#I'm kinda sorta back to my regular shenanigans

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

"Flesh and Blood"

Part 6 - The hunt (part 2)

Pairing: Prince Aemon the Dragonknight x Fem. Reader (Northerner /House Stark | Third Person POV)

Themes: Smut (subtle) | Soft

Warnings: Kissing | Alcohol use | Mentions of sexual activity | Mentions of weapons use (spears and knives) | Animal death

Word count: 2.7 K words

Summary: The hunt continues, this time with a sighting that was never expected.

Rating: 🔥| Minors DNI | 🔞 | You are responsible for the media you consume

A/n: The white stag scene was inspired by the white stag scene in House of the Dragon season 1, episode 3. Part 7 will be the last one. I will be writing Daena’s anointing as queen into this as well.  

Painting: The hunt in the forest by Paolo Uccello

The full masterlist can be found here.

Y/n awoke at dawn. Pale golden rays spilled in through the flap of the tent, gilding everything within.

The campsite was already full of noise and life. Horses whinnied, the hounds barked, and squires ran to and fro, fetching water, bows and arrows, even food and wine, for their lords. In the distance, she heard Lyanna shouting while she chased after Marna. The youngest of the Cerwyn brood had taken something she should not have, possibly a comb or a ribbon, or even her sister’s whale bone dagger. Lady Cerwyn was up as well, laughing heartily. Y/n smiled, and turned to her side.

Aemon was still beside her, lost in slumber. The night before, after they had their fill of the river, he brought her back to their tent and insisted on drying her himself, dressing her himself, and even warming her himself. Y/n blushed and raised a hand to her lips. They were still puffy and bruised. Aemon had kissed her in a way he had never done before. She could almost taste his desperation, his yearning. His eyes darkened and flashed with hunger. It sent shivers through her body. Y/n dithered and wondered what to do next. Aemon put a stop to her worrying when he finally slipped his arms around her and carried her to the pelts that passed for a featherbed.

There was no heated passion in his embraces. Oh, the sparks were there; y/n could feel them, but it would take time for them to burn like searing flames. Still, she did not mind. She gorged herself on his attention, his deep, fervent kisses, and his half-whispered endearments. Aemon had been tender, and willing to free himself from the shackles that had stymied his affections. He listened to her, touched her how she liked, and kissed her how she liked. He took her to heights she had never been before, and when she finally fell from her rapturous high, he was there to catch her and bring her safely back to the earth. Y/n went to sleep in his arms, with a deep, satisfied smile on her face.

A hand curled over her belly. “Good morrow, wife.”

“Good morrow, husband."

“Must we hunt?”

Y/n laughed. Aemon was uncharacteristically lazy this morning. He burrowed deeper into the pelts, reluctant to move or even open his eyes.

“We must. The queen expects it,” she replied, and threw back the furs. The rush of cold air over their skin was a shock to them both. Aemon muttered under his breath and made her laugh again. He opened his eyes this time and looked at her sheepishly.

“Last night,” he began. “The things we did… the things I did…”

Y/n felt the cold stab of fear. Was Aemon regretting the night before? Was he going to say last night was a mistake, that he did not want to yield to lust’s heady embrace? Was he going to ask they go back to how they were before?

“I hope it is not going to be the last of it,” he continued. “I do not wish to stop.”

Relief brought tears to her eyes. Aemond saw it. He sat up, alarmed. “What troubles you?”

“I,” y/n stops, hesitates. “I thought you had changed your mind, and that you wanted things to go back to the way they were.”

Suddenly, she found herself in Aemon’s embrace. It was warm and comforting. “I have not changed my mind,” he murmurs, holding her gently. “I want to make a success of this marriage and prove myself worthy of you. Perhaps, I can show you how much I want to make myself worthy of you right now.”

He had her on her back and beneath him before her next breath. Y/n sighed when the full weight of his body bore down on her own. She slipped her arms around his back, pressing him closer. Aemon trembled and groaned softly. Then he kissed her.

By the time they joined the others for the first meal, they were still flush from exhilaration. Nothing was said in jest. Perhaps the others did not notice. Lady Cerwyn, however, gave her niece a knowing but indulgent look. When y/n took her place beside her, she leaned in and whispered, “I suppose someone made the most of the opportunity to ride the dragon?”

Y/n blushed and turned to her aunt, her cheeks ablaze. She opened her mouth once, then twice, unable to say a word because her tongue refused to heed her. Emma simply smiled and served a full plate of food for her niece.

“Do not be ashamed, little wolf. You are a woman wed.” Emma called for more water. “And he is a good man, I think, despite his flaws.”

“A far greater man than his brother, that is for sure,” y/n replied, and they turned as one to watch Aegon. Already, the prince was deep in his cups and bleary-eyed. Y/n shivered. “To think he would be king if Baelor does not produce an heir.”

Aegon pulled a giggling serving girl onto his lap. Her squeals rattled around the camp. Emma regarded the scene unfolding before them all with distaste.

“Ludicrous notion, if you ask me,” she replied in the Old Tongue, “this Southron business of passing the crown onto the sons and never the daughters. But enough of that. Tell me, little wolf, what happened between you and your lord husband.”

Y/n flushed again, but agreed to answer her aunt’s questions.

An hour later, they were all standing by their horses, ready to ride off and hunt. Emma had a final word for both her own children and her niece.

“At the manse,” she began, “we may fight, get underfoot, and call one another all sorts of colorful names, but out there...” Emma stopped, and grabbed her youngest son by the shoulder. He was already starting a scuffle with his sister, Marna. “Dormeric, are you listening?”

Dormeric nods vigorously. “Yes, mother.”

Emma ruffled her son’s hair. He grumbled and tried in vain to escape his mother’s affectionate clutches. “Good. Out there, in those woods, we watch each other’s backs. Is that understood?”

They all declared their acceptance in unison. Emma then sent them off with a kiss on each of their cheeks. Aemon joined y/n and Uther, and the others. Uther then took his brothers and sisters down another path, leaving husband and wife alone.

“Do all the women in the north hunt?” Aemon asked.

“Many, if they wish to do so.” Y/n took in the clear blue skies and the birds that sang in the trees. She wanted to enjoy the fine weather as much as she could before they had to leave for the north. “Deer mostly.”

“Not the boar?”

“Too big. They make the boar in these parts look like common pigs.”

Aemon barked out a laugh. “Ice dragons and giants, mammoths and direwolves and boars so large they make those south of the Neck look small in comparison. I tell you, wife, the North appears to be a dangerous place to live.”

“Dangerous, yes, and beautiful all the same.” Y/n reined her horse to a stop. There was something strange hanging in the air, something she could not quite describe. She closed her eyes and listened. The forest had gone silent.  

Aemon must have felt it as well. He unsheathed Dark Sister and urged his own horse to step forward. There was a rustle in the brush. Something large was stirring.

“Stay behind me,” he warned. “It may be a boar.”

It was not a boar, but something entirely else. The beast grunted as it stepped into the light, its tines as large as finely forged daggers, their points just as sharp. Its hide was as white as snow, and its eyes flashed like crimson lightning. The stag stood where it was, as curious about them as they were about him.

Aemon turned to face his wife. “Do you wish to slay it?”

Y/n shook her head. “No. She who hunts claims the White Hart as her own. I will be damning myself if I kill it. Let him go, husband.”

Aemon acquiesced and sheathed his sword. The forest grew alive with the sounds of dogs baying. The White Hart grunted at them before turning around and running back into the trees.

“I will not tell the others,” he promised. “If Aegon gets it into his head to go after the Hart, the others will follow.”

“Thank you.” Y/n dug her heels into the sides of her horse, and they rode again, this time in companionable silence. More than once, Aemon brought his horse as close to hers as he could manage. Sometimes, he would steal a glance. Other times, he would take her hand into his, squeezing it gently. Then there were other times when Aemon wished to hear her speak and asked her for tales of the North. She told him of Long Fang, the man-eating wolves of the Shadow Pass, and all the tales her grandfather told about his times spent with the Watch.

“No one sees honor and glory in taking the black now,” y/n said. “The Lord Commander once said he is fortunate if he can now find even one knight or lordling in two hundred.”

“It is a pity, really, what has become of the Watch,” Aemon lamented. “My own father and uncle tried to find those who wished to serve, but all they could offer were the finest of Flea Bottom and the Red Keep’s dungeons instead.”

Y/n smiled and took his hand. “Grandfather understands.”

Their horses crested a high ridge when they stopped again. Beneath them, the others had surrounded a boar. The hounds harried it and kept it cornered in front of a tree. Two more lay dead beside it. Y/n recognized the white and black spear Uther favored sticking out of the corpse of one of them. She looked beyond the tree. Several hounds were also dead. She sighed, but accepted the loss. Such sights were a part of life.

“Do you wish to join the others?” Aemon inquired of her.

“Yes,” Y/n replied, and they rode off again, this time to join the throng gathered around the tree.

The boar was already on the ground, struggling for life, when they reached the others. Uther was occupied skinning and butchering his kill. Lyanna and Ned were helping him.

“We are going to feast tonight,” he boasted. “And I am going to keep these for myself.”

“Uther,” Lyanna said, “you do know crushed boar’s tusks are not going to bless you with more virility, yes?”

Ned hooted and made excuses to go back to Dormeric and Marna, saying little children should never be left to their own devices. He was laughing the entire time.

“How do you know this?” Uther dropped everything—the tusk, the knife, a bloodied cloth—and rose in a black fury. “Answer me, Lyanna. How do you know this?”

“Women talk, cousin,” y/n said on behalf of Lyanna. “And your sister has been hearing enough talk since the day she turned ten and three.”

Lyanna stuck out her tongue at her brother. “Wait till I tell mother of this,” he retorted haughtily.

“Wait till I tell mother of this,” Lyanna mocked her brother. “And what do you think she will do, brother mine? Lock me in a tower with no hope for escape? Oh!” She clapped a hand to her heart. “The horror of it all! Confined to a cold, miserable tower all because I questioned Uther and his manho…”

She ran away when Uther growled and chased after her. Y/n turned to her husband to apologize for her kin’s behavior. Her words were unnecessary. Aemon had been struggling in vain to hide his laughter.

“Life with your kin is never going to be a dull affair,” he managed. “Is it?”

Y/n studied him. There was no mockery in his eyes, only good humor. She threw her head back and laughed.

“It never is,” she agreed. “And you best make peace with it, husband. This is your life now.”

It was near dusk by the time they returned to the camp. Kitchen boys were already turning the slaughtered boar on wooden spits, basting them in honey and cider until the meat cracked and spit. Y/n gave the hare she had caught along the way to a servant, asking that it be added with everything else. Aemon led her to their places, and they waited for the feast to begin.

Much like the night before, food and drink flowed freely for anyone who desired them. The last of the iced wine was brought out and served alongside a decadent swan pie. All who could, raised their glasses and cheered when Daena lifted a sword presented to her by Lord Commander Harding and brought it down on the pastry to cut the first slice.

“To a new age!” She declared it to one and all.

More applause followed. Then the feasting truly began. A minstrel strummed a gilded harp and sang of the Long Night and the Age of Heroes, of the arrival of the Andals and the Seven, of the Ironborn and their quest to tame the seas, of the Freehold and its doom. His songs were of such beauty that by the time he had finished, more than one reveler had tears in their eyes. The minstrel took his leave with a bow and a flourish and a velvet bag heavy with coin.

He will not want for his supper, y/n thought. The other nobles will have him sing at their feasts soon enough.  

Servants walked amidst the trestle tables, bearing trays laden with steaming racks of boar. Aemon cut y/n a queen’s portion and fed her the first bite. She closed her eyes and sighed. The meat nearly melted in her mouth. Aemon offered her more. She accepted, and soon she found herself being fed from his own plate. It made y/n feel more than a little cherished. 

More food and drink were served. This time it was quail and new potatoes roasted in lemon and herbs. The seven realms have all enjoyed blessed harvests this year, and it showed.

“Any news of your grandfather?”

Y/n looked at Aemon. “Yes,” she replied, even as her throat tightened. In her previous letter, her lady mother had written of her grandfather's command. "He is well, and he... He insists I stay here a little longer, and show Serena the city. He wants her to see King’s Landing at least once in her lifetime.”

Aemon reached out and took her hand into his. “As soon as your sister has had her fill of the city, we will leave.”

“My aunt said they would stay as well,” y/n supplied. “Then we can all travel together.”

The night drifted peacefully and without incident. When minstrels picked up their instruments, Aemon invited y/n to dance with him.

They had not danced since their wedding, and Aemond proved to be as skilled with dancing as he was with the sword. He led y/n as they all danced in rounds in a little clearing besides the tables, with the stars and brilliant lamps to light the way. When a change in music spun them apart, y/n then danced a turn with Uther, then her good father, and then with Lord Commander Hardyng. Aegon was nowhere to be found, much to her delight. Lord Commander Hardyng finally said the prince had indulged too much and took to his bed. Y/n was gratified. She had no desire to dance even a single turn with her good-brother. The prospect alone was enough to make her ill. Then the music changed again, and she found herself in Aemon’s arms once more.

“Would you care to swim with me like last night?” He whispered in her ear.

Y/n blushed and looked around. No one heard, and her husband’s notion appealed to her greatly. “When the others have taken to their beds?”

Aemon pressed her closer. “Done. And perhaps, sweet wife, we can indulge more in what came after as well?”

A flush crept up y/n’s throat. She looked up at her husband, at the wicked glint in his eyes. It made her head reel more than a little, and left her lightheaded.

He has changed so much, she thought. And it would be glorious to indulge in more of what happened the night before.

“Yes,” she replied, then melted against him when he pressed his lips to her cheek. “I desire that as well.”

[inkwell-and-dagger]

I am so interested in the rayan lore feel free to use this ask to infodump :3

eeee okay thank you so much I love infodumping and I'm so glad you're enjoying Rayan's lore and Forsaken Souls!! /gen

okay a thing I find most interesting about Rayan's character design is the ties / references it has to the story, or his background, etc etc! for example, his hair (bangs swept over one eye, mostly to hide a large scar there. also kinda long at the back my man has no time to cut his hair in foster's basement) is strikingly similar to his previous partner, Sage's, aside from the colour since Sage's hair was dyed blue most of the time, and Rayan's got brown hair! I won't go too far into it, since Sage did commit suicide, but Rayan has a lot of things in his room / Madison's house that reminds him of Sage! this also applies to his clothing style: Sage used to wear skirts and dresses and whatnot, whereas Cora (past Rayan) was the exact opposite, but did wish to dress just a little more androgyne (at the time Cora was living with their parents). but now, more than a decade later probably, and now that Rayan has cut ties with his parents, he tends to dress in a more feminine manner most of the time! his regular clothing style is inspired by Caroline Carr's!

and also his surname, Hyacinth! in floriography (and thank you very much to Eros for reminding me of this 😭) commonly symbolizes asking for forgiveness! what does this have to do with Rayan? Rayan wants TS, and basically anyone Cora wronged, to y'know- forgive him. he's already served his time in prison for many moons, which should mean he's probably a liittlllee older than 35 (40 genuinely, though, since his physical body stopped aging*) but shh, and now he has to deal with a band of his previous, surviving victims — except for Es and Zayn, and also the Living Weapon Trio™ if we include them in their AU — tormenting and kidnapping him for a very long time, threatening and hurting the people he holds dear to him just in an attempt to make him more vulnerable and figure out a way to kill this immortal man. talk about high expectations /j

anyhow! Rayan keeps trying to ask for forgiveness, and although some of them have (Zayn has from the start practically, and Ezra (overtime, despite Cora literally killing his bloody brother) has forgave him more recently in canonical lore since he's also Vee's boyfriend. we love gays!!) that doesn't necessarily mean that they'll ever stop, until Rayan outlives them. but luckily, in canonical terms, most of The Survivors have been arrested, but Esrana is still out and about doing her girlboss shenanigans.

*and about this! when Ezra was still agreeing with TS' actions and whatnot, they tried killing Rayan by cutting his throat. that, of course, only knocked him unconscious for a couple hours before he Came Back Alive Ig™, but at least now they've found a weak spot. after many hours and days of routinely cutting Rayan's throat, his physical body just. couldn't handle it and sorta like- how do I describe this- like took a screenshot yk? and since then Rayan's physical body stopped aging past 35 (the age he was when they constantly did this). he's much older, maybe early to mid 40's, but idk. he also gained a fear of the dark cuz. yk. Void™

uhh I think that's all!! there're many other things, from symbolic scars like a rather deep one on his wrist and obviously his prosthetic leg, among many others, but hey! either way, give this sopping wet cat of a man a hug