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vodika-vibes · 3 days

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Hey idk if this has already been done but an Echo x reader enemies to lovers like reader is a separatist.

First Burn

Summary: The Separatists have won the war. The Republic lies in tatters, and the Clone Army has been repurposed for use for the Separatist Army. You are a member of Serrano’s Intelligence Department, and you just found out that you’re being gifted a clone to help you with your work. Needless to say, no one is thrilled about this.

Pairing: ARC Trooper Echo x F!Reader

Word Count: 2484

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Alright, sorry that this took so long, but I've been working on it since I got it, basically, and I only managed to think of an ending that made me happy today. I hope you like it! The title comes from a Hamilton song, I think. It doesn't have anything to do with the story, but it's what I was listening to when I started writing. And, for all that this is an AU, it is not part of my AU event.

“I’m not sure I understand,” You say blankly as you look from the irate-looking man, clapped in chains, over to your direct supervisor, “Has my work been less than satisfactory?”

“Not at all.” Your Supervisor, who also happens to be your uncle and your warden, replies as he roughly claps you on the shoulder, “Count Dooku is very happy with your work. Which is why you’re getting a clone.”

The clone in question glowers at your uncle, and you’re not sure you blame him.

“You want someone who, up until a month ago, was an enemy against us to work in intelligence? Does this seem...wise?”

“It’s fine. It’s hardly clever enough to interfere.”

You’d be stunned by your uncle’s casual racism if you weren’t used to it. So you sigh and rub the back of your head, “Alright. But when this goes terribly, I reserve the right to say, ‘I told you so’.”

“Ha! You won’t have to.” He claps your shoulder one more time, “Have fun!” And then he’s gone, leaving you alone with a man who, you’re sure, would sooner put a blade in your throat than anything else.

“Right, well...what should I call you?” You finally ask.

“CT-1409.”

“...right. I’m not calling you by a number.” You can’t help but wonder if the Republic ever gave him a name. It would be awful if they hadn’t.

You’re surprised when he looks surprised. What kind of awful stories must the Republic have spread about your people for him to be surprised at your statement?

“...My brothers call me Echo.”

“Echo,” You nod once, committing his name to memory. And then, almost carelessly, “Nice to meet you, Echo.” You absolutely need him to see you as a person, rather than a Separatist. Because if he wanted to hurt you, no one would come to save you.

He shoots you a look, “Where are my brothers?”

“No idea. But I can look into it if you want.” You turn and head deeper into your domain, “Follow me please, there are some safety things we need to cover.”

“Like what?” Echo sounds sarcastic, though he is following you, so you’ll accept the small win.

“Well, primarily, this facility is located deep underground. Most of the machines down here are dedicated to life support. If any of them stop working, we die before anyone even realizes that there’s something wrong.” You reply.

“It would take time to run out of air.” He argues back, logically.

You pause and look at him, “You misunderstand. If any of these machines break down, this entire facility will be filled with toxic gas. We’d be dead before we even knew what was happening.”

Echo stares at you, “What.” It doesn’t sound like a question.

“Toxic gas. Dead instantly. I’m not sure what wasn’t clear about that.”

“I’m more confused by the fact that this sounds like a prison rather than a place spies hang out.”

Well. He’s not wrong.

You shrug but continue, “We have a small army of maintenance droids whose sole function is to keep the machines working. Please don’t mess with the droids.”

“Noted.” He follows you further into the facility and then stops, “Aside from the droids, I haven’t seen any other people.”

“Yeah, well. That’s because there aren’t.”

“So, what,” Wow, his sarcasm could be used as a weapon with how skillfully he wields it, “You work alone in intelligence?”

You shake your head, “There are plenty of people who work in intelligence, but I’m the only one who works here. I’m the best analyst that Serrano has.”

“So you work alone.”

“Well, it’s not like I can leave, now is it?” You start walking again, “Keep up, Echo.”

He falls into step next to you, though he doesn’t say anything as you show him around the facility. It’s not large, all things considered.

The majority of the space is filled with all of the machines and computers needed to run the life support. Your working area is a decently sized room that could probably fit ten people comfortably, for all that you use it alone.

The living space, though, is much more homey.

“So, this is where we sleep. And eat.” you pause, “And basically do everything that isn’t work.”

It’s not tiny. There are two distinct bedrooms, on opposite sides of the living room, and each bedroom has a fresher attached to it. The kitchen is decently sized and has all of the appliances that you might need to survive.

“My room is the one closest to the door,” You motion to the door, and then you motion to the other one, “That one’s been empty since I was moved in, but I air it out and clean it weekly so you don’t have to worry about dust or mold.”

“Moved in—”

“Sorry?”

Echo glances at you, “You said you were moved in, not that you moved in.”

You don’t say anything for a moment, taking your time to consider your words carefully, “Once, there was a group of people who felt, strongly, that the way that Dooku was doing things was not beneficial to Serrano as a whole.” You finally say, “Unfortunately, being a former Jedi is like having a cheat code for life, so—”

“So this is actually a prison then.”

You smile bitterly and hold your hands to the side, “And we both have life sentences.”

Something softens in his hard gaze, “I’m sorry.”

You shrug, “Don’t be. I made my choice, and I made it knowing what the consequences might be.”

“Brave.”

You laugh, “Well, you’d be the only one who thinks that.” You head into your kitchen and wave your hand over the holo-computer to wake it up from its sleep, “Anyway, this is where we order food, clothes, and personal things that we might need.” You explain, “Orders need to be submitted by 6 pm on the last day of the work week, and everything we order will be delivered by noon the next day.”

You move one of the holograms, showing a half-formed grocery list.

“And it’s delivered accurately?”

“Yep. If we can’t get a specific item, a message will arrive to my personal comm.” You explain, “I’ll add you to the contact list so you can get those comms too.” You fold your arms, “What else—”

Echo leans in and adds a couple of food items to the list, looking impressed when the list shifts and adjusts itself so it remains sorted logically.

“Ah! Laundry!” You walk over to a sliding wood door and pull it open, “Washer, dryer,” You point to each object individually, “We’ll probably want to work out a chore schedule, but I don’t have a problem doing all of the laundry.” You point to three baskets, “Darks, lights, towels. Our dryer isn’t the best, so towels need to be dried on their own or nothing will get dry.”

Echo stares at you, and then his gaze slides around the room. “How long have you been down here?” He finally asks.

“I was thrown down here 6 months after the war started.” You reply honestly.

Echo turns his gaze back to you, “You’ve been down here for almost two years? Alone?”

“Well, it’s not so bad.” You lie with a shrug, “Nothing was stopping me from enrolling in the local University so I got another degree. In Communications. And I learned how to cook.”

“You had to have been lonely though.”

“Well. Loneliness is relative. Better here than dead, right?”

“I guess.” Echo looks around for a moment, “You never tried to escape?”

“Yeah, I did mention the toxic gas, right? Kill us instantly?” You shrug, “Besides, where would I go? My uncle is the warden.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Anyway, you should probably go and put in an order for clothes and hygiene stuff. There’s enough clothes in storage that you’ll be fine for a bit, but they’re old.”

“Yeah. Good idea.” He murmurs.

“And you wanted me to look in on your brothers, right? Got any names?”

“My twin brother, Fives. And a couple of others. Jesse, Rex, Kix—”

You pass him a pad of paper and pen, “Here, write them down. And I’ll see what I can dig up.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank me after I find you answers, and not a moment sooner.” You flash a small smile at him and then turn to head back to the storage room. Echo needs the spare clothes from previous prisoners, and he’s going to need time to write down names.

Still, it is nice to have someone to talk to after all these years.

You hope that he warms up to you eventually. Or this is going to be a very long life sentence.

Eight months into his life sentence, Echo has to admit that it’s not terrible.

Oh, it’s not great by any definition of the word either. But it could be worse.

His cellmate is a stellar chef, a talent created through years of experimentation. Not to mention she’s quick-witted and clever, able to exchange quips and barbs with him without stumbling over her tongue.

She does talk a lot, though. Non-stop, almost.

He’s not dumb, he knows that it’s a habit that she developed over two years of isolation to keep herself sane. Honestly, she talks almost as much as Fives does. Luckily, he’s used to that.

And, begrudgingly, he likes her. Likes her enough that he gives her a nickname, Firefly.

Likes her enough that, four months ago, his plans for an escape morphed into plans for the both of them to escape. He just has to work out a couple of bugs.

Like how to keep them from dying when the poison gas fills the prison to kill them.

He frowns at the pad of paper, absently tapping his pencil against the diagram that he’s painstakingly mapped out. Echo never uses a datapad, if he can help it.

Fortunately, firefly keeps a bunch of notebooks on hand, and she doesn’t question him when he asks her to destroy a sheet of paper…or twenty.

“Whatcha working on?”

Echo glances up at her, “You really want to know?”

“Well, yeah.” She waves her pen at him, “You’ve been working on… whatever it is for the last eight months, and I’m curious.”

Echo leans back, “It’s an escape plan.”

“You’d leave me?” She asks immediately.

Echo rolls his eyes, “And escape plan for the both of us.”

Surprise flashes across her face, “You’d take me with you?”

“Would you prefer that I left you behind?”

“Ah, no.” She grins at him, “Honestly, I thought you hated me and were just being polite.”

Echo stares at her, “I gave you a nickname.” He says, exasperated.

“True, but as a friend or foe, you were very unclear.”

He laughs, “Who gives foe nicknames?”

“You clearly never met my friends.” She replies, “My bff had a nemesis who she called Furnace.”

“Do people have nemeses?”

“Uh, they do if they’re dramatic.”

He laughs again, “Well, I don’t do foe nicknames.”

She hops to her feet and crosses the living room to drop on the couch next to him and she flings her arms around his neck, “You loooove me~”

Echo presses his hand over her face and pushes her off of him, “Stop being silly.”

“Never.”

He rolls his eyes, “Anyway, this is what I have, but I’m stuck on how to deal with the poison gas.”

She ducks under his hand and leans against his shoulder, scanning the map. A thoughtful escapes her, and then she taps a spot on the map, “The Maintenence tunnels.”

“No, I considered that. They get too hot for a human to survive.”

“Yes, they do.” She agrees, “But if we alter a maintenance droid, the maintenance tunnels will stay cool enough for someone to survive the tunnel.”

“But the poison gas—”

“Is light.”

“Sorry?”

“The gas is very toxic, but it’s also a very light gas. It rises.”

“So, if we’re already in the maintenance tunnels—”

“And the temperature is high enough to hide our heat signatures—”

“Then by the time the gas fills the entire prison, we’ll already be gone.” Echo finishes, and then he pauses, “I thought you never tried to escape?”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t make plans. Hundreds of plans, each more impossible than the last.”

“Why didn’t you try to escape?”

“Escaping the prison is the easy part, Echo. Where would I go? I was a Separatist, the Republic never would have taken me in. It was just safer to stay here.”

“And now?”

“The Republic is no more, and the average person is finally starting to take off their rose-color glasses.” She shrugs, “We might actually be able to steal a ship.”

“Steal, huh?”

“Yeah, well. No one is going to just give us a ship, Echo.”

He laughs softly, “You ever hotwire a ship before?”

“You haven’t?”

“Oh? Where does a nice girl like you learn how to hotwire vehicles?”

“I had a very formative childhood.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Echo leans in so that his face is only an inch away from hers. “You know, I changed my mind. Maybe I do love you.”

“You only love my ideas.”

“Your body isn’t that bad.”

“Rude!”

His grin widens, “So, when can we make this happen?”

“Mm…a week? Maybe two.”

“That soon, huh?”

“That soon.” She agrees.

They fall into a comfortable silence, and then Echo smirks, “So, how do we keep them from getting suspicious?”

“Well, we have to act normal.”

“And when we start spending all of our time together?”

“I dunno, I’m sure we can come up with something.” She says with a sigh.

A slow smirk crosses his face, “I think I have an idea.”

“Oh? Wha—” She squeaks when his lips land against hers, coaxing her into a deep kiss. His tongue slides against her lower lip, as he presses her back so that she’s half lying under him.

“Like that.” Echo breathes out as he supports his weight over her.

She blinks at him, wide-eyed, and deeply flustered, “Yeah. That’ll work.”

“Great, I’ll move into your room, cyare.”

“Um…okay. But the beds aren’t that big.”

Echo leans in and kisses the tip of her nose, “You let me worry about that.”

“And later? When we’re free from Serrano?”

“We stick together. After all, I can’t just abandon my girlfriend, right?”

“Girlfriend?” She asks softly.

“Girlfriend.” Echo agrees, “Unless you’d rather not?”

“Well, I’m not opposed.”

He grins at her, wide and boyish before he leans in and kisses her one more time, “Alright. I need to move my bed into your room. Wanna help?”

“I suppose I’d better.”

Echo rolls off of her, and offers her his hands to pull her to her feet. Fives is going to find this hilarious. He goes to prison and comes out on the other side with a girlfriend.

#star wars #tcw #arc trooper echo x reader #echo x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

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pommpuriinn · 2 days

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𝜗℘ ACT: PROMISE US TOUR PART 1

┈─★synopsis- finally Joohyung gets to go back to the US which she has missed dearly.

┈─★A/N- I decided to spilt it to 2 parts since this one is already so long. Please enjoy!

ྀི tocoma

ྀི hair/makeup/nails

ྀི “oh my god, moa!” The arena light up with cheers while Joohyung was about to introduce herself. “Hi I’m Joohyung. Let’s have fun today!” Joohyung smiles brightly at the whole arena

ྀི Joohyung looked way more happier now then how she looked in the Seoul concerts which made moa feel good knowing that their Joohyung is in a better state than she was before

ྀི as Joohyung was going to shoot the confetti gun she saw Yeonjun just shot his straight at a moa, causing him to freak out making Joohyung not even shoot hers because she was laughing so hard at him. She did feel a little bad for the moa and even went to the side and asked if she was ok

ྀི Joohyung’s reaction to Soobin lifting up his shirt during ‘the killa’ made many laugh because she raised her eyebrow at his bold actions

ྀི during ‘growing pain’ Joohyung hit the drums so hard that some pieces went flying to moas on the side of the main stage. She did apologize during their ment and even asked if they were ok. “I accidentally went too hard on the drums,” she laughed. “And I saw some pieces go to moas over there. Are you guys ok?” Joohyung makes the ‘ok’ gesture at them. “Yeah? Ok, that’s good I was worrying the whole time. I’m sorry again.”

ྀི it was encore time so during ‘moa dairy’ Joohyung was pointing at the sections all the way to the top and making them do the ‘dubaddu wari wari’ dance

ྀི send off

ྀི “is it ok if we call you Honey? Since it’s your english name.” A moa asked while Joohyung was signing her pc. “Of course you can. I actually been liking being call Honey instead of Joohyung.” Joohyung smiled at the moa

ྀི Joohyung was making sure to sign and interact with everyone that was also in the back. “Is it ok if I stretch over you a bit?” Joohyung asked the moas in barricade. “It’s ok!” They immediately tried to move to the side so Joohyung can get to the moas in the back

ྀི “can we take a photo?” A moa with an iPhone asked. Joohyung took a quick glance at the staff before saying ‘yes’ even though she wasn’t suppose to. She wasn’t following the rules because she honestly didn’t care for them, “yah I’ll hold the phone if you want.”

ྀི “before I go I have two guest with me!” Joohyung finally wanted to show moas her two babies. Joohyung quickly ran to the door and carefully got her babies, “everyone has to be quiet, ok.” Moas listened and Joohyung walked back out with both Bibi and Poki. Gently gasped came out of moas who finally got to see the two famous cats

ྀི oakland

ྀི hair/makeup

ྀི as it was windy during the concert the members were getting attacked by the streamers while performing ‘magic’, and after the song was done Joohyung, Yeonjun, and Beomgyu took the opportunity to walk like if they were in a runway with the streamers wrapped around them

ྀི “noona should do a cute pose because of her hair.” Taehyun suggested, making the members agree knowing that Joohyung hates aegyo. “Noo~” she dragged out the word. “Joohyung, Joohyung, Joohyung!” Yeonjun made the whole stadium chant Joohyung’s name. “I’ll try it. Only for moa.” Joohyung sighed in defeat. “I’ll do a wink.” Everyone zoned into Joohyung waiting. The members counted down and Joohyung did a cute sound effect and winked making everyone go crazy while she threw herself to the ground cringing at herself

ྀི again another viral Joohyung ‘dreamer’ face zoom cam was circulating around social media, moas just couldn’t get enough of visuals this woman carries

ྀི “I love hearing how much you guys cheer when Joohyung lays down the camera zooms in while she sings.” Kai pointed out. “Moa’s faces just light up and it’s so cute and funny seeing it.” Soobin chuckled

ྀི ‘dear sputnik’ is a must for concerts and Joohyung was so happy they got to perform it as an encore song, and everyone could let because she was just smiling well singing. “Everyone fucking jump!” Joohyung yelled into her mic, causing the crowd to go even more crazier

ྀི send off

ྀི “is that 3DS?” Joohyung grabbed the Nintendo from the moa. “Yes, could you take a picture with it please?” The moa asked. “Of course~” Joohyung did a cute cat like pose

ྀི “I made your little cat character.” A moa got Joohyung’s cat character that she drew for moa during a live. Joohyung gasped, “really? You made jamjam?!” The moa handed little jamjam over to Joohyung. “It’s jamjam! She even has my mole.” Joohyung pointed at her mole that’s on her left side of her chin. “I was also wondering if you could sign my jamjam?” The moa brought out her own little jamjam. “Yes, I can. Do want to take a photo with both of our jamjams?” Joohyung asked, while signing the moa’s. “Oh my god, yes please.”

ྀི “can I have a hug Joohyung?” Joohyung immediately went to hug the moa. “Yes you can.” She chuckled, and as she was hugging the moa Joohyung signed the pcs other moas were giving her that were behind the moa that was hugging her

ྀི “Joohyung when are we getting a new album from you?” Joohyung pretended as she was thinking. “I don’t know.” She had a smirk on her face, as she shrugged

ྀི la day 1

ྀི hair/ makeup

ྀི Joohyung always loves the ‘sugar rush ride’ and ‘farewell, neverland’ little segment because of the korean traditional version with the fans, and ‘farewell neverland’ is one of her favorite b sides which she did fight people to get it on the set list again

ྀི unfortunately during ‘chasing that feeling’ Joohyung mic stopped working, so she literally snatched the member’s mic that was closeness to her. Poor Soobin was the victim, but she did give it back whenever her lines were done. Thankfully a staff mic quickly gave Joohyung a new mic so she wouldn’t have to go around stealing the other members’ mics

ྀི Joohyung instantly noticed Beomgyu was having a nose bleed and quickly grabbed a towel for him before going back to performing. She also kept on calling Beomgyu handsome even with a little tissue up his nose which he was embarrassed about. “What? No, you’re still handsome gyu~” she hugged him immediately making him feel better

ྀི “are those Yeonjun’s fanboys over there?” Joohyung pointed at the three guys going crazy for Yeonjun. They went even crazier when Joohyung pointed at them, “I think they’re yours.” Yeonjun laughed

ྀི “congratulations to the class of 2024!” Joohyung yelled, while holding up the boutique of flowers they brought for the moas graduating this year

ྀི while performing ‘the killa’ moas were going crazy for the certain move Joohyung did that showed off her sharp features along with a teasing smile, making moa questioned ‘what are we?’ after the performance

ྀི big screen Joohyung goes crazy ex: 1, 2, 3

ྀི Joohyung’s sharp cat like eyes during ‘puma’ with her makeup and snake bite piercings just made Joohyung THE rockstar girlfriend for sure

ྀི ‘deep down’ is such a fun song to dance to and everyone could tell Joohyung was having the time of her life dancing with the goofy little smile on her lips, and hearing everyone go ‘ay, ay, ay!’ during the dance breaks

ྀི performing ‘I’ll see you there tomorrow’ just makes Joohyung so happy and she’s just enjoying the stage and everyone could tell including the members which makes them happy seeing Joohyung enjoy herself

ྀི ‘magic island’ moas saw a wholesome moment between Joohyung and Beomgyu because they were holding hands and Beomgyu was caressing Joohyung’s hand with his thumb. Even the camera man zoomed in on the moment making moas ‘awe’

ྀི “I missed LA so much!” Joohyung smiled at the all cheers that filled the arena. “LA really is our second home and I missed it a lot. I remembered when they sent us here to train and I was so happy eating all the different food LA has and seeing all of our different teachers.” Joohyung really loved all the diversity LA brought and she was actually happy while training because the teachers were so encouraging and helped them a lot

ྀི send off

ྀི talented moas would either crochet little Jooie dolls, paint/draw Jooie, make bracelets for Jooie, and even make outfits for Bibi and Poki. “Oh my god! You are so talented! Can I have it?” Even though Joohyung isn’t supposed to accept gifts she couldn’t help herself

ྀི Joohyung would let moas poke her mole and pose for photos with them poking her mole if moas asked before touching of course

ྀི “Joohyung can we take a couple photo like me with my girlfriend and you with Beomgyu please?” Joohyung saw that it was a lesbian couple. “Yes, but I’ll wait until his comes.” So Joohyung ended up being with the moas of that section longer than she should have, but she wanted to fulfill the moa’s wish. “Beomie moa wants to take a couple photo with us.” Joohyung waited until Beomgyu was done with the moa next to her. Beomgyu ended up being the person to take the photo for the group

ྀི the duo ended up taking lots of couple photos that night and if Beomgyu was signing pcs and saw that moa had a Joohyung pc he would give it to Joohyung so she can sign it too

ྀི la day 2

ྀི hair/makeup

ྀི after Joohyung did her kick in ‘deja vu’ and did the hand move over her eyes and she yelled, “LA!” The arena erupted in cheers getting all the members hyped

ྀི Joohyung was so into the music during ‘new rules’ that’s she almost missed her lines until Yeonjun lightly nudged her, causing her to get startled but still delivered her lines perfectly. “Sorry~” she giggled at Yeonjun who was looking her with heart eyes because of her cuteness

ྀི during ‘back for more’ Joohyung was singing all the ad libs making moas go crazy with her crazy vocals while dancing 100% along with the her cheeky smiles at the camera making everyone just fall even more in love with her charm

ྀི Soobin ended up pushing Joohyung a little too hard while performing ‘gbgb’ as they were acting like they were about to fight, causing Soobin to have a shocked and apologetic face. “It’s ok, it’s ok.” Joohyung mouthed to Soobin

ྀི once the screen showed Joohyung, she was surprised with all the really loud cheers that lasted for a good minute, causing her to get shy with all the love and support coming her way. “Moa I don’t want the night to end.” She did ‘TT’ under her eyes pretending to cry. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to speak in Korean to express my feelings ok?” Joohyung smiled hearing moas say ‘ok’ back. “Mm… I’m so grateful that moa have stayed with txt for so long and I hope moa will stay by our side forever! LA has a special place in my heart and I hope when we come back we perform in an even bigger venue, so all moas can come and see us perform. Please keep supporting txt and I love you~” Joohyung blew many kisses to moa

ྀི Joohyung was so excited singing ‘do it like that’ for the encore song because it’s a bright refreshing song. Joohyung just had the biggest smile while dancing to the song, she even moas on floor in the back dancing with her. Making her point at them which they started jumping around waving at her before continuing dancing with Joohyung

ྀི send off

ྀི “can you say hi to my friend Honey?” Moa asked. “Of course~” the moa handed Joohyung her phone since she was on facetime with her friend. “Moa hi~ let’s meet in person next time, promise?” Joohyung showed her pinky finger. “Yes! Yes! I promise!” The moa was freaking out through the screen making Joohyung laugh. “Ok next time I better see you and moa together.”

ྀི as Joohyung was with a fanboy moas noticed that Soobin was multitasking big time because he was interacting with moas while making sure the fanboy wasn’t doing anything that would make Joohyung uncomfortable

ྀི Joohyung would make moas gay panic a lot because Joohyung would let them lightly pinch her cheeks, posing with cheeks touching, and holding hands. Another thing Joohyung would do is guide moas’ hand to her face making them instantly panic

ྀི “latinas love Jooie!’ a moa’s poster said Joohyung pointed at the sign, “I love latinas too.” Joohyung immediately signed the poster causing the moa freak out

ྀི houston

ྀི hair/makeup

ྀི houston soundcheck Joohyung went viral because of her whole style from her glasses with hoop earrings, and her whole fit. Everyone was claiming Joohyung as their girlfriend that day

ྀི since it was really hot in houston Joohyung took her jacket off during ‘loser lover’ her arms were shining because of the sweat on her body and seeing her tone arms made the girls bark

ྀི Joohyung’s body was slowly shutting down again with performing so much and flying from place to place, and she was finally starting to feel it again. Adding heat to the mix wasn’t helping either so during ‘tchftg’ Joohyung wasn’t running around or jumping as much. So during the ment Joohyung was crouch down sipping on her water trying to caught her breath, even the members try to hide their worried expressions

ྀི thankfully their staff immediately went to help Joohyung cool off while she was getting ready for ‘the killa’ both Soobin and Yeonjun stayed close to her side, as the staff fanning her and carefully cooling her down since they didn’t want her to go into shock with the cold rag touching her body

ྀི while all the members were giving sexy expressions at the end of ‘tinnitus’ Joohyung gave her iconic cute cat ears with her sticking her tongue out a little pose, making moas scream

ྀི even during ‘puma’ Joohyung took off her leather jacket because again she felt her body was overheating, but she accidentally threw it too out and the moas at barricade got a hold of it which staff quickly snatched it back

ྀི as Joohyung and Yeonjun were so their high note for ‘growing pain’ she instantly got lightheaded after causing her to not head bang to the fullest, as if she did Joohyung would probably fall over with how dizzy she was already feeling

ྀི during ‘dreamer’ moas saw how Joohyung was looking sad and could see that she was having a hard time throughout the concert, so they were mouthing ‘you’re doing so well’, ‘we’re proud of you honey’, and ‘you’re our precious Jooie’. Joohyung warmly smiled at them and placed her hand over her heart mouthing back ‘thank you’

ྀི “I think you know what time is it right?” Joohyung waved her cowboy hat in a teasingly way before the music for ‘blue hour’ started, earning screams. The second the dance break part started Joohyung couldn’t hear the music in her ear-in no more with how loud moas were cheering making her laugh

ྀི send off

ྀི to everyone’s surprise Joohyung brought out Poki to the send off. She wanted to bring both, but Bibi was sleeping and Joohyung didn’t have the heart to wake her up

ྀི moaville on twitter was going crazy with how lucky houston moas are because of getting the moa zone, blue hour, and now meeting and taking photos with Joohyung and Poki. Poki was even trying on the gifts moas got her, “ya! You guys are spoiling her even more~” Joohyung whined, making moas laugh

ྀི “Honey can you sing a bit of ‘spicy’ please?” Joohyung smiled, “you are my A to the Z but you won’t eorimeopji majhyeobwa sweet ttoneun freak what's hiding underneath I see!” She even made Poki dance while she was singing

ྀི there was a really cute moment were a moa let Joohyung wear her cinnamonroll headband to take a photo with her, and as Joohyung was moving along she completely forgot to give the headband back. She didn’t notice until she was about to leave the send off, “oh shit!” Joohyung ran back to the moa and handed back the headband, “I’m sorry. I forgot to give bring your headband.” The moa was laughing and saying that ‘it was ok!’

#txt 6th member #txt additional member #kpop added member #kpop additional member #kpop female addition #kpop female oc #txt female member #txt female addition #txt added member #kpop female member

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return-of-a-space-cowboy · 2 days

Note

🧚‍♀️ Anon

Coraline AU 🪡

Dio as Darling’s Husband

Johnathan as Darling’s Other Husband (It makes JoJo SO much scarier because he’s so sweet, kind, caring and loving that you don’t realize the predator he really is)

Johnathan is actually just lonely and hates what he has to do (So he devours villainous and evil individuals to ease his guilty mind)

JoJo’s true form wouldn’t be thin, instead he would be more muscular and bulky (Like a Goliath Bird Eater) with his even more massive height (He’s so big that he has a bit of a hard time squeezing through the ‘narrow’ *NORMAL* doors and his head will hit the Door Frame unless he lowers his head)

Dio as the Other Husband

I haven’t read the book but I read somewhere that the Beldam had a Mother and she buried her in her backyard, and when she tried to crawl out, the Bedlam put her back in her grave, so I can picture Dio doing that to his father (But he grew tried of it so he killed him)

Dio is trying to Woo Darling into accepting him, but she’s too uncomfortable and feels creeped out that she doesn’t fall for his tricks

Darling doesn’t need an Other Husband when she has her beloved Johnathan (As he’s always been her sweet, gentle giant)

But what if after entering the door, she comes back every time she falls asleep? (And she can’t control it, but it started happening when she found that doll that looks exactly like her)

Because of it she thinks everything is a dream (But finds it weird and concerning that Jonathan is nowhere in sight)

Dio becomes frustrated as he’s never had prey like Darling before, as many women would swoon and fall to his feet for his affection (As he eats their lives up to sustain himself)

Darling becomes scared however when Dio tried to convince her to let him sew buttons in her eyes (And when she tried to stand up to him his appearance became more monstrous as his temper began to spike)

Darling finds the door and uses it to escape, only to her horror find out she’s been gone for days and Johnathan has been missing

She was horrified to find a doll of JoJo and figured out Dio took him so she must return to save her Husband

But here’s the twist, she thinks she sees JoJo when she returns to that world as she runs into his familiar arms and comforting smell, only to her horror to see Dio had attached his head to Johnathan’s body? (As he traps his Butterfly within his web with no chance of escape)

Sorry for the constant splurge, I’m currently haunted JJBA and it won’t leave me alone!

Oh boy! I've got news for you if you didn't already know. I've actually done this au before quite a few years ago. Only it was part 5 centric.

I love the idea of beldam Jonathan just being alone and clingy.

But the whole dio head on Jonathan's body at the end is just mmm... spicy.

For Jonathan I can imagine that reader isn't in a good environment, abusive even. Darling doesn't really know how to deal with their situation. That little door is their only escape and for a time that's all they need but something happens in the real world that pulls them away, something good and Jonathan noticed their distance. He tries to lul them back in but doesn't work.

So eventually Jonathan resorts to taking those who darling lives with. Perhaps there is one person he takes that wasn't abusive to darling and that leads them to try and save them.

For Dio I like the idea of darling thinking it's a dream. Darling is very distant to him despite everything he tries.

When they escape at first they think that Jonathan is at work or is out trying to look for them so they try to call him but he doesn't respond, which is strange as he usually drops everything when it has anything to do with them.

They go around asking neighbors and they tell darling he'd knocked on their door a couple of days earlier asking if they knew where darling was, they didn't and he told them he was going to go into town and file a police report. But he never ended up leaving the house after he went back in to grab the keys.

Darling goes back inside and eventually finds the doll and knows immediately what's happened.

They go back through the door and sees Jonathan standing in the kitchen (they can't see his head behind those damn archways, he'd always hit his head on them and were planning to have them removed during renovations).

They immediately run towards him and wrap their hands around him.

"Oh thank goodness you're safe" they'd say.

"Of course I'm safe, you'd think something would happen to me?" Dios voice would speak and That's when they'd look up and see what horrible form of frankensteining has happened to their husband.

#yandere jjba #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere dio #yandere jonathan joestar #monster au #🧚‍♀️ anon

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luvs4matt · 21 hours

Note

Could you maybe do a fluff fic where you get really high and matt is sober and he has to look after u

inside and high

pairing - bf!matt x gf!reader

warnings - FLUFF, substance use, smoking, marijuana, cuddling, nicknames (angel, baby, matty), fluffy fluff fluff, matt taking care of you

a/n - i feel like matt is the kind of bf to take your makeup off for you if you fall asleep, or was drunk or something.

edit - i have only been properly high once! i hit from a bubbler a few times, and a gravity bong. yet never got ‘high’ from them! so i am sorry if this is not accurate!

you’re sitting on your balcony, your phone in one hand, a blunt in the other. you’re passing time, waiting for matt to get to your apartment.

you bring the blunt up to your mouth, wrapping your lips around it, taking a long drag before removing it from your mouth. you inhale the smoke, blowing out between your lips afterwards.

you repeat the action multiple more times until you have smoked almost the whole thing. once you realize how much you smoked of the blunt, you decided to burn it out, already feeling the effects of the drug.

your throat burning, your eyes heavy, the different waves of emotions, all of it. most of all you were excited to see your boyfriend *knock knock knock*

you jump up from your place in the balcony, running to open the door “mattyy!” you embrace him in a tight hug, taking in the smell of his cologne. “well someone’s excited” he smiles, reciprocating the hug.

the smell of marijuana fills his nostrils, realizing why you had gotten so excited about him being here “i’m tired” you yawn as you back out of the hug, letting him inside of the apartment.

“we can sleep instead of watching that mov-“ you interrupt him before he can finish speaking “no no no! we need to watch inside out before the second one comes out matt, you know better” you huff.

“so if we put the movie on, you will stay awake the whole time?” you nod your head, believing your own lie “i’ll go put it on then” while matt is putting the movie inside the dvd player, you are getting settled in on the couch.

matt grabs you a water bottle, knowing how your throat feels after smoking. “thank you baby” he sits down while you take a sip of your water before nuzzling your head into his chest.

the movie starts to play, your eyes locked on the tv, his eyes on the tv, also looking back at you to make sure you feel okay. matt eventually stops looking over at you, enjoying the kids movie.

around half way through the movie, matt starts to hear your soft snores. he pauses the movie before picking you up bridal style, bringing you to bed “what are you doing” you groan.

“its late, and you fell asleep, so i’m bringing you to bed” he gently places you down, bringing a blanket over your body “what about-“

“i paused the movie, we can finish it tomorrow” you smile, looking up at him “will you stay here tonight? please” matt nods in agreement.

he walks towards your bathroom, grabbing your micellar water and cotton rounds. he gets back to your room to see you already back to sleep. he smiles to himself before carefully taking your makeup off for you.

when he is done, he goes around to the other side of your bed getting in next to you. you stir around, finding your place on his chest “good night angel”

#smut #luvs4matt #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #smutty smut smut #matt stuniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo #tumblr fyp #christopher sturniolo #fluff #girls who smoke weed

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fortheloveofwonderland · 3 days

Text

Rusty | Chapter 16 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary - You and Spencer start making plans to leave Bandera. When Spencer makes a discovery about Luke, it leads to him having a blow out with the whole BAU team before saying his goodbyes to his old friends.

A/N - there will be a time jump after this chapter and things will ramp up pretty fast. Also just to note, if it seems like Spencer takes two steps forward and five back sometimes it’s because he does. Healing is not linear and he still has a long way to go.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - strangers to friends to lovers | angst | smut minors DNI

Warnings - dissociation, jealousy, swearing, tears, arguing, mentions of prison and vague hints of sexual abuse, mentions of Cat Adams and Ben’s Believers, Luke and Spencer are both mean, goodbyes, sad BAU team.

WC - 6.8k

Chapter 16 - Take Your Memory With You

Grant was whistling to himself as he swept the barn floor, finishing up making the ranch look as presentable as possible. He was working tirelessly getting the place to look as orderly and neat as he could before he had a realtor round to get the old place on the market.

He was slightly wistful about the idea of selling his parents ranch but the excitement he felt about taking the next step outweighed it. He’d already eagerly been looking at homes in DC and Virginia, scouring job vacancies and preparing for his potential move.

He and Luke spoke on the phone and texted every chance Luke had available whilst working on a case he could tell Grant little about. Every time his phone went off and he saw Luke’s name on the screen he got butterflies in his stomach. He didn’t know this, but Luke also experienced the same thing when Grant texted him.

It was probably crazy that he was considering this, packing up his life and moving to the other side of the country for a man who was supposed to be a one night stand.

He’d never once allowed himself to throw caution to the wind, to do something reckless like this. He was sensible, predictable, he didn’t do things like this. But that was part of the reason he wanted to do this.

It might be insane and it might end up being the dumbest thing he’d ever done but he had to give it a try. Luke had made him feel things he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt and it was worth the risk to see if there could be something lasting between them.

As he finished sweeping, he wiped his brow on his sleeve and leant the broom against the wall of the barn. As he did so, he heard the faint sounds of footsteps on the gravel. His brows pinched together, he wasn’t expecting company.

He picked up his shotgun which was leaning near the broom but didn’t raise it, taking a few cautious steps out of the barn with it by his side. He was surprised to see Spencer headed up the path, one hand in a thick splint and the other in the pocket of his jeans. He wore a brown suede stetson which covered his mess of hair.

Grant placed the shotgun back down and rubbed his hands together as the other man slowly approached. Spencer was offering him a slightly lopsided smile as he grew closer.

“Uh, hey, sorry to just show up here like this.” Spencer rolled his lip awkwardly between his teeth.

“Not a bother.” Grant shrugged. “What can I do you for?”

Spencer removed his stetson, holding it in his good hand while he considered how to begin. He’d told you last night he was going to get moving on selling the ranch so the two of you could make a break before Luke inevitably showed back up and that’s what he was trying to do.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush.” Spencer exhaled. “I’m leaving Bandera and wondered if you were looking to acquire any more land? I’ll be leaving my cattle and two of my horses as well if that sweetens the deal. I’m not looking to break even or anything, I just need a quick sale.”

Grant narrowed his eyes on Spencer curiously, a small smile creeping to his lips.

“Well I’ll be, I was gonna ask you the same thing.” Grant chuckled deeply.

“You’re leaving too?” Spencer’s brows pinched together.

“Yeah, I’m relocating to the East Coast.”

“Oh,” Spencer pulled a face. “How come?”

Grant chuckled again before a dreamy smile spread across his features and Spencer could tell he was getting a little lost in a memory.

“I, uh, met someone.” His cheeks flushed. “I reckon it makes me a damn fool for upping sticks for a man I hardly know but he’s not like anyone I ever met before. But I’m gonna make it to DC if the creek don’t rise.”

Spencer felt a sharp pain in his chest, his vision becoming blurry around the edges. He stared at Grant as the cogs turned in his head. Surely it had to be a coincidence? It could not be feasible that Grant was talking about…no, no way.

“Uh, DC?” Spencer croaked. “Weird, that’s where I’m from.”

Suddenly Grant’s brow furrowed heavily and he sucked in a deep breath as he remembered something Luke had said before he’d left.

“Never chose this life, it chose me. Always thought I’d get out of the south one day, move to some big city, ya know? New York, LA…maybe even DC. Unless that idea scares ya.”

“Why would it…why would it scare me?”

“You seem like the jumpy sort.”

“I was still processing an old break up. It ended suddenly and I never got any closure. But I think I have now, I think I’m ready to move on.”

“Hold on a gosh darn second,” Grant shook his head. “He’s not…you’re not…”

“Luke,” Spencer exhaled. “Luke Alvez?”

Both men’s expressions fell, skin paling as they came to the same conclusion. Spencer’s head started to spin and his vision grew even hazier.

“You’re the break up he was talkin’ about.” Grant pinched the bridge of his nose. “I had no idea, Spencer.”

“It’s fine.” Spencer shook his head, his tone saying it was anything but fine. “I’ve moved on. He should too. You two would make a great couple.”

It seemed as though you and Spencer weren’t the only ones with the same taste in men. Spencer stumbled backwards at the implications, feeling lightheaded.

“If I’d known-”

“It’s really fine,” Spencer laughed but it didn’t sound genuine. “You’ll love DC, it’s great. Uh, I should probably…go.”

Before Grant could say another word, Spencer was turning and running back down the path towards the road. Grant watched him go with a sigh. Of all the men in the world, he’d ended up in bed with Spencer’s ex. And clearly Spencer was not as fine with it as he made out.

***

When Spencer arrived back at the ranch he was in a complete daze. You found him wandering outside the lodge aimlessly. His eyes were unfocused, he wouldn’t respond to your voice or to your touch.

You led him inside but he didn’t even seem to realise what was happening. You sat him on the couch and went about breaking him out of his dissociation. You placed ice cubes in his hand, got him to drink some honey and lemon tea and used the photograph of his mom to snap him out of it.

You knew he’d gone into town to ask around if anyone was interested in buying his land, what had led to his dissociation? You wondered how long he had been in this state for, how long he had been wandering around like a zombie. You were grateful he’d made it back without hurting himself.

It took close to fifteen minutes but suddenly his eyes were present again and he looked at you with a frown, melted ice dripping from his hand onto the floor.

“Hey you,” you whispered with a soft smile. “You okay?”

Spencer blinked rapidly, looking down at what was left of the ice cubes in his hand, noticing the citrus flavour on his tongue and the photograph of his mother on the coffee table.

“Wh-what happened?” He croaked as if he’d just woken up.

“I was kinda hoping you could tell me.” You quickly got up and went to the kitchen for some napkins.

You hurried back and scooped the last of the ice from his palm before giving him the napkins to dry himself off.

“I…I have no idea.” He shook his head.

He was lying. He knew exactly what had happened. Grant had met Luke and the two had clearly hit it off and now Grant was moving to DC to be with him. His Luke.

No, that wasn’t fair. Luke wasn’t his and hadn’t been for a long time. It wasn’t beneficial for Spencer to think that way. He had moved on, he had you, Luke was in his past.

Spencer had never had any intention of him and Luke being together again after he moved to Bandera, that relationship never would have worked again. But it didn’t mean he stopped loving Luke, stopped caring about him. And it made his heart ache to think of him with someone else. Now he knew exactly how Luke felt.

“So, you’ve moved on, huh?”

“It’s been two years, what did you expect?”

“What did I expect? Well for starters I expected more from you than leaving without a damn word! I expected that you wouldn’t completely cut me out of your life! I expected…maybe I hoped that I wasn’t the only one still pining like an idiot. So she gets the healed Spencer Reid? She gets to have you now you’ve worked through your trauma? When I was the one that spent a year by your side after, trying to help you? How is that fair?”

———

“No one can help me! Why don’t you understand that?”

“She seemed to be doing a fine job.”

“Goddamnit, would you let that go?”

“Let it go? How the hell can I let that go? Every time I close my eyes I will see her on top of you!”

Luke had to walk in on the two of you in bed, seeing first hand that Spencer had moved on. The mere thought of Luke with Grant was enough to cause him to slip into a dissociation, he couldn’t imagine what it had been like for Luke to witness that.

“You don’t remember?” You gave him a look of scepticism and Spencer shook his head.

How could he tell you what had sent him over the edge? There was no way he could admit that this had happened because he found out Luke had moved on. Spencer loved you, he loved you more than he’d ever loved anyone. But selfishly he thought Luke would always be there. God that made him sound terrible.

“No,” Spencer pushed himself to his feet, balling the napkin up in his hand and traipsing to the trash can.

“I don’t believe you.” You stood too, folding your arms over your chest. “You’re lying to me.”

Spencer sucked in a breath and slowly turned back to look at you, clenching his jaw tightly.

“Yes I am,” he nodded. “But only because I’m trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?” You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Protect me from what?”

“If I tell you why I dissociated you will no doubt get upset and I have upset you way too many times before.” He heaved a sigh.

“Tell me.” You insisted. “Tell me right now.”

Spencer rolled his eyes a little, leaning back against the kitchen counter and glancing out of the window at the land beyond.

“I went to speak to Grant about buying the ranch and it turns out he’s also leaving town. He’s moving to DC because he met someone…” Spencer trailed off, keeping his eyes out of the window.

In his peripheral vision he saw you frowning, filling in the blanks to the sentence he didn’t want to finish and honestly it wasn’t all that hard.

“Luke?” You croaked.

“Yeah. Grant is moving to DC to be with my ex boyfriend.”

“And that caused you to dissociate.”

“Yeah.”

“Because you still have feelings for Luke.”

“Yes.” He huffed, turning his head to face you. “Of course I do. But I don’t want to be with him, okay? I want you and only you. But it surprised me and it upset me and I would understand if you were annoyed by my reaction.”

“Spence,” you exhaled, taking a few steps closer to him. “I’m not annoyed. He was a big part of your life, I understand that it would throw you through some kind of loop to find this out.”

“I really wish I didn’t love you so much.” His words surprised you as he raked his fingers over his ever growing facial hair.

“Why?” You frowned lightly.

“Because you’re too good for me.” He shrugged meekly. “Everything I’ve put you through, it’s too much. I’m a fucking wreak. Last night after we…fuck Y/N it was so amazing but when you were asleep I just…I felt numb. I should have felt something, you know? But I felt fucking numb because no matter how much I keep trying to convince myself otherwise, I’m not whole.”

Tears started down his cheeks and you came closer, placing your hands on the sides of his face and holding his gaze.

“I’m too good for you? Spencer, I murdered my step father.” You gently reminded him. “And so what if you aren’t whole? Who says you need to be?”

“I don’t care where you’ve been or what you’ve done.” He cupped the back of your neck in his good hand. “And I want to be whole, I want to give you every little piece of myself but I can’t because I lost a big part of who I am in prison.”

You cooed him, brushing his tears with your fingertips and trying to calm him down.

“As long as you can love me with every piece you have left, I’m okay with that.” You smiled before he was tugging you close for a kiss.

He could undoubtedly give you that, every shred that still belonged to him was yours. And he’d never loved you more than he did in that moment.

You were startled apart by the sound of a phone ringing. Spencer turned back to the counter where his device sat and saw the name flashing on the screen. You peered over his shoulder and saw it too.

His body went rigid and he sucked in a deep breath. His hand reached out for the phone and you saw it was trembling.

“You don’t have to answer it.” You whispered but Spencer was shaking his head.

“I need to.” He picked up the phone. “I need this to finally be over.”

Spencer took the phone and without looking at you, turned to the door and quickly left the lodge. You observed him through the window as he put the phone to his ear and continued walking in the direction of the stable.

You wrapped your arms around yourself and rolled your lip between your teeth. You just had to hope he was strong enough to handle this.

***

Spencer headed down the steps of his lodge and once his feet hit the dirt at the bottom, he answered the call. He huffed out a breath before he spoke.

“What?” He grumbled. He was met by silence for a moment or two so with a sigh he spoke again. “Hello? What do you want?”

Another short burst of silence and Spencer was grinding his teeth as he trailed up the path towards the stables.

“I, uh…” the voice croaked. “Sorry I didn’t expect you to answer.”

“Well I did. So what do you want? No, let me guess. Grant called you?” Spencer wished he could keep the bitterness from his voice but it was impossible.

“Yeah,” Luke sighed. “I’m sorry you had to find out that way.”

“Sorry I found out that way or that I found out at all?” Spencer spat, unable to calm himself.

“You don’t get to be angry, Spencer.” Luke’s voice remained calm, but was laced with his frustrations.

“I get to be however the hell I want to be.” Spencer bit back.

“I found you in bed with a woman Spencer, if you’re allowed to move on so am I.” Luke growled slightly.

Spencer reached the stable and cradled the phone between his shoulder and face while he unlatched the door with his non-splinted hand.

“I don’t care about you moving on.” Spencer scoffed. “But you could have done that with literally anyone! Why did it have to be someone I know? Someone where I live?”

“Sounds like you don’t plan to live there much longer anyway. Grant said you were trying to sell him your ranch?” Luke spoke and then Spencer heard him thanking someone under his breath.

He must be at work. Judging by the sound of him then sipping something Spencer assumed someone had just given him a mug of coffee.

“That’s why I answered your call.” Spencer walked across the stable, ignoring his horses and sitting down on the wooden crate against the far wall. “I am leaving Bandera and I wanted to tell you to stop calling me. I need a real fresh start, one where you guys can’t keep hassling me.”

“Hassling?” Luke spat. “You’re mistaking us caring for hassling?”

“Luke you guys smother me!” Spencer raised his voice, almost immediately back on his feet. “For my entire FBI career I have been the youngest on the team which means I’m babied and coddled and I’m sick of it. I am a forty year old man! I don’t need you or anyone else to worry over me like I’m a still a kid.”

“After what you’ve been through, Spencer, how can we not worry about you? It’s nothing to do with age, or you being younger than everyone else. You spent three months in prison being abused before having to face off against your rival who tried to kill your mom. Then less than a year later you were taken hostage by Ben’s Believers, you almost died.

“And then you made the decision to runaway without telling anyone, except Prentiss but I’m sure you only told her because you had to. How the hell can we not worry about you? Half of the team expected you to relapse, you know? Hell, I thought you might relapse. How the fuck can we not worry about you when you’re out there in the middle of nowhere on your own!”

Spencer had started to pace while Luke ranted down the phone, back and forth through the stable and ignoring the attention seeking huffs from the horses.

“Well I’m not on my own anymore. And I’m leaving Bandera and I’m not telling any of you where I’m going. I picked up the phone to tell you this is the end. I will be blocking your numbers, fuck I might even just destroy my goddamn phone again so there is no way of Garcia tracking me down. It’s over Luke, I don’t want anything to do with any of you anymore.” Spencer spat harshly, unable to stop his rampant pacing.

“I’d argue with you but to be perfectly honest I’m sick of this. I’m sick of worrying about you all the time, I’m sick of feeling dejected every time you ignore my calls. I am sick of the fucking Spencer Reid show!” Luke yelled.

If he was at Quantico Spencer imagined it would have garnered a lot of attention.

“The Spencer Reid show? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Spencer grumbled.

“Our entire relationship was about you. You and your goddamn trauma, even before prison! You and your daddy issues or mommy issues and your adabonment issues and your sobriety and whatever the hell else you were dealing with. My PTSD didn’t matter. I had to suppress my own trauma, trauma from serving overseas to protect the fragility of your psyche.” Luke was really shouting now and Spencer could only imagine the eyes of the team were all on him.

The rage was pooling in Spencer’s stomach, rapidly clawing its way through his body. He turned to see Rusty staring at him but it wasn’t the same wary way she usually regarded him. Her eyes were wide but docile.

Tentatively he stepped closer to her, once again cradling the phone in the crook of his neck so he could raise his hand in her direction. He moved slowly, cautiously, so as not to frighten her. But she didn’t move.

He laid his palm against the side of her face and she nuzzled into his touch. Spencer felt a little sceptical by her sudden fondness for him when she’d previously shown him nothing but disdain.

He dared entwine his fingers with the coarse hair of her mane, trying to ground himself with the texture whilst staring into her large brown eyes. She made a small noise of contentment.

“If I was such a fucking problem for you then it shouldn’t be hard to hear that I never want to speak to you again.” He fought to keep his voice levelled and under control.

Luke was breathing heavily down the phone, clearly trying to rein himself in like Spencer was.

“You…” he huffed. “You fucking broke me, Spencer. The way you left, it destroyed me. Nothing in my life has ever hurt as much as having to hear from Prentiss that you’d left without a word. I’ve spent the last two years trying to get over you, trying to move past the pain that you caused. And I have finally met someone who made me forget all about you. I’m not asking you to be happy for me, but you don’t get to be mad either.”

Spencer kept his focus on Rusty, weaving his fingers deep into her golden mane and staring unblinking in her eyes. He swallowed thickly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. This was so strange.

“Have a nice life, Luke.” He breathed out. “Tell the others I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore. I need to forge my own path and the only way I can do that is by cutting old ties. I’m sorry.”

“You owe them more than that.” Luke was quick to speak, feeling as though Spencer was imminently going to hang up. “At least tell them yourself. We’re all here at the BAU, let me put you on speaker?”

Spencer clenched his jaw, holding tighter to Rusty as he felt his knees buckling. He knew Luke was right, he did owe them more than him vanishing again. It didn’t mean the thought of talking to them all didn’t make him feel nauseous.

“Fine,” he croaked out before he changed his mind. “Hurry up though.”

He heard shuffling and some barely perceptible whispers. A chair scraping across the floor, footsteps and a door opening and closing.

He knew Luke’s hand was over the microphone when he spoke again as his voice was muffled but he just managed to hear what he said.

“Guys, I’ve got Reid. He wants to talk to us all.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, that wasn’t exactly true but he wasn’t going to argue it. A little more shuffling as he assumed Luke put the phone on a table and then Luke’s voice was louder.

“Go ahead Spencer, we’re all here.” Luke remained on his feet, crossing his arms over his chest.

Rossi and Emily were standing by a layout board going over the information in the Sicarius case while Tara, JJ and Penelope were at the table, the latter hovered over her laptop and the other two looking over files.

Spencer was silent. He could all but picture his old team gathered in the round table room and he felt the nerves swarm his body.

He moved his hand from Rusty’s mane to the side of her face, brushing his fingers along the silky texture of her coat. Again she didn’t seem to have any qualms about him doing so.

“Uh, hi everyone.” He spoke quietly.

At the BAU, Penelope Garcia’s hand flew to her mouth as she stifled a gasp at hearing her boy wonders voice for the first time in what had to be months at this point.

Tears flooded to JJ’s eyes, obscuring her vision as she gnawed on her lip. Tara, Rossi and Emily managed to keep their composures.

“Kid, it’s good to hear your voice.” Rossi was the one to speak.

“Hi Dave, good to hear yours too.” Spencer’s voice cracked.

“Is everything okay junior G?” Garcia couldn’t stop herself speaking.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I, uh…I told Luke that I’m leaving Bandera. I need to get away from everything for real this time. And I’m afraid that includes all of you.”

More silence swelled in the room as the six agents exchanged looks of concern and upset.

“What do you mean?” JJ’s voice gave way to her sorrow.

“I don’t think I’m ever going to fully heal while I still have one foot in DC. I love you all very much but you all remind of me the worst things that have ever happened to me. I need a clean break. Last time I left without saying goodbye and Luke reminded me that I owe you more than that. So, uh, I guess this is goodbye.” He sighed, feeling strangely emotional.

Until now he’d only let himself think of how in running away with you he would miss his ranch and the life he’d created in Texas. He hasn’t let himself dwell on the idea that it also meant cutting ties with his old team entirely.

He heard a little more shuffling, key tapping and then the device cradled against his face beeped in his ear. With a frown he removed his hand from Rusty and pulled the device into his eyeline.

Incoming FaceTime call.

He grit his teeth. Apart from Luke he hadn’t see any of their faces in two years.

“Turn your camera on, Reid.” Emily’s voice came through the speaker, commanding him like he still worked for her. “At least let us say goodbye to you face to face.”

Spencer huffed, moving to sit back on the wooden crate. His finger hovered over the button for a moment or two before he accepted it.

This was going to be tough. It was hard enough lying to them at the best of times let alone face to face. As much as he was being honest when he said he was fed up of their babying, their worry it wasn’t the full story.

He had to cut contact with them in order to keep you safe. He was choosing you over his friends. He just had to keep his expression in check so they didn’t see through to his hidden agenda.

The screen was blank for a few moments and then suddenly it was as though he was back in the BAU round table room. He could tell from the angle that Garcia had mirrored Luke’s phone screen and his image was being displayed on the large TV.

Apart from Luke, none of them were prepared to see Doctor Spencer Reid sporting scruffy facial hair, with curls down to his shoulders and longer than any of them had seen in years or wearing a denim shirt over a plain white tee. But to their credits, they hid their surprise well, including Garcia.

Spencer almost waved at them before he remembered that would mean them seeing his splinted arm. Luke could have told them already but he didn’t want to worry them any more than they already were.

Garcia and JJ at the table both had tears in their eyes and Tara was sitting in the middle of them had her hands laced together in front of her. Emily and Rossi were nearest the camera and Luke was off to the side with his arms folded.

“Wow this is weird.” His brows pinched together. “I feel like I’m in the room.”

“Are you eating?” Garcia suddenly spoke up. “You look skinnier than I remember and that’s saying something because you were always so tiny.”

“I’m eating.” Spencer nodded.

“Clearly not enough.” Penelope huffed.

“Garcia,” Emily shot her a look to silence her and the bubbly blonde shrunk a little in her chair. “You look good Reid, rugged even.”

The small quip of her lip made Spencer chuckle.

“About time.” He joked but there was still the underlying melancholy in his voice. “I really am sorry to be doing this but I just need some time. I appreciate that you all care about me, but I’m fine I swear.”

“Does this have something to do with the girl? Because it seems like odd timing.” Luke grunted as he spoke.

Spencer felt his cheeks redden but only Rossi and Tara seemed confused by what he’d said. Spencer didn’t know that Luke had already filled Emily, JJ and Garcia in on how he’d found Spencer indisposed when he’d visited.

“Girl?” Tara cocked her eyebrow at the screen.

“Uh, yeah.” Spencer pulled a face. “I guess I met someone. Thanks for telling everyone, Luke.”

“So she’s the reason you’re leaving? Why you’re cutting us all out of your life?” Luke narrowed his eyes.

“No, of course not.” Spencer shook his head. “I just need to do this.”

“Is she going with you?” Luke frowned, his jaw set.

“That’s none of your business.” Spencer spat. “Why don’t you focus yourself on your own personal life rather than sticking your nose in mine.”

“Spence,” Emily spoke in her calming manner. “Is this still about what happened to you in prison?”

Spencer’s face fell and thanks to a combination of his new phone's excellent camera and the quality of pixels on the BAU screen, they all saw it.

“Prison? With your friend Delgado?” Garcia pouted.

“Spence, we know that was hard for you.” JJ added.

“That’s not what she’s talking about.” Luke spoke up, his slightly pointed tone obvious to everyone.

“What is she talking about?” Rossi frowned looking between his Unit Chief, Luke and Spencer on the screen. “Prentiss? Alvez? What do you know that we don’t?”

“Don’t you dare.” Spencer spat. “Don’t you fucking dare tell them!”

“They have a right to know why you’re being like this.” Luke growled.

“Alvez,” Emily scolded him. “It’s not your place. And it’s not mine either.”

The other members of the BAU gave each other curious looks while Spencer tried hard to control his anger. He couldn’t believe Emily would have the nerve to bring it up. She threw it out there like a grenade but refused to pull the pin, expecting him to be the one to do it.

“What happened in prison?” It was JJ who asked, of course it was. “What don’t you want us to know?”

“It’s nothing.” Spencer hissed. “Goddamnit Emily, did you really have to say that?”

“Don’t hiss at me like that.” Emily shook her head at him angrily.

“You aren’t my boss, I can talk to you however I like.” Spencer growled. “You had no right to bring that up in front of everyone.”

“I’m your friend and I’m worried about you.” She shrugged.

“You had no right to mention it.” He repeated. “What happened to me is nobody's business but my own. So stay the fuck out of it.”

“Spencer!” Garcia gasped. “What has gotten into you?”

“I’m not the same person I was.” He grunted. “Look I didn’t want this, I don’t want to fight. I just need to say goodbye.”

Silence flooded over them all again, the impending end was heavy in the air. None wanted to speak, none wanted to bring this to its closure. So Spencer spoke again.

“You’ve all been such a huge part of my life and I love you all from the bottom of my heart.” He wasn’t entirely sure he meant to look at Luke but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from him. “You meant the whole world to me, I wouldn’t change a single second of what we had. But I have to move on, I have to heal. I’m sorry this has to be the end but it’s the only way.”

If anyone else noticed Spencer was talking solely to Luke, no one mentioned as much. But Luke knew, and he gave a soft nod as his vision blurred with tears.

“We, uh, we love you too man.” Luke replied. “You’ll always be a big part of my heart - our hearts I mean.”

The others sent their kind words Spencer’s way but he was still staring at Luke and Luke at him, eventually they fell quiet and Spencer forced his eyes off of his ex.

“Uh, bye then I guess.” Spencer shrugged.

“Bye kid, stay safe out there.” Rossi nodded at him.

“Bye Reid,” Tara smiled sadly.

“Oh I hate goodbyes!” Penelope was crying now. “Love you boy wonder, goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Spence.” JJ wiped her own eyes.

“We’ll always be here if you ever change your mind.” Emily added.

When he looked back at the space Luke had previously been occupying, it was empty. Luke was gone.

Spencer swallowed, trying to hide his upset at the fact Luke had fled in such a way before he’d technically gotten to say goodbye to him.

Before he could show how much it hurt he ended the call and sighed heavily. Before he got back up he went through their numbers one by one and blocked them before deleting their numbers. But just as he was about to do the same to Luke’s contact information, a text appeared on his screen.

📲 Luke Alvez: I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodbye. I really do wish you all the best but I just can’t let myself believe this is really over. I will always love you, Spencer Reid.

Spencer felt his chest tighten as he read over the words a few times. And then he blocked Luke’s number, forgetting to delete it like the others. Perhaps it had been subconscious, or perhaps he’d deliberately kept it, he wasn’t sure.

Either way he had removed them from his life so he could take this step forward without putting you in danger.

***

Two days later Spencer’s ranch was up for sale with a local realtor but the two of you didn’t have the luxury in sticking around and waiting for it to sell.

He’d managed to get another nearby rancher to take on his cattle and, somewhat reluctantly on his part, Wilbur and Franklin too. Although he didn’t have as strong of a connection with them as he did with Willow, he was going to miss his two stallions a great deal.

Spencer had purchased a horse trailer which could be hooked up to the back of your car for Rusty and Willow and the rest of the backseat and trunk were filled with Spencer’s belongings, which were mostly books.

He sat in the passenger seat while you arranged the last few things on the backseat and checked the trailer was secure, assuring Willow and Rusty with pats on their heads that they were okay.

He stared out at his lodge, the one he’d called home for two years and the For Sale sign stuck in the dirt. He was growing wistful at an alarming rate, feeling his vision blurring with unshed tears.

He’d never made a home here quite like he had in DC but for some reason this was harder to leave behind. He’d loved his apartment in the city, lived there for most of his adult life, but he’d given it up without a second thought.

Perhaps because here on his ranch in Bandera it was the life he’d chosen. DC and the FBI had been thrust upon him by Jason Gideon, not that he minded that and he was grateful for Gideon’s persistence to have him on the team. But it never really left Spencer any room to choose his own path.

With his intelligence he could have done just about anything, he’d thought he might have long ago cured schizophrenia. But Gideon had pursued him, claiming the young genius as his own prized pig for the BAU to show off. Moving to Texas was probably the first thing he’d done for himself his entire life.

Sure, he still wasn’t making any medical breakthroughs or using his brain to help the world. But this life was so simple, something he’d sorely needed after years of chasing criminals. But now instead of chasing them, he was going on the run with one.

Really if he stopped to think about it, it was insane. He’d spent fifteen years protecting and serving, bringing people like you to justice. He should just turn you in, then he could keep his ranch and not have to cut his friends out of his life.

But you had opened up Spencer’s eyes. In meeting you, Spencer finally understood why he’d never made things work with anyone else. Life just made so much sense to him now.

Relationships of any kind for him had always been about compromising pieces of himself. With Ethan he’d become subservient, as was par for the course for a first relationship he was a moldable putty in Ethan’s hands. He said and did what he thought the other man wanted whether or not Spencer himself wanted it too.

With Lila and Ivy the woman he’d had a one night stand with after Maeve’s death and Caleb with whom he’d had a six month booty call with, he’d conceded parts of himself for the sake of casual sex. He’d lessened his own values for the sake of other people. And with Maeve herself he often dumbed himself down to allow her to feel superior.

And then there was Luke, who Spencer didn’t realise until it was over just how compromised he’d let himself become. Luke was traumatised from serving overseas, needed something to focus his mind on to quell his own darkness. Spencer permitted himself to fall into the role of beta, not that it was a hard persona to emulate.

He was for the most part a submissive person, but mostly in part because he’d always been pushed into that mantle. Sometimes he thought it might be nice to have a little control in his own life, in his own decision making but with Luke that was taken away.

He didn’t mind, for the most part. But now he looked back on it there were times where he’d wished he’d been able to make even the simplest choice of what they were having for dinner or what movie to watch.

He didn’t need to be an alpha and honestly he probably wouldn’t even know what to do with that kind of dominance. But Luke coddled him as though he wasn’t able to make his own decisions, handled him with kid gloves as though Spencer was one moment away from breaking at all times.

And that was even before prison.

Even with his friends, his team, Spencer compromised himself for their own happiness and well-being. He slotted into roles that needed filling in their lives rather than forging his own. He was what people needed him to be. He was malleable. He was a hunk of clay just waiting to be sculpted by those around him.

But then he met you and he finally understood what it was like to not have to bend to the will of others, to shape himself around the demands of others.

In moving to Texas and being alone for so long he was able to start forming himself away from the ordinance of the people around him. He started to discover exactly who Spencer Reid was in his most authentic incarnation.

Upon meeting you he did not bend, he did not falter. And he found that someone actually loved him for who he was when he was just himself and not trying to appease or alter himself to be deemed fit.

So he would miss his ranch, no doubt. He would miss his friends despite the fact they barely talked anymore. But the decision to leave with you was an unimaginably easy one. You didn’t love him for the person he could be, you loved him the raw version of him, the real, uncensored Spencer Reid.

The driver’s door opened and you slid in with a smile, rolling down the window and lighting a cigarette between your lips. You turned to him as you started the engine reaching across the centre console and giving his hand a squeeze.

“You ready for this, stud?” You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Not too late to change your mind.”

He waited until you took a drag, exhaling the smoke out of the window before he gripped the back of your head and drew you close for a kiss.

“Y/N,” he spoke once he pulled back, tucking your hair behind your ear. “I have never been more sure about anything in my life. I know things haven’t always gone smoothly for us, I guess we’re both just a little…rusty.” He chuckled and you did too. “But practice makes perfect, right? And I’m fairly certain we’ll figure it out together.”

You smiled brightly at him, taking another drag on the cigarette before putting the car in reverse. Spencer took one last look at the place he’d called home for two years, wistful but excited for what the future held.

You dangled your arm out of the window and with a wink sent his way you spoke in mirth, “Well then cowboy, we better giddy up.”

@kalulakunundrum @katrina0-0 @bakugouswh0r3 @prettyboyandthefangirl @zooni92802 @babyspiderling

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 40 minutes

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What is Broken IV (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader) FINALE

The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Warnings: traumatic childbirth, blood, semi-suicidal thoughts, Aemond is fantasizing about murder again, all the angst

Point of View: Limited third person omniscient

Author's Note: I don't understand why, but thanks so much for all the support I've gotten from this horribly angsty fic! This is my first go at angst so I really appreciate it. I'm gonna work on two happy-ish fic chapters before I get started on When It Breaks, but it's coming...

Taglist is done via reblogs

What is Broken

She was so light, his ābrazȳrītsos.

Even while carrying their children – their sons – Aemond swore she was lighter than when he left. He held her close to his chest, her head resting on his shoulder and her legs draped over his forearm. With every step, he could feel more of the liquid that had spilled from her womb - now mixed with small, hateful tendrils of blood - dampening his sleeve.

Gods, how much blood had he seen in the past year? How much had he spilled himself? There had even been times when he reveled in its metallic tang. But the sight of her blood was nothing less than abhorrent.

He ran faster, until he could not make out the faces of those he passed, shouting for a Maester to be sent to their chambers immediately. One of them must be a servant. With luck, the Maester would already be there when they arrived.

She cried out as he began to ascend the stairs, wincing with each step, her weak grip on him tightening. “It hurts, Aemond.”

“I know, my love.” He slowed down, though his pounding heart urged him to do just the opposite. “I’m so sorry. The maester will be here soon, and he’ll help you feel better, hmm?”

“He has to stop it. It’s too early,” her voice cracked, and Aemond’s heart with it. “They’re not ready!”

But it couldn’t be stopped, not by man or gods. Their children would be born today. The only question was whether they would survive. If their mother would survive. Her poor body was so weak, and her heart… he had broken that, too.

If any of them died today, that blood would be on his hands, and he would gladly accept his damnation to the worst of the seven hells.

“Come now,” he chided gently as they reached the corridor to their chambers. “Our sons are dragons – they will be strong. And so will you, ābrazȳrītsos.”

“Sons?” She lifted her head, her entire body trembling with the effort it took. Her eyes – those beautiful eyes now gilded by the setting sun outside the windows – locked with his. “How… you sound so sure.”

Just one more lie. One more, and then he would never lie to her again.

Besides, this lie was small, nearly inconsequential. Many fathers insisted that their children would be sons until the child itself proved them wrong. It would be so easy for her to believe. The truth would hurt her – perhaps weaken her further. Aemond did not want her to hear Alys’ name. She should never have to even think of that witch ever again.

But he could not bring himself to do it. He could not sully the birth of his sons with yet another lie. He pushed their door open with a shoulder, never breaking her gaze. “Alys told me after you left. Before… she had a vision of us holding our sons. I’m so sorry, love.”

She slumped again, her face dropping into the curve of his neck. Once, she kissed him there, slept with her head tucked there. Now, it was simply where her head lolled. “I’m glad it’s sons. You’ll have two heirs…”

Her words were cut short by a gasp of pain, but Aemond heard it clearly. It echoed in his very bones. So if I live, you’ll have no more need of me. The gods had just crumbled the ground beneath him, his heart and soul with it. He was falling, falling, falling…

“I am glad, too.” He set her down gently in the bed, brushing away several tangles of hair stuck to her sweaty brow before arranging the pillows around her, hoping he was adequately managing to hide his devastation. For he could not bear to be without her, could not bear to love her only from a distance. He would go mad. Yet he would happily accept that horrible fate if it meant he would not lose her to the Stranger. “Mother will be, as well.”

“Mother!” She tried to rise, but he held her softly to the bed. “I can’t do this without Mother, Aemond. We must return home immediately!”

“I am afraid that is not an option, Princess.” Maester Artos stood just within the doorway, maids and Septas streaming in behind him. He was a mountain of a man, better suited to the battlefield than the birthing bed. But he was good at what he did – very good. Aemond had seen him work miracles on men who should have never survived their injuries.

The moment the women began attending to his wife, he approached the Maester, speaking quietly so as not to frighten her. “Something is wrong, Artos, she is bleeding. And she’s very weak.”

Artos hardly acknowledged him, looking only at the princess lying in the bed. “The blood is not the problem. She is distressed and too thin.” He stated, as cold and clinical as all other Maesters.

“Yes, I know that already.” Aemond took a shaky, calming breath. He did not like the way Artos observed her, as if she was a thing to be studied rather than a woman – a princess. Perhaps when it was all over, he’d kill the man for it. “I fear she is not strong enough to survive this.”

She cried out behind them. Two maids were pressing damp cloths to her forehead. Another was hastily braiding her hair back. A Septa had begun cutting away her dress, leaving her only in her chemise as two more maids removed her slippers and stockings. Two other Septas knelt by the windows, praying, while one woman who seemed to be neither maid nor Septa laid metal and wood instruments atop a tall, thin table.

It took every ounce of Aemond’s self-control not to go to her. To shove away each woman because it should be him – and him alone – to touch his wife while she was so vulnerable. He should be the one to protect her, but he couldn’t. He could only hurt her, it seemed.

“Artos!” Aemond hissed.

“Is her spirit weak as well?” There was suspicion in his dark eyes. The same he’d shown when he confirmed Alys was carrying a child. If he hadn’t been so proficient a healer, Aemond might have killed him then.

But for now, Aemond was glad Artos was alive. He swallowed, avoiding looking back at the bed as his wife continued to whimper and moan. “Yes.” The maester just hummed before approaching the bed. Aemond followed, kneeling at the bedside, the maids immediately clearing away.

“This is Maester Artos, ābrazȳrītsos.” She stared wide-eyed at the hulking mass of the man who now knelt between her legs. Aemond tugged on her hand, her gaze snapping back to him. “I know him well. He’s going to take very good care of you, I promise.”

She shuddered, her eyes closed tight as she squeezed Aemond’s hand so hard he had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. He delighted in it. She was not as weak as he thought, thank the gods. If she needed to break every bone in his hand – in his body – to live through this, he would let her do so without complaint.

“Are you going to stay with me?” she asked, her voice already ravaged by screaming.

Aemond blinked. When they first learned they were to have a child, he swore he would. But now, it seemed impossible for her to want him there. Not after what he’d done. “Do you… want me to stay?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out but another moan of pain. Her eyes darted all over his face. The longer she stayed silent, the further Aemond’s stomach dropped, and his heart ached.

“I believe it wise to have the prince wait outside,” Artos said decisively.

Aemond felt her hand slide out of his, the sensation the same as if he were falling from Vhagar’s back—her answer.

He nodded, and though he knew he shouldn’t, he leaned over her and kissed her forehead, trailing a hand down her cheek. “I love you.”

As he walked to the door, he still held a little shred of hope in his heart, waiting to hear her say it back.

It never came.

The moment the door shut behind Aemond, she regretted sending him away. She wanted to call him back so she wouldn’t be alone with so many strangers. But panic began to set in as the maids pulled her gently down the bed, and her voice failed her.

“It won’t be long now, princess,” the maester said, but she found no comfort in it. She couldn’t even remember his name. Alton? Alyn? Amos? Aemond had said he trusted him, but…

But that meant he had been here when Aemond was with Alys. And that glint of pity in his eyes, not just for her conditions, but for what he knew. He knew. Seven Hells, he’d probably been the one to care for Alys and her pregnancy.

Alys. Alys, Alys, fucking Alys!

She did not know what to think of the woman who had stolen so much from her. Had she stolen it, or had Aemond given it? She could hardly make sense of what she’d learned in that dreary little room.

Alys was not the evil, scheming witch she had first imagined. But neither was she innocent in the affair, not wholly. She was not remorseful for her actions, but she apologized for hurting her. She had been kind.

Blinding pain shot through her, and she screamed. Wordless and desperate, her only outlet for release. She needed to scream, needed to roar, needed to breathe fire. Anything to distract from this. Gods, she even wished for a moment for Alys to be there, holding her hand. At least then, she could return some of that pain.

“Princess,” the maester said, though he sounded far away. Though it was more likely that her shouting was drowning him out. “Very soon, I will ask that you push. Do you know how, your highness?”

Push. That’s what the septas had instructed Helaena to do at the birth of her twins and for Maelor. She even had vague memories of the word from when she peeked through the open door to her mother’s chambers when Daeron was born. But what it meant and how to do it?

Her confusion must have been apparent, for the maester continued. His voice was frustratingly calm and steady. “It is fine if you do not, princess. You must simply follow your instincts. When you feel the urge, push the child outward with all your might.”

“I have no might.” She heard herself laughing through tears and only then realized she was crying. Someone took her hand – she didn’t know who. But the feeling of another’s skin on hers was heavenly.

“You have carried these babes for months,” the maester – Artos! that was his name – said gently, “while your husband and the realm were at war. In my estimation, you are the mightiest woman in Westeros.”

She felt nearly every muscle she had tense, turning her answering grateful smile into a grimace. The mightiest woman in Westeros would not have weathered her pregnancy as well as a paper boat in a storm. The mightiest woman in Westeros would not still love her husband after he betrayed her. The mightiest woman in Westeros would not have let her emotions weaken her or put her children’s lives in danger.

She was far from the mightiest woman in Westeros, and she could not do this. She wasn’t strong enough. She was only a weak and broken little girl.

A maid approached, a fresh cool, damp cloth in her hands. The princess had not looked at any of their faces, too absorbed in her pain and panic. But now, she caught the eyes of this girl—deep, rich brown, so similar to her own – to her mother’s.

“I want my mother,” she whispered to the maid, even knowing it was impossible. “I can’t do this without her.”

The maid gaped at her as if she could not fathom a princess ever speaking to her. She looked to her companions for guidance, but the princess only looked into the maid’s eyes and thought of her mother—the scent of the rosemary oil she used in her hair, the warmth of her embrace, and the soothing tones of her voice.

“Please, I want my mother,” she begged. A new surge of pain gripped her, radiating into her legs. They were coming faster now; she barely had time to breathe between each wave. “Please.”

“I’m so sorry, Your Highness.” The maid’s voice was high and breathy, nothing like her mother’s. “The queen is not here.”

She cried, turning away from those false eyes. She was alone – entirely and utterly alone.

“Princess, I need you to be strong now.” Artos’ sweaty brow was furrowed with half a dozen creases, his eyes wide and mouth a firm line. He looked more like a commander on a battlefield than a maester. The Grand Maester would have smiled at her, but he was not here, either. “Your labors are progressing quickly. It is nearly time to push.”

“I don’t know how,” she cried. She refused to open her eyes. If she kept them closed, she could almost imagine she was home.

Artos wrapped his hands around her ankles, pushing them upwards and further apart. “You do, princess. The Mother wove the knowledge into your body. Listen to it, and all will be well.”

“I – ”

Her next scream rattled the room, the keep, the entirety of the Riverlands.

Fire, ice, steel, and claw seemed to rake down her spine to her thighs. But Artos was right; her body reacted to the pain, her muscles moving near-unconsciously to force the babe out of her womb. She followed the instinct, pushing it harder, harder, harder.

“Very good, princess!” Was that Artos or Orwyle? She couldn’t tell anymore.

It was never-ending.

Pain, pushing, and a brief moment of reprieve.

Again.

It lasted hours, days, perhaps even years.

Was a child – a son – even worth this pain? How could she love someone who had tortured her so? Would she ever be able to look at him without remembering how she suffered?

Pain.

PAIN.

Then –

“Stop, princess!”

She went limp, vaguely beginning to feel other sensations creep in: the coolness of the water on her forehead, the slight scratching of the sheets beneath her, and the hushed whispers of the maids and midwives.

The pain was still there, but softer. Less insistent.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice nearly unrecognizable, even to her.

Artos emerged from between her legs, relief painted over his harsh face. “Nothing is wrong, princess. It is simply time to be gentle and allow your body to do its work.” He smiled, chuckling under his breath. “I can see your babe’s white hair – quite a bit of it.”

Laughter bubbled up in her throat. Deep, joyous laughter. Another slight wave of pain passed through her, but she didn’t care at all. She was thinking about her niece and nephew, how Jaehaerys was born with nearly a full mane of silver frizz while Jaehaera had not a single hair on her head until she was over a year old. “He has hair?”

“Yes, although I do not know yet whether it is a boy, princess.”

“It is. He is.”

There was one more brief surge of pain, and then she heard her son cry.

It was torture to wait outside while his ābrazȳrītsos screamed with pain. At first, Aemond stood leaning against the wall, as Aegon did when Helaena began her labors, but his knees failed him when he heard a scream that rattled the world.

He’d been on the floor since, resisting the urge to cover his ears. But he had caused her this pain, so he must listen.

He would be in that room with her if he hadn’t been a weak, damnable fool. He would have held her hand, letting her release her pain onto him. She had only squeezed his hand once, yet he still felt the ghost of her touch on his skin. He would savor that pain for the rest of his life.

It seemed to be never-ending, the torture his son was inflicting upon her. How could he ever forgive the child for doing this to his own mother?

Then, it stopped.

Aemond leaped to his feet, panic infecting his blood like a disease. Why had she gone quiet? What was wrong? Was she dead? He couldn’t face –

A babe cried—his first cry, with his first breath.

Their son.

He tried to push the door open, but it was locked.

“Let me in!” he shouted, pounding his fist on the door. “Artos, let me in!”

There was no answer, but he could hear soft voices inside. None sounded like hers. Oh gods, had she brought their son into the world at the cost of her own life?

Aemond slammed himself against the door again and again, not caring for the damage he was doing to his own body. “Open the door now, Artos!”

He threw himself against the wood again and again. At some point, it had to yield. Either it would, or his body would.

It opened just before he launched himself at it again—not all the way, but it was open. Then, Artos stared at him through the gap with his hateful, disapproving gaze.

“Let me in,” he growled. Trying to force the door open was useless, as the maester was practically a giant and, apparently, throwing all his strength into holding it closed. “If you don’t let me see my wife, I swear I’ll – ”

“Your wife has not finished her labors yet, my prince.” Damn him, the mountainous bastard. “But I am pleased to inform you that she has borne you a son.”

Though he knew it was to be a son, the words still shot through him. A son. His son. Their son.

“Is he healthy? Is she?” There was no more fight in his voice. The warrior prince had vanished, replaced only by the husband and father. By all the gods, he was a father.

Artos nodded. “The boy is small but healthy. Your maester may have miscalculated the date of conception. He is remarkably healthy for being born so early.”

“And my wife?”

“She is tired, but well. The second babe is not quite ready to emerge, so she is resting.”

The weight of all the world was lifted from his shoulders. He felt like the little boy he had once been on Driftmark, wanting nothing more than to see his zaldrīzītsos and take comfort in her embrace. “May I see her? Please.”

“I’m afraid not, my prince.” Artos at least had the decency to sound genuinely apologetic. “She needs this rest. With the first birth, she was wonderfully strong, more than I could have ever imagined. But I fear she has depleted her strength. She fell asleep the moment it was done.”

“Is… is it bad that she fell asleep?”

Artos sighed, his eyes turning to the floor. “Ordinarily, no, but with how thin she is, how weak… it worries me.”

No. No, no, no. “Is there anything you can do? To help strengthen her?”

“I am afraid not, my prince.”

“Well, do something. Do whatever you can.”

A soft moan came from behind the door. Ābrazȳrītsos. Aemond pushed against the door, opening it as far as he could to try and catch the barest glimpse of her.

Her eyes were nearly closed, her reddened cheeks making them appear as dark as night. Her chemise was soaked through with sweat and whatever other fluids came out with their child. But no blood beyond what he already knew to be there.

“Ābrazȳrītsos! I’m here!” He shouted. It took a moment for her to look his way. He could have sworn she smiled. “I’m with you! You must be strong, my love. I know you can be. I love you! I love you so much, ñuha zaldrīzītsos!”

Artos pushed against the door, forcing Aemond back. “That is enough, my prince. Upsetting her will only drain her strength.”

Aemond knew it was true, that his presence would likely upset her rather than comfort her. So, he stopped resisting and allowed the maester to close the door. Just before it closed, he whispered one final command, “Take care of her, Artos. She is my world.”

The pain returned, worse than before. The lightning crept down her spine again, but it was now accompanied by a great force set on tearing her body apart at the seams. Pushing brought no relief, nor did it seem to move her son any closer to the world.

Artos came to her bedside, resting the back of his hand against her brow.

“It’s worse this time,” she confided in the maester when it finally ebbed. “It’s so much worse. Why?”

He sighed and sat on the bedside, his massive hand nearly eclipsing her head as he stroked her hair. It made her feel remarkably like a kitten. “I cannot say, princess. There are many possibilities. This child could be larger, in a slightly different position, or…” He hesitated. “As I said, there are too many possibilities for me to be sure.”

His pause unsettled her, but it soon faded away when another wave went through her. “Is he nearly ready? I can’t do this much longer.” At least she knew what to do this time, so surely it would be better.

“Ah, another son, is it?” Artos stood from the bed to examine her spread legs. Several maids gently moved her to replace the sheets beneath her. “Not yet, but soon. Your motherly instincts will tell you when.”

Motherly instincts. Gods, she was a mother now. There was a child on the other side of the room that she had given birth to, that she had grown within her. A son who would depend on her for his entire life. Her, and his father.

Aemond would be a good father, she knew, even if he were decidedly lacking as a husband. But as a father, he would be attentive, kind, and loving. He would give their sons all the love he was denied by their own father.

They would not repeat the mistakes of the past. They would love their sons. They would not ignore them, speaking to them only to scold them. They would teach them the language of their ancestors themselves instead of relying on tutors. As soon as they were old enough, they would teach them how to be compassionate and fair rulers. They would not force them to marry for political advantage or the continuation of the bloodline but let them fall in love, as they had.

She could see them now. Both with white hair and unruly curls. Bright lilac eyes. The elder would take after her, but with Aemond’s determination. The younger would take after their father but with her gentle temperament.

As if the vision was summoning her second son, she felt her body constricting, muscles tightening. Without fear, she began to push.

“Princess, stop!”

Artos screamed as if someone was holding a sword to his throat, desperate and panicked. His eyes were wide and bulging as he looked from her face to where her second son should be emerging. “You mustn’t push now, princess. Not once. I…”

He stood, pulling one of the Septas aside. Others followed, and their frantic, poorly hushed whispers grew louder. She knew the sight should frighten her, but she forced herself to remain calm. Aemond said he trusted this man and had seen him work miracles. Whatever was wrong, Artos would fix it.

She was sure.

Artos burst out of the door without warning. Aemond pushed away from the wall. “Is it over?”

The maester sighed.

Shit. Seven Hells and all the Gods.

“Your wife is strong, my prince,” he began. Holy gods, he sounded as if he would cry. “Enough so that I would have little doubt that she could deliver your second child, but…”

“What’s wrong?” Aemond felt his heart race, his blood surge, his finger twitching for his sword. He was going into battle, but this was not a battle he could fight with steel or fire. This was not a battle he could fight at all. “Artos?”

“The babe is not in the right position.” He moved his hands as if it would somehow make Aemond understand what he was saying.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that the babe cannot be born, your highness.”

No. This couldn’t be happening. Not after everything she had suffered and survived.

“If she were to continue her labors, neither she nor the child would live.” Artos put a hand on his shoulder, an attempt at comfort. “I can save only one. Who survives… that is your decision, my prince.”

The gods were cruel to force this upon him – the very choice that had damned their family decades ago when Viserys chose to sacrifice his wife and queen for the chance at a son. That was where the seeds of destruction had been sown.

Aemond could not repeat the mistakes of the past. He would not be like his father. He had his son and heir. A second would be preferred, but not at the cost of his ābrazȳrītsos.

His ābrazȳrītsos, whose heart would break to lose her son. Who would never forgive him if he decided to –

He couldn’t choose. He couldn’t let her die, and he couldn’t let their son die.

He couldn't live without her, and he couldn’t take away her will to live.

He tore himself out of Artos’ grasp and stormed into the room.

Aemond threw open the door, his eyes wide and wet, and suddenly, she was not so sure that Maester Artos would fix whatever was wrong.

He ran to the bed, not sparing a glance at their new son. She burst into sobs the moment he took her in his arms. “Oh, ābrazȳrītsos,” he whispered into her hair as he kissed her temples. She entwined her fingers with his, desperately squeezing. “I’m here now. Everything is going to be fine.”

Liar. Sweet Liar. Beloved Liar.

“I want Mother. I want Helaena.” Her voice crackled with tears and exhaustion. Everything hurt. Someone – most likely her – was crying, though it sounded distant. And if Aemond was here, not waiting outside…

If Aemond was here, holding her hand and stroking her hair, it meant something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

“Mother is not here right now,” he said, squeezing her hand tighter. He wouldn’t look at her, wouldn’t meet her gaze. “And Helaena… she can’t be here. I’m so sorry.”

“She told me she would hold my hand like I did for her. She promised!”

“I know. I know, my love, but it is not possible.”

Because Helaena was dead. So were Daeron, and Jaehaerys, and Jaehaera, and Maelor, and Otto, and Ser Criston, and nearly every other person she loved. Aegon would be dead soon, too, then she would only have her mother and her husband.

Her mother, who had begged her to forgive the husband who betrayed her and broken her heart.

“I can’t do this alone, Aemond. I can’t.”

“You can, I know it. You are so strong, dearest.” Yet there was no confidence in his voice.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear his hair out just to make him hurt, too. “I can’t! I’ll die if you make me, Aemond, I know it. I know something is wrong. Please, tell me.”

He pursed his lips, eyes narrowed. “My love, I…” his voice faded, leaving them in total silence, save for that distant crying.

Then, he kissed her—not the soft kisses on the temple or head of the past fortnight, but the way he had kissed her when he said goodbye all those months ago. His lips slotted against hers perfectly, and she opened for him on instinct. She knew she should stop, push him away, and scold him, but she couldn’t.

Everything felt wrong—her entire body felt wrong. But this, kissing Aemond, felt right. Her desperation for comfort far overpowered her anger and resentment. Her trembling hand rested on his shoulder, her fingers bunching in his shirt. She pulled him closer, wanting more—more rightness, more connection, more feeling.

More Aemond.

But he pulled away, resting his brow against hers as she chased his lips again. He placed a hand on either side of her face, holding her still. “I’m going to fix this,” he rasped, his voice shredded by fear and desperation. “I will fix this, I swear.”

Then, he let go.

He stood from the bed and turned away from his wife.

He was leaving. He was fucking leaving her.

She screamed his name, cursed him, begged him to come back, hurled insults, and cried for him. He couldn’t do this to her, not after everything he’d already done.

This was not love. The heat that burned in her chest was not love.

It was hate.

For the first time in her life, she truly hated Aemond.

“Alys!” Aemond bellowed as he descended the stairs to the servant’s quarters, taking the steps two, three at a time. No one dared approach him. Not even Artos had tried to stop him as he ran away from his ābrazȳrītsos.

She may hate him forever for this, for leaving her when she was so weak and scared.

Fine. It would be worth it.

“ALYS!” The door snapped from its upper hinge as he tore it open. The witch was precisely where she’d been when Aemond left, her hand on her chin as she looked into the fire. What vile hell did she see in her visions now? “Alys!”

“I heard you, Aemond.” She did not look at him, only staring at the flames, those green eyes flitting around as if she were reading a book. “The entire continent heard you.” There was no humor in her voice, no hint of a smile on her face.

He swallowed, panting. He was crying – weeping like a little boy. That didn’t matter now. Very little mattered now.

Aemond fell to his knees before the witch with whom he had destroyed his life. He would do whatever she asked, destroy what little was left of his pride if necessary. “I need your help, Alys. Please.”

“She’s dying?”

“Yes. The maester said I had to… that I had to choose who to save.”

“And you can’t choose between her and the child.”

“No, I – ” he swallowed as his voice shattered. He was going to vomit. “I can’t, Alys. I can’t. Please.”

“What is it, exactly, that you want me to do?” She was colder than the Wall, than the entirety of the lands beyond it.

“Save them, both of them.”

Alys’ eyes narrowed. Her face was painted with an expression he had never seen. He had no clue what it meant. “What would you sacrifice,” she asked flatly, “to ensure your wife and her children – your true heirs – live?”

“Anything,” Aemond croaked, “Everything.”

One corner of her sinful mouth lifted in a way that did not bring him comfort. She sighed as if taking the time to thoroughly consider his plea. The wicked bitch was gleefully stalling when the lives of his wife and child could end at any moment.

“Please, Alys,” he begged again, desperation crawling through his veins like spreading ice. “I cannot live without her, and she will never recover from her grief if she loses the babe.”

Something passed over her face, and she smiled fully. “You have always been a man of loyalty and nobility, Aemond.” Her grin sharpened as she laid one delicate hand upon her belly. “Almost always, at least.”

“Alys,” he growled in warning.

“Oh, don’t be a beast about it,” she scoffed. “I will do it – save them. If only in memory of our time together.”

Aemond sagged as relief swept through him, but it did not last long. She was still dying. The babe was still dying. Whatever Alys would do, she needed to do it now. He opened his mouth to command her to start, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“I promise it will be done.” She flung her hand to the door in dismissal. “You should be there for her. She is still so very frightened.”

He needed nothing more to run back to his wife.

She was alone. Even with Maester Artos and the dozen women hovering around her, even with her son cooing softly from the cradle by the window, she had never felt so alone.

Aemond was gone.

He’d left her. Without even a goodbye, he’d left her. He had not even stopped to meet his son.

Artos murmured something to one of the Septas, who quickly gathered the other women on the far side of the room. He approached the bed, again seating himself upon the edge, and pressed the back of his fingers to her brow briefly before petting her hair. “How are you feeling, princess?”

“Am I going to die?”

He hesitated in answering. “I cannot say for certain…”

“I know something is wrong. Please, tell me.” Her heart constricted as his fingers brushed against a spot where Aemond had kissed her. “You told him, now tell me.”

“Very well,” he sighed. His harsh face fell, and she swore she could see his eyes glistening. “The babe is breech. It should emerge head-first, but it is not. It’s… the way it is attempting to come out is nearly impossible. Should I not intervene, one or both of you will die.”

No. No, no, no, it wasn’t fair. To suffer for this long, to endure what she endured, only for her child to enter the world wrong? In a way that would kill them? She had always been good and devout. She prayed and studied holy texts, listened to her Septas and the Maesters, and avoided sin at all costs. Then why was she being punished?

Unless… the gods had not sent this to punish her.

Aemond had abandoned her and their marriage – their holy union – when he slept with Alys. It would be fitting, and very like the gods, for him to lose that which he had forsaken. She and her second son were merely instruments of punishment. But it wasn’t fair.

“There is nothing you can do?” She felt hollow as Artos continued to look at her in pity.

The warrior-maester looked as if he were about to cry, as well. “In these situations, it is usually asked of the father whom he would rather save.”

So that was why Artos left the room – to ask Aemond whether to save her or the child.

“Who did he choose?” Either answer would devastate her. He would either prove the fragility of his love for her, or he would willingly break her heart by killing their son. Whatever he chose, he would become a kinslayer thrice over.

“He… he did not, your highness.”

“What?”

“I explained the situation, and he stormed in here – to you. When he left, he said nothing. He just ran. I presumed he had…” But he hadn’t. Had not said a word about the peril she and their son were now in.

A coward. Too frightened to maintain his vows of marriage. Too weak to admit his wrongdoing. Too cowardly to even make this most crucial of decisions. The gods damn him.

If they hadn’t already.

“So… what will you do?” If she had to be the one to make the decision, so be it.

“There are three options.” None of them were very good, she knew, simply by looking at his forlorn face. She had thought him a grave man when she first saw him. Now, he looked mournful – a reluctant harbinger of death. “I can forcibly remove the child, more than likely killing it in the process. I can attempt to save it and, in so doing, certainly kill you. Or we can proceed with the birth, risking killing both of you and pray that the gods may be merciful.”

Such a choice – a decision of life and death – should be difficult. It should tear away at the soul to condemn another. It should be far beyond the limits of the heart or mind.

But it was easy.

“Save him,” she whispered. “Let me die.”

Artos frowned deeply, shook his head, and said something in return, but she did not listen – she could not and would not hear his words. She only vaguely saw him move to the end bed, ripping away the sleeve of his robes as he barked orders at the maid and midwives. Perhaps the gods were merciful to dull her senses now so she could pass peacefully.

What did it matter if she died now?

She will have fulfilled her duty and given her husband his heirs. Finding a new wife would be easy – what woman would not want to marry him? Even if news of Alys spread beyond the walls of Harrenhal, surely it was nothing in exchange for a crown. Aemond would have everything he needed to be king.

If she lived, what sort of life would it be? To raise one son while constantly mourning the other. To be the wife of a man she could no longer trust. To remain empty, a shell of her former self. She would be alive, but she would still be a ghost.

“Save him,” she said again, her voice fading.

It was easier this way. Hadn’t she already learned that it was easier not to fight? Letting Aemond take care of her was easier than fighting him. Perhaps it would be easier to let him care for the children, too. He would love them enough that they would not feel her absence.

Distantly, she felt pressure between her legs, then heard her firstborn son cry out to echo her own screams.

Her son.

Oh, he had no name.

She couldn’t leave him motherless and without a name.

Months ago, she had decided on names, but they were hard to remember now. What was it? She could grant him this one last gift. She just needed to remember…

“Daeron.”

Yes. It had been her brother’s name. Her kind, brave, daring brother. He died some months ago. There had been a battle. Why was her little brother fighting? He was too young for that.

Tendrils of pale mist crept into the edges of her vision, playfully willing her to sleep.

Once she was gone, Daeron—her Daeron—would have a little brother, too. He would need a name as well—a strong name, a courageous name. When she was dead, he would need courage.

“Aenar.”

A strong name. With courage enough to forge a new beginning.

There. Names for her sons, the little princes.

With that last parting gift, she could close her eyes at last.

Goodbye, she tried to say.

I love you, my children.

Be kind to each other.

Love each other always.

Goodbye.

The mist filled her vision, illuminated by a distant light. It was cool, like a late spring morning. She did not hurt anymore. Did not feel anything but an overwhelming sense of peace.

The distant light faded.

The mist darkened.

Through it, she swore she could see grass-green eyes and hear the faraway cry of a babe.

She was still screaming. Good.

Screaming meant she was still alive. Screaming meant Alys was fulfilling her promise. Screaming meant that Aemond was racing back to his wife – his living, breathing, beloved wife – and not her corpse.

The door was still locked when he arrived—one final obstacle between him and his family.

No, not final. Far from it. The door was the only tangible thing keeping him from his wife and children, yes, but there was far more beyond it. The pain he caused her, the hatred his ābrazȳrītsos now surely felt for him, and the third child that would soon be born still kept them as far apart as the earth and stars.

They would get past it. They had to. They were siblings, husband and wife, now destined to become King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. They were meant for each other. The gods or fate or whatever else had made her for him and him for her.

They were two parts of the same whole, cleaved.

“Prince Aemond.”

Cregan Stark, the man who humiliated him and his wife mere hours ago, stood behind him. Aemond snarled. “Leave. Now.”

Stark stood strong and still. “You have been my enemy. You may be still, I have not decided. I have no admiration nor respect for you, my prince. In short, I do not like you.”

“Do you want me to kill you?” Aemond asked. He did not wish to greet his sons with blood-soaked hands, but if Stark didn’t close his fucking mouth –

“To lose the woman you love so dearly in this way… it is a pain I know all too well and one I would not wish on anyone. I have instructed all my men to pray for the Princess and the child, and I will join them soon. Negotiations will be postponed indefinitely.”

“I…” Perhaps Aemond had underestimated the brute, if he was a brute at all. And though he knew the prayers were unnecessary, gratitude still dulled his rage. “Thank you, Lord Stark.”

He simply inclined his head and walked away, leaving Aemond leaning against that godsdamned door, listening to nothing but the sound of his own panting breath.

Oh gods.

He froze.

The screaming was gone.

It was silent.

Was she dead?

Had Alys betrayed him?

He would kill her. He would tear her apart with his own hands and –

A child cried.

Then…

Oh, thank each and every god a thousand times over.

For then, Aemond heard his wife laughing.

“Princess?”

She always expected that the voice of the Father would be deep and smooth, but shouldn’t it be the Mother to greet her, given how she died? And shouldn’t the gods greet her by name, not her title?

“Princess, it is time to wake up,” the voice said again. “Open your eyes for me.”

Oh, her eyes were closed. She should open them.

The Heavens were not as bright as she imagined, nor as golden. They were dark and sparsely decorated and looked very much like –

“I am not dead?”

Maester Artos looked down at her and smiled. It reminded her of the few times she had seen her father smile at her, sparking a warmth in her chest she had not felt for years. She had not known she still remembered those smiles. “I am very happy to say you are not, your highness.”

“But, my son – ”

“He lives, too.”

It couldn’t be. After all the suffering of the past year, she could not believe it could be true. Loss had become a certainty, as sure as the sun rising each morning.

A babe cried, and she turned toward the sound. A young maid was wrapping an infant boy with a shock of white curls in a cobalt blue blanket. Daeron.

A different, softer cry came from the other end of the room. There, another boy with only a smattering of silver wisps atop his head was being gently cleaned by a Septa. Aenar.

Her sons – alive and well and here.

She threw her head back against the pillows and laughed.

She laughed with joy and relief, with eight months of eager waiting and sickness. She laughed with a body nearly dead, saved only by some miracle she did not understand. And she laughed with a heart that was both shattered and overflowing.

This was the moment she had dreamed of since she learned she was pregnant, since the moment she married Aemond. She had dreamed of this all her life. It was her destiny, even if it was vastly different from how she had dreamed it. For she was not at home in the Red Keep but within the cursed stones of Harrenhal. Her mother was not by her side but miles away. The family that was supposed to crowd around her and coo over the children were nearly all dead. And her husband…

“Let me in!” he shouted through the door, the wood pounding against stone as he threw himself against it. He had been doing that before, but she did not notice until now. It was so like him, the impatience and need to act, that she laughed again. “Ābrazȳrītsos! Is that you? Tell me you are safe!”

Taking her laughter as permission, Artos opened the door. It was mere heartbeats later that Aemond was upon the bed, his eye flitting over every inch of her, his hands roaming to try and locate something wrong, to stem blood that did not flow or relieve pain that did not exist.

“I’m fine,” she said, breathless. “I did it, lēkia, and I’m fine.”

“You did it?” He looked down at her in utter disbelief and joy before his eye drifted to the Maester. Tears slipped from his eye and caught the light of the setting sun. “She did it…”

Her gaze went to the maid that held her firstborn – the girl with eyes like her mother’s. Fitting, for her to be the one to hold him. But it was her turn. “Bring Daeron to me,” she ordered,” some strength at last returning to her voice. “I want to hold him.”

Aemond stared at her. “Daeron?”

Was he angry that she named their sons without him? She couldn’t quite tell. Her mind was still fuzzy, like the mist she had seen still lay over her, casting everything in a sweet, happy light. She shrugged. “There are already too many Aegons, so…”

He laughed. She had missed that sound – she loved it so dearly. He settled into the bed next to her, their bodies fitting together perfectly, like two halves of a broken plate. So many familiar feelings – the warmth of his arm around her, the rhythm of his heart, his lips kissing her temple in the gentle way that always sent shivers down her spine. Hadn’t her spine hurt not long ago? “Daeron is perfect.”

Indeed, he was absolutely perfect. So tiny and precious as he was put in her arms, looking up at his parents with wide lilac eyes. Neither she nor Aemond said anything as they beheld him, taking in each tiny, perfect detail. The wild curls of his silver hair. Each and every eyelash framing his bright eyes. The pink of his lips. Fingers and toes so wonderfully soft and small. A toothless smile that lit the world.

“He’s going to be king someday,” she realized aloud. How could someone so tiny rule an entire kingdom? He had a lot of growing to do before the Conqueror’s Crown would fit.

“A great king, I think,” Aemond mused. He held out a finger, and Daeron instinctively wrapped his hand around it. “Wise and strong. Daring, like his namesake.”

“He must be kind, too.”

“He will be,” Aemond assured, brushing out her damp, tangled hair with his fingers. The feeling was so familiar, but each touch had her flinching slightly. “We will raise him to be kind. His brother, too.”

“Aenar.”

Aemond stiffened. Had he forgotten they had another son, or did he not like the name she gave him? He pulled his finger back from his son’s fist to touch the babe’s hair. “The Exile?”

“I just thought…” Perhaps it had been a foolish name. But it had felt right when it came to her, when she was on the brink of death. “Our family needs a new beginning.”

“Yes… I suppose it does.” He kissed her again with slightly too much pressure. “Another fine name.”

She looked at the Septa that had been cleaning him. Maester Artos stood with her now, along with several other women, crowding so much she could not see the babe. “I want to hold him, too. Bring him to me.”

None of them moved. The room fell silent.

“Allow me just a moment longer, princess,” Artos said. His voice shook, and he would not look at her or Aemond. “I am still finishing my assessment of the boy.”

He’s dead, her mind insisted. They saved your life at the cost of his. He died because of you.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no.”

Daeron began fussing in her arms, disturbed by how she began to tremble. She failed one son by killing him, and now she was already failing as a mother to the one who survived. Aemond tightened his arm on her shoulders, pulling her closer as his free arm gently lifted their son into his own grasp.

He hushed her, ducking his head to press his cheek to hers. “Lykirī, ābrazȳrītsos. Izūgō daor īlo bēvili gō.” Calm, little wife. Do not panic before we have reason to.

“Kostan daor,” she whimpered. If Aenar was dead…

“Is he alive?” Aemond’s hand moved to shelter Daeron’s head as if to shield him from whatever danger or heartbreak lurked. She turned to press herself into him – into the safety of his arms.

Brother. Husband. Protector.

Why did the feel and scent of him no longer make her feel safe?

“Yes, my prince,” Artos answered.

“Will he remain that way?”

“Yes…”

“You could tell me he’s green-skinned and winged for all I care.” His arm curled protectively around her, but it did not comfort her. Rather, she bristled against it, the possessiveness of it. He did not notice. “He’s alive, and that’s enough. Bring him.”

Artos hesitated but obeyed, hastily wrapping the babe in a dark blanket.

He looked whole – unbroken. Aenar’s eyes were closed as the Maester placed him in her arms, but she could feel his warmth, his little heart beating, and the faint rise and fall of his chest. He only woke when a tear fell from her cheek onto his.

Even then, he did not cry. He only looked at his mother with bright eyes – the same shade of violet as his father's and brother’s. “Ñuha trēso,” she whispered, and he smiled. My son.

“Taobosa sylvȳse,” Aemond added. “He already recognizes the language of his ancestors. He will serve his brother well. Dārys sepār Ondoso zȳhon.” Wise boy. The King and his Hand.

They had two perfect sons. So why did Artos still look like that?

The Maester’s frown deepened. “I am afraid…” he cleared his throat. “It appears that the younger prince was injured during the birth.”

She examined him again but could find nothing wrong. He was perfect. Surely, Artos was mistaken.

“May I?” His large hand hovered over the edge of the blanket.

Her instinct was to pull away, to not let this man touch her son. Yes, he had saved both their lives, but he must be wrong now. Why should she let him make a problem where there was none?

She suppressed that instinct and allowed him to uncover Aenar’s right arm. Artos’ demeanor had made it seem as though something was horribly wrong – that the arm would be missing or deformed. But it was just an arm, small and plump and pale, with a splotch of reddish-purple covering the shoulder like a pauldron.

“It… is it a birthmark?” She brushed a thumb over it, the skin smooth but slightly raised. A birthmark wasn’t an injury, nor was it exceedingly unusual. There were several families where such a mark appeared on nearly every child born.

“Explain yourself, Artos,” Aemond hissed. He looked ready to tear the man to pieces. If he did, he would likely do so without even setting Daeron down.

With a sigh, Artos ran a finger down the length of Aenar’s arm. “Note how he gives no reaction.”

“So he is calm,” Aemond spat. “I fail to see the injury.”

“Do the same to the elder.” He repeated the touch. “Gently, my prince.”

Aemond obeyed with a scowl. The moment he touched the babe, Daeron squirmed and flailed his arm.

“But he looks fine.” She looked down at her second son, her wise boy, and held out a finger, as Aemond had with Daeron. Aenar’s left arm squirmed within its wrappings, but the right was still. She touched the arm, silently pleading with the gods for it to move, for that tiny hand to reach for her.

It remained still. A desperate noise escaped her. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” Aemond and Artos said in unison. Her husband attempted to pull her into his chest, but she pushed him away. An embrace could not fix this. Nothing could. He did not pursue her again.

“It is not uncommon among children born breech.” the Maester explained. “I have seen many such injuries and many even worse.”

Artos offered no sympathy or apologies, and she was thankful for it. There was nothing he could say to ease the pain of knowing that her son would never be whole, just like his father. But unlike Aemond, he was never even given the chance, wounded from his first breath. What would the people call him? ‘Prince Aenar One-Arm, son of King Aemond One-Eye?’

“What do we do?” She asked her husband, the Maester, the gods. Anyone who may have an answer.

Aemond’s face was drawn with grief – for his son and for himself. “He will adapt, as I did. I will ensure it. He will be stronger for this. I promise.”

I cannot trust your promises.

The thought was a sudden gale of icy wind scattering the lovely mist coating her mind into oblivion, leaving her with only stark, wicked reality and the faint memory of green eyes.

“How did I survive?”

Too quickly, Aemond turned to her, taking hold of her chin and pulling her close to him. “It does not matter, ābrazȳrītsos. All that does is that you are still with me. You and Aenar.”

If he wasn’t holding her firstborn, she would have shoved him from the bed.Liar. Liar. Liar.

I will fix this. he’d said before he left her. The pure, unrelenting anger she felt as she watched him leave had prevented her from considering what those words meant. Now, she could think of nothing else. What could he do? He was no midwife nor Maester. He had no knowledge of childbirth, beyond the few questions he’d asked of Orwyle months ago. What could he have done for her and Aenar except beg the help of another?

Of Alys.

Alys, who had eyes the color of fresh grass and possessed a dark magic that allowed her visions of the future. Was she also able to influence that future?

How?

At what cost?

What had Aemond promised her in exchange for their lives?

“No Maester wants to admit to ignorance,” Artos smiled sadly as Aenar continued to try to wriggle his left arm free of his blanket, “but I cannot explain it. All I can think is that the gods are kind to you, princess, and for that, I am glad.”

She could not look at him or any of the others in the room who watched her as if they could see the Mother’s hand upon her shoulder.

The gods weren’t kind. They were cruel to allow her to now owe her very life, and that of her son’s, to the two people who had destroyed her. Would she ever be able to look upon Aenar and not remember? To not feel her soul torn between unyielding hatred and infinite gratitude?

Yet, she had her life – and her sons. Surely anything was worth that.

Wasn’t it?

“I’m tired,” she said. The day had seemed to last a year, and the sun had not even set. “I want to rest now.”

After what she endured, no one argued.

His ābrazȳrītsos fell asleep mere moments after Daeron and Aenar were settled into their cradles. She did not even wake when Aemond lifted her so the servants could replace the soiled bedding. Just as she had so many times before, she tucked her face into his neck as they sat in the window, sighing contentedly. Now, he lay beside her in the bed, trying to memorize how it felt to have her in his arms.

When she woke, he knew she would never allow him to hold her like this again.

She knew. Somehow, his wife knew what he had done to ensure she and Aenar survived, and she would never forgive him for it for as long as she lived.

But she would live.

Aenar would live. Though he would bear the wounds of his father’s sins forever.

After his wife had fallen asleep, Maester Artos had told him that it would likely be necessary to amputate Aenar’s arm. The purple mark on his shoulder had grown, apparently indicating further bleeding within the limb. If it grew much more before morning, the arm would be removed before midday.

It was his fault, Aemond knew.

Alys had told him that in her visions, both boys had been healthy. But that was before his ābrazȳrītsos knew that he betrayed her. Before he brought her to this cursed place. Before he failed to stop her from meeting Alys and learning the full extent of his sins.

He only hoped Aenar would not grow to hate him for it.

For now, the boy slept in his crib, limp arm hidden beneath the dark blanket he was swaddled in. Aemond rose from the bed, moving closer to his son.

How peaceful he looked now, with the redness of his skin finally faded. He did not have as much hair as his older brother, but his was wilder - more reminiscent of his mother’s curls than his father’s straight locks. At least he had that part of her, if not the warm brown eyes Aemond had hoped for.

In the other cradle, Daeron fussed slightly, though he did not wake. It seemed he resented being confined within the tight swaddle of his blanket. The thought made Aemond smile, remembering how his younger brother once did the same. It faded quickly.

He had to go to Alys. To thank her for giving him his family - a kindness he did not deserve. To say goodbye to the child he would never meet. Another cost he would force himself to pay.

He had to go now, while his ābrazȳrītsos slept.

“Before our wedding,” he whispered, careful not to wake her as he approached, “I promised to hold you every night I could, that I would do anything to return to you when I was away. I have failed to uphold that promise, and for that, I am so sorry.”

When he stroked her cheek, she turned into his touch, a small smile upon her lips. Seeing that some unconscious part of her still reacted to him with love warmed his heart, even as the knowledge that her conscious mind would never allow her to do so felt like a dagger buried in his gut.

Aemond knelt at her side, basking in her beauty, memorizing her peaceful face. “Now, I swear my devotion again. I know you no longer wish for me to hold you, and I promise I will not try to persuade you otherwise. But I swear I will always be with you, to love and protect you, even if I must do it from a distance. I will never fail you again.”

It did not matter that she could not hear his vow. Even if she did, she would not believe him. But he made it anyway, for his own sake, and so the gods, wherever they may be, would hear him. It was to them he spoke next.

“Should I ever harm you again, I pray that the gods will strike me down where I stand. And if they do not, I shall do so myself.” He kissed her brow - the sealing of a promise and a farewell - and left.

A maid shrunk away as she passed Aemond in a corridor deep beneath Harrenhal, cradling the bundle of cloth she carried closer to her chest. It was one of the same maids who had tended to his wife—the young girl with deep brown eyes. She did not wear the clothing of a midwife, but the colors of her linen dress were similar. Perhaps a midwife in training.

Strange, then, for her to be here. Stranger still for her to be seemingly performing the duties of a laundress.

He glanced down at the bundle of cloth she carried and froze.

There was blood. Too much blood.

A young midwife, carrying bedlinens soaked with blood.

What would you sacrifice? Alys had asked.

Aemond ran.

He knew what he would find. There was no other explanation. Yet he still hoped and prayed he was wrong. Loss had followed him like a loyal dog for so long, but today it was banished. It must be.

Alys stood in front of her fire. One hand rested on a stomach that was not as distended as it had been only hours ago.

His wife’s stomach now looked very much the same.

“What did you do?” His voice shook with fear and guilt and shame. Gods, he felt so weak.

Her eyes, cold and distant, slid to his. “What you asked.”

“I didn’t ask you to…” This blood was on his hands - the blood of his child.

The word that had haunted him for more than a year - the word that had nearly led to the death of every person he ever loved - echoed in his mind.

Kinslayer.

Killer of his nephew. His uncle. His child.

Aemond looked back into the corridor, hoping to see the young midwife again. Had he not looked closely enough? Had she been carrying the body of his child within those bloody linens?

“I only wanted you to save my wife and son.” His words were a justification, a plea. It fell on the deaf ears of the gods and the dead child’s mother.

“And you thought there would be no cost?” Alys laughed, cruel and cackling. “No god in the world is so generous as to save a life and ask for nothing in exchange, boy.”

“I didn’t think – ”

“You never do.”

Grief morphed into anger. Reckless, aimless, dangerous rage. “You should have told me!”

“What would you have done?” She faced him fully now, her hand falling to her side. There was no trace of the woman who had once comforted and reassured him - who had kept him sane amidst the insanity of war. There was only annoyance and derision. It reminded Aemond of his dead half-sister and her bastard sons. “If I had told you?”

“I –”

“Would you have left your wife to die? Let her son die?” Alys’ lip curled in a hateful sneer. “You could not choose between wife and son, yet you believe you could have chosen between two sons?”

The world stopped. Only Alys’ flickering fire and burning eyes remained.

“I… it was a boy?” Aemond leaned against the wall, sliding down to his knees, savoring the scrape of the rough stone against his back. He deserved every bit of pain. More.

Alys let a single hint of sorrow slip through her cold façade. “It was. Three sons within a year. What your father would have given to have had the same.”

The last thing Aemond wanted to do was to think about his father. The king who had nearly destroyed his throne by choosing one child over another.

Gods, was he any better?

Did his ignorance of his son’s sacrifice absolve him of blame? The guilt?

It certainly didn’t feel like it.

Alys sighed. “Better for his death to mean something than for his life to be spent destitute and fatherless.”

“I would not have allowed that to happen,” Aemond said. It was a reflex, a reassurance he’d grown used to giving since he learned he seeded a bastard.

“Wouldn’t you? Perhaps if my visions had not changed. But now…” She shook her head, more exasperated than sorrowful. Did she mourn the child at all? “No. You’d have wanted us as far away as possible and done anything you could to not think of us.”

“I would have ensured your comfort.” The words felt as hollow as his chest.

“Your wife would, yes.” Alys smiled fondly, just as she had when his ābrazȳrītsos sat across from her earlier that very day. She had never smiled that way for Aemond. Never truly cared for him. He should have known. “She is kind-hearted. But not you. Your resentment of me, of us, would have festered until you found some way to be rid of us.”

He wanted to deny it. To say that there was nothing that could drive him to do what she insinuated. Once, it would have been true. But now, with the man he’d become in the war and how close he’d come to losing his heart itself, it would be a lie.

If he had killed Alys along with the rest of her cursed family, would he have become this man? Would he have learned to cherish the metallic tang of blood and its warmth as it coated his hands? Would he have become so proficient a liar that false words rolled off his tongue like a Valyrian lullaby? Would he have grown so accustomed to violence that it now came as naturally to him as loving his wife?

Would he have broken his ābrazȳrītsos’s heart?

He’d trusted her visions. It had been a mistake.

One mistake that led to thousands more, and it was all her fault.

Alys was the one who lied, who deceived him. Who had pulled his strings as if he were no more than a puppet, knowing that he was married and his wife was lonely and infirm.

His failure as a husband. His wife’s pain. The death of his third son.

Her fault. Her fault. Her fault.

Aemond’s heart slowed, his breathing becoming deep and steady. No longer the heart of a broken boy or a desperate husband. Now, it was the blackened heart that had carried him through countless battles and raging rivers of blood.

“I will be rid of you now,” he hissed as he stood. “And I will be rid of you forever.”

The bitch had enough sense to look scared.

“In memory of the son you killed, I will allow you to live. But no more than that.” She didn’t even deserve that, this woman who did not mourn her own child. Perhaps it was good that the babe was gone, for surely he would have suffered with a witch as his mother.

He approached Alys, sneering down at her and the false bravery on her wicked face. “As Prince Regent of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I banish you from these lands forever. You have ten days to leave Westeros. After that, if you are ever seen here again…” He reached out and grabbed her by the throat, holding just tight enough to steal a bit of her breath - just enough to make her fight for it.

“I will kill you myself,” he promised. “Without hesitation or remorse, I will kill you. Slowly. And I will savor every moment, for it will bring me far greater pleasure than that withered cunt of yours ever did.”

She fell to her knees when he released her, clutching at her throat as she coughed and gulped for air. He didn’t care. He only turned on his heel and left, not sparing a single glance at the woman who had only hours ago been carrying his bastard child.

Only one woman mattered now, had ever truly mattered to him.

His ābrazȳrītsos was still asleep when he returned to their chamber, as were their sons. They had no idea where he had gone - that he had even left at all. No inkling of the fact that a moment ago, he had again become the man who wiped an entire bloodline from the earth, slaughtered tens of thousands, and delighted in the suffering he had wrought.

Now, as he leaned down to gently kiss his sons’ brows and muss their soft hair, he was a mere man of twenty, his heart bursting with love and affection for his family. How could a heart overflow with such love at the same moment it was fracturing with grief and regret?

It was a question far beyond him at that moment. Perhaps forever beyond his reach.

He was so tired. Too tired to consider the heartbreak that would come when he woke in the morning and his wife pulled out of his grasp. He could face that pain when it came. But now, he needed to feel whole, if only for a few hours.

So, Aemond climbed into bed with his wife, wrapping his arms around her and tugging her into his chest. He remained awake only long enough to kiss the top of her head and whisper, “Jāla tetan, ābrazȳrītsos. Īlon lentot selagon kosti.” It is over, ābrazȳrītsos. We can go home.

She woke to the sound of Daeron fussing. Strange how quickly she was able to tell them apart, even just by their little noises of discontentment. Although, considering she had been with them every moment of the last seven - near eight - months, it may not be strange at all. Perhaps that was why she felt so sure that it had been Daeron who occupied the top of her belly, constantly pestering her with his tiny fists pounding against her at the most inopportune times.

“Hush, little prince,” a soft voice said. “You’ll wake up your mother, and after what you and your brother put her through, I dare say she needs her rest.” A maid was speaking to him, a slight, old woman leaning over his crib. She had not seen the maid before, and somehow, it comforted her.

Daeron continued to grumble. She moved to stand but found Aemond’s arms wrapped around her waist. Thankfully, he was still asleep. Quite deeply asleep, apparently, for when she untangled herself from him, he did not wake.

The maid curtsied when she saw the princess approaching and stepped away from Daeron’s cradle. His fussing had now roused Aenar, but the younger prince made no sound, only glaring at his brother in what seemed to be intense displeasure at his sleep being interrupted.

“Is something wrong with him?” she asked the old maid. Daeron quieted slightly upon seeing his mother but still fussed.

“Nothing to concern yourself with, princess.” The old maid had a kind, soothing voice - that of a wise grandmother. She looked at the babes with fondness and a hint of apology. “They are simply hungry.”

“Where is the wetnurse?” She immediately regretted asking. In her sleepy haze, she had forgotten that Alys was the wetnurse at Harrenhal. Why wasn’t she here? Did she even want Alys here? No, of course she didn’t. Had Aemond requested another be found so she would not have to see Alys again?

The old maid looked away, sighing. “I’m afraid she’s left us. No wonder why, poor thing lost her babe again. Such a shame. We all thought she’d had a miracle with this one. But not to worry, Maester Artos sent some men to find another girl from the closest village.” She shook her head and again leaned over Daeron’s crib. “You’ll be fed soon, darling prince, don’t you worry.”

Alys’ child - Aemond’s child - was dead?

It was a good thing, wasn’t it? There would be no bastard son of the new king, no living reminder of what he’d done. This was good news. She should be happy, shouldn’t she?

But she wanted to cry.

“Mother, forgive me,” the old maid looked horrified as she clutched her pendant of the Seven-Pointed Star. “I should not have said that, princess. Not when you’ve only just finished your own labors. Please, forgive me.”

She glanced at Aenar, now peacefully asleep once more. How close she had come to losing him. It had devastated her. Made her willing to forfeit her own life if only he could live. If she had lost him and had to live with that loss… it would have driven her mad.

“How…” she licked her lips. “How many children has she lost?”

The old maid dropped her pendant. “I do not know, exactly. Enough that we all stopped counting.”

Oh gods. She blinked to clear her eyes, wiping away an errant tear with her thumb. “You said she’s gone?”

“Yes, princess. She left in the night. Didn’t say where she was going, to my knowledge.”

It made no sense. If Aemond had struck a bargain with Alys to save her and Aenar’s lives, why would she leave? Had whatever he offered her not been enough to keep her in the place where she’d lost so many children?

Daeron cried again, his face reddened and wrinkled. He was so hungry, she could nearly feel it herself. She… she could feel it. When she looked down at herself, she saw two dark stains on her chemise right above her breasts. Her milk had finally come in, which meant -

“I can feed them.”

The old maid looked aghast. “Princess, there is no need - ”

“I want to do it.” She was their mother, why shouldn’t she be the one to feed them? It was her body that made them, that brought them into the world. It made sense that it would continue to care for them even now. “Can you show me how?”

It took a moment for the maid to close her mouth before she smiled gently. “I’ve raised nine children myself, princess. I think I know a few tricks.”

The maid had gone by the time Aemond woke.

Daeron was still suckling at her left breast while Aenar had fallen asleep using the right as his pillow. She had not realized how heavy and uncomfortable they had felt until the boys had drunk from her, easing the pressure that she’d become accustomed to.

“You should not be doing that yourself,” Aemond muttered as he raised himself on an elbow. His eye darted from son to son, only ever glancing over her exposed breasts. Once, he loved to worship them, quite similarly to how his sons fed from her now. “Where is the wetnurse?”

Did he not know that Alys had left? Had no one told him of the death of his child?

No. Those were the faint remnants of tear tracks lining his cheeks, and there was a deep sadness in his eye that was not there when he held his sons for the first time. He knew. He knew, and he was grieving, though he was fighting to hide it. She still saw it.

Perhaps that was the real reason he never returned to King’s Landing during the war - he knew she would be able to see the guilt on his face.

“There is no other wetnurse,” she explained gently. “Alys left. They’re looking for another woman now.”

Aemond froze, his gaze growing distant. She could not decipher his expression. Rage? Guilt? Sorrow? Grief?

“I’m sorry, Aemond.” He frowned and shook his head, but she continued. “Truly, I am.”

“It’s better this way,” he whispered. He didn’t believe it. Neither did she.

He reached out to her. No, not to her, but to Aenar, gently stroking his hair. She allowed him to take the babe and hold him against his own chest.

Aenar opened his eyes and looked up at his father. Then, he smiled.

Aemond took in a deep breath. “That boy should never have existed,” he said, letting Aenar take hold of his thumb and mouth at it. “I already had what I needed. And wanted.”

So it was a boy. Another son. A brother for her own. Would he have had his father’s nose, as Daeron did? Or his stern brow, like Aenar? Gods, why did she care?

“You are allowed to mourn him. He was innocent. I bear him no ill will.” Bastard or no, a babe was a babe, blameless of his parents’ sins. Deep in her heart, she mourned him, as well.

Again, Aemond shook his head. “I cannot mourn what never should have been.” He turned his head to face her, face open and pleading. “And I am mourning too much already.”

“I am alive. Aenar is alive. There is nothing to mourn.”

“You know that is not what I mean, ābrazȳrītsos.”

She did. He mourned not for the loss of a life, but for the loss of their life. The life they should have shared, and would have, had Aemond not strayed. In truth, she mourned for it, too.

“I know.”

They sat in silence for a moment as Daeron finally finished feeding, stretching his little arms to push her breast away. She pulled her robe closed again to combat the chill.

Aemond raised a hand to help her. She flinched away. He winced in response.

“Ābrazȳrītsos, please.” His voice was already breaking, his eye watering. The sight should have tugged at her heart. His begging should have fanned the flames of her anger. But looking at him, she felt very little of anything, save a small seed of pity. “Alys is gone. My… the bastard is gone. Can we not return to the way we were? Pretend none of this ever happened? Can’t you forgive me at last?”

The answer came without hesitation.

“No, Aemond.”

Within her, there was no longer a grassland, barren with loneliness and despair. The never-ending field of raging fire had also vanished. In its place was a small, lush garden, safely contained within tall stone walls draped with flowers and a polished iron gate – locked firmly, but perhaps not sealed forever.

“I shall always be your sister, your blood, and the mother of your children.” Daeron cooed, as if he knew she was talking about him, and she could not help but smile down at him. “I will remain your wife in the eyes of gods and men. And when Aegon dies, I will be your faithful queen.”

Aemond shook as his breath quickened, failing to keep the heartbreak. “You will be a wonderful queen, ābrazȳrītsos. I know it.”

She pulled away, taking Aenar from him and into her empty arm. “But I will never again be your ābrazȳrītsos.” She forced herself to ignore the whimpering, broken cry that escaped him, the breath that carried it echoing like a death rattle. “I will not share your bed. And I will no longer allow you to hold my heart.”

Between desperate sobs, Aemond raised his head to face her. Utter devastation lay in his eye, but so too did acceptance. Anguished surrender. “My heart is and always shall be yours.”

I don’t want it, her mind told her, even as her heart cried, I will cherish it forever.

But her decision was made. In all but name, their marriage – their once legendary romance – was finished. A few fragments of love remained but would never be repaired. Could never be.

Slowly, she rose from the bed, her sons still in her arms. Aemond began to reach for her, but when she did not even acknowledge him, he covered his face with his hands and wept. Though it tugged at her heart, it was the same she would feel for any man weeping so, no longer the instinctive pull of a wife. She did not comfort him.

The soft, pitiful sounds of Aemond’s grief faded as she walked toward the eastern window, settling herself in the cushioned seat just beneath it.

Daeron smiled, watching the trembling branches of an oak tree dotted with the first tight green buds of the season. Aenar angled his head just so, until the sun warmed every bit of his fat, pink face, then promptly fell asleep. She sighed, taking in the sweet scent of spring on the wind, and realized she had not breathed so easily in months.

It was a lovely morning in Harrenhal.

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