#Stark OC | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gracexthoughts · 1 year ago

Text

northern hospitality

jacaerys velaryon x stark!reader

warnings; nothing really except use of y/n and reader description, barely edited

summary; jace flies to winterfell to ensure the north’s allegiance and finds himself entranced by northern beauty

a/n; I saw someone talk about how Cregan might have given Jace the cloak he wears on the wall bc it’s not the one he leaves/goes back to dragonstone in and I just had to write this edit: this is my first jace fic so suggestions and criticism is very welcome!!

The Prince Jacaerys shivers as he flies through the frigid Northern air on his way to Winterfell. His mission in the Eyrie was well met and his confidence bolstered in the promise of the Vale’s support of his mother’s claim. Vermax chitters as the castle of Winterfell appears on the horizon. The northern beauty is rumored through the realm but the young prince is still stunned by the sprawling majesty of the northern stronghold. Even if it is cruelly cold already in late summer.

Soon, Vermax lands on the frozen ground just outside the gates of the castle, which are open to await his arrival. Guards greet him reverently and escort him into the courtyard, where it seems the entire of Winterfell’s inhabitants stand and at the front of them stands Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North.

“Lord Stark, I am very glad to meet you,” the young prince smiles, stepping forward to meet his hosts.

“The pleasure is ours, my prince. Winterfell is yours,” Lord Cregan responds diplomatically.

“I thank you. It is not often I find myself in the North. While I detest the circumstances, I am glad for the opportunity,” Jacaerys smiles, his eyes taking in his surroundings before landing on the woman standing to Cregan’s side. The Lady Y/N, he assumes, Cregan’s younger sister. Her beauty is rumored even in the South but no amount of whispers could have prepared the young prince for the vision that stands before him. Her hair is black as night, woven away from her face to hang over her shoulder, a thick fur cloak fastened with direwolf pins, and her smoke gray eyes seem to gaze through his confident facade seeing the prince for the frightened young man he really is. He’s always heard northern women were different than southern women and he feels he can sense a wildness in her—a fire that burns hot even this place of ice and snow.

“We welcome the opportunity to show the crown the value in the North, my prince,” she says with a proud smile, her voice melodious and sure, her northern accent intriguing to the southern prince.

“Let us retreat inside to the hearth so we may hear what messages you have brought us.” The prince tears his eyes away from the lady to her elder brother and nods with a smile, thanking him while they walk towards the castle and the warmth it offers.

Cregan and Jacaerys spend most of the day in conference, discussing the politics of the realm and the usurpations of the Greens, Lady Y/N left to attend to her brother’s typical duties. Jacaerys is determined in his diplomacy for his cause but in the idle moments of the day, his mind drifts to the lady of the castle. That night, the prince sits in his chambers, thinking of his home and family, hoping Luke fared well in his own mission, and warming himself by the fire. He had come largely unprepared for the cold of the North, incorrectly thinking it wouldn’t be as frigid in the summer, and had been attempting to mask his chill the whole day. A knock on the door pulls Jacaerys from his thoughts and he stands, leaving the warm embrace of the fire, crossing the room to the door.

“Pardon me, my prince,” a small servant girl says with a curtsy, her eyes downcast, as the door is opened. She carries a large bundle of furs in her arms, the pile so large it nearly covers her face.

“What is this?” the prince asks, his eyes scanning the furs in the girl's arms.

“The Lady Y/N sends cloaks for you. She had worried the chill more than you had expected,” the girl says softly.

“Oh, thank you,” Jacaerys replies, gently taking the furs from the girl, and watches her scurry off down the hall. He smiles to himself, stepping back into his bedchambers and examining the cloaks. They were black leather and fur and looked much warmer than the cloak he had brought with him. Northern hospitality, he thinks to himself, a small laugh escaping his lips.

The next morning, Jacaerys wakes early, and begins wandering the halls of Winterfell and finds himself in one of the courtyards, his new cloak keeping him much warmer and allowing him to journey outside with comfort, and sees Lady Y/N practicing her archery against the far wall, a massive gray wolf at her side.

“Early morning training, my lady?” The prince inquires, standing a few feet from her, wary of the great wolf laying at her feet. She turns to him, her eyes surprised, and nods.

“I’ve not ever been one to sleep late, unfortunately,” she responds, setting the bow down against the basket of arrows. She wears black coats that hang to her knees and lined with white fur on the collar, contrasting greatly with her woven black hair, a silver wolf broach on her breast, and dark trousers rather than skirts.

“Neither am I, in truth. Years of first light training has made me an early riser,” the prince laughs, staring into the smoky swirls of the lady’s eyes. “Thank you,” he adds suddenly, “for the cloaks. You must think me quite foolish not to bring warmer clothes.” The prince shifts his weight on his feet, feeling stranger under her knowing gaze.

“Just that one so used to warmth and fire may chill faster than us children of snow,” Y/N responds, adjusting the leather gloves on her hands, a kind smile on her lips.

“You are kind, my lady. And right, of course. I am much warmer today, thanks to your generosity,” the prince says looking down at the black fur cloak that hangs around his broad shoulders. “Are you well used to the cold, then? Or are the clothes just better made for it?”

“Both,” the lady answers. “Though this is nothing compared to true winter.”

“This is warmth for you, is it?” The prince asks bewildered, pulling a laugh out of the Stark girl. The mist of their breath mingles between them. The land is all frosted over in the morning chill, a few specs of summer snow visible from its last fall.

“A bit, the height of summer is warmer but not anything like the heat of the south. Your dragon blood would want of that cloak even when us Northerners shed ours.” The prince laughs, struggling to fathom such cold when the wolf next to Y/N stands suddenly, startling the prince slightly.

“Don’t mind Shadow, she’s tame,” Y/N chuckles, as the wolf nudges her leg and her gloved hand stroking the wolf’s fur.

“I didn’t know there were any direwolves south of the Wall. Let alone tame ones,” the young prince awes.

“Neither were dragons tame until your ancestors bound themselves to them. You’re not the only house with connections to great creatures,” she reminds him. “When I was a young girl, my father went to visit the Wall, took Cregan and I with him. One of the Rangers took us out riding just beyond the Wall and we came across Shadow. She was just a pup and quite injured. I begged my father to let me take her back home. Luckily, I can be quite convincing when I wish to be. She’s been my loyal friend ever since.”

“You have a kind heart, my lady,” Jacaerys says, eying the wolf with caution.

“You don’t have to be afraid of her. You can even pet her if you’d like. She won’t bite, unless I tell her to,” she teases, trying and failing to hide a sly smile.

“I am content as an observer, but thank you.”

“You were raised with dragons and yet you fear a wolf?”

“Dragons I know, wolves not as much. Would you like to meet a dragon?” The prince offers suddenly, smiling widely. Y/N meets his eyes, pausing for a moment, searching his eyes wondering if he really means it.

“Really?” Y/N’s smoke gray eyes are wide. The prince smiles, nodding and reaches out a hand to her. The lady hesitates for a moment before smiling wider and takes the prince’s hand. He leads her quickly across the frozen ground to where his dragon has been staying. As they approach, Y/N watches the creature carefully. His emerald green scales gleaming in the afternoon light.

The dragon groans softly as his rider approaches, Jacaerys eagerly approaching the creature and extending his hand to rest on the dragon’s large snout. “This is Vermax,” the prince says and Vermax sighs contentedly at Jacaerys’ touch, warm breath blowing his dark curls back slightly. Y/N hangs back, watching the interaction with awe.

“What are you waiting for?” The prince laughs over his shoulder.

“Exercising caution, my prince,” the lady says breathlessly.

“He won’t bite. Unless I ask him to, of course,” Jacaerys teases, the Lady smiling at his use of her words. The Prince eyes her momentarily before reaching his hand back, grabbing hers and pulling her closer. The prince takes her hand and places it on Vermax’s snout, his softly over top her own, guiding her gentle pets of the beast. Vermax chitters softly but Y/N mind is elsewhere, her thoughts not on the creature before her but the prince at her back. His hand on her shoulder, her hand in his against the powerful creature he has grown with, his breath ghosting against her cheek.

“See? Nothing to fear,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No, just a fire breathing dragon that could swallow me whole,” Y/N laughs slightly. The prince releases his grip, stepping away from both creatures. “He’s beautiful,” she adds, stepping away as well and turning to face the prince with her cheeks feeling warmer than moments before.

“Thank you. Maybe I can take you on a ride one day,” Jacaerys offers, enjoying the thought of riding with her.

“I would like that, if you’d have me,” she nods, their eyes locked for a tense moment, lost in the swirls of each other's eyes.

“My Prince, My Lady,” a voice breaks the moment and the pair turn to see a page making his way toward them. “I have been sent to inform you breakfast is laid.”

“Thank you, Noran,” Y/N responds, the page bowing slightly before retreating. “Hungry, my prince?”

“Jace, just call me Jace,” he says suddenly, surprising himself and her. “And yes, I’m famished,” the prince smiles, and allows her to lead him back towards the castle, his mind concocting all kinds of ways to spend more time with her.

#jacaerys x reader #jacaerys targaryen x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #prince jacaerys #jace velaryon #house of the dragon #cregan stark #vermax #stark oc #he’s so🥺#jacaerys valaryon #jacaerys strong #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys velaryon

702 notes · View notes

bks-writing-adventures · 1 year ago

Text

Love? Match. (Aemond Targaryen X Stark! Reader)

This is for a request I got! If people like it, i'll do a part two <3

“Delusional. She is absolutely delusional!” Aemond grumbled, mostly to himself as Vhagar landed on a mount of snow with a low grumble. His breath was turning to fog everytime it left his body, his nose and cheeks flushed from the icy cold. This was the worst type of cold in the world. No sun, no fluff to the snow, just bitter. His nose ached, and his body shivered as he slid down Vhagar’s wing. The great beast would not meet his eye, and he could tell that she was certainly not pleased with him right now.

“I know, I know,” He mumbled, reaching to rub the scales that covered her face. “I will be quick,” he said, but he didn’t think that to be true. The North was stubborn, it was cold, and it was the closest thing to The Seven Hells. With every step, he cursed beneath his breath. Perhaps he should’ve landed closer to Winterfell, but landing that close with a dragon would not be a good look. And while he did love to intimidate, it would do nothing but create enemies. Of course, there was always the option of burning the land, but that was not truly his style.

When he finally caught a glimpse of the building, his eyes narrowed into slits, his lashes coated with snowflakes and his vision frosted 0ver. IF one were to cry, their tears would turn to ice on their face. He was surprised that the very saliva in his mouth had not hardened. Taking in a deep breath, he rubbed his hands together to create a heat, hoping with every bone in his body that it would spread. He was told to aim for Cregan Stark. His mother believed it would be the best of ideas, since men could bond easier, and perhaps he could fish out some sympathy. He would have to get to them before the Blacks, or else they could plant whatever ideas they wanted, and it would grow out of his control. When he finally saw the first flashes of black hair, it was a miracle.

“My Lady,” He called out quietly, taking a few steps closer. She was covered in a heavy cloak of animal skin, and her dark hair was twisted into small buns around her ears, like makeshirt earmuffs. Her face was red from the cold, and her eyes were big and endearing, almost like that of a cow about to be slaughtered. His eye lingered for a moment before he took the rest of her in, noting the metal jewelry around her neck and fingers. She wore several rings, each with a different stone, and he wondered what it would feel like to press a kiss to the back of her hand. “Are you a Stark?” He asked, despite knowing the answer. This would be difficult to play out. He wasn’t a man to stay away from violence, to use words over a sword. And it was hard to convince himself that this would work out, but he swallowed his doubts as he spoke.

“Yes. You are a long way from home, are you not?” She asked. Her voice was quiet, but it had a certain power to it, her head tilting upward, almost as if challenging him. Her dark eyes looked him over, and a smile pulled at her mouth. He was glad for the cold now, because the redness of his face would hide his blush.

“I am, My Lady. The West is in great need of help,” He spoke. She nodded, and she began to walk, not saying anything. It baffled him slightly, and he quickly started to follow her. Perhaps leather in the cold was not the best of ideas, because he grimaced every time it touched his skin. Fur would have been a much better choice.

“And so I have heard,” She sighed, leading him further into the snow, until he could see smudges of people in the distance. “But what I fail to understand is how that is our problem,” She spoke, a brow raised. Ugh. Her voice was just so enticing, and he could feel his body warming up from how flustered she was making him. It was disgusting, and he shook his head to clear his thoughts.

“You understand that Targaryen’s do not back down from a fight. We will destroy each other, and we will destroy you, too. You must pick a side, there is simply right, and wrong,” He spoke, pausing in his steps as she walked along the ice. He was not nearly as graceful as her, and he moved with caution, trying not to go sliding into the mountains of snow.

“And who is decide what is right from wrong? Because forgive me for my honesty, but I do not believe your brother has ever done a right thing in his life. The wind speaks, and we hear of his sins. We would never bend the knee to such a man,” She spoke, and he felt himself groan internally. Her words were.. Well, true. He had no interest in submitting to Aegon either. His ultimate goal was to get himself on the throne and hope that his elder brother would drink himself to his death. It was a terrible thing to think, but Aegon was a terrible man. Such a fate would only make sense. His life’s worst regret was helping Ser Criston into searching for the boy. He clearly didn’t want the weight of the crown on his head, and he knew nothing about anything. He could not tell his right from left, and he knew nothing of history or politics.

“And I deserve to be punished for that?” He asked, looking down at her. She was a fair bit shorter than him, but just as muscular, if not more. She had broad shoulders for a lady. His Uncle Daemon had once said that a Northern woman was about as feminine as a beast, but… she was, well, she was pleasant on the eyes.

“Do not twist my words,” She spoke. “Besides. The North has nothing to give to you. We are dying left and right. The winter is harsh, and the cold is taking limbs and lives. We cannot fight in your silly war,” She responded. He didnt’ say anything for a long moment, following her gaze out to the wall. It was haunting. The sky was dark, and it was impossible to tell night from day. He didn’t like it one bit, he could not imagine living here, or how they could survive at all. He wondered where the food came from, before he realized, it wasn’t coming from anywhere. They couldn’t grow food, and there was no warmth.

“What if, in exchange for your loyalty, we provided food and safety to your land?” He asked. He could practically see the gears turning in her head, and he fought the urge to smirk. She definitely didn’t see that coming. “Ah, you would like that, wouldn’t you?” He asked softly, his voice tickling her ears. Her eyes were clouded with thoughts, and it took her a moment to respond.

“I would like you to speak with my brother,” She spoke, leading him toward the building. The change from the cold to the heat was shocking and welcomed all at once. Itches grew across his body, and he could feel the snow in his hair melting down into water, making his white hair cling to his head.

“How are we to know that you are not speaking just to speak? I could agree, and you could give nothing.” She spoke, leading him through the building. Her boots left wet footprints across the stone, and he took in a deep breath as he scratched at his neck. His clothes were sticking to his skin. This really was hell.

“I am not one to back down on my word, My Lady.” He said quietly, drawing in a deep breath as she started climbing up the stairs. He had no idea how much time had passed, chewing the inside of his cheek. “That does not mean much to me, My Prince. I do not even know which one you are,” She said, making him chuckle.

“Ah, so I see my fame does not spread this far,” He spoke, and his ego was a bit bruised. “I should have introduced myself. I am Prince Aemond Targaryen, My Lady.” He said, gently taking her hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it, his mouth lingering for a moment. Her skin was warm on his cold lips, and he looked at her hands curiously, reaching for her left. No wedding ring. Fascinating.

“Ah, the infamous Kinslayer. I know you now,” She said. Her eyes showed nothing, and he squinted slightly.

“As could be said for most of my family members. We are not known to be… agreeable,” He said softly. He wanted to know more about her, but she was hard to read. His hand was still wrapped around hers, tracing patterns along the veins beneath her skin.

“Hm.” She hummed, saying nothing more as she held his hand, practically dragging him up the stairs like a dog. When she reached the top, she pushed open a door, a group of men sitting awkwardly, their heads whipping toward the sudden intrusion. “Brother,” She spoke, making a boy sigh. “We have an offer from the West,” She spoke, making the room go quiet. Aemond could tell that she was a mighty little thing, no one spoke a word against her. It was a bit of a culture shock, seeing the way that women were treated here compared to back home. At the small court, his mother hardly got a word in, and she’d have to use him and his brother as puppets.

“An offer?” He asked, standing up. He was a big thing, as all Northern men seemed to be. He had a face that looked like it was carved in stone, permanently unimpressed. He was not nearly as beautiful as his sister, in Aemond’s opinion, at least. “This… boy claims that in exchange for our support and men in his stupid, meaningless-” She paused, drawing in a deep breath. “In exchange for our support in the Western war, he will provide us with food and materials to last us the winter,” She spoke, brows raised. The two seemed to be communicating with their eyes, and Aemond could tell by the way that she stood that she was challenging him.

“Sister, what of-” The man didn’t seem to know what to say. “We pledged our loyalty to the Targaryens long ago. But with them going against each other, either side is a fair pick. We may as well choose the side that will benefit us both,” She said, staring at an older man that was sitting in one of the chairs, a brow raised. After a moment, he got up, moving a few paces back so she could take the seat, crossing her legs. Cregan looked at Aemond, head tilting. He was intimidating in a way that was different from the Prince. While Aemond had a carved face and relied on his dark clothes and gaze, Cregan had a natural superiority to him. He was broad and calm, which was the worst. He didn’t show any displays of anger or distaste, he just nodded slowly. “

And is the Prince unwed?” He asked. Aemond’s heart thumped, and he straightened his back even more. This was not part of the plan. He just had to hope his mother would not be angry with him. Marriage was one of the greatest weapons at all. It could be used to bond and manipulate, and it was something that would be in the history books. It would combine their names and their value, and hopefully, give him more access to the other side of the Kingdoms.

“He is not,” Aemond said in response. No one had really spoken directly to him, he felt like such an outsider. Cregan’s face broke into a smirk.

“Well, sister. If we are taking all that we can..” He trailed off. It was weird. Aemond had never been spoken to in this way. It was both humbling and exhilarating. He wanted to argue and say that he never agreed to it.. But at the same time, it wouldn’t hurt.

“And it would give us access to more weapons and money,” The Stark girl nodded in return. When Aemond came to the North, he did not expect to be leaving with a betrothed. But when two hours had passed, she was following him back to Vhagar, a quarter of her things packed into a bag on her back, her eyes narrowed as they walked. He was so awkward, not saying anything as they approached the giant beast that was Vhagar. He just hoped that the Lady Stark would not react negatively, or Vhagar might eat her. “G��da, Vhagar. Sȳz va se riña.” He spoke, slowly stroking Vhagar’s snout.

“I did not realize how big she was,” Lady Stark admitted after a moment. She did not look horrified, in fact, she seemed almost awestruck. Aemond smiled a little at her words.

“The largest in the world. She is the greatest protector of Kings Landing at the moment, protecting us against our treasonous kin. My uncle has been our greatest threat, you would not like him very much,” He said quietly, taking her hand and leading her to Vhagar’s giant saddle. “Are you ready to fly?” He asked softly. He wanted to reach out and touch her face, and he was thrilled to feel her arms around him as they climbed onto the large dragon.

“Is now a terrible time to mention that I am afraid of heights?” She asked softly as her arms went around his torso. Her arms were strong, maybe just as strong as his.

“That it is,” He smiled, placing one of his hands over hers before they took off. To his delight, she did not scream, she just clenched her eyes shut nice and tight, and held him as they shared warmth. He knew that Vhagar could feel it, this odd feeling growing in his belly like a disease. It wasn’t love, it was.. Infatuation, perhaps. He held his lady as Vhagar’s wings steadied, rubbing her hand in slow, circular motions as she eventually fell asleep. He just hoped that she would not fall. The flight was long and covered the both in snowflakes, and he let out a breath of relief as the air grew heavy and humid once more. The air of the West tasted warm and almost oily on his tongue, the smell of mud and trees tickling his nose with familiarity.

“Wake up, my beauty.” He mumbled softly, nudging the Stark as they made their descend back to the land, Vhagar’s mighty claws slicing into the dirt, sending a spray of dust across the field. She groaned softly, and she seemed to already be reacting to the change in weather, sneezing as she got off of the dragons back. There was not a moment for them to speak before his mother was rushing toward him, her face falling a bit when she saw the girl. Her mind was going to all the wrong places, praying that her son had not kidnapped the girl as ransom or something.

“Mother,” He spoke, taking her arms as she approached. She was stressed constantly nowadays, and the death of his father had aged her ten years. Her brown eyes were tired, and her hair was disheveled, despite the constant conditioning treatments.

“Aemond,” She said, her voice coming out sleepy and cautious as she eyed the dark haired lady.

“Relax, mother. This is my betrothed,” He said softly, reaching over for her arm, slowly bringing the Stark closer as though trying to introduce two dogs, hoping they would make friends.

“Your betrothed?” She asked softly. It was hard to tell if she was angry or simply shocked. But after a moment, a tight smile spread on her face. “And you did not think to ask? Or…” She trailed off, swallowing her words.

“We do not have the luxury of taking things slow in war, mother. And with our marriage will come a bond between us and the North. They will fight with us if we give them the resources they need,” He said softly, and her brows scrunched.

“And what resources would those be?” She asked, seeming rather irritated.

“Food, clothes, safety. We need the soldiers to stay alive if we want them to fight for us. And Lady Stark has much knowledge, politically and socially,” The more he spoke, the more she seemed convinced, and after a moment of thinking, her gaze softened.

“Very well, then.” She said, gazing back at Lady Stark. “We will get you a nice warm bath and some tea immediately. You can sleep in the guest chambers,” She spoke, slowly nodding. Some servants came to take Lady Stark’s bag, but she quickly waved them off. She did not like being separated from her belongings, and when the brunette was finally out of earshot, Alicent turned to her youngest son. “You cannot simply make decisions like that without warning,” She spoke. She didn’t know why she was angry.

It didn’t have much to do with the war at all, but rather, it was the feeling of losing her youngest child. He had remained unwed this long, and he was her best child. She would forever regret what she did to Aegon and Helaena, and she had prayed every night to The Maiden and The Mother for Aemond to get a love match. To find someone that could give him the care and understanding that she could never provide. And now he would be marrying a stranger. But at the very least, they were the same age. And Lady Stark seemed kind enough.

“It is not a good idea to get married when the world is like this. If Daemon finds out..” She trailed off. She was very aware that Rhaenyra’s family was seeking revenge due to Aemond’s disgusting actions. And she would hate to see the Lady Stark be caught in the crossfire. “You will have no grand wedding. There will be no celebration. It will be private, and you will say nothing to anyone at the court. There are spies everywhere,” She warned, and anxiety burned in Aemond’s chest. He hadn’t thought about that, and he did not care to think about it anymore.

When he finally found himself in bed, he watched the ceiling as he desperately hunted for sleep. When it did not come, his mind wandered and his eyes shut as he thought about Lady Stark. Her arms around his torso, the feel of her head on his back, the way her breath hitched the higher they got, all those rings on her fingers- and how she would wear one from him soon, too. The more he thought, the more he wondered, and slowly, his feet touched the stone floor, and he crept to his door, slowly opening it. His guard stood outside, brows raised.

“Going somewhere?” He asked.

“Yes.” Aemond responded, slowly making his way down to the guest chambers. It was a walk of shame of sorts, having to walk past all the guards as they stood by his siblings and mothers chambers. They all gave him small nods, and he sighed, considering turning around. The servants would talk. The Knights would talk. It was a bad idea, but he was so close, and slowly, he knocked on the door of the guest chambers. When there was no answer, he was about to knock again, when the door suddenly whipped open. Lady Stark was staring at him, her skin still rosy and warm from her bath, her hair wet and combed out, slowly curling up again as it dried. Her ears had been covered previously, and he smiled as he saw her in full. She had such little ears, like a cute little mouse. He could almost laugh at the thought.

“Can I help you?” She asked, arms crossed. He smiled at her feistiness, looking at her nightclothes. Her robe was comically large, and he made a small promise to himself that when the war was over, he would have some fine clothes made for her.

“I cannot find sleep. I was hoping you would speak with me about our arrangement,” He said slowly. She looked suspicious, but nodded after some time, stepping aside to allow him into the room. The guest chambers were nothing special. A big bed with generic blankets, a washroom, a bathtub, a chamber pot, some towels, and a fire place. A dresser and a wardrobe, a bookshelf with only two volumes on it. It was dull, but she seemed to light it up.

“My mother says that our marriage will be a quiet one. This is a dangerous family, you understand,” He said softly, following her mindlessly and heating up when she sat on her bed. She just looked so lovely like this, and he cleared his throat, averting his gaze.

“I am well aware. When are the supplies going to the North?” She asked. She had her mind set, and her desires were clear.

“Soon, my lady. We will marry tomorrow once the sun falls, and the day after that, I will bring the delivery myself,” He spoke. They were big promises, but he knew he could do it. When he was very young, he had an obsession with agriculture for some months. For his 14th name day, he had requested only books and seeds, and of course, a greenhouse. A greenhouse that was run by servants and farmers, and was full of plants and vegetables that were ready to go. Perhaps they could build a greenhouse in the North, and they could use mirrors and glass to direct the sun toward it.

“Very good.” She says softly, shifting a little on the bed. “Are you going to stand there forever, or will you sit?” She asked, staring up at him. His eye widened, and he looked at the mattress. It was far softer than his own, and he could only imagine the back ache if he fell asleep on it. But he could not deny her, sitting a good foot or so away.

“...I cannot imagine this is what you envisioned when you were a girl, dreaming of marriage,” He said quietly, making her let out a laugh. Not a soft giggle, but a full belly laugh, a soft wheeze escaping her. “You think young girls dream of marriage?” She asked, as though the idea was ridiculous. “Tell me, My Prince, have you ever spoken to a woman?” She asked him. The answer was of course, no, not really. He had interacted with his mother and sister, but outside of that.. Well, did the Septa count? Probably not.

“Not often.” He admitted. She nodded, smiling a little as she reached out to touch his cheek.

“Oh, I imagine you scare off the western ladies like the plague, with this little thing of yours,” She said, reaching for his eyepatch as he turned his head away. Yes, of course. That.

“It is not my best feature,” He said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

“Says who?” She asked, head tilted. He couldn’t tell if she was teasing or not. He grew hot at that, looking awkwardly at his hands.

“Says most,” He spoke. He sounded pathetic. He hated what she was doing to him, but he couldn’t get enough.

“Most people are not worth your time or mine. Now, I am tired, and I am looking forward to sleeping on this giant thing,” She sighs, flopping back on the bed, arms above her head and her legs parted like a starfish.

“You enjoy it, my Lady. When the war ends.. I will get you the biggest bed the world has to offer,” He said softly, and after a moment of thinking about it, he finally reached out and touched her hair. It was slightly rough in his hands. It was not silky like his own, and it was much thicker, as though she had adapted to the cold air of the north.

“You make a lot of promises. We will start with the marriage, then the supplies, and we will see where we end up,” She spoke, taking his hand and pressing a kiss to his palm. Gods. He felt like he was full of Milk of Poppy. Utterly euphoric. Now he understood why men loved brothels so much. He would pay an embarrassing amount to feel this way every day.

“Sounds.. Sounds good,” He says, voice cracking a little. She smiled teasingly, gently pushing on his chest.

“I will see you tomorrow, my Prince.” She spoke as he headed for the door, and he mumbled under his breath.

“I will see you tomorrow, My Love.” He mumbled so softly that not even the strongest of ears could hear it. That night, he slept like an infant, dreaming of the days to come.

thank you to everyone who reads!! <3

-BK ♡

598 notes · View notes