward to taunting a whimpering child.

But Arianwyn did not whimper, and she was no longer a child. She would not fear him.

“Your siblings train with their dragons three times a week,” he said, “you will join them.”

No longer able to keep the smile from her lips, Arianwyn dipped her head in a nod. But Daemon shot out his arm and seized her chin, roughly pulling her eyes to his face.

“If you so much as turn that dragon towards King’s Landing,” Daemon spat, “Caraxes and I shall tear him from the sky.” He smiled down at her with a vicious glint in his eye. “Then, we shall fly to Runestone and reduce that pathetic pile of stones to dust.”

With a final look of hatred, he released her chin and began to leave the room.

But though Arianwyn could not defend against the threat, she would not let him have the final word. “His name is Emrys,” she said.

Daemon froze. A heartbeat passed before he replied. “A common name of the First Men. Entirely unsuitable for a dragon.”

“He has a Valyrian name,” Arianwyn said, words leaving her mouth the moment the thought passed through her mind. “The people of King’s Landing call him Balerion, Second of his Name.”

Her father pursed his lips as he glared back at her with darkened eyes. But he did not reply. He only turned away and passed through the door.

-

Two days later, just past dawn, a guard in the black and red armor of Rhaenyra’s household arrived at Arianwyn’s room to escort her to Emrys. She had already been awake for hours and had dressed in her riding leathers.

This time, she did take her maps with her, and carefully marked the route out of the castle as they made their way through the winding tunnels. When they reached the large doors leading to the courtyard, she tucked the paper and her charcoal pencil into her armor. She still did not want to be mocked for her ignorance of her new home.

The four dragons were already in the courtyard, each held by their reins by two Dragonkeepers. But Arianwyn only cared about one. When he saw her, Emrys let out a joyous trill, and surged toward his rider so fast that he pulled the smaller of the two monks entirely off the ground.

Arianwyn laughed when he finally came to a stop, mere inches from her face. His breath warmed her in the cold air as he pushed his snout forward to examine her thoroughly. Finding nothing egregiously wrong, he brought his icy blue eyes to her face, narrowing them slightly as if to ask why she had abandoned him.

She placed her hand on his cheek, savoring the familiar feel of his smooth scales. “It was not my choice Emrys,” she told him in High Valyrian. “I am as much a prisoner here as you.” The dragon huffed in response, twisting his neck around her shoulders to push her toward his saddle.

A Dragonkeeper came to walk beside her as she approached Emrys’ side. “I am most gratified that you are finally to ride him,” he said, also in High Valyrian. “He has grown increasingly restless in your absence. We were beginning to fear that we would lose control of him.”

Arianwyn smiled at that. She knew Daemon had been lying in his note. “I am here now,” she assured the Dragonkeeper, “and I will never leave him for so long again.” Emrys let out a triumphant roar at her words, and Arianwyn had to suppress her laughter when she saw her siblings flinch at the sound.

Though only a few years older, Emrys was nearly twice as large as Vermax, and larger still than Moondancer and Arrax. Even with their riders whispering calming words in their ears, the younger dragons shuffled nervously as they assessed the daunting new addition to their ranks.

Once all the riders were mounted, the most senior of Rhaenyra’s Dragonkeepers began to give his pupils their instruction for the day. Arianwyn barely heard him; she was more concerned with sizing up her siblings and their mounts.

Baela was the most at home on dragonback; she listened intently to the Dragonkeepers words and never turned her eyes to Arianwyn once. Jace tried to project a similar confidence, but he too often had to turn away from their instructor to quiet his restless mount. Both he and his brother, who had given up on trying to keep Arrax still, often glanced at their new sister.

Jace looked at her with almost the same expression as Daemon – a look of disgust and annoyance, though there was a tinge of fear in his brown eyes. She may have posed no threat to him in the tunnel at Driftmark, but the same could not be said when she was astride Emrys. That fact seemed to consume Luke, who looked as though he expected her to attack them at any moment.

She had no desire to do so. The boy owed a debt, but it was not hers to settle.

The second the Dragonkeeper ended his speech, Arianwyn seized her reigns. “Sōvēs!” she shouted, and after a month confined to the ground, finally returned to the skies.

-

While the flight had been glorious, it was not as long as Arianwyn wanted. At the sound of the Dragonkeepers horn, she reluctantly guided Emrys back to the island. Though he groaned in protest, he obeyed. When they had been far from the other dragons, Arianwyn had told him of Daemon’s threats, and he seemed to understand.

After dismounting, Arianwyn pressed her forehead to her dragon’s side, whispering her promises to return to him soon. Watching him being led back to the hill in the distance nearly broke her heart, but a shy voice soon claimed her attention.

“Maester Gerardys says you will not scar,” Rhaena said, sitting on the courtyard steps.

Arianwyn felt an icy rage return to her chest as she remembered how ferociously her half-sister had clawed through her skin. “I am sorry to disappoint you, sister.”

Rhaena stood, wiping her hands on her skirts. “You misunderstand me,” she said, “I am glad of it. I hated seeing what I did to you every day.”

That, Arianwyn had not expected. It was not quite an apology, but it was more kindness and compassion than she had received from any of her other siblings. She did know how to react.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Rhaena continued, “your egg hatched. But to be a Targaryen without a dragon is a desperate thing.”

“I understand more than you know,” Arianwyn replied. She had been by Aemond’s side for years as he had grown more and more desperate. His pain enhanced by the cruelty of his brother and nephews.

Rhaena sighed, regathering her composure. “Vhagar was my mother’s dragon. I thought that by claiming her, I could keep a small part of her with me. But then Aemond st…” she cut off her words, glancing at the hard look in her sister’s grey eyes. How many times had she been told that a dragon could not be stolen?

Clearing her throat, she continued. “He claimed her before I could. That was bad enough, but then he made that joke about a pig, and I – ”

“Do you know why he said that?” Arianwyn asked, interrupting the carefully rehearsed speech. “Why he said ‘pig’ specifically?”

Rhaena shook her head.

“I’m surprised our new brothers did not tell you. They were certainly proud of it.” Arianwyn’s blood raced as she recalled the cruel prank. “Aemond was without a dragon for longer than you have been. And Aegon, Jace, and Luke never let him forget it. On the contrary, they taunted him endlessly, making his suffering ever worse than yours.

“Several months ago, they played their cruelest joke of all. They told him they had found him a dragon, and presented him with a pig. They had even made it wings of straw.” Arianwyn was pleased to see Rhaena’s horror as she spoke. “That drove him to such desperation, as you call it, that he was nearly killed trying to claim the most volatile dragon in the Dragonpit. None of them ever apologized for it, or even asked if he was all right.”

Rhaena had turned away from her sister, staring at the ground in shock and shame. Arianwyn stepped toward her, forcing the girl’s attention back on her. “That is why he said what he did.”

When Rhaena did not respond, Arianwyn left her on the steps of the courtyard and stormed back to her tower.

-

Brynna Taler arrived on Dragonstone only days later, along with the rest of Arianwyn’s Valish attendants. It was no surprise that only Arianwyn herself came to the dock to receive them. What was surprising was the ferocity with which the young Lady of Runestone embraced her favorite lady’s maid.

Laughing, Brynna stroked the girl’s silver hair. “It has only been a month since we’ve seen each other, my Lady.”

“It has seemed so much longer,” Arianwyn sighed as she held firm in the embrace. “And I have been so alone.”

“No more, my Lady,” Brynna whispered. “No more.”

Arianwyn, so relieved to again have a friendly presence, did not release Brynna’s hand until they were at last in her rooms at the top of the tower. The lady’s maid looked cautiously around each corner of the apartments, as if she were expecting a monster in every shadow.

When she was satisfied that the rooms were safe, she immediately began issuing commands to Arianwyn’s other attendants. Soon, they were all scurrying about the tower to bring it up to Brynna’s standards.

Arianwyn sat in her window, comforted by the sight of so many familiar faces. If she ignored the unnerving smooth stone of the castle walls and the brine in the air, she could almost imagine she was back in her quarters at the Red Keep.

“If you would stand for a moment, my Lady.” Brynna’s voice broke her from her daydream. The tall, black-haired woman stood above her, two overstuffed cushions in her hands. “You will catch a chill sitting on that stone, and I won’t have that,” she explained.

Smiling at once more being doted upon, Arianwyn complied. When she sat back down at the now well-cushioned window, Brynna joined her.

“Now I am going to ask you a question, and I need the absolute truth,” Brynna said. “Both Lady Arryn and Ser Gerold have ordered me to send them your answer by raven.”

Arianwyn nodded, “Of course.”

The lady’s maid grimaced, at once desperate for an answer and afraid of what it may be. “Has Prince Daemon hurt you?”

Though the memory of her father’s fierce grip on her chin was still fresh, Arianwyn had no desire to start a war. Especially not over an incident where she considered herself the victor. “No,” she replied, “he hasn’t.”

For a moment, Brynna looked as though she might faint with relief. “Thank all the gods for that.” She pressed a kiss to her Lady’s forehead, then slipped away to send her messages.

When she returned, Arianwyn was questioned on all matters of her life at Dragonstone. Was the food to her liking? Had she been dressed appropriately for the island’s chilly climate? Were her studies progressing well without Orwyle? Were her siblings treating her well? Had she been able to ride Emrys as the King commanded?

By the end, it seemed as though Brynna had plans to berate nearly everyone on the island, from the Septa and the cook in the castle to the laundresses and dockworkers in the village. She had looked after her Lady all her life – she would not let their confinement on this island cause her to slip in her duties.

After several hours of questions and answers, Arianwyn’s eyes began to drift closed.

“Before you retire to bed, dear girl,” Brynna said, nudging her shoulders to keep her awake. “I have a gift for you.”

Immediately awake with excitement, Arianwyn watched the woman walk to one of the trunks that had arrived with her. After rifling through the contents, she pulled out a single book. It was freshly bound; the leather was supple, and the bronze gilt lettering gleamed.

“We were not able to bring as many books as I know you would have liked,” Brynna held out to the tome for her Lady to see. “But Prince Aemond insisted that you must have this one.”

Arianwyn gazed in awe at the beautiful tome.

On the Meanings and Uses of the Runes of the First Men

By The Lady of Runestone, Arianwyn Targaryen

She could not keep the tears from her eyes as she turned through the pages, reading her own words and seeing her own drawings. Then, smiling, she looked to Brynna, “How did he do this?”

“When he heard Ser Gerold asked for a copy of your work, he insisted Orwyle make one for you first. He had all the Maesters in the Keep working day and night to ensure it would be ready when we set sail.”

Arianwyn smiled, imagining Aemond in front of all those old men, sternly giving them precise directions. But the smile faded when she realized that the next time she saw him – if she ever did again– he would not look the way he still did in her memory.

His eye was gone. And his wound would undoubtedly scar.

But even when he was so wounded and facing the grim reality that his father had not defended him, Aemond had taken the time to make something so beautiful – for her.

“I have to find a way to thank him.”

-

The idea came to her nearly five months later as she read one of Aemond’s letters. He had kept his promise – a raven arrived from him every day.

He kept Arianwyn well-appraised of his progress, both as a dragonrider and in his healing. Now, he told her how Orwyle had decided that once the wound had fully healed, Aemond would require something to take the place of his eye. According to the Maester, it would assist his balance and prevent further damage to the eye socket.

An image came to her then. She had mourned the loss of his beautiful periwinkle eye, but now there was the opportunity for something even more beautiful.

Over the next several days, she focused all her efforts on the gift. She spent hours in her window, carefully embroidering a pattern of Runes.

Strength. Bravery. Wisdom. Protection. Love. She wove them all together in her circular design, praying as she worked that they would grant him each and every boon.

When she finished, she wrapped the small silk cloth in paper and sealed it in an envelope with a note. When she brought it to Gerardys, he was surprised that she wanted it sent not to King’s Landing but to Runestone.

“If I send it to King’s Landing, Aemond would no doubt hear what I’ve asked for,” she explained. “I want this to be a surprise.”

As soon as the Maester accepted her request, Arianwyn ran across the castle to her tower. Settling herself among the many pillows and furs that now adorned her window, she watched with unbridled excitement as the dark bird flew north to Runestone.

Next Chapter

[bronzefuryfic]

Bronze Fury

When the only child of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce is brought to King's Landing to meet with the rest of her family, she finds herself caught in a crisis of succession. The Greens battle for her support... and her affections.

Chapter Eight: Bastards and Betrothals / Previous Chapter / Directory

Trouble brews in the training yard when King Viserys comes to watch the princes' practice, Rhea confronts Aegon over his bullying behavior, and Queen Alicent makes a proposal.

The training yard was alive with activity when Rhae returned later that afternoon. The clash of steel and clack of wood filled the air, creating a cacophony that left Rhae longing for the stillness of the morning. She made her way to the archery range, lamenting the loss of what was shaping to be a good day. 

Aemond had hardly said a word since he'd returned from the Dragonpit. He'd excused himself at the earliest opportunity, vanishing not a moment after Queen Alicent had departed to discuss the matter with the King. Rhae found her eyes wandering to him as she practiced, hoping to see a smile slip through. But not even training seemed to lift Aemond's spirits—he looked just as sullen as the moment he revealed the other princes' prank. 

Rhae's mind was still cloudy with anger as she practiced. She had nearly emptied her quiver, but every shot thus far strayed downward, embedded in the bottom-most rings of her target.

Rhae drew back her bowstring, breathing deeply as she tried to calm her mind. She held the weight of the pull with relative ease, feeling the feather of her arrow tickle the corner of her mouth. This should've been the hard part, but her right arm was more than back to its former strength—the muscle had near doubled through her combined training with a sword. 

But ever persistent, the skin of her left side felt as taut as her bow, dragging her aim lower.

"C'mon..." she whispered to herself, fighting it.

Thwump!

"Damn it!"

No one paid her mind. She knew the other knights and guards thought her training was mere folly, and she was far from earning their favor while her aim was so poor. 

Rhae notched another arrow, inhaling. It did not matter what the others thought. Rhae could not stop their japes and name-calling, but she wouldn't let them stop her either. If only she could convince Aemond of the same. She drew her shoulder blades together, grimacing in pain.

Thwump!

This time, the arrow lodged just above the center-most circle. Much better, Rhae thought, letting her injured arm hang loosely at her side. Quiver now empty, Rhae went to retrieve those lodged in the target. 

She took her time collecting the arrows, turning her attention to the practicing princes nearby. Jacaerys and Lucerys swung their swords sloppily, but their instructor's focus was elsewhere. 

"Soften your knees," Ser Criston was saying to Aemond. On any regular day, Aemond would be the last to require individual attention, but even from afar, Rhae could see he was not performing to his typical standard. "Hands light, feet heavy."

 The same could not be said for Aegon. The eldest had always been good—as Helaena put it, naturally so. Most often, his indolent nature was at odds with his talent. But not now. He attacked his training dummy with intensity—more than Rhae had ever seen from him. 

After a flurry of high blows, he caught sight of Rhae watching. Aegon grinned. Rhae scowled.

His expression gave way to that of confusion, and Rhae's anger deepened. She had not had the chance to speak with him since she'd learned of the incident with the Pink Dread. Was he really so stupid to think she wouldn't learn of this latest prank? Or merely naïve enough to think she wouldn't care? 

But Rhae would have to bide her time a little longer. She did not dare make a scene in front of the whole yard... not to mention the King, sat above them from one of the castle's balconies, watching their progress as he promised. He drank deeply from a flask, speaking jovially with his Hand, Lyonel Strong. 

"Aegon!" Ser Criston called, recapturing the prince's attention. He gave one last inquisitive look in Rhae's direction before approaching the knight. 

"I've won my first bout, Ser Criston." Rhae could hear Aegon say. "My opponent sues for mercy."

Rhae rolled her eyes as she continued to pluck her arrows from the target. So pretentious... 

 "You'll have a new opponent then, my Lord of the Straw," Ser Criston said, causing snickers through the yard. Aegon seemed unbothered by the remark. "Let's see if you can touch me. You and your brother."

Rhae shouldered her now full quiver, pacing back to her original place as Aegon and Aemond readied against Ser Criston. She notched another arrow, no longer bothering to watch the boys play at battle. Ser Criston would beat this pairing just as handily as he'd beaten Rhae and Aemond that morning, she was certain.

She loosed another dozen arrows, concentrating on the ache that grew in her back as she forced her injured arm upward. Pain is good , she reminded herself, notching an arrow and peering down its shaft. Rhae counted seven of her arrows, still stuck low on the target—she'd overcompensated on two others, which mirrored the first seven's placement on the top of the outermost ring. The final three dotted the middle, but none quite reached the center.  

Rhae focused on her breath. In... out... She allowed the noises of the yard to swirl together, creating an indistinguishable buzz in her ear. She realized it wasn't just her injured shoulder that felt tight, but both. Had she been hunching this whole time? She loosened her stance, relaxing her grip. Even the strongest bow needed to be unstrung, allowed to rest, or else it would snap. Ser Gerold had told her that. But when she heard the words in her head, Rhae imagined it was her mother saying them. The voice sounded a lot like Alicent's.

...

Thwump!

"Yes!" Rhae stamped her foot excitedly, looking around the yard towards Aemond, Aegon, and Ser Criston, but none were looking her way. There was no one to share the moment with, but it did not matter. Her aim was true—the arrow had found its mark. Dead center.

But the moment of celebration passed quickly. Rhae noticed many guards had stopped their practice, watching the princes with growing interest. Had she missed something? She turned her attention there, too.

"Eldest son against eldest son," Ser Criston was saying, dragging Jacaerys by his armor to the open space used for sparring. Ser Harwin Strong stood nearby, watching with a look of disapproval. 

"It's hardly a fair match."

Rhae had to agree, watching in concern as Aegon stepped up. He clapped Jacaerys on the shoulder as he passed, grinning widely. The fight would not be a balanced one, but at least Jace may learn something from it. It may be a tough lesson, but even those were better than nothing. Ser Criston echoed her thoughts.

"I know you have never seen a true battle, ser, but when steel is drawn, a fair match isn't something anyone should expect." Ser Harwin drew closer, watching Jace closely. The insult to his experience fell on deaf ears. Ser Criston nodded towards Aegon. "Blades up."

Aegon lowered into a starting stance, but Jace did not move. He held his sword in front of him, looking to Ser Criston as though for advice. The knight ignored him.

"Engage."

Aegon sprung forward, swinging his sword down at his opponent. Rhae thought Jace may be caught by the blitz, but he shielded himself faster than Rhae would have thought him capable of. Aegon swung again, and again, and again, but Jace battered each off. It was far from graceful—with each blow, Aegon pressed Jace farther back. 

Jace raised his sword in preparation for the next swing, but it did not come. Instead, Aegon lunged forward, ducking the sword and shoving his nephew to the ground. Jace crashed to the dirt, hard.

Aegon laughed, turning his back to walk towards Ser Criston. He looked up towards the King, then next his eyes found Rhae. He looked pleased to find her still watching, but Rhae scowled once more. 

"Go Jacaerys!" she shouted.

Aegon frowned, but it wasn't until Jace let out a cry that he realized his opponent was already back to his feet. Aegon spun and leapt backwards, narrowly dodging Jace's swing. It was now the younger that pushed the attack, driving Aegon towards the training dummies. Aegon stepped behind one of the strawmen, only just dodging a cut that raked across its chest. Aegon shoved the dummy, knocking it into Jace. The move was not an honorable one, but it was effective. His nephew retreated several paces.

Ser Harwin stepped in front of Jace, pointing accusingly at Aegon.

"Foul play!" 

"I'll deal with him."

Ser Criston grabbed Aegon roughly by the shoulder, speaking to him in a hushed voice. Ser Harwin used the opportunity to pull Jace aside as well, muttering instructions, holding his son's chin up with a gloved hand.

Rhae drew closer, abandoning her station to go stand beside Aemond. The duel seemed to have shaken him from his somber state—he hardly seemed to notice her approach, watching his brother with anticipation. 

"He won't lose," Aemond said quietly. 

"It would serve him well." Rhae grumbled.

"Not with father watching." 

Rhae looked up towards the King, but as always, His Grace seemed oblivious to the rising tensions below him. Viserys watched Ser Harwin and Jacaerys closely, a look of pride upon his face. He did not spare so much of a glance towards his son, who Rhae now noticed was looking for just that. Despite her anger at Aegon, Rhae felt her heart twinge with sadness. His eyes darted between Ser Criston and King Viserys the whole intermission, until they finally came to rest on his nephew. 

"You!" Aegon shouted, his voice filled with rage. Jace pushed Ser Harwin away, weapon raised in anticipation.

"Close with him!" Ser Criston commanded, as Aegon began another barrage, even more relentless than his last. Each swing was punctured with a roar—whatever wisdom Ser Harwin had passed to Jace would not help him now. The younger boy glanced away the attacks with growing difficulty. Ser Criston grew more insistent. "Push him backward! Close with him! USE YOUR FEET!"

Aegon coiled and kicked, sending Jace to the dirt yet again. He seemed ready to relent, breathing heavily, but Ser Criston was not done with his lesson.

"Don't let him get up."

Aegon swung, knocking Jace's sword aside as the boy raised it meekly in defense. 

"Stay on the attack!"

The next blow knocked Jace's weapon clean from his grip. He threw his arms over his head as Aegon gripped his weapon with two hands, preparing a brutal downward strike. Even from the safety of the sidelines, Rhae winced.

"ENOUGH!"

Ser Harwin surged forward, grabbing Aegon from behind. The prince was no match for the Commander of the City Watch, and he was thrown to the side with ease.

"You dare put your hands on me!" Aegon shouted, punching the ground in frustration. 

"Aegon!" King Viserys cried out, his voice scolding. Rhae exchanged a meaningful look with Aemond—this was certainly not the type of attention Aegon had sought. 

"You forget yourself, Strong" Ser Criston was eying Ser Harwin dangerously. "That is the prince."

"And this is what you teach, Cole?" The Commander said gruffly, kneeling to pick up the fallen swords. His eyes never strayed from Ser Criston's face. "Cruelty to the weaker opponent?"

Jace retreated to Luke's side, and Aegon came back to his own brother and Rhae with a huff. Despite their separation, the conflict seemed far from over. Beside her, Aemond had grown tense. He could feel it, too. 

Ser Criston threw his own sword to the ground as Ser Harwin passed by. He knelt to collect this one as well, shaking his head in disbelief. 

"Your interest in the princeling's training is quite unusual, Commander." Ser Criston said, arms folded behind his back. He turned towards Ser Harwin, his face unblinking and hard. This was the Ser Criston Cole that had frightened Rhae so dearly when she'd first arrived at the Red Keep. Even after months of training together, and coming to trust him, the menacing glint in his eye sent shivers down Rhae's spine. "Most men would only have the sort of devotion towards a cousin..."

Aemond reached his hand out, wordlessly nudging Rhae to step back. Ser Criston pressed on. 

 "Or a brother..."

Even poor Lucerys seemed able to tell they were hurtling towards a hazardous end. Across the yard, he drew near to Jacaerys. Ser Harwin's face was already beginning to twist with understanding.  

Don't say it...

Ser Criston leered, his voice ringing clear throughout the yard. 

"Or a son."

"AUURGH!" 

Harwin Strong sprung, smashing his fist to Ser Criston's face and causing the knight to stagger backwards. It was a wonder he did not fall. Rhae could see the Velaryon princes leap several feet back, wearing identical looks of horror. Beside her, Aegon laughed—whether in shock or amusement, she could not tell.  

Another punch sent Ser Criston to the ground. Aemond moved squarely in front of Rhae and Aegon now, creating a barrier, however small, between them and the violence. Cole made no move to defend himself as Ser Harwin pinned him down, pummeling at his head. At last, the surrounding guards jolted into action. 

It took four men to drag Ser Harwin away from Ser Criston. He was shouting and straining still.

"SAY IT AGAIN!" the commander cried, spit flying from his mouth. "Say it again!"

Rhae knew there was no need. Only truths could sting so sharply. She could see it in the faces of the guards and all the onlookers. Even worse yet, Rhae could see the quiet comprehension in the face of Jacaerys Velaryon, who gripped his brother's hand. Both boys had tears in their eyes.

Ser Harwin heaved, finally relenting to the grip held on him by the other guards. With the action ended, all heads turned towards the King.

"Expelled from the City Watch? That's it ?" Aegon scoffed. It was now late afternoon, and they'd just been dismissed from the yard. King Viserys had been intent on handling the matter swiftly... and sloppily. He had commanded all the children to continue their training, as though nothing had happened, leaving them to hear the hurried deliberations. "Cole hadn't so much as raised a hand!"

"It hardly looked like he needed to," said Aemond, a hint of admiration in his tone. "You saw how he was after! He might as well have been attacked by some mugger for how well he walked it off."

"He looked awfully proud of himself," Rhae grimaced. "He shouldn't have said those things."

"What things?" Aemond demanded. "The truth?"

She sighed and did not answer. The bastardry of Rhaenyra's children had put an unspoken strain on the realm. Part of Rhae wanted to agree with King Viserys—maybe it was better that way. Perhaps the dam could hold, never to burst. With every taste of the greater conflict brewing, Rhae felt more compelled to clamp her mouth shut. Could such a problem go ignored forever? She wanted to believe it so. 

"Ser Criston didn't really say Strong was the sire," Aegon pointed out. Rhae looked around the hall nervously, but saw no one. "Cole's not stupid—I'm not sure even mother could save him if he named the Velaryons bastards. Strong has only himself to blame. He's lucky father is as deaf as he is blind. "

"He's a fool if he thinks the matter has been handled," Aemond said. "All the city will know in a fortnight—the entire realm within a week."

"And with any luck, it'll change nothing at all." 

All notions of finding his father's approval had evaporated once more, and it seemed to Rhae that resignation had settled back in. Spurned again.

"Or it may finally force Father to open his eyes," Aemond replied sternly. "He may finally name you heir."

"Father will name me heir when pigs fly," Aegon snapped. "I suspect you'll have a lot more reason to celebrate than I do when that day comes."

Aemond's face burned scarlet, his fists clenched in anger. Rhae thought for certain he was going to shout. For as little as she wished to see the fighting continue, part of her felt it would be justified. But when Aemond spoke, his voice was frighteningly calm.

"Someone should go tell Helaena what's happened."

The boy departed abruptly.

Rhae turned on Aegon as soon as she was certain Aemond would not hear. 

"Must you bully him so relentlessly?"

Aegon groaned. "Not you too. "

"I don't understand it!" She flared. "All he has ever done is defend you! Why does it require so much encouragement to—!"

Rhae bit her tongue, spying a small group of ladies approaching down the hall. It would be unseemly to continue arguing here. Rhae expected Aegon to use the opportunity to steer in a new direction, but he followed a half-pace behind all the way to her chambers. 

The door shut. They sized each other up in a standoffish silence, daring the other to speak. Aegon was the first to concede.

"I've already been admonished once for this," he said, crossing his arms defensively. "You're not my mother. I don't need you harping on about it, too."

"I think you do," Rhae went to put her bow and quiver away, slamming the chest shut. It was all she could do not to yell, all her anxieties and frustrations bubbling fresh in her chest. "I let the matter be in the name of brotherly banter, but Aemond was devastated! You took it too far this time!"

"He hasn't said anything."

"He won't!" Rhae threw a hand in Aegon's direction, exasperated. Even all the way across the room, he flinched. Rhae felt a pang of guilt and took a deep breath before she continued, calm but stern. "You know he won't." 

"Maybe it's because he doesn't need to," Aegon grumbled. "If anything happens to him, the whole family leaps to his defense."

"You sound jealous."

"Maybe I am."

They held each other's gaze for a long moment, their standoff resumed. Frustration and pity tore at Rhae's stomach,  and now it was she who yielded.

"Aemond isn't the one you're angry with."

Aegon clenched his jaw, looking away.

"Father can't even spare me a glance, nevermind the whole kingdom," he grumbled. "And Mother still insists that I will have it, less Rhaenyra put us to the sword. All everyone ever cares about is that damned throne."

Rhae wished for some cure to the festering wound that infected their family, but there was little to offer. How could they heal when so many seemed intent on flaying the skin further? She drew closer to Aegon, taking hold of one of his hands. 

"Not everyone."

His prickly demeanor dispelled as the prince clasped her fingers. 

"I know." 

But a look of relief betrayed Aegon's assertion. He laid his forehead against Rhae's, eyes searching her face.

"I wish as you do that the conflict over the crown never comes to pass," Rhae continued. "But if it does, Aemond is on your side as much as I am. Probably even more. He's not earned your taunts... defend him as devoutly as he does you."

Aegon considered her words.

"Okay. I'll let up. I promise."

"Good," Rhae's eyes narrowed. "And I think you should apologize."

Aegon groaned slightly, making a show of shuddering at the thought.

"Don't make me."

"I don't want to make you." Rhae knew she was pushing her luck. She felt certain neither brother had spoken an apology to the other in their whole lives. "I just think that you should do it."

Aegon must've sensed Rhae was serious, for he did not jest any further. He merely nodded his head, still rested against hers—but he made no promises.

Rhae supposed it was the best she could hope for. It would have to be—she was far too exhausted to push the matter further. Her whole body felt weighed down with worry, aching for release. She looked up at the prince. He watched her closely, searching for permission. 

Rhae pushed herself upwards on her toes, pressing a kiss to his mouth. She was greeted tenderly—more than ever before. Aegon's lips were soft and sweet as he wrapped his arms delicately around her waist. Rhae could feel her troubles melt away with his touch, and so she pulled him ever closer, thankful for the comfort of his embrace. 

"You've been here for nearly four moons now," Queen Alicent observed, swirling the contents of her goblet pensively. Apprehension seemed to hang in the air. The Queen had said they had important matters to discuss, but with their meal nearly finished, no such subject had found its way to the table. "Have you enjoyed your time here?"

"Most often, Your Grace."

Alicent smiled thinly. 

"I am sure you've become conscious of the rising tensions around the castle. That was an unfortunate thing, what happened in the yard."

Rhae sat a little straighter in her seat. It had been nearly a week since King Viserys expelled Ser Harwin from the City Watch. Last Rhae heard, he'd been escorted back to Harrenhal by his father, Lyonel Strong. 

She had not seen Jace or Luke since—Princess Rhaenyra had pulled her sons from lessons to study privately. Within two days, they'd left for Dragonstone. Now she studied alone. Rhae found she missed their company.

"Yes, Your Grace."

"And what meaning did you make of the matter?"

"That I wish it would end."

Alicent grimaced at this. 

"You and me both, darling."

"You are not optimistic." Rhae did not mean to sound accusing, but she did not pose the observation as a question either. 

"That I'm not," Alicent concurred, picking at her fingers. "If I may speak plainly, I fear it already grows worse."

"And what fears are that, Your Grace?"

"We have received troubling news from the Riverlands." Alicent swallowed hard, and Rhae could see that her hands were trembling. "Sers Lyonel and Harwin Strong, they've..." She clutched the seven-pointed star at her chest. "They've fallen victim to tragedy, as so often seems to be the case for Harrenhal. They were caught in a blaze."

"Seven Hells..."

Rhae had no love for either of the two men, but the news was shocking. Amidst so much strife, what further bearing would their deaths have upon the strained stability of the realm? Her mind spun with questions, but Alicent hastened onward. 

"That is not all." 

Rhae gulped. 

"Go on, Your Grace."

"We've further communication from Pentos."

Rhae's heart sank further. That was where Daemon was. When she spoke, her voice sounded unusually high.

"What's happened?"

"Your father writes that his good wife Laena Velaryon died in her attempts to deliver their third child. He and their daughters have recently departed for Driftmark, so that she may be laid to rest at sea in the traditions of her house."

Rhae's veins turned to ice. 

"And we are certain it was the labors that killed her?"

"We've only got his letter to go by."

"Naturally."

Rhae felt dizzy, thoroughly disarmed by this barrage of information. Alicent allowed her a moment to sit with the news, peeling at her cuticles as she waited for Rhae to process what she was hearing. 

Rhae wondered of her sisters. She'd been envious before, but now she wondered if Baela and Rhaena were left with all the same questions she'd had. They were still with Daemon at least—was it true misfortune that took his second wife? 

"I take it we will be in attendance for the funeral?"

Alicent nodded, and Rhae inhaled sharply. Would this be what brings her before her father? The thought made her nauseous. 

"And the others, do they know yet?"

"They do not," Alicent sighed. "I felt compelled to speak with you first. I'd hoped you may settle a little longer, but our situation grows desperate. There are things we've been needing to discuss."

"You refer to Princess Rhaenyra's bastards."

The Queen looked taken aback by her bluntness, but Rhae did not have it in her to speak in riddles. She hoped that Alicent planned to tell her children of these happenings soon—Rhae longed for the solace of their company. 

"I do hope you are not so forthcoming in all your conversations on this matter."

"I don't have conversations on this matter. Not unless it is with Aegon, and sometimes Aemond, Your Grace."

"What else have you discussed?"

Rhae chewed at her lip.

"Succession," she confessed hollowly. "Aegon said that... that I am wanted to defend his claim for the Iron Throne."

"I suppose my lectures have stuck then." Alicent swallowed hard. "Which means you understand our position?" 

Rhae nodded grimly, and the Queen took a long drink from her goblet.

"You're a clever girl, Rhae." Alicent reached out her hand, laying it atop Rhae's injured forearm. Rhae stared at the Queen's ravaged fingernails, destroyed by incessant picking and peeling. "I brought you here tonight because I wished to discuss how we might solidify our allegiances. What we've learned today makes the matter even more urgent. If you are friend to my children, I ask that you help defend them."

"I don't know what I may offer in defenses," Rhae lamented, eyes drifting now to her own ruined skin. 

"You are the heir to Runestone. You command a castle, and all the swords sworn to your house." Alicent reminded her. "And you are Targaryen, no less. You must not give up hope on claiming a dragon one day."

"... and how would we solidify our allegiances?"

"As any nobles do, my dear. I put forward a marriage proposal, and should you accept, we shall wed our houses." 

Now it was Rhae who was taken aback. 

"A betrothal?"

"It is the most natural choice." Alicent nodded sagely. "These are troubling times. We must stand united. It is for that reason that I offer you the hand of my second son, Prince Aemond."

Next Chapter: Death of the Dreamers

Alicent discusses what it means to be married in Westeros, and Rhae seeks comfort surrounding new changes with her closest friend.

AO3 | Chapter Discussion

Thanks for reading!

[jojosbizarrefanfics]

Reminiscing — Claude von Riegan x Reader 🍋

Fire Emblem brain rot is real & there aren’t enough fics for my faves so I’m here to fix that

Starting off with Claude! 💛

Includes: public sex, oral, glove kink if you squint. fem!reader is a fellow golden deer student & alliance member

The only sound in the library was that of your own footsteps, and even that was barely discernible. But they caught Claude’s attention regardless.

“I’m surprised you can see anything. It’s so dark in here.”

He grinned from his spot at the desk. “My eyes have adjusted. Looking for me?”

You nodded. “I thought I might find you here. You haven’t changed that much, you know.”

“Come on. Take a seat. There’s two chairs, after all, and I’ve missed your company.”

You joined him and pushed your chair closer to him, not bothering to pretend you were there for any other reason than to spend time with him. Claude was receptive to the feeling of your chin on his shoulder, having leaned closer to you as well.

“Whatchya reading?”

“I’m trying to get some clues on… well, everything. Rhea especially. There’s some stuff that just doesn’t add up, but it’s starting to make my eyes go crossed.”

“Sometimes the best thing you can do is take a break, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He sighed in contentment and, out of habit, brought his lips to your temple. He stopped himself before he could kiss you, even though you wished he would, but his lips still ghosted on your skin. “Sorry. Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Don’t stop on my account,” you said with a wink. “Reminds me of when we’d sneak out here late at night to just cuddle and read.”

Claude laughed and pressed his lips to the spot where they still lingered. Finally, you thought. “Well, my dear, I remember us doing a lot more than just cuddling and reading when we’d show up after dark.”

“Goddess, I’ll never forget when we almost got caught. I thought Seteth was gonna start looking under all the tables.”

“I’m shocked he didn’t. You think anyone else is up this late?”

“I didn’t see anyone on my way here.”

“Noted.” Claude had a twinkle in his eye that I knew all too well. “I’ve really, really missed you. I mean, I know you’ve been there at the round tables your father can’t make and all, but I feel like it’s been years since we’ve had a moment alone like this.”

“I get it. Big man in charge and all.” You playfully nudged his shoulder with your own.

Claude laughed, the breathy type that you’d call a giggle if he wouldn’t fight you on it and that was reserved just for you. “I wish you could be by my side through it all.”

“Who says I couldn’t?”

“I have a lot I have to do. It wouldn’t be fair to a pretty lady like you to keep you waiting.” He poked your nose when he said it.

“Claude, if this is about Almyra—”

“Huh?”

“Oh, come on! You may have been the most clever in our class, but you weren’t the only one with half a brain.” You rose an eyebrow at him. “I haven’t told anyone. But we’ve spent enough time together and you’ve said enough sweet nothings to me that I could put the pieces together.”

“I can’t really lie to you when I’m close enough to kiss you again, so I guess I’ll have to just opt for shutting you up.”

Claude smirked as he brought your lips together, effectively doing as he said he would. His hands left his book entirely, one cupping your face and the other resting on your thigh. It was as if your distance over the last five years never happened and you were picking up right where you left off.

One of your own hands tangled in Claude’s tousled hair as the other gripped for his tunic. His hand on your thigh gripped your flesh in response, and he took his time feeling it between his fingers. It wasn’t long before his tongue pressed past your lips like it had hundreds of times before.

“Have I mentioned how much I’ve missed you?” Claude said against your lips between kisses. You felt like you could hardly catch a breath; once Claude started, he didn’t seem like he was willing to stop. “Five years was way too long.”

“You know, Claude, you always could have just knocked on my door.”

He chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind for after the war.”

He remembered he wouldn’t be here after the war, but east beyond the mountains, but he pushed the thought aside as he continued to kiss you. He didn’t have to worry about what he’d do with you then; he just had to worry about what he’d do with you right now.

“But since I’ve got you here and now, mind if I get a do-over from five years ago?”

“I remember being pretty happy with your performance.”

“Yeah, but now we don’t have to worry about any interruptions.” His lips moved to your neck as his hand on your thigh crept up until he was at the seam of your undergarments. “What do you say?”

“I won’t stop you.”

“Excellent.”

He moved his hand on your face to your blouse to unbutton it as his lips followed, kissing passionately and slowly down your chest and breasts. You palmed his groin as his finger slipped past the seam of your underwear, tracing your entrance to tease you. He still had his gloves on and the sensation of the leather shot a chill down your spine.

You could feel him beneath his trousers, stiffening as you continued to grasp for him. You moved up for the waistband and pushed your hand beneath it so you could feel his bare skin, running your hand up and down his shaft the way you remembered he liked. This caused Claude to moan against your skin, his breath hot and heavy against your nipple.

“Scoot your chair out a bit for me, will ya?”

You did as he instructed, which allowed for Claude to slip beneath the desk. He parted your legs with his hands and hooked your undergarments with his thumbs to pull them down your legs.

Claude started by kissing up your thighs: open-mouthed, hot, and heavy. Your fingers combed through his hair and gripped when his tongue finally dipped between your legs, mouth enclosed over your clit. He moaned as he tasted you and dove in deeper, eager for more after craving you for the last half a decade.

“Oh, Claude.”

Your sighs encouraged him to keep going, along with your tightening grip on his hair. His fingers dug into your plush thighs as he carried on with his ministrations, refusing to stop until he felt your release. Even when he did, Claude didn’t stop, but only picked up his pace to send you over the edge.

When Claude finally came out for air, some of your cum shined on his lips. He licked them clean as he emerged from beneath the desk.

“As sweet as ever. Want to get on the desk?”

“Right now?”

“It used to be a little fantasy of mine,” Claude said. “Are you up for it?”

“I dunno, Claude,” you said with a smirk on your face and a wink. Your stomach faced the desk and you reached across it to lightly grip the opposite edge. “Maybe if you promise me that you won’t be so distant anymore.”

Claude kicked off his boots as he undid his trousers. He was even harder than he was when you were stroking him. As he placed a hand on your hip and another on your mid-back, you felt his cock slide against your lower lips.

“I promise.” He sealed that promise by pressing your torso down against the desk and by sliding his cock into you.

Claude was slower here than he was with his tongue. He took his time feeling you again, relishing in the way your walls seemed to wrap around him with an easy perfection.

It was like you were made for each other.

He’d definitely be keeping that promise, he thought. It was never his intention, but there you were—whether it be sharing longing glances across a round table or within his grasp at the library desk, you were always there.

Claude filled you with each thrust, retracting only halfway when he’d pull back. He didn’t want to leave you, and you felt so warm and soft beneath him and around him that he felt like his head was spinning. You weren’t much better off as you came around him, your third orgasm of the night making your nerves feel like they were electrified. Your moans spilled out in the form of his name like a prayer.

Perhaps, he thought as his hips slowed and his thrusts deepened, you could share his dream with him after all.

“Wanna swallow me up, sweetheart? You feel so good, but we are in the middle of a war here.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, come on.”

Claude withdrew from you, as much as he didn’t want to. You were quick to turn around and lower to your knees, despite your wobbly legs. Claude exhaled in relief at the feeling of your lips around him. He watched you with an intense look in his dark green eyes; when you looked up at him with his cock in your mouth, it was hard to tell exactly what he was thinking. His hand gripped your hair as he released down your throat, tasting as mildly tangy as you remembered.

Claude helped you up and, with a tenderness he seldom showed, helped button your blouse back up once your undergarments and his trousers were back on. You both took a moment to collect your breaths, doing so between soft, delicate kisses that Claude would place upon your lips.

“Dare I ask you to stay the night with me?”

“What are you scheming now, Reigan?”

“Mm, just how I’m going to make you Queen of Almyra one day.”

You laughed. He felt relieved that you read it as a joke like he intended, but he knew in his heart that he was serious.

“We’re adults now, Claude. I don’t think anyone will throw a fuss if they see us a sharing a bed.”

“Fair enough. So is that a yes?”

You nodded. “I’d like that. We can make up for lost time, if you will.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.” He winked at you and held out his hand. “Shall we?”

As you left the library, you saw a figuring approaching down the hallway.

“Oh, hey Teach!”

“Professor Byleth! What are you doing up so late?”

“Can’t sleep,” Byleth said. “I was just going to grab a book in hopes that it would help. I take it you two couldn’t also?”

“We were just heading to bed after getting some research in. We were hoping to find some clues on Lady Rhea’s whereabouts, but no such luck. Time must have slipped past us.”

Byleth looked you both up and down. While your clothes were straightened out, you were sure your hair was a mess.

“Right. Well, good night, you two.”

“Good night.”

As you and Claude head down the stairs of the monastery, you sighed. “That was close.”

“Talk about perfect timing.”

[contreparry]

Happy Friday Ann! From the DA lore prompts: "Grim Anatomy. A book on animal dissection and demonic possession, by an unknown author. It’s not wearing the creature’s skin. It has become the creature: its mind, its senses… its blood."

Absolutely! Here's some more fun times (ha) in Ostwick Circle, with a young Trevelyan for @dadrunkwriting!

The library in Ostwick Circle was as grand as any university. The Mages prided themselves on their collection of magical tomes and knowledge. The research conducted in the Circle was second to none, and whatever they did not produce could be collected and preserved within the shelves of Ostwick Circle's library. There were books on every subject the mind could conceive, from brick-laying to botany, from casting metals to culinary arts, from medicine to magic. If there was anything one wanted to know, one could find a book about it in Ostwick Circle.

But there were some books in the library that were restricted to all but the most respected of Enchanters and the most trusted of Templars. And those books were the ones that apprentices whispered about in the dark of night, when their guardian Enchanters and Templars finally went to bed.

"I saw it, I really did!" Ceri insisted in a whisper. "Bound in black leather, and all shiny like oil. Enchanter Lydia was thumbing through it while that one Templar- the one with the long brown hair-"

"Serena?" one voice asked sleepily. Evelyn thought it might have been Rhea, though she couldn't say for certain. Without any mage light or even the moon, the apprentice dormitory (Dormitory B) felt a bit like a cave: vast, made of stone, and so dark that Evelyn couldn't really tell the difference between when her eyes were open or shut.

"Aye, that one! She pointed at a page. Said "that's the one," or something like that," Ceri insisted, refusing to end the conversation. "But then they went off to the Restricted Section to put the book away! What were they doing with a book like that?"

What were they doing indeed? Normally Evelyn would roll her eyes, for Ceri had a tendency to catastrophize- but she was very young, not even ten. But Lydia hadn't mentioned anything about reading a book from the restricted section of the library today when they had tea, and she always told Evelyn whenever she found something interesting. A forbidden book was definitely interesting.

"Thrilling," Issak yawned. "They read a book. Good to know that Ser Serena is literate." It was an unkind jab, to be sure, for Ser Serena hadn't been an objectionable guardian when it was her turn to guard Dormitory B. But she was rather strict. No reading after bedtime, she insisted. Issak hadn't forgiven her for ending his late-night studies just yet.

"From the Restricted Section!" Ceri exclaimed. "No one is supposed to go there! Ever!"

"Lydia is an Enchanter, and Ser Serena has proven herself to be capable in combat," Issak replied. "It's hardly unusual for Mages or Templars of their ranks and with their responsibilities to conduct research, you know. Go to bed." As if to punctuate this final order, Issak flopped down loudly on his narrow mattress, and the small bedframe creaked under his weight. He'd be getting his own private room soon, as soon as he underwent his Harrowing. Evelyn had a few years left before she had to worry about that.

"But-" the anxiety, the pure distress, in Ceri's voice was so evident that Evelyn crumbled before it.

"Ceri," Evelyn whispered. "Come over here. You can tell me about the book, alright?" She lifted her blanket up and gestured for Ceri to join her in the narrow bed, even though she couldn't see a thing. But Ceri could, and within moments she had darted under the covers and tucked her tiny freezing feet between Evelyn's calves before burrowing her face into her neck. She was shaking, but if it was from fear or cold Evelyn couldn't say.

"It was an awful book, Evie," Ceri mumbled. "It looked mean. Like it held things inside of it!" And she sounded so frightened and so sincere that it made Evelyn's own heart tremble a little. Ceri was rather perceptive, even if she tended to see doom in everything- but what child wouldn't be frightened by mysterious things? And some books did contain a little bit of power in their pages, magic woven into their bindings and ink and paper. Those sorts of books stayed in the restricted section, naturally, for none but the most experienced of Mages should deal with tricksome volumes like that.

Very interesting. She would have to ask Lydia about it tomorrow. But for now Evelyn wrapped her arm around Ceri and rubbed soothing little circles into her back.

"Books like that can be scary," Evelyn murmured. "But Enchanter Lydia and Ser Serena know what they're about. Did you happen to see the title?" She asked. Ceri shook like a leaf in the wind.

"Y-yes. It was... it was all in silver. Grim Anatomy," Ceri whispered, and Evelyn froze. Oh. She knew that one. It was an infamous part of the library's collection, one that was often whispered about by the older apprentices. But only whispered. The contents were suited to dark nights and whispers. If Lydia needed to bring it out, that meant that Ser Serena saw something truly terrible. Ceri was correct to call the book awful.

"A frightening volume indeed," she murmured. "But a valuable one. It's part bestiary, part anatomy text. It documents rare demons."

"Demons?" Ceri squeaked out.

"Yes. The author collected all of their knowledge of strange demons into the book in the hopes that it would help us future Mages protect ourselves. It was meant as a kindness," Evelyn explained, as she remembered Lydia explaining the books of the restricted section to her all those years ago. "We Mages must look out for each other as best we can, and knowledge-"

"Is our weapon," Ceri recited.

"Exactly. It is good to be wary. It is a book you are a little too young to read," Evelyn said. "But not all of our books are so frightening. Would you like me to find you some nicer ones tomorrow?"

"Yes please," Ceri mumbled, and she burrowed closer to Evelyn, her little fists clinging to the flannel of her nightshirt. Soon enough the girl was fast asleep, and Evelyn stared out into the darkness. Grim Anatomy. She shuddered herself, thinking of the terrible passages the book contained, and squeezed her eyes firmly shut.

[bluemidnightmelody]

lover/fighter - my favorite moments

[Little snippets from my Finnick/OC longfic that are stuck in my head]

From Chapter 38 - What's in a name?

"I do care," Rhea replies with renewed vehemence. "I didn't expect to ever say this, but I think you should value yourself a little more. Accepting hurtful words from others just like that indicates that you are not doing that." And it's actually surprising how stark the actual contrast is between what the public sees of him and the truth. "In any case, it does matter," she says clearly. She really has a talent for hitting his weak spots. Finnick has to laugh softly as he thinks back to how she sounded just half a year ago. With a deep chuckle, he replies, "And this from the same person who once asked me how I fit through the door with my huge ego. Do you remember that, Princess?" Rhea can hardly tell what is actually the reason for the throbbing in her chest. Maybe it's the fact that she remembers that night very clearly. She remembers how he whisked her away to the dance floor completely unexpectedly, and how outstanding he was as a dance partner. She remembers how surprised she was when he made her laugh for the very first time that night, more than once actually, and even more times he made her blush. She also remembers surprisingly vividly how it felt to find him there so unexpectedly. Maybe it's because it's only now, such a long time later, that she suddenly realizes that in this scene, where they could do nothing but stare at each other across the ballroom, they had a "moment" of sorts. That's what some might call it, and even more shocking is that it might have been the first, but not the last. Perhaps, and this is just as likely, the fact that this is the second time in just one evening that he has addressed her with such a term of endearment, just like that, also plays a role. "You're doing it again, calling me princess," she mumbles cautiously, unable to ignore it once more. Finnick looks into the darkness in surprise. Honestly, he didn't even realize he'd done that. He uses pet names like that all the time, every day, without giving it much thought. "Have I?" he asks quietly, even though he's already aware that he obviously has. Apparently more than once, without even realizing it. Maybe it's because he also remembers the victory party very well. He has to admit to himself that he really thought she looked like some kind of fairytale princess back then. He clears his throat briefly and then replies, in an attempt to sound casual, "Well, you like fairy tales so much. I thought it was kind of fitting." Now that he has the link in his head, there's no way to undo it. He makes a mental note to himself not to call anyone else Princess ever again. Looks like that name is now taken. "Stop it," she replies quietly, and he can hear the sulk in her tone. And then she curses Finnick Odair and his damn mouth. A mouth with which he could convince anyone that the sky is green, that stone is gold, or that pain is pleasure if you just listen to him long enough. Or he suddenly gives a silly pet name a meaning. A satisfied smile spreads across Finnick's face as he imagines her expression right now. "I'll stop," he replies playfully. "Provided you can promise me that you'll forget all about that awful nickname I've been branded with since I became the new victor. You must never mention it again, not even think about it," he continues, amusement in his voice. Rhea snorts in disbelief and replies, "I can't make promises like that, my head doesn't work like that." Finnick bites his lower lip with a grin at her slight agitation. "Well then, I guess it'll just be Princess from now on," he purrs provocatively. "You're the most stubborn princess in the whole Capitol. Probably no dragon would have the patience to drag you off because you'd be far too much trouble," he continues and laughs heartily.

Links to all the chapters: lover/fighter - Chapter Index

fanfiction on ao3 and wattpad

[galacticwildfire]

Illicit Affairs | Obi-Wan Kenobi

Eleven

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Amidala!oc

Rhea Amidala meets Obi-Wan Kenobi when he and his master come to her younger sisters aid and he discovers the queen's sister was once a Jedi, expelled from the order for her unwillingness to forgo love and attachment. The two stranded together on Tatooine find common ground despite their differences, and above all a hope within the other for something greater than themselves.

He hopes for her to rejoin the order, while she hopes for him to leave, and both are left reeling from their illicit affair, until ten years later he is once again called to her sister's service and they are catapulted into each other's lives by a war that will set them on the same path of secrecy and tragedy.

Word count: 7.4k

Tags/warnings: fluffy, alcohol, mentions of sex, obi-wan being scandalised, anakin being anakin

~

~

~

We sit in Padme's apartment, all three of us no doubt developing bruises from throwing ourselves out of windows and speeders. But Obi-Wan doesn't need to know I did just the same hours before he arrived here, even if I'm starting to feel the bruises from that fight.

"You all look awful," Padme says, making us tea well past midnight, Dorme her only companion besides the security. "So you believe it was a bounty hunter?"

"She said it was a bounty hunter," I say, gladly accepting her tea. "Who then killed her before she could give him up."

"Thank you very much," Obi-Wan says accepting Padme's tea, as well mannered as ever. Both of us too afraid to ask for caf instead since Padme would rouse on us considering the time and I know better than to ask her for alcohol.

"We will find him Padme," Anakin's promises her while Obi-Wan and I share a look, too exhausted to listen to Anakin fawning over her.

"I have every faith you will," Padme says, sitting down beside him as I move into the kitchen to find something extra to add to it while she's distracted and Obi-Wan follows.

"More sugar?" Obi-Wan asks, wanting any excuse to not have to watch Anakin's shameless flirting, and instead I reach for the top cupboard she thinks I don't know about it. "Ah."

"If you don't tell Padme I'll give you some," I say and he gives me a stiff nod, not arguing as I pour more than a standard drink into each of our teas, knowing we both need it. 

"So, what's next," I ask him, just wanting to sleep but not wanting to part from him yet.

"Tomorrow Anakin and I will see the council so we can move forward with the investigation," he tells me and I give him a soft smile at his decision.

"Thank you Obi-Wan."

"Well considering Anakin got you electrocuted it's the least I can do."

I laugh and feel Padme look over to me before keeping Anakin occupied.

"Would you like to join us?" he asks and I'm surprised.

"You want to bring me back in front of the council?"

"Well you have a way of getting things across," he says with a small smile. "Let them regret not taking you back."

I can't help the mischief in mine. "Pissing off the council, now you've got me on board."

"Well that's not how I'd phrase it, but yes," he smiles, reaching over to squeeze my shoulder and hesitates before asking. "Tell me, have you still been continuing your training on your own?"

On my own? No.

"Yes," I tell him, lying to him a foreign feeling, but now isn't the time for all that. Not when we have a lead to follow. "I've spent the last ten years trying to train myself for better or for worse."

He searches my eyes but makes the decision to believe me.

"Then let them see that," he says and lets me rest my head on his shoulder as he rubs my back. "You should sleep."

"So should you," I reply, knowing we're just as stubborn as each other. "But you don't want to leave Anakin flirting with my sister."

"Yes, well, he could at least be more subtle about it."

"We were hardly subtle," I chuckle, smiling at the memories. "Is this what Qui-Gon thought whenever he'd catch us alone in empty rooms?"

"Well," he says as I look up at him and his eyes are on mine. "When you put it like that."

Fondly I remember as I hear the two of them talking "We were that young once."

I was Anakin's age, and he was Padme's.

"It is strange looking back at it now isn't it?"

"It's not that strange," I say, understanding what I felt better now than I ever did before. "It's the most natural thing, finding comfort in another person."

He wraps his arm around my shoulders, almost like an old friend would. Almost. "You aren't wrong."

I reach back for his hand and squeeze it tight. "We should sleep, Anakin will watch Padme."

He nods and we head back out to them.

"I doubt they'll try anything else tonight so we're going to rest," I tell them. "We'll be seeing the Jedi Council in the morning."

Padme nods and looks between us before saying. "Sleep well."

She's soon back into conversation with Anakin as I take Obi-Wan to the guest bedroom, finding it of course occupied by Dorme and so against any sense I have I take him into mine. His own senses must be gone for he actually comes in.

He hangs his cloak up over a chair while I sit on the edge of my queen sized bed. For a moment neither of us say anything but just look at one another, feeling everything between us.

"I'm glad you're here Obi-Wan," I finally say, knowing words can never express how much.

"So am I my dear," he says and I can't help myself as I come to my feet and find myself in his arms. An embrace of two people with ten years of longing for one another, what I wanted to do the moment I saw him. I feel him breathe me in as he holds me tight and breathes my name "Rhea."

Gently I feel him untying my braid and letting his fingers run through it until my hair is loose and feel his breath hitch in his throat as I nuzzle my head in the crook of his neck, neither of us wanting to move. When I finally look up at him it's clear that ten years has changed nothing except make the ache of longing deeper.

We don't need to say anything as he lays in my bed, my head on his chest, both of us too exhausted to think rationally, to think of consequences. In our positions all we do is think of the consequences of our actions, all we do is try to be rational. But when we're with one another it doesn't matter. Because it's just us and no one else.

"Obi?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you been happy?" I ask him, such a silly question but one that's been on my mind these many years and the question is one that leaves him silent in contemplation for a moment.

"I've been happy enough," he tells me, having to bite back a gasp as his fingertips run along my spine. "But that doesn't mean I haven't had doubts." The pain in his voice makes my heart ache. "Have you been happy?"

"I feel as if all I've had these many years are doubts," I confide in him, years of utter self destruction all in the name of not feeling that aching numbness inside of me, Dooku quickly nipped that in the bud. "When Padme told me you were coming..." I can't find the words and instead tell him "I've missed you."

Three simple words that could not even begin to touch the agony I've been in.

But he knows.

"I've missed you too," he says quietly and holds me, both of us barely conscious at this point. "Sweet dreams my dear."

"Sweet dreams Obi," I smile softly and feel his lips on my forehead as I drift off into my dreams, for the first time not having to imagine him holding me. 

~

The room's filled with light as I wake, I could be forgiven for thinking the events of the previous day were the dream of a homesick girl, but here he is.

I look up at him, finding him awake and watching me with nothing but adoration in his eyes, something I return. My hand trails up his chest to cup his bearded face and his eyes fall closed at my touch, his chin tilting so his lips can brush the edge of my hand and my own eyes close at the roughness of his beard next to the softness of his mouth.

"Obi," I murmur sleepily and feel his tired smile.

 Although our peace is just as quickly disrupted by Anakin.

"Obi-Wan?" Anakin calls out from the hallway like a lost puppy and I just laugh while Obi-Wan sighs.

"A common occurrence?"

"I'm convinced I've atoned for all my wrongs as a padawan through training Anakin," he groans, with a strong love for his padawan but also a deep frustration. "Patience is the first thing I came to learn."

"Old Ben Kenobi," I chuckle as his fingers lace with mine. "Qui-Gon did foresee it."

"That he did," he says, still groggy from sleep yet the most beautiful I've ever seen him with the light in his eyes. He was always handsome, a handsome boy with a baby face and bright eyes, but now here he is bearded and wise with eyes that are still just as bright. The sight of him is enough to make me forget all the reasons this very moment we share should not be happening.

"You're more beautiful than ever," he murmurs reaching out to play with my hair as if our thoughts are the same. 

"And you're more handsome than ever," I say reaching out to stroke his beard before running my fingers through his long hair. "You truly are a sight, I don't know how the council allows you to walk around looking like you do."

That makes him chuckle "Well after this I dare say they may put a stop to that."

"Obi-Wan?" we hear Anakin still calling and sigh as Obi-Wan reluctantly sits up.

"I best coach Anakin on what to say, or rather not say, before we see the council."

I nod, not quite ready to let him go and we sit there together in bed for a moment with my head on his shoulder, as if it is how we could wake up every day despite it being the first in ten years.

He looks at me as if trying to regain his senses, telling himself he's already gone too far, before shaking his head and leaning forward to press his lips to my forehead, fingers running through the curls of my hair as I let myself be consumed by that simple innocent touch for as long as he'll let me.

"I'll see you outside," he says, forcing himself to pull away and he doesn't look back as he takes his cloak with him, knowing if he does he may not leave.

With the ghost of his lips on my forehead I force myself to leave the sheets that smell like him to get ready. I go to shower but the feeling of him on me is too comforting to remove just yet, and so I hesitate before stepping inside remembering it's the council we'll be seeing. I can't afford to leave any trace of him on me.

But even as I shower I can't help the memories that come of that night together and the dawn after, and yet even then they pale to feeling of waking up with him now and I press my eyes shut as I confront the fact it isn't feelings I had for a boy a decade a go that I feel, but an overwhelming adoration for the man he's become.

And that- that is more dangerous than any memory could be.

 I dress myself nicely in crimson, regal enough to be seen with the dignity and respect befitting my position as a former Princess of Theed but still suitable enough for a fight if one finds me. After all much of the training I undertook with Padme and her handmaidens was learning to fight no matter how inappropriately dressed we are for it, and so I leave my long hair loose, unable to bear it any other way.

When I leave my room Padme is already looking at me with a raised eyebrow, knowing the room Obi-Wan came out of is mine. I give a guilty smile and she just shakes her head at me, knowing she was right about how I feel, hell she was so right I can even admit it. 

Obi-Wan stands there with two cups of caf in hand, one for him and one for me. The simple gesture warming me more than the drink ever could.

"Ready?" Obi-Wan asks me and I nod, ready to once again face the Council.

Even if the last time I faced them was when I lost him, and so I know this time we won't make the mistake of letting them see our hearts so plainly.

~

Neither of us speak of the night nor the morning as we go to the temple, partially because Anakin is with us, but moreso because neither of us are willing to admit it is a mistake in every definition of the word, not one we're prepared to face, not one we're prepared to end. 

As we come to the steps of the temple I can't fight the ache in my chest at the memories of the last time I stood here. The decision that brought me here and the decision I made as a result of deciding to leave him in peace. So many decisions, some right and some wrong, but they've all brought me back to him.

And that fact alone almost makes me believe in fate once again.

"Rhea?" Obi-Wan asks quietly, hand on my arm as Anakin goes on ahead of us.

"I'm ready," I say nodding along confidently but ask "Just don't leave my side." 

"I won't," he swears to me, and together we climb the steps of the temple and walk through its grand hall filled with masters and children, and somehow through Dooku's manipulations I'd forgotten the joy that can be felt here, the peace. The memories that weren't all bad.

Perhaps I'll tell Obi-Wan of the last time I stood here, perhaps I'll tell him of what brought me here and why I left without seeing him. I will in time, once Padme is safe.

Obi-Wan is watching me, the small smile on my face as younglings run past and he guides me to the lift up to the council chambers and I feel a strange peace despite the uncertainty.

As we stand in the lift he asks me "Do you know how to conceal your emotions in the force?"

He doesn't need to tell me why, and I don't need to ask, I just nod, I learned from the master of it after all. "Yes."

Last time neither of us knew how and they saw straight through us and this- whatever this is - we aren't making the same mistake twice.

"Now," he begins gently. "Speak with authority, you aren't a renegade padawan anymore, you're a general. Command the respect you deserve."

His choice of words surprise me until I see the deep respect in his eyes and nod, assuring him. "Don't worry dear, I'm quite good at that."

He leans in and teases "Respect, not fear."

I laugh and ask "How do you know it's fear?"

"Do you think I haven't kept an eye on you?" he asks me and there's mischief in his eyes as he tells me "I may be aware of broken hands and terrified politicians."

"Well, they're politicians," I say, still recovering from that revelation whilst trying to reason my methods but he only looks proud. "Someone has to remind them they serve the people and not themselves."

He hums, eyes bright as he says "And there you are, my fiercesome troublemaker."

"Don't say that," I tease with a smile. "We haven't even started making trouble yet."

He raises an eyebrow "Haven't we?"

And somehow despite entering this elevator with every intention to hide whatever this is Anakin is there as it opens and finds us like that, leaning in with playful smiles and I'm thankful the lift opens to a hallway before the actual council chamber.

Anakin's amused at catching his master like this "Do you need a moment Master?"

"No," Obi-Wan says quickly straightening himself up, having a reputation to maintain as the cranky old master. "Do you Anakin?"

"No, no," Anakin quickly says and steps aside "Ladies first."

"Someone's taught you manners it seems," I say, looking back at Obi-Wan and flashing him a smile before making myself serious and stepping forward towards the council chambers, concealing both my feelings and heightened force signature as Dooku taught me to.

Considering he was good enough at it to conceal being a sith lord's apprentice I trust I can do it well enough to hide seven years of training and my feelings for Obi-Wan.

I shouldn't be surprised that when I step inside the council chambers the council all take a deep breath, especially when they see me by Obi-Wan's side.

"Hello," I say, knowing I need no introduction. "I am here on behalf of Naboo's security force to petition you to allow Master Kenobi to begin an investigation into the assassination attempts on Senator Amidala's life."

There is no argument from the council, but they all eye me warily as Obi-Wan gives a brief explanation of last nights events.

"Track down this bounty hunter you must Obi-Wan," Yoda instructs and I stand there pleasantly surprised.

Master Windu agrees and says "Most importantly find out who he is working for." 

"Rhea has told me she has suspicions that these attacks are coming from the Separatists," Obi-Wan informs them and it seems I've concealed my feelings so well he misses the flash of panic I give him to shut up. "And being permitted by Count Dooku." 

The council all sit more upright at that and suddenly all attention is on me as Windu repeats "Count Dooku?"

Fuck.

"Just a suspicion," I shrug, having been in the public eye long enough to pull off a convincing lie and choose my words carefully. "My sister's idea really, she is convinced that these attacks against her may be happening in order to influence the Military Creation bill, in truth it could be coming from either side of the political mess that we are all caught in."

Obi-Wan knows I'm lying, or at least certainly hiding something but doesn't let anything cross his face that could reveal so and draws the attention from me "I would ask that General Amidala is permitted to assist me in this investigation on behalf of Naboo's security forces."

They are hesitant, no doubt remembering ten years ago when we stood before them Obi-Wan asked them to reinstate me to the order. They would have known well what the true reason was, as clearly as we see through Anakin now. 

That alone raises suspicion amongst them but they are not ready to fight either of us on this. In their eyes it's been ten years, I am a general and he is a Jedi, neither of us are doing anything that could infer we are even friendly, anything more than a working partnership.

"Very well," Yoda permits. "Assist you in this investigation, General Amidala may."

"What about Padme?" I ask calmly, not wanting to leave her alone. "She still needs protection."

"Handle that, young Skywalker will."

Obi-Wan glances to me, both of us immediately hesitant but we don't say anything, not in front of the council. Not when Padme would throw a fit if we forced upon her any more additional protection.

"Anakin, escort the Senator back to her home planet of Naboo, she'll be safer there," Mace instructs. "And don't use registered transport. Travel as refugees."

Even Anakin knows she won't like that idea. "As the leader of the opposition it will be very difficult to get Senator Amidala to leave the Capitol."

"It's alright," I assure him, wanting to leave this chamber as soon as I can to avoid further questioning. "My sister will be reluctant to leave but I will ensure she does."

"Until caught this killer is, our judgement she must respect," Yoda says and I do not argue but instead agree.

"Yes Master."

Yoda looks upon me with a curious eye. "Changed you have, recklessness of youth eased, yet strong with force you remain."

It seems that I cannot hide from Master Yoda, but the others exchange looks of confusion as they don't sense anything beyond what would be expected.

"For the previous ten years I have trained myself in the ways of the force," I tell them openly, much to their surprise. "What is it you call those who walk a different path, a gray Jedi?"

"Gray Jedi?" Mace repeats. "That is a term I have not heard used in a long time."

Obi-Wan looks at me in surprise, but this is not anything he hasn't expected and something tells me he suspects more than he is willing to reveal.

"I suppose that is what I could be called, as Master Qui-Gon once was, " I tell them, feigning innocence, ignorance even. Knowing that if I reveal too much they will easily piece together who has trained me, in truth I'm surprised Obi-Wan hasn't pieced it together. Although I sense his trust in me is clouding his judgement, and repeat to them the same lies Dooku once repeated to me. "I just feel the force as it is, I have no great desire for mastery or power, just to feel it's presence." I keep my voice light, as if it isn't even all that important to me. "It is a peaceful life." 

Perhaps those final words are my mistake, because I sense the hesitation from Obi-Wan but nonetheless he supports me in saying "Many indeed saw my Master Qui-Gon as a Gray Jedi."

"That we did," Yoda admits but is still suspicious of me. "And from whom have you been taught."

Even if I told them the truth, that I didn't know he was a sith they would never believe me, at worst they'd kill me believing I had too turned sith, at best they'd still judge me and condemn me for apprenticing under one of the lost and so I lie.

"Myself," I answer as if I'm confused by the question. "I mean, I've looked back at the training I had a padawan and tried to follow that but mostly it's just been finding a type of discipline to focus myself in my duties as a general, meditating on my position in the grand scheme of the force and finding peace in it." 

Those words would have been true years ago, they would have been truthful if I spoke them to Obi-Wan the last time I stood in this temple and told him those things as reasons for wanting to accept Dooku's training. Hell, they would have been true those first few years of training too, but not now. Not anymore. Not after all that has happened.

"I am impressed," Master Windu says and the council are relatively neutral, there is no distrust from any of them aside from Yoda. "You have shown great discipline since leaving the order. Now, I encourage you to implement these teachings during this investigation."

"Thank you Master," Obi-Wan and I both say before leaving the chamber and the relief that flows through me is enough his fingertips skim over my elbow to steady me once we are well out of sight, but still he is quiet.

"What's a gray Jedi?" Anakin asks us as we step inside the lift. "Is that a Jedi who uses the darkside?"

"Certainly not," Obi-Wan says quickly. "There is no such thing, for a Jedi cannot use the darkside without being corrupted by it. It merely refers to Jedi who have strayed from the order and the code. My master Qui-Gon was considered one as he had different views to the council and disobeyed them, but I can assure you Anakin he would never have entertained the darkside. Like Rhea he had opposing views and did not necessarily follow the council's interpretation of the code." 

"So like me?" he says and I can feel Obi-Wan's anxiousness at those words whilst I can't help but be proud. Even when he was a boy I knew he'd be a little maverick too.

"Well... yes and no. See matters of ideology are quite complicated," he looks to me and I take over.

"I caused quite a bit of trouble as a youngling that got me expelled from the order. I missed my family and did not see why I could not still love them while serving as a Jedi," I tell Anakin, and can feel him echoing the same pain. "I was your age the last time I saw the council and learned the hard way that things are more complicated than I would like them to be."

"I remember Obi-Wan telling me when I was still a child that you'd be coming home with us to the Jedi Temple," he says and I see Obi-Wan's eyes fall to the floor. "That he wanted you to come with us but the council wouldn't let you."

"Like I said Anakin," I say quietly, having heard this the last time I came here. "Things are more complicated than they should be."

"Anakin, you go on ahead to Padme's apartment," Obi-Wan tells him. "I have some more business to attend to before we leave."

Anakin definitely doesn't protest when it comes to Padme and walks ahead of us and I look at Obi-Wan, half expecting an interrogation but whatever suspicions he has he puts them aside for now.

"What is it?" I ask him cautiously, still paranoid, still very aware of the secrets I hide for fear he won't be able to trust me when he knows the truth. I'll tell him when the time is right, when I know he'll believe me when I say I didn't know the truth until it was too late.

"I don't trust him with this assignment," he admits to me and it's a relief it's Anakin he's concerned about, not me. Not yet at least. But I'm sure the questions will come and I need to prepare myself for when they do. "He has exceptional abilities but they've made him arrogant and headstrong and-"

"Weren't we all at that age?" I remind him. "Even at twenty five you and Anakin shared more similarities than you'd care to admit."

He can't deny that, and that very fact worries him even more considering just what he was doing in his late padawan years. "I should speak with Master Yoda and get him to reconsider giving Anakin this assignment."

"And tell them what?' I ask him gently. "That Anakin has been in love with my sister since he was nine years old?" We both know he can't do that, not without compromising their trust in Anakin and this investigation. "He's nineteen, of course he is arrogant and won't listen, and no doubt he's at that age where he just wants to- you know." 

He gives a stiff nod, unfortunately knowing just what it is Anakin no doubt dreams about doing with my sister and raises a hand to stop any further elaboration. "I don't need an image."

"Trust me neither do I," I assure him. "But he'll listen to Padme and we both know she is more than capable of handling herself, protection is a formality. Perhaps she might even teach him a thing or two about patience and discipline."

"Then that truly would be a miracle," he says and I put a hand on his shoulder.

"Obi-Wan, breathe," I find myself lecturing him. "All will be well."

He makes an impressed sound as he teases "Don't use my own tricks against me."

"Who do you think I learned it from?" I return, and run my hand down his arm before quickly withdrawing it since we are still in the temple. "Now come on, now I have the hard job of convincing my sister to go into hiding."

~

Sure enough it is a hard job.

One I come to regret as she leaves Jar Jar in charge.

"I am taking an extended leave of absence." Obi-Wan and I look at each other, remembering well our adventures with Jar Jar on Naboo. "It will be your responsibility to take my place in the senate. Representative Binks, I know I can count on you."

I've served as Padme's representative many times to the point I'd usually be her first choice in a matter like this, but I'll be leading the investigation with Obi-Wan. Not to mention the fact she's still mad at me for being a Separatist so serving in the Republic senate is now out of the question.

"Meesa honoured to be taken onna dissa heavy burden," Jar Jar says, chuffed while I nod along, waiting for the formalities to finish. "Meesa accept this with mucha humility and-"

"Jar Jar," Padme says shortly and I know she's not happy. "I don't wish to hold you up."

Jar Jar takes his leave and Padme marches over to us.

"I do not like this idea of hiding."

"Which is why Obi-Wan and I are going to get this sorted as soon as we can," I tell her only for her to snap at me.

"I have not worked for a year to defeat the Military Creation Act, an act which your-" she cuts herself off and points her finger at me aware Obi-Wan is here. "I do not have to explain your hypocrisy to you." 

"You do not have to explain," I assure her and Obi-Wan steps out of her line of sight, wisely choosing to hide by the door to not get dragged into an argument between us. "But I will have you know I only support individual armies like ours and not centralised ones like the Republic wants so we are on the same page there." That makes little difference to her and I say what she doesn't want to hear since she's mad anyways "If you want to see the act be defeated you need to be alive long enough for that to happen."

"Sometimes we must let go of our pride," Anakin advises, unlike his master indeed being stupid enough to get dragged into an argument between us. "And do what is requested of us."

Obi-Wan gapes at him. "When have you ever done that?"

"You've grown up," Padme comments in surprise and then turns back to me. "But I do not like this, I do not like the fact Naboo now has a military, I do not like the fact you led our army while supporting the Separatists-"

"You what?" Anakin exclaims as I give her a panicked look and she quickly quietens.

"Anakin, this isn't your business," Padme says and motions for him to leave before turning back to me. "And now they may be complicit in this."

"I supported them until they showed their true colours," I argue with her, cautious of Obi-Wan listening and what else she might reveal. "I don't like the Republic or the Separatists. There I said it." I raise my hands in my defence, slowly moving back to where Obi-Wan is standing. "Which is why I support you as leader of the opposition, because I'd personally love to slap Palpatine across the face for, well you know. But regardless of the bill Naboo will be safe. Know that much."

She hates what I've done in militarising our peaceful planet despite knowing it's necessary, she came around to it and supported most of my measures, but still thinks I've been extreme in a full military and not just expanding the security force.

She sighs. "I do not wish to be a hypocrite."

"And you aren't," I tell her, relieved I'm actually calming her down for once. Glad enough the roles have been switched. "But Naboo and the galaxy isn't what it used to be. There is more conflict than there has been in a millenia. Militarisation is the small price we pay for safety, just as hiding for a short time is the price you pay for your life."

As much as she hates it, she knows I'm right. "Alright."

"If all else fails I can take your place in the senate," I promise her and she's certainly hesitant but it isn't the worst situation we could be in. "And if there is any trouble rest assured I'll be there."

"You always are," she says and I squeeze her hand.

Well, we've gotten her to agree to leaving, now comes the easy bit.

Hopefully.

Obi-Wan gives me an approving nod at my speech and puts a hand on my shoulder as Anakin get's Padme's bags, while the hard part is done the work is only just beginning.

~

After a short trip escorted by Typho we stand at the transport platforms where Anakin and Padme will travel as refugees.

I hug her farewell but Obi-Wan is more worried, lecturing Anakin one last time.

"Don't do anything without first consulting either myself or the council."

"Yes Master."

We watch them leave, both of us uncertain of what comes next.

"I do hope he doesn't try anything foolish," Obi-Wan says, anxious Anakin's going to try to seduce my sister.

"I'd be more concerned about her doing something than him," Typho remarks, leaving me uneasy.

"Oh don't tell me that," I say as we watch them depart. "How much trouble can she cause on Naboo?"

"Hopefully only half as much as you," Obi-Wan remarks and guides me back from the platform. "Come on, I know where to start."

~

Obi-Wan and I walk to a diner, standing a reasonable distance apart considering it's Coruscant and it would be an awful start to this investigation if another Jedi on patrol were to catch us in a compromising position.

"So you said his name is Dex and he might know more about the dart?"

"He's an old friend," Obi-Wan tells me. "He's helped with this type of thing before."

"Uh huh," I say unimpressed by the diner, eager to take it to my own contacts and get off Coruscant. "It seems like a leap of faith when I have some proper forensics analysts on Naboo-"

"Trust me," Obi-Wan says as we walk inside and sure enough his old friend remembers him well.

"Obi-Wan!" the chef calls out with such excitement it leaves me a little stunned but Obi-Wan does have that effect on people.

"Hello Dex," Obi-Wan smiles, as charming as ever with his hands tucked together underneath his cloak, a sight so sweet it's almost amusing considering the tone he was using with Anakin ten minutes ago.

"Take a seat I'll be right with ya."

We head to a booth and he motions for me to slide in beside him as the waitress calls out "Want a cup of jawa juice?"

"Oh yes thank you," he says and must see the look on my face. "It's not as bad as it sounds."

"Please tell me they don't juice jawa's."

"Just bantha hides," he replies and he watches amused as I gag a little. "Since when do you shy away from adventure?"

"Oh I love adventure," I assure him. "I just prefer my juice not to have bantha's in it." 

"If I recall you've never been overly fussy about what you put in your-" he begins before realising whatever he is referring to can only be mistaken for one thing and watch him curse himself as my mouth falls open.

"In my what now?" I question, not letting him go that easily and he shakes his head at himself as I taunt him. "Put what in my mouth?"

I shouldn't enjoy watching him fluster this much "I'm talking about those awful rations the Gungans gave us before the battle not-" 

He can't finish and now both of us are red and far too close in this little booth. He looks around for his juice so he can put something in his mouth now to shut himself up while I'm thinking back to that night, a night spent making love like it would be our last. Oh little did we know. 

I remember how utterly scandalised he was that I'd want to do such a thing, although the scandal was very short lived with him forgetting anything else but my name the moment I put my mouth on him. And that was still only early in the night, two young people in love who wanted to experience all they could before the world tore them apart. By morning there were very little ways we had not had one another and yet right now I can think of many more ways I want him.

He must see a hunger in my eye as he looks away and suddenly this damn booth is too small for the both of us as I find myself hot at the memories that follow and can't let help myself as I say "Well, I'd enjoy what we're both remembering right now more than jawa juice."

He chokes at my words while I smirk to myself knowing he is indeed thinking the same things as I am and he physically can't meet my eye as he tries to compose himself "Good god Rhea."

"You're the one with the dirty mind," I dare to venture, feeling quite satisfied by how utterly red and flustered he is, anything to distract from my own sudden need. "You're blushing."

"I'm not-" he argues but stops when he meets my eyes and murmurs at the mischievous glint in mine "You're going to be the death of me."

"I know," I say and thankfully we're only alone momentarily as Dex comes to sit down across from us.

"Hey old buddy!" Obi-Wan can't get up from the booth quick enough and I watch them hug in amusement at Obi-Wan having made so many friends with the attitude he used to have as a padawan and his friend looks to me. "And who is your lovely lady here?"

"Rhea," Obi-Wan answers sitting back down beside me and Dex sits across from us, taking up the other side of the booth while Obi-Wan tries to put a little more space between us this time, still flushed.

"Ooh a forbidden lover?" Dex teases, the Jedi code being widely known here on Coruscant.

"Something like that," Obi-Wan says much to my surprise and pulls out the dart. "Now, can you tell us what this is?"

"Well, what do ya know," Dex says, examining it. "I ain't seen one of these since I was last prospecting on Subterrel beyond the outer rim."

"Can you tell me where it came from?" he asks, the waitress bringing over his drink. "Thank you."

"This baby belongs to them cloners," he says as Obi-Wan takes a sip, and passes it to me to try, both of us confused by what he means. "What you've got here is a Kamino saberdart."

"I wonder why it didn't show up in the analysis archives," Obi-Wan inquires as I sniff the drink.

"It's these funny little cuts on the side that give it away," he says, showing us. "Those analysis droids only focus on symbols."

"Huh," I say, this guy actually does know his stuff and Obi-Wan can't resist the I told you so look he gives me.

"I should think you Jedi would have more respect for the difference between knowledge and wisdom."

I nod along as I take a drink, it not being as bad as I thought it would be although I still would much prefer the other and pass it back to Obi-Wan who teases. "Don't get my lady here talking about philosophy or else we'll be here all day."

I roll my eyes to hide the colour that comes to my cheeks and take the dart in hand. "Well my dear, it seems we'll have plenty of time to talk philosophy since I've never even heard of Kamino."

"I'm not familiar with it either," Obi-Wan says and asks "Is it in the Republic."

"No, no, it's beyond the outer rim," he answers. "I'd say about twelve parsecs outside the Rishi maze. Should be easy to find, even for those droids in your archives." He leans in, lowering his voice. "These Kaminoans keep to themselves, they're cloners, damn good ones too."

"Cloning, as in livestock?" I ask, that being the first thing that comes to mind.

"As in everything and anything."

"Are they friendly?" Obi-Wan asks as I consider asking the waitress for a cup of caf to take with us since this investigation is taking a very strange direction.

"Depends."

"Depends on what Dex?"

"On how good your manners are."

We both laugh and I comment "Well they should be quite friendly then, I can't speak for myself but we have the most well mannered gentleman in the galaxy here."

"Not just that, but also how big your pocketbook is," Dex adds and Obi-Wan looks to me for that.

"I used to be a princess, that won't be a problem," I add, an elected one but still, and he whistles.

"Got yourself a fancy one Obi-Wan?" he says, slapping a hand down on his shoulder and winking "Very nice."

He leaves us and Obi-Wan takes a sip of his drink to hide the flustered smile he wears as I take the dart from him, rolling it between my fingers. "So, Kamino. I've sat in that senate listening to every damn star system there is, and it still doesn't ring a bell."

"It wouldn't if they're outside the Republic," he says, eyes contemplative as the droid waitress comes back over to us.

"Can I get you anything else?"

"Yes," I begin and Obi-Wan finishes for me.

"Two large cups of extra strong caf to go please, with sugar."

She leaves to get our order ready and I can't help the smile that plays at my lips as I ask "So, where to next?"

"The temple to see Master Jocasta, if anybody knows where Kamino is and about these cloners it's her."

"Mmm well, your friend was quite excited to see you," I say, looking at his face in the light now we finally have a moment to ourselves and see he hasn't changed as much as I thought, still the same bright eyed boy who captivated me so long ago beneath the facial hair that compliments him so handsomely. "Quite happy to think I'm your girlfriend too."

Now he's blushing again, the two of us may as well be padawans with how we're carrying on but he remains as classy as ever. "Well my dear, it's not every day I bring a beautiful woman into the city."

I know I'm sitting here looking like a mess with my hair long and wild, bruises starting to show their colours on me and my eyes tired and dark, but he still thinks I'm beautiful.

"I'm the exception then?"

"You always are," he says and can't help himself now as he murmurs "Somehow I'm only ever in this state when you're near."

"Well," I begin, suddenly breathless. "It's surprising that in all the time I've spent on Coruscant these past years we've never crossed paths."

Every time I came here to serve with Padme in the senate I swear I looked at every face in every street looking for him, but never until now have I found him. Except for that one day I still cannot bring myself to tell him of, because then I'd have to tell him what finally drove me there.

"I'll admit, I've spent more time in the temple with Anakin than outside of it," he tells me. "These last ten years have been much of the same."

"Mine have been all over the place," I tell him in full honesty. "One mess after the other until finally I wound up in a big enough one that you came to me."

And again he makes himself my shining Jedi Knight. "Well, I couldn't hear that you're in trouble and not come to you."

I tilt my head and ask "When you took this mission, did you know it would be me you'd be coming to, not just Padme."

"Well, I figured if your sister was in danger I'd find you right there beside her," he tells me and admits "I spent the entire elevator ride as anxious as Anakin."

I just laugh, it being nothing compared to me. "I'd found out you were coming about a minute before you'd arrived, I think she did that deliberately so I couldn't run away."

"Would you have?" he asks and I smile to myself at what I did instead.

"I certainly hid, but the moment I felt you in that elevator and well... all I felt was you." I'm at a loss for words to explain it, but I know he understands. "Qui-Gon, when he told us there was a bond-"

"Neither of us knew how much until now," he finishes, an understanding between us so deep words aren't needed and he reaches for my hand that rests on the table, holding it tight that simple touch making me draw a sharp breath. "We did say it wouldn't be the end."

If one thing is clear to me, it's that I'm as hopelessly in love with the man sitting across from me now as I was with the man who I held in the aftermath of the battle, the two of us broken and beaten holding onto one another as if our lives depended on it.

I look at our hands now, almost with a sadness remembering how we clung to one another in those dark days, only to be interrupted by the waitress with our drinks. He thanks her and pays whilst I sit there in contemplation, letting myself feel things that should terrify me, but how can I be afraid when it's with him by my side?

I should be afraid, absolutely terrified, I should have been ten years ago and I should be now and yet... all I feel is him.

[dmclemblems]

Shahid, entirely new character, could've done anything with him: *is a stupid, violent brute*

Nader, a character who had liked battle but was overall just pretty chill: *is a pillaging, violent brute*

Claude, whose entire character relied on diplomacy over violence, looking for the truth whenever possible, and only using violence as a last resort: *is an ignorant, violent brute*

Cyril, the one named Almyran who avoids the above three's characterization: *isn't playable, gets killed with no one on the player side giving a shit*

House Goneril's enslavement of Almyrans: *never once mentioned*

Nader's pillaging: *had to be denounced by a Fodlan character, not an Almyran one*

okay so like um when can we admit that maybe Hopes' writers are Just Racist and that's why Claude got so fucked over since he didn't fit into their obvious opinions about how he (as an Almyran, who are heavily inspired by Middle Eastern/East Asia influences and who are typically written with these exact stereotypes) "should" be. of course not saying that everyone who like Hopes Claude is a racist, but i'm sorry i just can't give that benefit of the doubt to Hopes' writers when their treatment of Almyra is THIS consistently bad throughout the game

Tbh I always try not to get into the racism issue because I know it’s a sensitive topic for a lot of people, but as someone who is part Middle Eastern it’s definitely been jarring to see. I try not to get super irritable about it because it’s a video game made in Japan (and they’re definitely not as open minded as the west is with this stuff and are often ignorant of actual facts, even if they mean no harm by stereotypes because it’s what they know. I know a series that I’ve loved since childhood and still do love as much as FE, but it’s a 90s series with stereotypes all over the place. I don’t believe the creator actually did it as an insult, but that he didn’t know any better (especially since the recent remake did try to improve on some of it). For this game in particular I’m not sure what their mindset was when making it, if they’re just ignorant and/or just didn’t care.

Lots of people were also angry when the leaks came out, and it frustrated me how people kept saying “stay calm, we don’t know if the leaks are true!” because I checked the script that had gone public (literally the entire game script was leaked, so people saying that were either just in denial or didn’t want to accept the fact that it was happening this way). The fact that people looked away when a lot of us were angry at the obviously true script still pisses me off to this day tbh, because so many people were just shoving down anyone’s concerns about what was leaked.

Personally, I did go through a good bit of the script (which I still have somewhere) and I actually stumbled on Claude declaring war on Fodlan from the bad SB route. It made me so angry how people kept trying to deny what was obviously there, and there’s no way anyone was so dedicated to writing that massive of a script to fake a leak. The amount of files was absolutely batshit, and it was also extremely messy and unclear as to who the speakers were, just the way you’d expect a bunch of files like that to look.

What angered me about it wasn’t just that Claude’s character got fucked by a cactus a few double digit times until he was unrecognizable in the second half, but that the only main brown character was the one who is arguably the worst of the three lords. In this game in particular the devs tried to keep Edelgard’s hands clean as much as possible, presumably because of her popularity, and so made Claude the one where players could lay blame on the misfortunes of the game. There’s only so much that Rhea can blamed for in a game where she’s hardly even present, even in the one route where you’re allied with her.

If it was only Claude I might have eventually just figured maybe it was an extremely unfortunate accident, and since we already knew Claude had a lot of problems growing up and that he was basically The Estranged Child, I could’ve passed off Shahid’s behavior. When it got around to Nader’s characterization being butchered and the Almyran NPC saying normally they could pillage and all that but he “guesses the Alliance’s rules are different”, that’s when it was just totally in the territory of not giving a shit about the Almyrans’ writing for me.

When things come from Japan, there’s an amount of tolerance I’ve built up for any unfortunate stereotypes and whatnot, but when it’s very clearly every character from that location, it goes into the territory of believing some places’ people all behave the same way.

It’s sad for me because I love Three Houses’ characters and I want to love Hopes’ new characters, but considering what a dumpster fire everything but AG was, it’s kinda a bitter aftertaste.

[travelling-on-the-octopath]

S Plays Golden Wildfire - Part i'm going to hate this aren't i

Chapter 14 - A Symbol of the Past

Story Content

Oh. Oh boy. I'm about to get the deranged dimiclaude scene aren't i.

NOW WAIT. NOW HOLD ON. DOES NOT LETTING JUDITH DIE TRIGGER CLAUDE TURNING HIS BACK ON MISS CONQUEROR? FUCKFSLGJRLIHT IF I'D KNOWN THAT I WOULD HAVE BEEN A LITTLE KINDER TO CLAUDE'S MENTAL STATE

Lorenz suggested they leave Edelgard to fend for herself and let the Empire fall. Claude says the last time he tried to get crafty with the Empire, it resulted in Judith dying, so he won't make the same mistake again.

fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffuck

though i guess i was trying to go full send on making claude the worst possible version of himself, so this tracks actually.

Count Ordelia thanks Claude for ending the fight with the Kingdom (Lysithea/Claude A support). And, WOW, it's almost like that was a BAD IDEA!

Wait wait waaaiiiit this route is really going to end before we take out the slitherers? Who wrote this CF-esque bullshit

CLAUDE IS COMPARED TO HUBERT LIKE THAT'S EVEN SLIGHTLY A GOOD THING.

Oh? It seems like a storybook here is based on Tiana and the king of Almyra!

Marianne I love you but I'm going to need you to shut up for a second:

"I'm still hesitant to say Lady Rhea is outright evil. But that doesn't mean I approve of her methods, considering how divided each region has become over the faith."

She literally stays out of their business until they make an attempt on either her life or the monastery. They're divided because they've decided they had to become something different! THE SOUTHERN CHURCH WAS LITERALLY EDELGARD'S DOING! But of course, if she'd tried to mediate/guide any more, she would have been labelled some sort of power-hungry monster. I fucking hate this route.

Lots of allusions to the Kingdom falling. I can try and tee-hee this away but if Claude actually topples the Kingdom trying to get to Rhea . . .

IGNATZ>FGLSKFG

He's being straight-up fucking delusional? "I can hardly believe Edelgard is counting on us to save her. I'm honestly happy to hear that. It means she trusts us . . . That she considers us her friends." [i tell him that's not at ALL what is happening here] "Even so, she still believes we'll come to her aid. I was so relieved when Claude said we were going to Garreg Mach."

The Deer's trio (Claude, Hilda, Lorenz) are talking with each other in camp and Claude says he's reluctant to consider them the enemy, even if that makes him naïve; I can only assume he's talking about the Kingdom?

Uuuhhhh i think "unifying fodlan" is the right answer to Lysithea's question about what it would take to drive out the slitherers. which is. Uh. (I say this because I chose the other option, which was simply "bring the war to an end" and Lysithea was like "sure, but that's not enough.)

what is WITH the deer this route. Why were they shafted so hard.

Holst says in his A support with Claude that the plan is to overthrow the kingdom. Was it not to get the kingdom to hand over rhea? So, Claude, because your asinine plot didn't work (again), you're going to ruin the kingdom to get at one woman who he WILL HAND OVER if it means you leave his kingdom alone? (And, mind, even if Claude didn't hear that directly from Dimitri, that's exactly what he was banking on. So now he's willing to work with Her Majesty instead and topple the kingdom . . . ) I can't tell if this guy's dumb or heartless.

Losing actual literal years off my life.

Nader being welcomed among their ranks is something that happened in Houses, not to mention all of the non-Fodlan natives that were kicking around at Garreg Mach that still happened in Hopes, so for Claude to be all "but the Church preaches a very different vision [from a world that would let that happen]" is FUCKING INSANE

Claude is just spouting the same incorrect bullshit I don't have the mental bandwidth to type this out. All I have to say is: I have no sympathy for a war effort mounted on partial, damaging information. I didn't have it for the emperor, and I don't have it for him.

Claude is bending over backwards trying to get Edelgard to turn her ire away from Dimitri and the Kingdom.

His evidence for one theory: Dimitri gave me a certain vibe.

You think I'm joking? > "But that's the impression I got when I saw Dimitri on the battlefield."

Anyway the plan is still for Edelgard to take control of Faerghus so fuck these two actually. Does this woman not know how to leave sovereign countries alone.

Main Battle

OH BOY. all right. time to go . . . fuck up the monastery i guess. (i'm supposedly defending it. doesn't feel like defending it)

I have to escort Edelgard to the front lines but she IS WALKING IN CIRCLESSSSSS QUEEN CAN YOU JUST--CAN YOU RUN PLEASE?

...............I think she's avoiding the ground that's on fire. Are you fuckingggg serious right nowwwwwwww IT'S A LITTLE BIT OF FIRE

Misc.

Dimiclaude counter: 2. Claude says that sparing classmates applies to Dimitri too.

CLAUDE CONFIRMS HE'S JACKED. GOD BLESS. Excursion dialogue, "I bet you think I'm pretty scrawny. Don't worry, I got plenty of muscle under here.")

next one is probably the last chapter!

[redlightofdawn]

Daemon gets the strap 1/?

I have no excuse for this. I am trash.

HotD - Daemon/Rhaenyra (Explicit, but this part is mostly banter and negotiation)

Pegging, cockcages, femdom, erectile dysfunction, first time bottom

cw: setting-typical... everything, really. you know what you getting into if you decide to read this.

Summary: Daemon has an uncooperative penis but Rhaenyra knows quite a few ways around that, and is more than willing to teach him.

-

Daemon drank sloppily from his cup, restraining himself by a hair from throwing it once it turned empty.

He had disappointed his new lady wife enough for the evening, he thought bitterly.

It wasn't, unfortunately, a new occurrence. He'd had lovers who'd been good about it - Laena, Mysaria - and those who had been insufferable about it - notably Rhea and, less importantly, an assortment of paid companies who had come off worst for it.

But the fact did not change that his mind could be willing, but his flesh often would not.

He shouldn't be surprised Rhaenyra had come looking for him, once she quietly slipped into his chamber, but he shouldn't have. Not many men dared face Daemon when he was in a mood, but Rhaenyra had always been braver than a whole pile of so-called brave men.

"Are you calmer, my husband?" Rhaenyra asked, as if she could not see the wine staining his clothes nor the many other signs of his internal turmoil.

"Much, dear wife," Daemon said, with false cheer. "Though I am afraid no consummation will be had tonight."

Rhaenyra was a woman grown. She had been wed - a sham, but one who produced a good amount of children, regardless of who had fathered them. His admission should be enough for her to understand - might have heard rumors about him before, in fact.

But Rhaenyra rolled her eyes as she had when younger and brasher, and dismissed his bitter words with a wave of her hand.

"There is time for that," she said, imperiously, surprising him. "I had plans to present it to you at a later time, but as the situation has created itself, I might as well. Come, I have a gift for you," she extended her hand in offering, hanging in the air as a chance. "If you trust me, that is?"

He shouldn't. Rhaenyra had been intriguing since she should have been far too young to be so. The fire she had mentioned burned inside all Targaeryans, yes, but beyond - she was a force of chaos and determination, and the years apart had only solidified in his mind that she had become an equally woe-inducing woman.

But he had learned, with Laena. That there were riches that could only be paid for in vulnerability.

He took Rhaenyra's hand.

"Show me."

*

"I hardly think this will help the issue," Daemon said rather crossly as he watched what Rhaenyra was doing between his legs, but didn't push her away or move in any manner that would interfere with the precise loops and knots she was forming.

"It is not meant to," his infuriating, intoxicating niece said, and he made himself hold back threatening anger. He knew Rhaenyra and she always had a plan. "It is meant to teach you that enjoyment can be had regardless."

Always a plan, indeed.

"I fail to see how." His testicles and shaft, upsettingly soft despite Rhaenyra's handling, were constricted inside the most devious apparatus, constructed out of several thin, leather straps and a metallic portion.

A cage, more specifically. Designed to keep him from becoming intumescent and erect, from what he could understand. It would make touching the sensitive spots around the head impossible and also seemed to put his testicles in a particularly exposed and precarious situation.

Despite himself, he was intrigued.

"That… toy," she smirked around the word, and a shiver ran up Daemon's spine, "can be played with in many ways. Tonight, I thought we might pair it with another favorite of mine."

"Well, where is it?" Daemon asked impatiently when she did not move to procure such an object.

She simply smiled back and moved to rummage inside a medium jewelry box that had been conspicuously left atop the mantel.

"The fire helps keep it at a nice temperature," she said, conversationally. Daemon could only see her back, her body blocking whatever she was doing with the box, but it was quite clear when she undid her robes and let them drop to the floor, without turning around.

She was mostly naked underneath, long silver hair loose in beautiful, pearly waves, but he would see a series of leather straps around her hips and thighs, though at first he could not make out its function.

It became quite clear once Rhaenyra turned around, however.

"It has a silver core, but is covered in layers of silk, wool, and, finally, bound in calfskin. I am told it is quite a good imitation of the real thing."

Though Daemon couldn't say that, in his experience, the real thing tended to be quite that big. Though his own personal experience wasn't as vast as it could have been - not as vast such as, for instance, Laenor’s.

Who, Daemon had a feeling, might have had something to do with his current wife owning an attachable member, nevermind its awe-inducing shape and.. size.

"You taught me about the pleasure to be had in lovemaking once, uncle," she said in Valeryan as she approached the bed, stalking like Daemon was prey, the phallus between her legs bobbing in a mesmerizing way with each step. "Now let me teach you."

"What exactly do you intend to do with that?"

“Your cock is not your only place of pleasure, though most men seem to neglect this." That at least confirmed Daemon’s suspicions - he’d heard of such things, but never been intrigued enough to inquire further.

"And what is in it for you?"

"I enjoy the sight," she admitted, with a leer. Then, she placed her right foot atop the bed, spreading her legs and showing where the base of the phallus continued inside of her. "Though I am not entirely selfless in this act. It brings me plenty of pleasure, believe me."

"Have you ever used it upon yourself?"

Rhaenyra seemed intrigued with the idea.

"I have not, in fact. Perhaps you might join me in that experience in the future."

Daemon imagined himself wearing the apparatus, an unbendable, ever-hard, unfailable cock.

He had done less intriguing things, he had to admit.

And he had had experience stuffing a lover both ways at the same time, something that seemed to always be good fun all around. Usually it was done with three people, but two would be more than enough with such a ‘toy’, as Rhaenyra had called it.

“Then make me a deal, wife,” Daemon said, and wasn’t it strange to use such a word as endearment - Laena hadn’t been partial to it, choosing to define herself as apart from Daemon, something he had respected. But Rhaenyra shivered in pleasure when he uttered the word, and it had the effect of making him rather partial to it. “You’ll get a turn now, but I will have mine later.”

“One could say you are about to take a turn,” she said, coming to sit atop Daemon’s lap, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. “But sure, I will take your deal. A fair exchange.” And that infuriating smile was back, and wasn’t Daemon lucky she hadn’t known how to smile like that when she was younger.

[deathlessathanasia]

“It is obvious from a casual glance that the deities in Hesiod’s list of Titans are of such disparate nature and origin that they could not possibly have formed a common group from very early times. Some have Greek names, others foreign names;  some are nature-gods, some are abstractions, some are nonentities who were probably never anything more than genealogical links. Some of them, moreover, for reasons that will be considered presently, could not have shared the common fate of the Titans as former gods who were banished forever. It is altogether probable that the Titans, with the possible exception of Kronos, were originally an anonymous collective body, and one may suspect that most of the deities in the standard list, as established in the Theogony, were first named as Titans by Hesiod himself (who may also have been the first to establish that they were specifically twelve in number). .. . .

We must now consider why the specific deities named by Hesiod should have been enrolled as Titans. Kronos, Rhea and Iapetos have already been discussed, as deities who were almost certainly named as Titans in the existing tradition. Okeanos was the god of the outer Ocean, the great river that supposedly encircled the earth and was the source of all other waters, salt and sweet alike. It could obviously be assumed that the lord of these waters must have been a very ancient deity who had been at his post from the very earliest times. According to a passage in the Iliad, indeed, he and his consort Tethys were none other than the first couple from whom all the gods had sprung (an idea that was apparently derived from a Babylonian myth in which Apsu and Tiamat, representing the sweet and salt waters respectively, were portrayed as the first couple). Even if they could not be regarded as the first gods of all in the context of the succession myth, Hesiod accords them only a slightly lower status by including them among the Titans, as would be  fitting for venerable deities whose union could account for the origin of all the lesser streams of the world. Okeanos seems ill-fitted, on the other hand, to share in the collective actions and fate of the Titans, since his streams are a permanent feature of the world and one might suppose that he would be obliged to remain in them at the edges of the earth. The story in the latter part of the Theogony in which he tells his daughter Styx to assist Zeus against the Titans is consistent with the thought that he did not join with the other Titans in fighting against Zeus; and in Apollodorus’ theogony, in which the Titans are presented as attacking Ouranos as a collective body, it is explicitly stated that Okeanos took no  part in that enterprise. Themis, the personification of law and right order, and Mnemosyne, the personification of memory, belong very appropriately among the Titans in so far as they represent ancient and fundamental forces in the world; but it can hardly be imagined, on the other hand, that they have been banished from the world since the fall of the Titans. Even in the Theogony itself (though in a part of the poem that may have been added after Hesiod’s time), they reappear after the banishment of the Titans as early wives of Zeus. Themis figures, furthermore, as we will see, in a number of myths set in the Olympian era.

The other Titans in Hesiod’s list are obscure deities who are of genealogical significance alone; none have any recorded myths, and they may well have had no stories even in Hesiod’s time, being remembered only as parents or ancestors of more important deities (if they were not invented by the poet himself, as is possible in one or two cases). Hyperion is mentioned in the Homeric epics and other early poetry as the father of the sun-god Helios; and his name is also used on occasion as a title of Helios himself. Since the sun and other main luminaries of the sky must have come into existence at an early stage in the development of the world, Hyperion could be fittingly enlisted as their Titan father. Koios also finds a natural place among the Titans as the father of Leto, who was the mother of two major Olympian deities, Artemis and Apollo. Hyperion and Koios have Titan consorts assigned to them, Theia, ‘the Divine’ and Phoibe, ‘the Radiant’, respectively; it required no great ingenuity, whether on the part of Hesiod or some predecessor, to invent figures such as these. And finally there is Kreios (or Krios), whose nature and origin are a mystery. As we will see, he served a useful if minor genealogical function by fathering husbands for some early goddesses. There was not always complete agreement on the identity of the Titans in the subsequent tradition; Apollodorus, for instance, omits Phoibe, replacing her with Dione (the consort of Zeus at Dodona, and mother of Aphrodite in one account."

 - The Routledge Handbook of Greek Mythology, Robin Hard

[alloftheanxiety]

Mountains

Part 2

Dacey stood on the porch of the tavern with the rest of the guests and stared out at the horizon. His mind was torn equally between awe and confusion at what lay in front of him and he wondered, very seriously, if perhaps he was still asleep. Esk had only just woken up and the sprite hadn't manifested to be able to see anything yet, but he could certainly feel his fae's restless emotions.

'What has happened?' Esk asked inside the young man's head.

"I don't know if I should believe it or not," Dacey answered aloud and somewhat breathlessly, "But the feckin' mountains are back." 

The crowd shuffled and murmured around him, all just as confused and taken aback as he was. Last night the sun had set on an empty sky and this morning it rose to reveal a picturesque mountain range in the far distance. The peaks weren't the same size or even shape as what had been there before the Collapse but that was hardly the important part.

Mountains had risen literally overnight and no one had been woken by it. There hadn't been so much as a tremor.

"I feel like I'm dreamin'" Dacey said and a few others agreed with him.

The village they were staying in was made up of more Rhean citizens than Phell and so there wasn't much reason for Esk to hide. The bracelet on Dacey's left wrist became hot and a bright stream of flames burst out of it as the sprite manifested. He fashioned the fire into a nimble little body with a long wispy tail instead of legs and a bald head that crackled with low flames. His orange eyes were lidded and only half paying attention as he blinked and looked out at the mountains. There wasn't any change in the calm, sluggish manner that Dacey could feel through their contract.

"I do not understand. What is the reason for fuss?" the sprite asked tiredly.

Dacey gawked and waved a hand in the direction of the mountain range.

"Feckin' mountains, Esk," he emphasised in disbelief. 

Other people watched and listened as they spoke to each other. Esk seemed unbothered by their audience and titled his head, eyes falling closed and flames flickering yet lower. He was completely unbothered.

"Yes, I can see that, human. The earth god Rhea is sick, not dead, and the ground still moves on his whims. He wished to craft mountains and so there are mountains."

Dacey huffed and looked between his disinterested companion and the offending scenery a few times, still unable to close his mouth for the sheer absurdness of what he was hearing. Not once in their years of research and travel had Esk or any other sprite ever mentioned that an earth god could just choose to change the topography of their territory so drastically on a whim. Nor had anyone thought to suggest or question how much control Rhea still had over his own magic. Dacey had spent the last few months under the assumption that the god was crippled and relatively harmless. Apparently not.

"Feckin' gods," the young man muttered in awe.

Maybe the end of the world was coming for them faster than anyone had thought.

[reblrths]

SNOW'S MANSION, AFTER HOURS OF THE BALL.

maxim is no stranger to waking up in unfamiliar places. with a pounding head, fuzzy memories of just what happened before, and a mouth as dry as the deserts in 5 — safe to say this is no different. it doesn’t feel any different, not until he recognizes how silent it is. it’s never silent. there’s always indistinct and muffled voices, cars in the distance, music faint in the background, but this — this? it’s the kind of silent where your brain tricks you into thinking it does hear something.

and once he recognizes the silence, he also recognizes the restraints digging into his wrists.

TRIGGER WARNING: torture, drug and alcohol mentions, death, grief, mild mild emetophobia (literally just mentions it)

his eyes adjust to the light in the room and it feels twenty times as bright as the sun, the headache already forming in his head made instantly worse by it. his skin crawls and his neck aches from the way his head hung until he woke. one, two, three rough pulls on those restraints and all it does is hurt worse, like they’re getting tighter the more he resists. the panic sets in, delayed as it is. he’s struck with the events of before — caesar flickerman, a man max has become so acquainted with, announcing the death of four. among them, rhea crane. selenia ripley. women maxim knows, one of whom — his mother. his mother. the desperation claws at him, the denial — surely that’s wrong. surely there’s been a mistake. there’s hope somewhere in him, too — she’s alive. she’s still here. she can’t be gone, not after — not after the interaction he’d had with her just hours before. not after she’d approached him, asking about the clear scene he’d made with auggie, not after he’d blown up and made another scene in her face, not after—

so all it takes is a big argument with augustus at the president’s mansion to be seen by you? is that it?

it’s a blur after that. the entire night is muddled. the one moment he’d been alone (a mistake he never usually makes anyway and certainly won’t again after this) is the moment he could hardly remember. that makes it scarier. flashes of how spiteful he’d been toward rhea and the next he’s drinking, all the way to pathetic protests about the force with which he was dragged to this room, stumbling and completely out of it. he must not have put up much of a fight, hardly deemed threat enough to immediately strap into the chair, but threat enough to interrogate him anyway. all he can remember is this: as soon as they’d thrown him into this room, he’d collapsed onto the ground. from fear, overwhelming shock, or a mix of both with an addled mind added to it, who fucking cares — when he’d woken, he was strapped to a metal chair.

and when dilated blue eyes blink and squint and settle on that all too familiar white uniform, unwelcome memories flash across his mind. he holds onto the denial hope that she’s still here. she’s still here. he'll prove it -- he'll get himself out of this mess and find her himself.

maxim’s brain is pounding as he tries to retrace his steps through the night — what had he done? drinks and pills and more drinks. who had he talked to? livinia, atlas, dante, auggie… auggie. fuck, is that why he was here? fuck. fuck! 

he gives those restraints a rough pull again and a nervous laugh escapes his lips.

“guys, you-" maxim’s voice shakes, is he shaking? his mouth pulls into a small quirk as he continues to pull at those restraints that feel too tight and ignores how cold his blood feels. “you gotta give a guy a warning before you steal him away from the crowd. there’s a line of people waiting to talk to me, my mom just died, didn't you hear? you’re gonna have to take a numb-“

the crack against his temple makes him nauseous, the white room spins and he barely registers the grumbling coming from the peacekeeper that approached him. don’t be a smart ass. you aren’t here to make jokes.

“pray tell, then, why am i here?”

maxim realizes then that there are two of them. he tries not to showcase his fear, tries to keep that nonchalant attitude he carries about everything. don’t show them they got to you. don't think about your mother. until he’s seen her body with his own eyes, he won’t think of her. he won’t think of the flash of hurt he’d seen across her features when he called her terrible, when he’d said just about anyone else would have been better than she had been, or how he and liv had talked about her earlier. he was right, what he'd said. how many times had she talked to him in the past year? hell, the past ten years? he could count on both hands the amount of conversations he's had with his mother that wasn't necessary for cameras and publicity. how dare she look hurt? he won’t apologize when he sees her next. but he cannot help the confusion, too. why had they targeted her at all? she was no rebel. she was hardly anything at all.

“what were you talking to augustus crane about earlier in the evening?”

maxim smiles. dazzling, golden boy smile that works like a charm on everyone else, why shouldn’t it work on a couple peacekeepers? it’s worked on a few before. he knows it won’t now, but that doesn’t mean he won’t try. “senior or junior?”

“don’t play fucking stupid,” one of them growls. maxim shudders, too familiar scenario that this is, but he’s trying. he’s trying. dante’s words continue to ring through his mind, ones that he’s told himself a million times before when faced with any type of adversary, but somehow hold even more meaning because the victor spoke them just hours earlier. don’t show them they got to you. don’t show them they got to you.

when maxim’s eyes close, the other one decides to speak up. “we know that’s hard for you, considering. but i’ve got a feeling you aren’t as dumb as you look, mister crane.”

“mister crane?” maxim laughs, fits of shaky giggles as he looks up at the peacekeeper now. “i didn’t think we were so formal, considering. i don’t even know your name, how am i supposed to address you in the same way?”

he’s simply buying himself time. it doesn’t work.

“i would rather not do this the hard way,” a little too late for that. “but we will. just answer the question. what were you talking to your sibling about? have you heard of the nightlock makeup stunt some are talking about? this is something augustus may have been directly involved in. and you’re particularly close to dante, aren’t you? he is from the district they style for. and that fight — it seemed heated. have you always had problems with your sibling?”

maxim is steadily preparing himself to act like he knows nothing, put those acting skills he learned sitting next to caesar and sycophant capitolites to use. and then— he goes silent for a moment. “what’s that noise?”

“there is no noise.”

“there’s—" a window, a small window through the door and he only just barely catches it. then he hears it, that sob. “is that— liv? livinia?! no, no, no—"

he struggles against the restraints again, knowing the skin is practically worn down to nothing. maxim falters for a moment, his cries are cut short yet again by a blow to the temple — same spot. familiar stars cloud his vision and he can’t help but think about how he’s supposed to be on television in a few days for these games. this bruise won’t do him any good. head damage won’t either. and that’s if he’s even alive in a few days. is he going to die here? is liv? fuck, fuck fuck. the pain is barely even registered as the white-hot fear grips him with vice and doesn’t let go.

“god, are all the crane’s made up of just a bunch of smartasses? the other two are tough, but i thought you would have been the easiest to break.”

through dizziness and nausea, maxim’s gaze snaps up. “what did you say?”

there’s a grin. an evil, evil thing and if maxim thought his father was bad then this man in front of him, whether because of the drugs or the blows to the head, fills him with so much unease he wants to scoot the chair back as far as it can go to get away from him but it’s bolted to the fucking floor. this grin, it’s evil but it’s knowing — they got him.

“no, no, no,” maxim pleads, he pleads with them, tears spring to his eyes instantly. fuck not showing them they got to you, this was the fucking way to do get to maxim crane. not his mother’s death. not fear for his own life. his siblings. and now they know. now they know that despite the fact that they will fight like children and hit each other where it hurts the absolute most, maxim’s weak points are them. now they know. and maxim may have gotten himself and his siblings killed because he kept talking to augustus about ambrose and that fucking makeup and-- and he yelled at his mother that she could have disappeared and nothing would have changed and now she was might be dead. when was the last time he told her he loved her? she disliked him. but he loved her.

when was the last time he told auggie he loved them? or livinia? would he die knowing the last words he’d said to auggie were hateful, that the last ones he’d said to liv was about fucking nail polish? he wants to yell it now, scream it so that maybe they’d hear him from whatever room they’re in, terrified of losing even more time. maybe that would be enough.

“they didn’t do anything,” he cries, but it’s not what they want to hear. he doesn’t stop even as they close the distance, voice panicked and loud. “i started that fight, that was me, not them! auggie? augustus! augustu-“

another crack.

it goes on for so long maxim loses track of time. every question they ask is one he can’t, or won’t, answer. ones about seneca, about lysander, ones that seem fucking pointless and lead to nothing, about makeup and avoxes and dante and kaleb and— he’s wheezing, every breath short and clipped because that one spot at his temple was not enough, they’d gone after his torso as well — they couldn’t have him too lucid from the head trauma. how many hits now? he can’t remember. he can’t tell if the cries he hears are his mind making things up or if they’re real or if they’re entirely his own. it all blends together into one big line of interference, his vision had begun to darken three hits ago and he knows he won’t be able to wear anything but long sleeves and a fuck ton of coverup for a while after this. he cries out for his brother, his sister, his mother, and he can’t tell if that was kaleb’s smart-ass voice he heard down the hall or if maxim’s mind simply supplied it to ease his panicked brain. nevertheless, he has a single goal if he gets out of here: he needs to find them. he needs to find them.

he’s given them parts of the truth: we fought over a boy, we fought over our father — that’s just dumb enough that they’d believe that’s all they spoke about, family drama and boy drama, god knows the crane’s have more than enough of both, and absolutely nothing to do with max throwing avoxes in their face or talking about makeup. but the longer it goes on, the more he can’t remember. nails digging into his chest, backed against the wall. auggie’s angry, tear filled eyes. atlas’ casual nonchalance. hickey on their neck — yes, a boy, they were fighting over a boy. 

“we’ll ask you once more, mister crane,” one of them says, he can’t tell them apart now, and if maxim is ever called mister crane again he’ll lose his fucking mind, but the metal pole he holds is all maxim can focus on and— what do you know about the district two makeup stunt pulled tonight?

“auggie didn’t……” what? what didn’t auggie do? maxim struggles to get the words out, struggles to focus on anything that isn't how he wishes they'd just finish this already. he wheezes, hunched over. all he can think about is them. “they didn’t do anything. livi— livi didn’t do anything. we didn’t do anything. please.” maxim shakes his head. it makes it worse.

he looks up, and the peacekeepers look angry, angry he hasn’t given them the confession they want. angry and just about tired of this back and forth, as if maxim begging for his life is an inconvenience. i didn’t ask for this, he wants to say. he wishes he could feel victorious over the fact that they finally, finally, seem done with him. if he had the wherewithal to grin, he would. but he’s shaking, he can’t breathe, this was the worst come down from a high of his life, and he can hardly make out the two peacekeepers in front of him. he has no strength left to be a smartass or to egg them on, ask if that's all they got. he can't be here any longer. he’s past it all — he just wants out.

“i’ve told you everything,” he pleads, praying they won’t see right through him. praying that begging works, show them they've broken him. praying the others don’t say anything else. praying they're alive. this is so much worse than the lashes on his back, his head feels like it might explode. he looks to his left — is that his vomit on the ground? when had he-- “please let me go. please let me go. please let me go.”

he’s practically whimpering now, words coming out as whispered prayers than outright pleads, and he knows he looks pathetic but he cannot manage to bring his usual hubris into this. he suddenly recognizes the silence once more. no more screaming, no more noise. he thinks he’s worn them out — he thinks he hears them sigh. he thinks this is over. he thinks he’s won, but at what cost?

the cost is another blow to that spot at his temple strong enough to make his vision mercifully fade for good.

[like-sands-of-time]

I will agree with my fellow Nonnie about young Laena deciding to seduce Daemon before she would marry Viserys. I guess it's possible in a very ooc type world. You would have to jump through a lot of hoops to make it happen. I think they meant he wouldn't be around because he was exiled for the heir of the day comment. Would that still happen, yes, Laena wouldn't change that. She wouldn't be at the Stepstones before or after a marriage during the war. Even if she was there would be no sense to a seduction, or Daemon engaging it. He was at war, and there didn't seem any woman around exactly, because, war. You would have to answer why she is there at all. And even if she was there, and he for whatever off reason was receptive, it still wouldn't work. Because he would have been healing, from his burns and or wounds, prior to returning or during. If you are saying after the Stepstones also wouldn't work, because when Daemon returned his attention was on Rhaenyra. Laena married or not to Viserys wouldn't change the brothel plan. No matter who Viserys queen was or would be would not have changed his aime for Rhaenyra.

And more than anything I think in any world it would be true that the only reason why Daemyra would end up with anyone else is because they couldn't have each other. I like Laewin but the only reason why they were with Daemyra was because Daemyra couldn't be together. Daemon never would have married Laena if he could have Rhaenyra. I don't speak for Nonnie but that's my thoughts on why I would agree it wouldn't make sense in this case.

I appreciate your thoughts

*deep breath* sigh. So I really was just loosely thinking of a prompt I have no intention to even write. I haven't even been tagging all this, but here we are. Since y'all insist. Have my half assed explanations as I try to piece this together real quick

Laena and viserys are married, as per @nobodysuspectsthebutterfly's comment because I agree. Their marriage soothes Corlys' desire for a queen on the throne, while also soothing viserys' desire for a strong(er) navy. Daemon goes with corlys to the stepstones after his comment, to make something for himself, to prove himself once more to viserys. Whatever. War happens. People die. They win.

On the RETURN to kings landing daemon stays with his cousins. Laena has been staying there with her mother recently. The lady's go back and forth to maintain their home and their life at KL. She propositions daemon, says she'll have to consummate the marriage with her husband soon and she wishes for one night in the arms of someone who is not quite so.. disappointing. Idk . She wants sex from someone who isn't viserys can we really blame her? And daemon has returned from war where women were not common as you mentioned. Perhaps he agrees because he cares for her and wishes at least to ease her worries. Idk man I haven't written it. She's a fierce woman of her own. I think she is capable of keeping a lover for her own, but being the queen would make it VERY difficult.... Perhaps she really just wants one night and then a life of solitude hopefully.

Rhea Royce also dies of her own means in this because it's honestly insulting otherwise. So daemon can still be excited to return to his niece after leaving her so abruptly after her mother's death. When he is reunited with her, whether he's scheming to take her to a brothel or not idk. Again. Not really thought out. Perhaps he does, or does something similar, but rhaenyra doesn't play the cards right for him? Or perhaps things happen the same way? Except, viserys doesn't need to rush her into marriage with laenor, so the options are daemon or any other suitor. Or for him to deny such claims and inadvertently or not shield his daughter and brother.

Let's say he Ignores it, but agrees to their request for a betrothal. A long betrothal. If he's losing out on potential alliances from his daughter he's going to make both of them suffer for it a bit. But it's hardly a new concept for marriage within the family. I hardly think anyone's gonna be seriously upset by this lol

Laena does end up pregnant and we see her watching daemon and rhaenyra absolutely besotted with each other, she holds no grudge, in fact she tries to befriend her cousin. The friendship perhaps even grows after she gives birth and rhaenyra has a new sibling of sorts.

The king suddenly has a change of heart about having a son after the birth of his daughter (I imagine dear laena has strong words with her lord husband about her wishes, and he finally acquiesces, not actually finding joy in taking a woman by force)

When the wedding finally comes and rhaenyra has her child, a boy, because irony, the daughter and grandson are raised more like siblings with the two mothers. Maybe they're even betrothed as well

There's obviously big gaps here but that's what I've got I guess. Hope that eases your mind or whatever. And if not I mean I invite you to write your own version of it!