#a song of ice and fire fanfic

[targaryen-dynasty]

SEMPITERNAL.

final part of Precious Delights

Dad!Maegor Targaryen x niece!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest, p in v, breeding kink, slight praise kink, kinda medieval daddy kink (?), size kink, lactation kink, lactating, pregnancy, pregnant sex

WORDS: 4.3 K

NOTES: Precious Delights comes to an end with this. I‘m a bit sad, because I really started to love the series, but I think I've managed to end it in a good way. Thanks to everyone that joined me on this journey.

It was going to be a day of revelry. The construction of the Red Keep had been completed, and your husband found it fitting to throw a feast in celebration for those who had taken part in it. 

Taking on a fatherly aura the moment your twins took their first breaths, Maegor didn’t want the festivities to start without his precious family present, even though you were meant to depart for your chambers once they started to indulge themselves in bawdier things. 

“You have to sit still if you want Mama to finish the braid quickly,” you warned the little girl sitting in front of you, though there was no sharpness to your tone, knowing you could not expect your daughter to sit still for so long. She was just three summers old after all, and just as excited about the feast as everybody else. 

Your own flowing locks loosely cascaded down your back and shoulders, not combed and unbraided as you had been taking care of your children the whole morning, often taking their care into your own hands as they were a blessing from the Gods above. And, while Visenya was clad in a black dress that once belonged to you when you were around the same age, your swollen curves still were concealed by a white nightgown. 

The raspy chuckle you heard, as your little girl didn’t remain still long enough for you to finish the task properly, prompted you to turn your head towards your husband, sitting in a stool not too far away while the barber tended to his hair and neatly trimmed beard. 

You raised an eyebrow in innocent enquiry at the sound, which briefly changed into something different while your eyes flickered over his frame. He was dressed, but barely. His cloak, and most pieces of his wardrobe, still were draped over a chair across the room from where he sat. His torso was exposed from the waist up, covered only by the leather breeches he wore. 

Maegor had a grin on his lips – entirely different to the expression he usually wore around servants and maids. In the confines of your chambers, he often lowered his guard, not too concerned about what others thought was proper. But in the presence of other people, he was always focused on remaining harsh and cold, wanting to display his dominance and power. 

“Have you been at this all morning?” Maegor asked, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes trailed over your body just like yours had done before. A hint of nervousness filled your veins, and you scolded yourself internally for your thoughts to stray towards things you should not be thinking at that moment. 

Not bothering to hide the blush that covered your cheeks, you finally replied. “Yes, I started at first light, not long after you left. I was hoping to finish before sundown, but this little one…,” you emphasized the word, causing your daughter to glance over her shoulder, flashing her father a big smile, “... has other ideas.”

You continued to braid her hair, trying to stop the braid from becoming too tight whilst also keeping the little princess’ fidgeting at bay. The barber was done trimming Maegor’s beard at this point, packing his utensils and scurrying off at once. 

“You would think that at three she would be more disciplined,” you sighed, smiling softly at your daughter. “But she takes after you.” Briefly pressing your lips into a thin line, you wondered if you had overindulged yourself in the bantering the moment the words slipped past your lips, and if Maegor knew you were just joking. Partially, at least. 

Visenya was the spitting image of your husband in more ways than one. Not when it came to the looks, as she was taking after you in that, but her rambunctious spirit was most definitely one of the attributes she shared with him. Aerion, however, was a different story. His looks resembled Maegor’s more and more with each passing day, while he had inherited your gentle presence. 

As Maegor chuckled, your frayed nerves calmed again. “You might have been better off dressing yourself before attempting to braid her hair,” he jested. 

“And I thought you might have helped, instead of sitting there and making witty comments,” you replied, glancing at Maegor, and trying to disguise your slight frustration as playfulness, directing your husband to your current predicament. 

You knew you couldn’t expect the King to take care of his children, not on an important day like this, but you also knew that Maegor more often than not had deferred his duties in the past in order to bond with the twins. 

Not wanting to admit defeat, you continued to braid your daughter’s hair, fighting against her lack of patience, and trying to finish before she kicked the entire braid off her head. Eventually, you were successful, pulling the braid into a bun behind little Visenya’s head. 

Maegor rose from his seat, and walked over to where you sat behind your daughter. He focused his attention on her, admiring her and your work for a moment, a soft sigh escaping him as he scooped her up into his arms. 

You smiled at the sight, your heart swelling in your chest, more so as you watched the gentleness with which he handled her. In a feeble attempt, Visenya tried to escape his bear hug, grumbling slightly as he snuggled her head and smelt her hair. It was the same as whenever you did it, but something in your children’s scents was just too intoxicating. 

Tilting his head back, Visenya’s little hands grazed over his beard, seemingly enjoying the feeling of the coarse hairs under her fingers just as much as you did, before she placed them at the sides of his thick neck for stability. 

He smiled softly at your daughter, a smile that scarcely graced his features when looking at you. It was gentle and loving, and whenever his eyes met yours, his expression was tinted with desire and longing. 

“Does Mama not know that your Papa is a skilled swordsman, and not a hairdresser?” Maegor asked your daughter in a playful tone, swaying her in his arms and pressing his lips to her temple. She was giggling uncontrollably, barely comprehending what he said, clearly keening at his affection and attention. 

When the doors to your chambers opened, the wet nurse came in with a styled and dressed prince at her side. Getting Aerion ready had taken you one hour at most, and was far less complicated. 

Upon spotting his father carrying his sister in his strong arms, the boy all but barrelled towards him in jealousy. The wet nurse failed to pull him back, leaving him as he tugged on the leg of Maegor‘s leather breeches, demanding to be picked up as well. 

You used the opportunity and leaned past Maegor, trying to fix a stray strand of Aerion’s silver hair – but the excited boy didn't have any of it. 

“My my, look who is here,” Maegor said with a smile, kneeling down while carrying Visenya on his hip.

The boy hugged his father tightly, squeezing him with all the strength he could muster with his tiny arms, which left Maegor chuckling. You could not feel any greater joy than seeing the brute of a man, mostly known for his harshness, so soft and full of affection for his children. 

“I want up, Papa. I want up, now,” the boy demanded, wrapping his arms around Maegor’s neck. The sight was adorable, and you could see on your husband’s face just how much he basked in your children’s affection. 

“Up you say, mh?” Placing a hand under the boy’s bottom, your husband lifted him up with ease, carrying both children on his hips. 

You sighed, bringing a hand to your swollen belly as you planted your feet firmly on the ground, and slowly rose from your seat. It was evident Maegor had wanted to help you, to reach out to support you, but with both arms filled with your twins, he could merely offer you his forearm for you to hold onto. 

This pregnancy was not as woeful as your first one, truly a blessing from the Gods above. And your husband was more generous this time as well, allowing you to walk the gardens and the keep all by yourself, despite it taking you a bit longer to be with child again. The pregnancy in general was not that strenuous for your body, though your breasts and bump had swollen to ridiculous proportions already, and you barely exceeded the fifth moon. 

Approaching them, you brought both hands up to their cheeks, the pad of your thumbs brushing along their soft skin as they leaned into your touch. “That is enough, you two,” you hummed, smiling softly. “You must go with Erena now. We have guests arriving soon, and Mama is not ready yet. It would not do to keep our guests waiting.” 

The twins pouted, but with neither you nor Maegor being too lax with them, they knew there was no chance they could stay for any longer. You motioned for the wet nurse to approach, before you cupped your children’s faces one by one, and pressed a kiss to their foreheads. 

“Aye, you have heard your mama,” Maegor said, having your back. His eyes had taken over a half-lidded look as they were all but glued to your features, your lips mostly, watching you and admiring your motherly aura. 

He put both of them down, but not without ruffling your boy’s hair in a way that had you taking in a deep breath, trying to keep the anger of him destroying Aerion’s hairdo at bay. 

Clinging to the wet nurse's hands, they left the room at once, no doubt going to their chambers for her to read them a book. There were merely two servants around you at this point, stopping in their tracks as Maegor’s deep voice rang out. “Leave us,” he ordered sternly, his usual demeanor crawling back to the surface. 

It was the side of him your children were not meant to see, at least for now, and with Maegor’s paw coming to your swollen belly once you were alone, the softness returned. Cupping your bump gently, he looked down at it in awe.

“Are you ready for the feast?” you asked, smiling softly at him before your eyes trailed over the expanse of his bare chest. 

“I am, for as long as you’re by my side,” he said, his other hand trailing over the slight curve of your waist. Both his hands now rested where the swell was, feeling the gentle curve of your bump. When he spoke again, you could hear a tinge of jealousy in his voice, his words making you chuckle. “But I fear the crowd will pay more attention to you than me.” 

Bringing your hands up to his face, you cupped it just like you had done with the twins before, your thumbs brushing the stubble on his jaw. His eyes softened, fixing yours. “I can not wait for you to be with my fourth child,” he spoke with a mischievous grin. 

You raised a brow. “Oh, only if you will be the one carrying the babe,” you retorted, the tease in your voice and sparkle in your eyes hinting at something only he would understand. “I doubt this pregnancy will spare me from the terrible birthing pains, and I do not know whether I can endure it for a third time.”

Maegor sighed at your words, his hands running over your sides once more, before one moved to the back of your head, threading into your thick locks. Gently tugging your head back, he leaned down to press a kiss to your jaw. 

“Would you like me to try?” he chuckled against your skin, pulling back just enough for you to spot the smirk on his lips. His tone had taken on a huskier edge, one that always forced you to squeeze your thighs together. “The Gods will be on our side this time. There will be only one babe, I am sure.” 

Licking his lips, he kept his grip on your hair, and pulled your face towards his. You anticipated a kiss, but alas, he kept a few inches between your faces, your heavy breaths fanning over each other's lips. 

You tried to chase him for a kiss, but Maegor kept your head in place. “I hope you know the dangers of challenging a Targaryen man,” he teased. 

Oh, you did know. More than once had he proven that it was just not wise to challenge him. It was impossible for him to resist a good challenge, no matter how bold or brazen. Your late brother Aegon was the perfect example, and also the reason he and his dragon Quicksilver were slain by your uncle in the Battle Beneath the Gods Eye. 

Slinging your arms around his thick neck, you kept your eyes locked with his, a mischievous glint flickering in them. “I shall take my chances,” you replied, biting your bottom lip. 

That was the last bit that caused his resolve to crumble. Bowing his head forwards, he pressed his lips to yours fervently, void of any gentleness. Your hair was released, only for him to snake one arm around your waist and bring the other to your arse. Cupping it, it was easy for him to lift you up, holding your body to his in a cradle carry with your lips still connected. 

You pulled back from him to chuckle breathlessly. “We can’t… not now,” you laughed, bringing a hand to his bare chest as if you meant to stop him. “Our guests will soon arrive.”

But he was not having any of it. “Oh, is that so?” he taunted, slowly walking towards your marital bed, shrugging his shoulders when he came to a stop. “Let them, they can wait.”

You stared up at Maegor with wide eyes as he placed you down on the bed, one of your hands cupping your bump, while the other just rested on your chest, your full breasts hard and heavy. He stood at the side of the bed, and began to undo the laces in the front of his breeches. 

As much as you wanted to lock your gaze with his, your eyes always trailed down to where his fingers were fumbling with the laces, your breathing growing heavier and your mouth running dry. 

Maegor was the most handsome of all men, and his other skills were unparalleled. Even though his cock was the only one you had seen, you knew Maegor was very well endowed, and probably possessed one of the most beautiful cocks in Westeros.

Unable to wait any longer, you tugged the skirts of your nightgown up as much as your bump allowed, and shimmied your way out of your smallclothes. Your swollen belly was obvious, but you hadn’t thought of it as so obtrusive. But your husband didn’t seem to mind, if anything, he was even more determined and motivated to have his way with you.

Maegor eyed you just as hungrily, and his jaw set as he noticed the slight glistening of your womanhood as you spread your legs. You were eager and ready to take him. 

Stripping the last of his clothes off, Maegor joined you in bed, making himself at home between your parted legs. Leaning over you, careful not to put any of his weight on your bump, he planted kisses to the side of your neck, trailing up to your lips. His large frame completely covered your significantly smaller one, making you feel protected and safe as your fingers entangled into his silver strands, tugging on them gently and keeping his lips locked on yours. 

His cock was hard, pressing snugly against your soaked womanhood, sure to coat the underside of it and the sac of his stones in your arousal. You couldn’t help but to grind your hips against him, rutting your swollen folds against his hard member which prompted him to groan against your lips. 

“Be still, would you,” Maegor scolded, but his tone was void of any harshness. 

But you couldn’t. Not when your body craved to be filled by him so badly. And Maegor seemed to notice your despair. He sat back on his haunches, looking down at you. The pout on your lips had him smirking smugly. “You have teased me long enough,” you whimpered, innocently batting your eyelashes at him. “It’s what I deserve after this strenuous morning.”

Raising his brow, Maegor sighed – he was admitting his defeat. “I shall make it quick for you then.”

His hands roamed over your bump, the white silk allowing them to slide over it with ease. He then proceeded to lean to the side, fetching one of the pillows next to you and folding it in half. 

Maegor hooked one hand beneath your knee, and used that grip to lift your hips, slipping the pillow beneath them to slightly raise your body for him, and make your back arch in a way that was not uncomfortable. It caused your swollen breasts to spill from the low neckline of your nightgown, the white silk dampened and darkened by the droplets of milk that had oozed out of your hardened buds. 

“Let me take care of you, mama,” Maegor drawled, his dark blown eyes traveling over your frame. Despite most of your body still concealed by your nightgown, he couldn’t be any more attracted to and aroused by you than he was in that moment.  

Gripping the base of his cock, he used your arousal to tug on him once, twice, before aligning the tip with your throbbing entrance. He was completely focused and careful as he pushed inside, moving slow enough for you to feel every vein and ridge of his cock drag along your walls. 

“Gods be good,” you moaned, enjoying the feeling of being stretched out by him, bliss taking over your senses. 

Your husband remained upright, his hands on your knees as he started with a slow, deep grinding. Your smaller one found his and held onto him for stability and to feed your longing for his touch, your eyes never leaving his. You felt the familiar heat building in your belly quicker than usual, the coarse hair around his member grazing over your sensitive pearl every time he moved and fueling the pleasure you felt. 

“You truly were made for me,” he grunted, a large hand moving to splay over your bump, covering most of it. “The most beautiful woman in the realm, swollen with my seed and carrying my children.” With a blush covering your cheeks, you bit your bottom lip, stifling a wanton moan. 

Noticing the color on your cheeks, Maegor smirked, slightly increasing the pace of his hips, his cock hitting deep enough to drag over the spot that had you whining and whimpering. You were squeezing him so well, making it impossible for him to keep going for much longer – not that you had time to do so anyways. 

Your pearl throbbed with anticipation, and your cunt clenched and convulsed around his member, announcing your approaching peak and coaxing grunts and groans to escape his parted lips. 

You tipped your head back into the pillows, unraveling beneath him as you closed your eyes in bliss. 

“So good,” he groaned, reaching to rub your bump before trailing his hand up to your full breasts. “I shall fuck you full of my seed, and bed you until your womb runs dry.” You weren’t sure if it were his words, the thoughts accompanying them or the sensual rolling of his hips, but your brain went fuzzy with pleasure, clouding each thought to the point you couldn't think straight and answer him. 

His big hand tugged the neckline of your nightgown down to the point it ripped at the seam, freeing your breasts from their confines. It could have been a growl or a groan rumbling in his chest – either way it sounded threatening and dangerous, lured out by the sight of your leaking breasts. Clamping one of your darkened buds between his calloused fingers, he squeezed it to force some more droplets of milk out of it, coating his fingers in it.

Bringing them up to his lips, he sucked them clean with a groan, only for him to pay equal attention to your other breast not long after. It was not much, but already helped enough to relieve some of the pressure and ease the fullness. 

You bit your bottom lip and started up at him with half-lidded eyes, a teasing grin on your lips. “Want to get your fill, papa?” you asked, feigned innocence weaving itself through your tone. 

Maegor panted heavily, his eyes glued to where his fingers were milking you. “You little minx,” his husky voice drawled, interrupted by strained breaths. He was close. “Later.”

The coil in your belly tightened each time his body rutted against your pearl in combination with his fingers on your breasts, and it eventually snapped and allowed your peak to wash over your body with a loud cry. Maegor watched you mesmerized, relishing in the way your cunt fluttered around his cock with relief etched onto your features. 

He seized the opportunity, and bowed his bull-like body forwards, placing one hand next to your frame to support his weight as he increased the pace and intensity of his thrusts. Your cunt melted around his hard member, sucking him in with each snap of his hips.

You couldn't deny the slight aching that started to blossom between your legs, growing more apparent with the repercussions of your peak slowly subsiding, but you knew Maegor was racing for completion at this point, his breathing ragged and his jaw set. 

“When this babe is born…,” he rambled, panting in between the words. Strands of his blonde hair fell in front of his eyes, a sheen of sweat on his skin. “… I shall fuck another into you. I can not get enough of watching your body swell with my seed, making it clear to everyone that you are mine.”

“Y-Yes, Gods, please.” The flush on your cheeks grew hotter, matching the growing volume of your whimpers and moans. Suddenly, the thought of another babe growing inside of you didn’t seem too bad. 

It was with a final thrust of his hips that his body finally relented, his cock spending in a burst so strong Maegor stilled his movements. You felt him twitch and throb inside of you, spilling his seed and painting your walls as you milked him for every drop. 

The sight was divine. His muscular body crouched forwards slightly, blonde strands framing his chiseled features, beads of sweat highlighting his flexing muscles, and his jaw set tight enough you feared for his teeth. 

If you weren’t with his child already, you would have mounted him to make sure his seed would bear fruit. 

Every muscle in his body was tensed, until he eventually collapsed into the vacant spot right next to you, careful not to put any weight on your swollen belly. His flaccid cock slipped out of you in the process, causing you to pout at the sudden feeling of emptiness. 

But you were quickly distracted when you looked to the side, studying him carefully. The blissful smile on his lips sent heat straight through your veins again, reigniting the fire and longing for more. You traced your fingertips over his sharp cheekbones, while his hand had remained splayed over your bump in a protective manner. 

Moving to lie on his back with his arms crossed behind his head, mischievous thoughts filled your head, inspired the moment you glanced down at his thick cock. Teasing and arousing you was a weapon only Maegor possessed, and he wielded it so perfectly – intended or not. 

“Mh, our guests may have to wait a little longer,” you said, voice laced with desire. 

It was a bit troublesome for you to get up, but once you managed to do so, you moved to straddle your husband’s hips, his cock trapped between your soaked womanhood and his lower stomach.  

He watched you with an eyebrow raised, but made no move to stop you. You rutted your hips over his length, coating him in your mixed essences and coaxing him to full hardness again. 

Maegor propped himself up on his elbows, a groan leaving his lips, and brought his paws up to graze over your sides. He understood what you wanted, and was eager to give you just that. With unsurprising strength, he fisted the silk of your nightgown and tore it in half, exposing your whole body to him. 

You gasped, more because of the chill air hitting your hot skin than the shock of the sudden movements. 

Licking a flat stripe over the curve of your full breast before wrapping his lips around your hard bud, Maegor sucked on it a few times to swallow some of your milk. You moaned at the stimulation, tipping your head back as your cunt clenched around nothing. 

He pulled back with a string of saliva connecting his swollen lips and your skin, glancing up at you mischievously. And when he spoke, his voice was husky and strained, teasing you with a smug smirk on his lips. “I think they will understand.”

Maegor Taglist: @hypocritic-trash-baby @watercolorskyy @xxxkat3xxx @baedebnam @simonedk @heavenhatesme @valyrianglass

General Taglist: @heimtathurs @croatianprincess @nina2697 @sirenangelroyal @malfoytargaryen @thetaygaryen @wintrr13 @winter-soldier-101 @kyuupidwrites @boofy1998 @thekinslayersswordhand @sagelovesreading @jiminie-08 @doublesparrows @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @recorddust @tsujifreya @melsunshine @docmartinis @drwstarkeyy @kazuyatokue @nockerin @moonlightfoxx @bbgmonsay @thatmysteriousblog @ashovertheriver @black-dread @nothingqueens @urmomsgirlfriend1 @lovelykhaleesiii @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowystark @goldyfishsstuff @connorsui

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Mine First, Mine Last, Mine Even in the Grave

Pairing: Ramsay Bolton x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, minors keep away!, innocent MC

Words: 2797

Summary: Even at such a young age, Ramsay was proving a difficult and willful child. He was somewhat twisted in nature that sometimes disturbed his mother. However once he laid eyes on the little baby, he immediately grew attached to her.

"You mean she’s all mine?” A little Ramsay peers over the crib at the little bundle that fussed around in her blankets. He was standing on his tippy toes just so that he was barely able to peer over the side.

“Not exactly. . .” His mother informs him a bit hesitantly. How was she to tell him that the baby was left on their doorstep? That she had debated on letting it freeze to death had Ramsay not opened the door and found her. Even at such a young age, Ramsay was proving a difficult and willful child. He was somewhat twisted in nature that sometimes disturbed his mother. However once he laid eyes on the little baby, he immediately grew attached to her.

Now she was stuck raising two children. It was the last thing she wanted. At least Roose Bolton was kind enough to give her money and ways to make a living for her and their child. She now had to split that money three ways now since Ramsay just refused to let the little babe go.

With a gentleness that his mother had never seen before, Ramsay brushes a little finger along the curve of the baby’s chubby cheek. “You’re mine, (y/n). You belong to me.”

*Several Years Later*

He had insisted that you come along with him to the Dreadfort. That there was no other place better for you than by his side. At least that’s what he always told you. You were his constant companion since the day you could remember. Ramsay had always been in your life. Hovering over you and sometimes smothering you, but it was the only thing you had known.

Ramsay was happy to be at the Dreadfort, his rightful home as he had always told you. It had taken his father this long to request his presence. You knew how much this meant to him. How much being part of the Bolton family meant. Yet he still held the surname of Snow. His father hadn’t quite accepted him that much yet. So he would work hard to earn the name Bolton. And he would make sure you would be by his side.

You hadn’t seen Ramsay in days. You were excited that he was finally to return home from his hunting excursion with his father and brother. Peeking from your window, you try and go further on your tippy toes but it’s no good. All you could see are the Bolton banners being abused by the northern winds. With an impatient huff you turn on your heels and throw open the door of your room. Rushing down the hall, the excitement in you bubbled out of control as you grinned. Oh how you had been so bored without Ramsay. Maybe he would take you riding!

Taking the stairs two at a time you practically fly up to the balcony that faced the gates to the Dreadfort. The loud groaning and rumbling of the gate alerts everyone to their arrival. Containing your giddiness was nearly impossible. You had to wait until he was in eyesight though. You lean forward over the edge a bit.

“Excited?”

Freezing you turn to see Myranda standing right next to you. For the life of you, you couldn’t think of what you did for her to dislike you so much. Her face held a sneer as she looked at you.

“O-Of course. Ramsay’s home. Why wouldn’t I be excited?” You ask hesitantly. She was always mean to you so of course you were standoffish with even speaking to her. Myranda always made fun of you, commenting on how you were way too innocent for Ramsay to keep an interest in you. What did she mean by that?

The clopping of multiple hooves made you turn away from her. You didn’t want to hear what she had to say anyway. Your smile returns. Cupping your hands to your mouth you scream out “RAMSAY!!”

You had only been able to see the crown of his dark hair, but once your voice rang out he immediately lifts his head to the balcony. His grin was unmistakable.

Carefully moving around Myranda you hastily pick up your skirts and run to meet Ramsay at the bottom.

You didn’t give him much time to settle down onto the ground before you threw yourself at him. Ramsay was always ready for you though. He swoops you up in his arms and spins the two of you around.

“Did you miss me (y/n)?” His cold nose nuzzles against your neck making you squirm.

“Of course! That’s such a silly question to ask!” Burying your face in the pelts of his coat you take a deep breath in. You missed the smell of him. Something caught your eye though behind him. You lift your face to get a better look. “Ramsay. . . Who are those people?” They were bounded by chains, bloody and beaten.

Ramsay quickly puts you down, blocking your view. “Oh, no need to worry about them. They’re bad people.” His hands go to caress your face and bring your gaze back to him but you’re still trying to get a look at them.

“Why have you brought them here then?” A kiss to the crown of your head brings you away from the question though and you smile up at him.

“I missed you too (y/n).” Ramsay’s voice was always sweet like honey when he spoke to you. Sweet and full of adoration. You knew there would never be a man who loved you as much as Ramsay did. He even told you so and you felt it to be true. “Let’s get out of the cold. Tell me what you did while I was gone.”

He leads you back inside of the castle, listening patiently as you told him how bored you were and that you really hadn’t done much. But one of the stable boys had helped you get onto your horse and even walked around the courtyard with you with the reigns in his hand as he made sure your horse didn’t get out of hand.

His hand froze on your shoulder. “Is that so?”

“Yes, he was very nice to me.” Nodding, you notice nothing out of the ordinary and continue on. “He even told me why horses need shoes on just like people! Did you know that the nails don’t actually hurt the horse? It would hurt me if someone put nails on my feet.”

“(y/n), do you remember the name of the stable boy?” asks Ramsay nonchalantly.

You think for a moment, index finger on your chin. “I believe his name is Joenn.” That’s when he stops you mid-step. You look back at him. “What’s wrong Ramsay?”

There’s dark foreboding on his face, even his pale eyes speak of a warning. “(y/n) you must be more careful next time.”

Scrunching your brows into a furrow, you tilt your head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t be talking to men so freely like that. You can’t trust them. They’re all evil. Except for me, of course. I would never hurt you (y/n). They will though. Once they see that you’re guard is down they’ll try to hurt you. All of them.”

“W. . . Why would they want to hurt me?”

Seeing the clear fear on your face, he returns to being more softly and pulls you closer to him. “Because you’re sweet. All men want a taste of the sweetest fruits. Promise me you won’t talk to any other man unless I’m with you. I can protect you.”

“O-Okay.”

*

Ramsay wiped his hands clean of Joenn’s blood. It wouldn’t do for his precious (y/n) to see any speck of blood on him. Bad enough that she saw the prisoners that they had brought in. He wouldn’t dare expose her to that side of him. She was far too sweet for that world. Always smiling so easily at him. Yes, she was the one thing that solely belonged to him. That much Ramsay can confidently say; (y/n) was his.

“Are you done then?” Ramsay hears Myranda’s purr from the doorway of the dungeon.

Myranda had been fun to play with, but she could never truly replace (y/n). As much as he wanted (y/n) to remain sweet and pure there was a hunger in Ramsay for her. It was hard enough for himself as it was to control such urges. Everything she did made him want her even more.

The rag still in his hands he looks up at her. “Yes. Just had to take care of a pest problem.”

Myranda eyes the boy still hanging on the large wooden X. “A pest problem?”

“Yes. He got to near (y/n) for my liking.”

Immediately her dark eyes narrow at the mention of her. “You were jealous. You never get jealous when it comes to me.”

Ramsay offers her a carefree laugh. “I don’t have to worry about you. (y/n) however is too innocent. She doesn’t know how much she attracts men with her sweetness. She’s mine. I have to make that a point to the other vermin that skulk around her when I’m gone.”

“She’s a sweet idiot. Why waste your time on her if you don’t plan to fuck her?” She asks haughtily. The green venom of jealousy eating away at her. She couldn’t stand how much Ramsay adored the girl. Whenever she thought she had the upper hand (y/n) would always do something to take Ramsay’s attention away from her. What did that idiot have to offer? Surely not sex. That girl seemed like one who didn’t even know what her cunt was truly for. Ramsay had kept her sheltered. So why? Why was he so. . . in love with her?

“I’ll not have you speak about her in such a manner.” warns Ramsay, the glint in his eyes making Myranda press her lips together. Normally she would’ve gotten excited. When he used that tone it usually always led to rough sex. Not when it concerned (y/n) though. “Unlike you she’s precious and delicate. She requires nurturing before I take a bite of her.”

Yes, eventually he would taste her. Eventually he would make (y/n) his in every way possible. No man would ever be able to lay a claim on her once her marked her. Eventually. . . Eventually he would make her a Lady. It wasn’t just conquest of her that Ramsay aimed for. He would truly make her is. Ramsay would give her his name, a title, and eventually, his child. (y/n) would make an outstanding wife and mother. In due time. He just had to wait until his father truly claimed him as a Bolton.

She was the only one to ever make him breathless.

There he stood in her doorway as she stood nude in her room, appraising the massive fur pelt that Ramsay had given her. Fresh from the animal he had taken it from. The light of the candles highlighted her curves ever so perfectly as she swayed her hips unconsciously, smiling and running her hands in the fur before turning her attention to Ramsay. Her eyes widen a bit in surprise before she goes back to smiling. (y/n) reaches for her robe. “Hello Ramsay! I was just about to go take a bath. Would you like to join me? It’s been forever since we’ve bathed together!”

And there was a reason for that. Every time he caught sight of her naked body his cock would spring to life. It was against his nature to refuse his carnal desires. For (y/n) though he would.

Ramsay could feel his hand twitch, urging him to touch her. He wanted that damn robe off of her. Already he could feel his cock swelling from the peek he had received.

(y/n) cocks her head expectantly at him with a hopeful smile. “Come on Ramsay! We used to take baths all the time when we lived with your mother!”

Damn

Damn

Damn

Ramsay couldn’t take it anymore. He closed the distance between them, the heat in his groin becoming unbearable. He wanted what was his. Such sweet lips she possessed. Ramsay cupped her face roughly and smashed his lips against them. (y/n) jerks a little bit from the surprise. Wordlessly he pulls away to gaze down at her flushed face. (e/c) eyes dewey and half lidded, her lips parted from the loss of Ramsay’s. Hand snaking down her neck at past her robe to feel up her breast. With the slightest tug he slides her robe off of her to expose her once more. Grinning he he cranes his neck so that he could take soft nips against her slender neck. Shuddering, (y/n) bites down on her bottom lip and tilts her head back as she releases a shallow moan. Good. She was incredibly receptive to his touches.

With a shove, she lands on her pelt with stunned eyes staring at Ramsay. Utterly divine. Ramsay runs his tongue against his lips and starts to crawl on top of her. Brushing his lips along the length of her torso. “You’re mine (y/n). You understand? You’ll be my wife someday. Mother of my children. Lady of the Dreadfort.” Front teeth bite down on to her pert nipple making her wince a bit. To make up for it Ramsay rolled his tongue over the abused bud and gentle sucked at it. The sound of her breath growing shallow made his cock strain against his pants. It begged to be let out. To be between her legs and pulsate inside of her. As a substitute Ramsay slides his fingers inside of her making her back arch and her mouth gape wide. She’s barely able to groan out his name before he starts pumping them in and out, curling them inside of her and making her start to whimper.

“Does that feel good (y/n)?” Concentrated on her contorting facial expressions, Ramsay moves his fingers slower giving her enough time to answer him.

“Y. . . Y-Yes. . .” (y/n)’s eyes are closed, eyebrows furrowed as she instinctively thrusts her pelvis to the rhythm of Ramsay’s ministrations. She wanted more. She wanted more of him. “Please. . .”

“Please what?”

“More. . .”

He feels his own heart racing at the fact that she didn’t know what she wanted more of. “Say that you want my cock. That you want my cock inside of your sweet cunt.”

As if her cheeks weren’t red already they were now beaming brightly as she turns her face away with embarrassment.

“I’ll give you what you want. You just have to say it (y/n).”

Her lips part several times, trying to form the words. She struggles even more when Ramsay stops his movements all together. “I-I want your cock. . .”

Immense pleasure fills him as he lets his thumb graze her clit. As if electricity jolted through her, her body clenches at the foreign feeling. “And where do you want my cock?”

“In my. . . I-I-In my s. . . sweet c-cunt.”

Who was he to deny his beloved (y/n) anything?

Within seconds his britches were off and his cock was finally free and prodding at (y/n)’s soaking cunt. Rubbing the head along her slit made (y/n) squirm incessantly, her thighs twitching with anticipation. Ramsay lifts up her thighs, fingers digging into them as he props her legs against his shoulders. One thrust of his hips and Ramsay was balls deep inside. She yelps at the intrusion, her maiden’s head having been penetrated. There’s no letting up now that Ramsay was finally inside of her. The one place he had longed to be since they had both come of age. Incredibly warm and tight, Ramsay continues to drive into her mercilessly. Her moans are torn and scattered as she can barely catch her breath. Every carnal instinct and desire spilled forth. He wanted to consume her entirely. Teeth bit down harshly on her fragile skin, enough to draw blood. Tongue lapped at the sweat that beaded on her temple. Fingers digging desperately just to get her closer despite them already being as close as two bodies could get.

More.

More.

In that lustful haze Ramsay hardly registered (y/n) coming to her climax until the walls of her cunt tightened in revenge around his cock. That was the last thing he needed to come undone himself. The very breath was stolen from him as his body locked up, spilling his seed inside of her that would guarantee him an heir.

Exhausted, his face drops to the crook of her neck. Gingerly her hand goes to his shoulder to press him closer to her panting form.

“Mine. . .” He pants. “You’re all mine.”

[k4marina]

— ii. Dragon Rider || Heart of the Dragon

synopsis: a new routine in a new world

warnings: idek lol. unedited and not properly read (i kept falling asleep lmao)

series masterlist

~ 2.5k word count.

game of thrones x modern!fem!reader

[gif found on pinterest]

Never in my life have I regretted anything more than I did now. 

“Me and my big fucking mouth,” I grunted, getting up from the ground and dusting my leather pants. Gray Worm looks at me with a slightly amused expression. Of course he would, he just dropped me onto my ass for the fifth time today. 

It had been almost two weeks after the Small Council meeting. There had been a few more since then, but no major topics were discussed, other than Varys begrudgingly backing what I had said about Cersie having scorpions when asked if his little birds had any news. The new armor and weapons for the Unsullied are also being made. After a few talks with Daenerys, Gray Worm, a few Unsullied commanders, and I, the new armor design was decided on. Surprisingly the Unsullied were very artistic people and had great ideas. 

And, within the past two weeks, I’ve been tortured everyday, my limbs aching all the time, threatening to fall off. Everyday, I’ve been woken up at four in the morning for my sword lessons with Gray Worm for five hours a day. When I said I wanted to learn, I didn’t mean I wanted to train to be the world's best swordsman of all time. 

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I say towards him, wiping away the sweat on my face. 

“I have no idea to what you are referring to, My Lady.” Gray Worm says, feigning innocence. 

“You can’t call me ‘My Lady’ and then drop me on my ass for the fifth time.” I pointed out. 

Gray Worm smiled and got into a fighting stance and I mirrored. “Your defense has gotten better; however, your strength and stamina is lacking.” 

He gave the signal and charged towards me, going to swing towards my left. I sidestepped and blocked the hit with my sword before knocking it back. This time, I went for the attack, but Gray Worm expertly blocked me and knocked the sword out of my hand. The sword clattered against the stone ground, landing a few feet away from me.

“Maybe it’s best we stop for today.” He says, picking up the sword and placing it back onto the rack. I let out a sigh of relief and walked over to the inches, grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat away from my face and neck. 

“Be honest,” I said, turning towards him. “Am I a lost cause?” 

He snorts out a laugh and shakes his head. “Apologies, My Lady.” Once he’d composed himself he answered, “No, I do not believe you are a ‘lost cause’. It may seem difficult now, but it will get easier later on.” 

“Wow, wise words,” I said sarcastically, taking a swig of water from the canteen. “They should call you ‘Gray Worm the Wise’.” 

“I’m pleased that you think I am someone with wisdom.” He says, giving a small bow, making me chuckle. 

After the lessons, I took a bath in my room, this time with the help of the servants. The first few days I would have them leave so I could bathe myself, but I guess over the days it just naturally happened. Once bathed and dressed in a white dress with gold embroidery and pearl beads before I made my way to the hall to have breakfast with Daenerys. 

Not only was it a good way for us to get to know one another (mainly her learning about me) as well as discussing future events and how we would maneuver through it. However, not all of it. I had made the decision to not tell her about Jon Snow or the White Walkers, I think that’s something she should organically go through. All she knows about Jon is that he’s the King in the North is Jon Snow, Ned Stark's “bastard” and the former Nights Watch Lord Commander who came back from the dead.  

The doors to the hall were swung open for me and I walked in, spotting Daenerys at the head of the table, looking through some documents. The sound of the doors closing, snapped her out of her thoughts. When she saw me she smiled, which I returned. 

“What did I say about bringing work to the dining table,” I lightly scolded. She gave me a sheepish look and protested, “it can’t be helped, it's important work. As Queen I’m expected to do this and more.” 

I walked over to her, carefully taking the documents and setting them off to the side. “Dany, you’ve been a Queen since you married Khal Drogo. You need to step back and take some time to just be Daenerys. Otherwise you’ll grow overworked.” 

“Alright, alright. If you’re so sure.” She nodded towards the servants to begin serving the food. Like always, an array of food was laid out for us to eat. We both began to eat, making small talk and updating each other with any new updates. 

“Gray Worm has been telling me that you’re quite exceptional with a sword,” She teased. 

I playfully rolled my eyes, groaning, “not you too.” She let out a laugh, teasing me some more. “What? He says you’re a fast learner. He says he’s never seen someone land on their arse five times in a row.” 

“Right, that’s it.” I huffed. “I’m running away.” 

Daenerys laughed some more and I tried to hide my smile. Truthfully, she reminded me of my younger cousin in Volantis, Mera. Both of them had a heart of gold and an innocent child-like soul deep down. 

“The servants told me that you refused to have your hair braided.” Daenerys points out. She’s not wrong. Instead of braiding my hair I opted to leave it in a ponytail or let it down. 

“Well, I haven’t won any battles.” I said. “Each one of your braids represents a battle won, I haven’t won anything.”

“So if you win you’ll braid your hair?” 

“Sure, why not. Why? Do you not want me to?”

“No, no. Actually, I would quite like that.” She smiled. 

I eyed her suspiciously, “don’t tell me you’re planning on putting me in the frontlines.” 

She shrugged. “Maybe. Your lessons with Gray Worm are going well. Who knows, by the time we’re ready for war you’ll be a master swordsman –or rather swordswoman.”

The rest of the breakfast went fine. Daenerys and I decided to take a stroll around the castle ground claiming she has something to show me. She dropped off the papers in her office before taking me through the back of the castle to the open fields in the back. The wind swept by us, carrying the saltiness of the ocean and the fresh scent of grass. 

“Where are we going?” I asked as she led me deeper into the field. 

“I just wanted to show you something. They’re right over there.” 

We stood atop a hill and at the foot of the hill on the other side resting were Daenerys’ dragons. I felt my heart stop. No way. What the actual fuck. My mouth ran dry as I looked over the three dragons. Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion, all in their full glory. I looked over to Daenerys who was already looking towards me. 

“You’re serious?” I ask. She smiles and nods. “What if they don’t like me and decide to eat me?” 

Daenerys laughed, her cheeks turning pink. “They will do none of that sort, I swear. I have a strong feeling that they will like you.” 

Carefully she led me closer to the three dragons. With every step they just grew more and more. They towered over the two of us and stood with immense power. And to think that these three are just a small fraction of the size of Balerion and the rest of the Targaryen fleet. 

We stood a few feet away but I could still feel the heat that they emitted from their bodies. Their majestic eyes that were probably the size of my head watched me carefully. Shiny scales adorned their bodies that looked to be about the size of my hand or bigger. Their one claw nail was the same size as my limbs. 

Holy fuck was this crazy. I’d read about these dragons and even saw a few drawings made by people who’d seen them in textbooks, but being this up close and personal with them was a whole other experience. 

Oddly enough, for such dangerous creatures, they seemed to emit a sense of calm. 

“You feel it too?” Daenerys eyes my reactions to the dragons. “Their calm.” 

I nodded. “I thought my heart would be doing somersaults in my chest, but it’s not.” After the initial shock, I felt my body relax. 

“They’re so beautiful.” I said to no one in particular. 

We hung around them for some time, allowing me to get used to their presence while Daenerys told me stories about her and her dragons. 

I looked over the dragons. Drogon, named after Daenerys’ husband Khal Drogo. Rhaegal, named after Rhaegar the Dragon Prince. Viserion, named after Viserys the Beggar King. 

Daenerys followed my gaze to the cream and gold scales dragon that laid on the grass alongside his brothers. Viserion and Rhaegal seemed to play fight while Drogon watched. 

“Despite their playful nature, those two are the oldest.” 

“What? 

The dragons carefully made their way over to where we stood. Drogon moved towards Daenerys, moving his tail around her as if giving her a hug. Rhaegal moved around behind us, opting to lounge. Viserion, however, moved closer to me. His green eyes bore into mine, as if it was trying to communicate with me. 

He brought his face closer to me, like a dog wanting to be pet. I glanced back at Daenerys who nodded. 

Viserion tilts his head when I carefully bring my hand up to stroke his gold and cream scales. A deep purr comes from him, nearly startling me. He nuzzles his head into my palm and purrs some more. It wasn’t like a cat's purr, more like a deep bass. 

“Would you like to fly him?” Daenerys asks. 

“Yes,” I replied without a thought, too entranced at the dragon in front of me. 

She moves around Drogo, standing to the side of him. 

“Stand like this,” she says. “This is what I find the easiest.” 

I mimic her stance, standing besides Viserion. Drogon crouched down and Daenerys carefully stepped up, using his scales and spikes to seat herself atop the dragon. 

I copied her, being careful to not hurt Viserion (not that I’d be able to) and sat myself on top of the gold dragon. It was uncomfortable, almost like riding a really large horse with spikes and scales. How Daenerys was able to ride her dragons without a saddle or harness was beyond me. 

My hands gripped onto the spikes on Viserions back, holding on tightly as the gold dragon began to shift around from a crouched position to fully stand. My hands gripped onto him tighter as I tried not to fall off. I peaked over its massive body to see that Viserion was getting ready to take off. 

“W-wait!” I looked towards Daenerys who was watching from atop Drogon. “Why is it taking off? What do I do?” Panic filled my voice. 

There was no way in seven hells that she thinks that I can fly, right? 

“Hold on!” She grins just as Drogon takes off into the sky. VIserion gets ready and I can already feel myself slipping off. He takes off just as I adjust my position, hunching down and tightening my grip onto his spikes. 

Wind rushes past my ears and my hair flows all over the place. Instinctively, I closed my eyes while Viserion flew in the air. I could hear Daenerys call for me from across the sky. 

“Open your eyes!” She says. “You’ll be safe, I promise.” 

Carefully, I opened them. It was brighter up in the sky than on the ground and had a lot less clouds. I could hear the, surprisingly, gentle flaps of Viserions wings. I cautiously looked down, seeing that we were miles off the ground, so far up that we could see Dragonstone Island and I could feel my stomach start to buzz. 

“Don’t look down,” I look up to see Daenerys. “When it was my first time I was terrified, as well, but you cannot let your fear control you or else it will transfer to your dragon.” 

I nodded, taking in her words and sitting up straight with confidence. Despite still feeling uneasy I managed to get my grip on things (literally). Daenerys’ words rung in my ears. 

“Your dragon,” 

I’d read of Dragons bonding with non-Targaryens or non-Valyrians, case and point being Hugh Hammer riding Vermithor during the Dance of Dragons. But it would make sense if I could bond with Viserion in light of recent findings. 

“Alright, let’s see what we can do.” I said to Viserion and I. 

—

Daenerys and I spent the rest of the day riding our dragons. It was challenging, especially the part where you literally have to hold onto for dear life, but rewarding in the end. 

In the end Viserion and I had truly bonded. He would know what I was thinking or how I was feeling without even saying a word to him. At first I thought it was just the two of us getting the hang of each other, but Daenerys explained that this was what she and Drogon felt. It was hard to believe that I was a Dragon Rider. But then again, this past week has shown that anything could be possible. 

Getting off the Dragons was harder than getting on, my dress snagging on its scales, but not ripping entirely. 

“I can help you with your riding,” Daenerys says as we walk back into the castle. 

“I’d like that.” I replied. “I’m sure we can find books in the libraries that can help us too.” 

“Have you uncovered anything else?” She asks, expectantly. 

I shook my head. “Nothing of significance. I’ll keep reading and let you in on my findings.” 

We split off so we could clean ourselves up and get ready for dinner. The bathtub was already ready for me when I entered the room. I pulled off my dress and sunk into the steaming hot water. The tension in my shoulders loosened and I dipped my head back to rest on the edge of the bathtub. 

The weight of my necklace lay heavy on my chest, a firm reminder of my… predicament. I tried not to think about it all, otherwise I’d just spiral into some rabbit hole. Some days I wonder if it’s all some sort of dream. A long, vivid dream that I can't wake up from. A knot pulls at my chest, and my throat closes. My eyes flicker up to the ceiling, tears threatening to fall. I took a deep breath, the only thing I can do is take everything in day by day.

And then I fully submerged myself into the water.

a/n: finally, it’s here :) mb if there’s any spelling mistakes, i tried to proofread it but i kept falling asleep and couldn’t be asked anymore 😭 i’ll fix it later, trust 🙏.

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[themotherofblood]

CHAPTER 1| RIVER OF GOLD |

The Lady | T.L x READER |

series masterlist | main masterlist

~ and if I was a child, did matter? If you got to wash your hands. ~

“He scares me, just a little. Not a violent way I suppose but as if he knows everything about me, though he might if he paid for spies. I am to be his wife, never thought I’d lay with a Lannister and yet here I am. Father has forbade me from writing to Doran, he would be mad at me. Lannisters and us have had a bitter history, my sweet aunt lost at the cost of war but perhaps this would be my first taste of power. I would be his wife, I would hold the sword.”

Grey, the skies were grey in the Westerlands. Black adorned every noble lord and lady's bodies as they stood by the falls. Five children stood as they mourned the death of their mother, along with many other houses who had only come to pay respects; out of obligation. Only five young bodies knew the truth of what had happened.

"Our princess took a terrible fall." the Maesters and handmaidens said, a truth laced with an ugly lie.

Our mother killed herself

The silk that wrapped the former princess's body held the further truth, if one peaked in they would see her bashed left cheek from the impact, a little lower they would see her crushed collar bone and even lower they would see blackened bruises from the fall. They would also see scars, yellowing bruises and fingerprints all over her skin, the testament to the brutality she had to suffer at the hand of her lord husband.

She was gone, and a candle that all five children held in the storm; blew out with her. The oldest boy Jeagir stood with his arm around his sister, you. Her hands rested on the shoulders of her two younger sisters Ellia and Nyela and their Maester Crasden, that stood next to them with an asleep toddler in his arms; the youngest Loren.

While the younger girls wept silently, their older siblings silently boiled in rage. All four children were handed torches as they walked to the four corners of the pyre their mother laid on, a Dornish priest went on with words that were muffled in the noble children's ears. While some remembered the screams from that night, some could only hear the crackling fire in their hands. In unison they lit the four corners of their mother's final rest. She would be safer now, nobody would hurt her now.

Your mother had written to you six moons ago, "Fly back to me, child." She had written. Her Martell uncles had managed to get her on a ship within the next day of the letter's arrival. The ship flung the banner of House Martell and delights filled the cargo of the ship for their dear sister.

"Give her my love." Doran Martell had said as he kissed the top his niece's head, a girl he had raised as his own for the past twelve years.

The morning you arrived to Lannisport, your receiver and long friend Fredrick also brought the doomed message.

"Princess Elina took a terrible fall."

One look at your mother's dead body and the guilt in your mother's handmaiden's eyes, the horrified sullen eyes of your sisters and the rage in your brothers eyes. You knew.

Your mother killed herself.

Lannisport was controlled by the most powerful family in the Westerlands, the Lannisters. More specifically Tywin Lannister. That man knew everything that went on in his lands and surely a Dornish ship with Martell sails entering his harbour was to be brought to his attention. He had ridden out that day, as he did every other day to visit Lannistown and the port. Mostly to set his own eyes upon the visitors from Dorne, he had taken extra guards as a welcome party.

He watched from high ground as the ship docked itself, five boats emerged from the ship. One with a golden pavilion shade, harbouring most likely a person of noble decent. He wondered if the Martells finally had come for his head, but out emerged a young lady at best in a pink Dornish dress, you.

His brother Kevan had rode down to the ports to enquire about the arriving party before riding back to his brother. Tywin watched as a man stood with the banner of his sworn house Maerilys, he watched as the man greeted you dressed in pink, then he watched you speak and for a moment all the colour drained from your face. It seemed as though everyone around you had frozen too, then he watched as your hand came up to your forehead, your lips widen as all the men and women that came with you hung their head low. A message came for him too, a rider rode out from Casterly Rock with the message.

"Princess Elina Martell of House Maerilys has passed."

Kevan too returned from the ports.

"That's Lord Maerilys's eldest daughter."

Tywin had arrived to Deep Den after the funeral, he had known Princess Elina personally having been a close companion to his late lady wife Joanna, the woman wasn't much older than him but he knew wits when he saw it, though he never liked the man she married. Lord Loren Maerilys, clearly named after his ancestor but Tywin knew that man held no kingly qualities. The house provided a good chuck of the Lannister fleet and armies, siege weapons and other labour personnel to Casterly Rock.

Lord Maerilys was a cruel man, the Mad King had his own reasons but Maerilys was another kind of evil, he flaunted his affairs in his lady wife's face, he beat her and humiliated her. Princess Elina on the other hand suffered through it all, many never understood why, she was Dornish. If she had written about the true brutality of her husband to her brothers. They would have landed an army right at her front gates to take her home. She never did, she suffered it all.

When you were born to the household, Lord Maerilys was not pleased, had it not been for his advisors and Maesters, he would have thrown your babbling form into the sea to wash off your existence, to another father you may have been a delight, a gorgeous little girl. But to your father, you were weakness, you couldn't carry their house's name.

Maester Crasden protected you as alittle girl as best he could, keeping you for longer lessons or away from your father's sight most times. However she you fell in the trap of your father's violence, instead of staying in your bedchambers one night as your mother's muffled wails rang through the halls, you hid a dagger stolen from the armoury in your skirts and walked into your parents chambers. Your little hands were ineffective, the blade you wielded ended up giving you a bigger cut than her father and a swollen bruise to her cheek from a backhanded slap.

"You insolent cunt! I could have your head for this." He screamed like a mad man as the little girl's glare never left him. That night her mother wrote to her brothers for help for the first time. She urged them to take her daughter, to raise her as their own with her nieces and nephews.

"Protect my girl, do not let her flame die." She had written.

Tywin had strayed from his riding party for a while, he rarely got to breathe in the country and the serenity of its views. He wanted to tarry a bit, as his riding party prepped for his arrival. The Old Lion had taken a guard along with him, surely he was learned enough to know that he was safe no where. There was a faint rush of water from the great falls in the mountains by Deep Den, the birds sang their songs as the air in the forest remained thick and humid, and Tywin walked through it all like he owned the forests. He had taken a long deep breath, closing his eyes as his head lifted upwards, allowing himself to unravel for just a moment. Though his moment of peace was interrupted by the whoosh of an arrow that nearly missed him and lodged itself onto the tree trunk behind him.

His guard drew their swords, at alert as Tywin sat strong on his horse. All of them looking around to find the source of the attack, a rustle in the bushes and most of them were prepared to fight. Until from the bushes and vines emerged your figure dressed in commoner rags, out of breath and sharp as you looked around before your eyes widened at the men with their swords out. You hands instinctively held tighter on your bow as your chest heaved, looking at all three men skeptically; until the armour they wore gave their true identity away. Lannisters.

You dropped the bow, raising your hands in defence. Gulping at the glare, the lord had fixated on you. If you weren't mistaken, you stood in the presence of Tywin Lannister. Comely and stern looking man.

"Forgive me, my lord. I thought you were a deer," you looked at him apprehensively, as you prayed to the gods, that this man knew nothing of your identity.

"Clearly not," He nodded at his men to sheath their steel.

Tywin didn't trust the girl, and the only way he knew that he would make out of these woods without killing you, was to take you with him. You were clean, too clean for a commoner. Your posture and nimble fingers, too relaxed to be an assassin. You looked familiar and yet he couldn't quite put a name to the face.

"Who are you girl?" Tywin commanded, his eyes capturing every detail of the sweet maiden before him. The velvet of your dress pointed that you were no mere peasant girl, though your unruly hair and mud over your hands would unlikely make you of noble birth.

"I am a kitchen wench, from the Den my lord," you tried to hold his gaze to not seem as if you were lying through your teeth. The lord gave you a grunt of answer before turning his horse around.

"Come along then. No girl like you should be out here alone." He ordered but you stood your ground

"Forgive me my lord, strange men offering escort in the middle of the woods, not exactly reliable," you made your case "I can find my own way home." With that you ran, abandoning your weapon. You ran through the very well known forests as the Lannister guards wandered deeper into the forest with no avail.

You huffed in exhaustion as you returned home, sweaty and covered in dirt. What was to be a trip to clear your head turned out to be a rat chase. The maids all looked scared for their Lady, for surely if Lord Maerilys saw his daughter in this condition, not only would he have your head but also the gaurds that were supposed to be escorting you.

"You must change, before your father sees you my lady." A man called out, Fredrick Serrert. When you had left the shore he was merely a boy but when he came to receive you, he stood a man grown at nearly six foot three.

Down in the Deep Den's hall, Lord Maerilys. A stubbed, and disgruntled old man greeted their liege lord. Both lord exchanged words of formality before Tywin walked himself to the rear gardens, where a burnt out pyre of ashes remained, still gusts of simmering smoke emitted from it. There laid Princess Elina, he still remembered her face, how young him and his betrothed were when his father had brought him along to their wedding. An elaborate affair, the Dornish princess was set to marry the older Maerilys brother, yet tragedy struck Daven Maerilys and her "condition" (the birth of your brother) left her in choice but to wed the younger brother Loren Maerilys instead.

"They say you look for a wife, Lord Tywin." Lord Maerilys asked, the old lion just nodded in reply.

"I have three. The older one just returned from Dorne, and my two younger one's are yet to bleed but should be of cause my lord." Tywin's face scrunched up in disgust, though his face looked away from Loren, he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Sure Tywin had imposed a marriage on his daughter, but sell out your daughters that young. Then out of the blue, it hit Tywin.

"Kitchen wench." He scoffed under his breath. He hadn't been outsmarted in a while but surely he was looking forward to meeting this Lady as he put a name to the familiar face. He remembered you from the docks

All the Maerilys kids poured out one by one. Olyvar came first, head held high and the spitting Dornish image of his mother, behind him trailed the two younger girls, Nyela and Ellia. They stood in a line as Tywin was introduced to them, he shook the oldest boy's hands and charmingly complimented the little girls on their hair. Then burst through the doors was another, your hurried feet found you standing next to your little sisters, with a toddler in your arms. You gracefully bowed.

"This is my eldest daughter." your father introduced you, every cursed word you could think of you used on yourself internally. You prayed that he would keep his mouth shut about earlier, and thank the gods he did.

"And who might this be?" Tywin gestured at the child wriggling in your arms, your sweet brother you had only seen painted palm prints off in your mother's correspondences

"Harolld Maerilys, my lord." you voice spoke up, a lot gentler then earlier, almost a whisper as you tried to not startle the child.

Tywin that night thought of the proposition Lord Maerilys put forth, there was something about this girl that just made you tick. Tywin wasn't a child that merely beauty would sway him, though you were quite a sight he had seen in a while, full lips, expressive eyes. There was something commanding about you, the way your eyes never left his, your head held high even admist all this sorrow. He saw a gain in this too, an alliance between Martells and Lannisters, you were important enough for them to send you home with Martell sails.

The next morning he made his wishes heard, he would court you for the week he was to reside at Deep Den, and leave with a bride by him.

You were having none of it, a screaming match broke out in the hall. As servants and soldiers turned a deaf ear to them yet again. You had nothing against this wedding but you refused to leave you little sisters behind at the hands of a monster.

"The girls will leave with me to Dorne!" You yelled over your father's voice

"You watch it girl, I could sell you and sisters for a lump sum and no one would bat an eye!" Your father threw back, menacingly nearing your proximity. However you weren't a child anymore, you stood your ground glaring up at your father. His hand shot forward, yanking your head up from the root of your hair making you yelp out in pain.

"Hurt me, go on. My uncles will cut your hands off if I tell them about this." your words were laced in venom and yet the truth. Doran Martell, was viciously protective over you and Oberyn, your sweet uncle Oberyn. You were his sunshine, though he may never see you more than just his little niece, your heart once yearned for more with your Uncle Oberyn. Many whispered at Sunspear that you had given your maidenhead to him and how you wished that were true.

"My lord." Maester Crasden's voice made Lord Maerilys push his angry daughter away, as tears threatened to roll down your face. You sat on the chair with your head on the table, rubbing the spot your father had held onto. Crasden came over, his fingers gently parting your hair to check for injury, you sweet lady would be fine.

"Marry him child." you scoffed at Crasden but he looked at you as if he wasn't finished, he sat down next to you.

"You would be the Lady of Casterly Rock, our liege lady," he cleared his throat before going on "you could order your sisters away to Dorne." His hand patted your cheek "You would hold power, I could not help your mother child. Let me help you."

The old maester's words had sunk deep within you as you began to ponder on the topic of your marriage and finally gave in, other than Tywin's cruelty on the battlefield and politics, there was no account of him ever imposing himself on women, you began to think of if you'd be safe and the only way to confirm your queries would be from the source itself.

You and Lord Tywin had found yourselves in your mothers gardens, you had called for him yourself and Tywin was curious to hear what you had to say.

"I realise how auspicious of a union this is, however I have questions and terms of my own before I agree to this." you kept your voice strong as you voiced yourr feelings on the matter.

"Go on then, my lady." Tywin walked past you to sit down.

"I truly hope that you know my disdain isn't toward you my lord, but merely a worry for my prospects." you stated as you sat down across from him, you didn't want to elaborate further, not wanting to slander your father in front of his liege lord.

"I am aware, my lady" Tywin's stress on the word made you look away. If your mother's troubles had been so known, how come none of these vast noble lords come to her aid.

"You needn't worry about me imposing myself on you" He suggested making you look at him, grateful and confused

"You would be well looked after and eventually sponsored for when the time came for your duties at Casterly Rock." He elaborated further.

"I knew your mother, I have a debt that still needs to be paid." The mere mention of your mother made the your eyes gloss over.

"And I would be safe?" There was a gentle crack to your voice.

"You would be safe." He reassured you, the green of his eyes glinting against the sun.

So it was setttled, Lady Maerilys was to wed Lord Tywin Lannister, ravens flew from Deep Den to Castley Rock, The Red Keep and to Sunspear. The news of this alliance spread through both families, both his children and the Martells were furious at about the wedding but it was done. A small affair at the Great Hall, you wore your mother's ivory dress that was fit to your sizing, that morning your mind nearly changed again as you tried to make a break for the ports but was stopped by Olyvar. If not for yourself then you performed her duties to protect her sisters.

"Father."

"Smith."

"Warrior."

"Mother."

"Maiden."

"Crone."

"Stranger."

"I am hers and she is mine."

"I am his and he is mine."

"From this day until my last day."

A chaste kiss between the two sealed this union. You were now Lady Lannister of Castley Rock, and hell was to pay if anyone tried to hurt you.

next chapter

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

Image drawn by the unreal ElenaStripe, I do NOT own this art (I did however edit it!)

Hello all - this is just a little announcement to all who have/had been reading my first fic, dōnus riñus (sweet girl), that this little fanfiction is officially a series. I have commenced writing the prequel, entitled gevivys (beauty), which tells the story of how Daemon returns to King’s Landing and decides to court and marry you, his younger niece. It’ll be dark and a bit smutty and full of fun UST, so if you like games of cat-and-mouse and Daemon being a creeper simp, this one will be for you!

I don’t want to presume that readers of my original fic will want to read the other stories in this series, so I wanted to take the opportunity now to ask: if you’re interested in being on the taglist for the rest of this series, could you please let me know by commenting on this post? I thought it’d be easier drumming up potential continued readers here rather than wait for the requests to come in when I post Chapter 1. Please do let me know!

And, of course, if you have NO IDEA what I’m talking about, have a read of dōnus riñus (sweet girl) here:

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 │Chapter 11 │Chapter 12 (COMPLETE!)

[rhiawriter]

The Dragon's Cloak

Lyanna Stark always knew she would marry into a southron family to build alliances for the north. But she never guessed the Targaryens would make a hasty proposal, all but demanding the Starks send their only daughter south to marry the Crown Prince Rhaegar. Lyanna travels to King’s Landing, unprepared for a court of scheming vipers and a mad king who delights at tormenting her at every turn. Most troubling of all, Lyanna struggles to understand her fiancé—a charismatic warrior, musician, and scholar, who is obsessed with northern lore and prophecy. The northern lass must become a savy southron princess in order to survive in the midst of a troubled family and a court on the brink of war.

Coming soon! I plan to start posting in the next few weeks.

[mariesdeluluworld]

A Dance of Lions & Wolves

The sounds of screams and the horrific deaths of his family has plagued the Lord of Winterfell. The Old Gods speak to him, while the jaws of Winter ravage his precious Northern Lands, depleting its food stores, killing both low and high born, and with little resources to plant crops and feed his people, Eddard is forced to turn to the South for help, writing to the Reach, Stormlands, Crowlands, Riverlands, and Westerlands. Only one responds, with terms and conditions.

After having prophetic dreams of the fall and ruin of his house, Tywin Lannister has remarried after the death of his second son, and heir Tyrion Lannister, with hopes of having more children to replace Tyrion and kingsguard Jamie Lannister, and prevent the foreseen downfall of his house. In order to restore the pride lands, the lions must work with the wolves to heal their respected territory, however the Stags, Lionesses, Vipers, Krakens, and Dragons are also awakening, threatening the world the Wolves and Lions wish to build. Together, Lion and Wolf must lead the charge and protect their legacy from burning.

285 AC, Westerlands

Prologue: The Raven

Children's laughter brought the Warden of the West from his desk, abandoning the newest correspondence from the wintery wilds of the North, to the open window of his study. Tywin Lannister watched his twins play in their mother’s garden at Casterly Rock with their cousins. He watched with narrowed eyes as the golden haired cubs ran after one another. From what he could hear from his study, the children were playing knights and ladies.

“Fair maiden! I, Lancle Lannister, son of Keven Lannister, am here to rescue you from the tower!” He bowed and little Lancel, ran towards their makeshift tower, wood sword in his hand, as he “charged” the ferocious beast that was a dragon guarding his own daughter, Jeyne. His son, Damon, was the dragon, he wore the costume his twin made him in her lessons with the Septa’s, and he roared and slashed at Lancel.

“Fight me if you dare, little knight, but know, no one has defeated me in all these years I’ve guarded this tower!” Damon slashed his faux claws and Lancel jumped back, as they began their duel. Cousins “fought” while Jeyne shouted encouragement at her cousin Lancel.

“Be careful Ser! Watch from the dragon’s talons!” Jeyne shouted.

Man and beast danced, all while Tywin’s goodsister Dorna and sister Genna, watched the children from their pergola. He watched as his son and nephew fought until Lancel dealt the killing blow. Damon shouted and fell to the ground, making “dying sounds'' as his cousin stood over his dying body, smirking while Jeyne and Twyin’s sisters clapped, applauding the brave knight. Lancel bowed in his aunt and mother’s direction, before climbing the tower to rescue Jeyne.

“Oh Ser! How brave you were, defeating the dangerous dragon! How ever can I thank you?” She played up her role as the defenseless maiden. “My lady, only your favor will do, so I can show the world that I deserved the favor of Lady Lannister!” Jeyne giggled, placing her favor of westerlands roses and primrose, on her cousin’s wood sword.

Damon jumped up from the ground, clapping his hands as he jogged over to his twin and cousin. “You’ve been practicing your sword play cousin!”

“Yes. Yes I have. Was I better than last time?” Lancel questioned, insecurity filling his light green eyes. “Drastically better than last time! This time I had to avoid your blows and your footwork was more solid!” Damon complemented. Lancel thanked his cousin, together, he and Jeyne helped Damon out of the dragon costume. Free from the sweaty fabric, he shook his damp auburn hair. Jeyne shouted as the droplets of sweat splashed in her face.

“Sorry, Jeyne,” He blushed, scratching his head.

“Jeyne, darling, come here,” A tall woman, with auburn hair, wearing a light blue gown with primroses on her hem, walked towards Jeyne, a white handkerchief in her pale, slender hands. She bent down, wiping Jeyne’s face, brushing away her twin’s sweat.

“Thank you, mumma,”

Tywin looked away from the scene, and went back to his desk, leaving his new wife and their twins behind to focus on the letter in front of him. The North, Eddard Stark was writing about possible increase in trading. The winters were brutal and after the Rebellion, everyone in the North was replenishing their storages. However, it was impossible to feed the entire North while creating sufficient storage. Lord Eddard’s people were dying, and he was requesting help. Tywin laced his fingers together, staring long and hard at the Northern Lord’s blocky script. He thought of all the advantages this opportunity brought. Tywin had always wanted to infiltrate the North, and now with a new King in King's Landing, he was free to do whatever he pleased without an paranoid old fool mistaking his actions for treason and shouting for his and his family's heads on a chopping block.

He could finally reach his vision of having a Lannister in all seven parts of the Seven Kingdoms. Winterfell was known to be an impregnable castle, like his beloved Casterly Rock, and from what he could recall from his visit when he was but a boy, the castle was strong and has the potential to be another Rock, with thousands of men on guard. With his influence, Tywin could usher in a new reign of Cregan Stark with Eddard Stark. He could turn the second son into a formidable Lord like his ancestor. Afterall, the man was in mourning. Losing a son in the winter. Tywin huffed out a laugh, it seemed he held the key to Eddard Stark's salvation, or destruction.

With another look at the window where his family played and laughed, Tywin wrote a reply to the North, sealing Lords of winter fates.

[standing-bears-dont-run]

When I was reading A song of Ice and fire I always pictured Mr. Timothy Dalton as Stannis Baratheon. I thought he would have been a perfect Stannis!

To take nothing away from the actor that portrayed him, he did a bang up job. But whenever I read the books or fanfic it's Dalton I see.

Gruff, scowling, hard as stone Lord Stannis. I'd like to think in another universe Dalton did play him.

[visenyadarling]

A Love Between Dragons

Masterlist | Next ❧

SUMMARY: When the little Princess Daenys of House Velaryon was brought into the realm, they all let out their breath when she's in pure Valyrian form with bright hair and eyes. She would then catch the attention of one young prince and just how far they'd go through to stay with each other.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: It's me. Hi! This is my new story and I definitely hope I can finish this as soon as possible and I'm not entirely alright with using High Valyrian language since there may be inaccurate translators. Do you know any translators that are more accurate? Let me know. This is purely an oc story and if that's not your style, I suggest you to leave.

WARNINGS: minors dni because this chapter may not contain sexual scenes or violence but the following chapters definitely will. I believe incest is already a fair warning and advance to all but the characters here are not good people most specifically my ocs and Aemond himself.

WORD COUNT: 2, 182 words "Italic" is in High Valyrian.

Chapter I: Daenys Velaryon

"Tell me a story."

“To lull you to sleep with my beautiful voice?” He smirked at the woman sitting next to him. She nods to his jest and gives the faintest of smiles. Thinking it's enough to loosen her demeaning aura, he folds his hands on his lap and takes a breath.

“Well, to get to the heart of the story, we have to go back to the beginning and by the beginning, I meant the time where a dangerous weapon does things to people. Even the most righteous ones fall victim to it.”

“What weapon was it?” Her eyes brightened up on what could be that defy the hard courses of men and women and his answer intrigues the woman more.

“Love.”

The little girl was only five when she knew what she wanted. Her mother thought it'd be something that'll pass by as the days go. Her father thought it to be sweet and tender, encouraging her to take a step forward. It was only on that day when she burst through the doors and proclaimed with the loudest she could do.

Laenor, her father, didn't know what to say in regards to the matter. He has only heard of her declaration from the witnesses, the King and the Queen themselves. Rhaenyra had to scold her later on. Viserys rather admired the girl's courage but an opposition was made. Alicent also made sure of that.

Marriage is an idea children have no understanding of. Rhaenyra really put an effort in telling her daughter that, to turn those feelings aside and have her be taught about the duty in marrying but Rhaenyra was afraid to ask more of it, having seen the moment all too familiar. 

Daenys Velaryon. Her name slips past her. She was named after the dreamer who had foreseen the doom of Valyria and although Visenya would've been the more personal choice of a name, Rhaenyra felt a good feeling over Daenys and so she took the second choice. She didn't have prophetic dreams however. It may be a disadvantage to most but it saves her from the nightmares. 

When she turned nine, placed in her room like a criminal under house arrest, she is to be expected of grace and delicacy that fit the idea of the perfect princess as being the daughter of the Realm’s Delight puts a lot of pressure on her shoulders but when she turns around, an excitement graces upon her delicate features and so she hikes her skirts up and leaves her mother’s protests of such insolent behaviour from a royalty, making a run for the boy who had called her name. 

As they skim over the disapproving and worrying glances, Daenys catches his arm a little too rough and sends them both on the floor. He groaned in pain as his head made contact against the floor and as soon as he heard her, suffering the same end, he didn't mind the pain any longer. He sits up and puts his hand under her head to help her sit up as well.

“Are you hurt?” This happens so often Daenys had to laugh at the situation. He looked at her questioningly before joining her laughter. They've been like this for the past four years and nothing ever sets them apart. 

When his laughter dies down, it's only when he takes more notice of her. He never questions the girl’s appearance but with her blue eyes looking into his, the frizziness of her white hair and the joy she exudes from her smile is enough to make the young boy fall on the ground again if he wasn’t already sitting on it. In contrast to his green tunic and silver vest that came from the training grounds he had occupied earlier ago, she wears a black long-sleeved dress, filled with ruby jewels on the sides and adorns a ruby pendant around her neck. He thinks her personality towards him alone completes his day but this day is different, it’s the first time he realises how beautiful she truly is. 

The little girl is only nine years old when Aemond Targaryen, in turn, knows what he wants.

However, the moment was ruined when the bigger person strode forward in taking the princess away from him. “You lot need to be careful.” Followed by a chuckle, the thief had raised an eyebrow at the little prince when a scowl was seen on his face against the blonde-haired teenager. The sudden intrusion of one Tycel Lannister, youngest brother of Lord Jason Lannister, means his half sister wants to steal his only happiness away like she usually does.

“We were just playing, Tycel.” The princess pouted and stepped forward to hold out her hand. Aemond took it with no hesitance and locked his eyes at Tycel, glaring at him in a way he'd hoped the lion would scramble away. It didn't work, it only fueled the smug in his mouth. The two boys hold a staring contest over who would yield and if not for the princess patting Tycel on the shoulder, they would’ve continued on for two moons. As Daenys continue to make complaints over Tycel’s intrusion, Aemond stares at her hand.

Through histories and mythological legends, the subtle meanings of actions and words aren’t the things he had an interest in reading, much less poetry but he did know that Daenys patting Tycel on the shoulder and her mouth running to scold him guarantees a win for Aemond.

He couldn’t help the little pride he feels within but it’s tarnished when her hand now travels to Tycel’s arm. Daenys turns her head to Aemond who’s now looking away and smiles, oblivious to the effect of what her little action had made. “We’ll be going now, my Prince.” She bowed her head and nudged Tycel to do the same although begrudgingly so. Aemond bowed in response and held his gaze down even when the two had already departed from the hallway, hand in hand. Something Aemond now realises how much it vexes him.

Daenys pulls herself away from Tycel as soon as they're in her mother's chambers and even her glare hasn't loosened from his chuckle and her mother's scolding. “Oh mother, why do you have to whisk me away?” She dramatically stated with a hand covering her forehead. Tycel walked out of the room, afraid of showing his enjoyment before the future Queen.

“One does not learn High Valyrian in a day, Daenys, but I do insist that you keep learning it.”

“I have been good, have I?” The little girl dropped her stance and looked down on the floor, ashamed.

Rhaenyra sighed and walked towards her daughter.

“You have been good so far but I don’t want you to be running off like that.” She gently took one of her hands and smiled at her. Daenys smiled back and hugged her mother carefully so as not to squish the baby inside.

It’s only a day later when a new member of their family is brought into this world and Daenys looks at her new little brother with wide curious eyes. She walks towards her mother and when she looks at Joffrey, the excitement in her grin lessens when the baby holds dark eyes and dark hair.

When she was no more than four, she had to ask why Jacaerys didn’t look like her, her mother can only say that he inherited the Baratheon side of their eldermother, Rhaenys. She expected the next to be like her and Lucerys came with the exact of the ‘Baratheon’ genes. Afterwards, there’s an infinitesimal part that resides in her brain, that she may be different. Perhaps Daenys didn’t want to ask more of her birth. She couldn’t bear to hear it from her mother but what of the truth or another lie that Daenys would rather, is the question. 

“Why do I look different?” She asked her father on that day, whilst walking down the stairs. Laenor halted his steps and turned his head around to see if anyone could hear them. He stopped to put his hands on her shoulders, keeping a tight-lipped smile.

“If this is about your brothers, Daenys, regardless, you’re still my daughter. Do not worry about how you look, okay?” The little girl nodded but a smile didn’t grace upon her face. It may not be one of those lies her mother had said but it certainly isn’t comforting her either.

She turns to someone else instead, one whom she hopes would at the very least, lift her spirits up. However, it seems she quite often has the worst timing yet.

“Am I a bastard?” She outwardly asked when she entered the room just as Aemond was about to leave it. Her lip quivered when she let out the last word in her question. Aemond held his breath, not just because Daenys is inches apart from him but his sister and mother are in the room, having heard her ask that and before he could say something, his mother already beat him to it.

“Where did you hear of this, my Princess?” Alicent walked towards the children and looked at Daenys who widened her eyes and curtsied.

“M-My qu-” Alicent held her hand up and gave a small smile at Daenys. Although she is Rhaenyra’s daughter and perhaps have shown quite rebellious traits, Alicent is content enough that the little girl has Valyrian features and is one of the people who truly appreciates her son.

“No need to bow, my Princess.” The little girl immediately stood straight up but a little tumble garnered a tight hold from Aemond’s arms. Daenys is still a little girl, after all. Surely, an act of clumsiness would suffice. 

“I didn’t hear it from anyone, my Queen. I..” She stammered and her finger started to scratch her thumb out of anxiety. Aemond looked down and took her hand. Daenys turned her head at Aemond and then at Alicent who’s now looking at their hands. It’s unusual for her to see such an act of affection, something she hadn't experienced in a long time and seeing her son with the daughter of Rhaenyra, fades into a memory. 

“My brothers have dark hair and dark eyes while I do not, my Queen.” She looked down in embarrassment that she ever confided in someone far superior to her standing. She would have waited for Aemond in the library and Daenys bit her lip at the thought of that.

“Please forgive me, my Queen. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Then, Daenys felt herself looking up at the queen when her fingers grazed on her chin. “You do not need to apologise, my dear. You’ve said what you wanted to say but you are not a bastard.”

Alicent truly didn’t think she was born from a certain dishonoured knight. Daenys may have a pale complexion as opposed to Laenor but she believes the girl is of true Targaryen. 

“You are Ser Laenor’s daughter and your brothers are not of his but it doesn’t mean they’re not your family, Daenys. They’re still your blood.” She let go of the little girl’s face and gave her a much wider smile than the last. She turned to Aemond and left the children in the room.

It took a moment for Daenys to register on what the Queen had said to her. She couldn't understand why the Queen made a comment about her brothers to her. It takes two to know the animosity between her mother and Aemond’s but it felt a tad bit comforting that the Queen did something to lift her spirits up.

It also took a moment for Daenys to realise the state Aemond is currently in, right beside her.

“Why do you look so burned?” She didn’t mean to raise her voice but Aemond squinted his eyes, his hope of Daenys passing his battered state by crashing when she looked at him from toe to head.

If Daenys can open up to his mother on a tough subject, he can confide in what had happened at the dragon pit.

“Aegon and your brothers said that they have found a dragon for me. It turns out to be a pig with wings attached to it and they called it ‘The Pink Dread’.” He sneered at the word pig but the anger in his tone diminishes into a sad one. 

It was Aemond’s turn to look away from Daenys and despite him trying to pull his hand away from her, she held onto him. It convinces him to tell the rest of the story and as soon as he finishes, Daenys puts her head on his shoulder, uncaring of the dirt stained on him.

He half-expected her to berate him from trying to burn himself. He half-expected her to run to their brothers and make a scene although eventually, she would do the latter.

Aemond leaned himself into her touch and started tracing circles on the back of her hand, wishing this moment to last forever.

[theredquill]

the three faces of miranda manderly ; the ward of winterfell, the white queen, the wolf’s where

[adarkandmagicalforest]

Silver and Gold Elynor Stark

Princess of Winterfell, the Queen in the North, the Lion's Delight, the Star of the North, the Wolf Queen, the She-Wolf, the Nell

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Birth of Dragons

Pairing(s): Aegon i Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader, Aegon i Targaryen x Rhaenys Targaryen, Aegon i Targaryen x Visenya Targaryen, Rhaenys Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader

Warnings: canon Targaryen sibling in*est

Words:2625

Summary: It wasn’t fair of him to choose a favorite between his sisters. Fearless Visenya, playful Rhaenys and loving (y/n). Above them all he secretly placed (y/n) close to his heart.

Part 2

It wasn’t fair of him to choose a favorite between his sisters. Fearless Visenya, playful Rhaenys and loving (y/n). Above them all he secretly placed (y/n) close to his heart. She was the baby, needed the most protection as she was the youngest. Visenya and Rhaenys agreed on this as well, for she was their favorite and most beloved. Many often speculated that Aegon married Visenya out of duty, Rhaenys out of desire, and (y/n) out of pure love.

With such a sweet demeanor it was a shock to all the day she mounted Balerion. The Black Dread wasn’t phased at all and allowed the third Targaryen queen to climb onto his back She was just a small speck among his black scales. Even he wouldn’t let Rhaenys or Visenya on top of him. He would bare his sharp teeth at either of the sisters if they dared try. Not (y/n). She coaxed him with a soft voice and delicate caress to his nose. (y/n) had her own dragon, an albino that she lovingly named Renoxa. The bond between rider and dragon was a strong one to begin with but (y/n) and Renoxa seemed to always be in such perfect sync with one another. Dragons couldn’t truly be tamed yet Renoxa was close to it. While even Balerion snapped at Aegon a few times, Renoxa would never dare do such a thing to (y/n). She was something different.

She had a way with all matters of beasts. Whether they were dragons or men, she was a beast tamer. In Visenya’s fits of rage, (y/n) was the only one to soothe her anger.

(y/n) was equally fierce though, determined to stay by her siblings’ side no matter what.

When she started showing signs of sickness, the other three Targaryen rulers were quick to forbade her from riding alongside them to conquer the north.

“Really, I’m alright. All of you worry too much.” (y/n) says and once again tries to reach for her armor, but Visenya pushes her aside and back down onto her bed. The youngest didn’t put up much of a fight since she had been vomiting all morning, her energy greatly drained.

Rhaenys shakes her head. “Look at yourself, sweetling. You’re in no shape to be riding.”

Aegon agrees. “She’s right. I’m not about to put you at risk.”

“What risk? We have four fully grown dragons. They’ll give up easily.” (y/n) tries to protest. Large violet eyes beg them to let her come. Normally they would have bent to the will of those lovely Valyrian eyes. No one wanted to risk (y/n) getting hurt though.

“No (y/n). You can barely even sit up. If you were to ride in your state you would fall off of your dragon and to your death.” Aegon firmly tells her. “You stay here and let the maesters tend to you. That’s final.”

Outside their fort they could catch the screeches of Renoxa and the other dragons as they leisurely roamed around their territory, loving the open air and freedom as dragons should have.

With the tone her brother had used (y/n) knew there was no way of making him budge. His rule was law. She looks away from her siblings feeling ever like the petulant child, her fingers fiddling with the dragon head ring she wore. Rubies in the eye sockets glistening in the daylight that crept through the window.

Unable to bear her sister looking so rejected, Rhaenys takes (y/n)’s face in her hands and gives her a kiss on the lips. “Don’t look like that. We’ll be back before you know it. Like you said, we have fully grown dragons on our side. What are direwolves compared to our beautiful dragons?” Her fingers brush away (y/n)’s silvery bangs and she places another kiss on her forehead. “Don’t be upset ñuha jorrāelagon.”

*

It was hard for you to not feel left out as your siblings donned their glorious black armor and set off on their dragons to finish taking over the rest of Westeros. You had been with them through it all, through every battle. You and Renoxa paving the way to Targaryen victory and conquest.

What else were you supposed to do? You could tell that even Renoxa was getting restless. You wanted to go outside and comfort her but the maesters that Aegon had put in charge of your welfare refused to let you out of your chambers. Any other time you would have tried to threaten them, stating that you were their queen and could not be kept locked up but in all honesty you were tired.

You spent most of the time sleeping. Any little thing made you so incredibly tired that you wanted nothing else but to take a long nap. You would sleep for hours and many times you wouldn’t even be aware that you had fallen asleep until you had woken up. It was then that the maesters had started bombarding you with questions. When was your last moon’s blood, when was the last time you had sex with Aegon; questions that had you blushing. You were still young after all. If they had asked the same thing to Rhaenys she would have just smiled and coyly replied without feeling any embarrassment.

When the third week had rolled in of your siblings being absent, the maesters gave you the news that you were pregnant.

The news was quite shocking to you. Of course you weren’t naive enough to not know what happened after sex. Pregnancy was a possibility. You just never thought you would be the first one out of your sisters to become pregnant.

To have a living thing growing inside of you was an odd thought. Your stomach was still flat and showed no signs of there being any baby. When you placed your hands over your stomach though you swore that you felt a heat that wasn’t usually there. Like a fire suddenly lit inside of you. You were going to be a mother. Your child, if they were to be born a boy, would be Aegon’s heir. His first heir.

Smiling slightly to yourself you grow even more antsy for your family to return.

The news that Balerion, Meraxes and Vhagar had been spotted nearing Aegonsfort had you sprinting out to greet them. Maesters yelling after you, you slowed down remembering your condition but walk quickly.

Renoxa is already up in the air, almost as white as the clouds. Even from way up there she spots you and begins her descent. Your hair whips in the gusts she builds up as she lands on the ground, her mighty wings beating against the air as she steadies herself. Her scales were bright, almost to the point of blinding. It was a great contrast when she stood next to Balerion or any of the other dragons. Her blood red eyes gaze at you, unblinking as she gingerly nuzzles your cheek with her snout.

You kiss her giant nose, you could feel her hot breath from her nostrils. Lovely, smooth, scales like priceless ivory. She was a gorgeous creature despite her small size; she was as young as you were after all and was still growing. Renoxa was slightly larger than Vhagar but not by much and no bigger than Meraxes. Still she was perfect to you. Even though your siblings loved their dragons it was nothing compared to your adoration for Renoxa and it showed through your strong bond. You doted on one another. You were as protective over Renoxa as she was over you.

And now you hoped she would be equally protective over your child.

“You must know that I’m pregnant.” Smiling against her snout, a gentle sound vibrates from her barrel of a chest. Yes, she knew.

There’s a cry in the air of a dragon, Balerion’s cry to be exact. They were closer now and you noticed the Black Dread picking up speed as he tilted downward to the earth. Both him and Aegon must be excited to see you.

Renoxa cranes her head, opening her mouth to bellow out a greeting. To others it might have been ear piercing, a sound of horror, but to you it was the sound of utter joy. You grin when Meraxes joins in with Balerion in wanting to see you.

Soon enough the three dragons were shaking the earth as they landed. Normally there would have been a crowd to welcome back the king and queens, but people were still standoffish when all four dragons were together. They made for an intimidating sight. Bannermen cheered at the arrival, the good news of Torrhen Stark bending the knee had already reached Aegonsfort.

Balerion lowers down onto the ground so that Aegon could dismount him.

“(y/n)!” Aegon’s smile is big at the sight of you and you have to control yourself from yelling that you were pregnant. “You look much better! How are you feeling?” His fingers weave through your hair, slightly undoing the braid that the maids had spent a while in designing. His eyes were sparkling as he leaned down to pepper your face in kisses. Sometimes you forgot how young your brother actually was. Being a ruler made him act so much older, but his true age always came out when he was lavishing love and affection upon you.

You giggle and cling to him. Rhaenys was soon to join the two of you while Visenya chose to stand off to the side with her arms crossed yet holding a gentle smile on her otherwise harsh face.

“Oh my (y/n)!” Rhaenys sings and nearly pushes Aegon out of the way to hug you next. Aegon only chuckles and allows his beautiful sister to coddle you. When she took in all of you though her face changed. Not in a bad way, but in disbelief. “Your pregnant.”

Aegon’s eyes grew large at what his sister had said. It wasn’t even posed as a question but a fact. Even Visenya let her arms fall down to her sides. The news must have been a little upsetting to your older sister as she had yet to get pregnant despite being the first to marry Aegon.

Scared to jinx the news, Aegon asks with hopefulness in his tone “Is it true (y/n)? Are you really pregnant?”

Giddy you nod your head uncontrollably. “Yes!”

Rhaenys breaks out into tears. “My sweet (y/n) is going to be a mom!!” She hugs you, refusing to let you go or share you with Aegon.

Even though there was still much left to do, Aegon refused to leave your side during your pregnancy. That is why Aegon put Rhaenys and Visenya in charge of overseeing the rest of what needed to be done in order to truly construct a kingdom for the Targaryens to rule over for generations to come. And you were playing the part of beginning the future generations.

Aegon marveled as your belly grew larger and rounder. He loved showing you off to his new vassals at how much your child was growing and that surely they would grow up to be a strong leader of Westeros. Even other noblewomen who were pregnant as well didn’t have a belly compared to your’s. It worried you at first, the size of your belly. Wasn’t it too large? You would ask Rhaenys if it was normal but she had as much knowledge of being pregnant as you did.

“Perhaps it’ll be an actual dragon.” She teased. Her hands roamed all over your exposed abdomen, feeling the heat coming off of it. Rhaenys pressed her cheek against your swollen belly. “Or maybe you’ll be having two.”

You gawk at your sister. “Two?!”

Her laugh is as clear and tinkling like a bell. “Yes, women can have two at once. It’s not that common but it does happen.”

“Dear gods I hope it’s not two.”

“Regardless of how many you have we’ll love them all the same. Even if you do happen to pop out an actual dragon. It’ll just show the people how strong you and the Targaryen family is.” Quiet in contemplation, Rhaenys kisses your belly. “You have done our family much pride (y/n).”

Regret eats at you for your older sister Visenya. “It should be Visenya who is pregnant. She’s been married to Aegon longer.”

A frowning Rhaenys rolls onto her back next to you on your grand bed. She had forced Aegon away from you so that he could be part in building his kingdom. The only thing that soothed Aegon was the idea that she would be with you. “She has never been happy in this marriage, (y/n). A baby would have made no difference. But yes, I suppose it does sting her a little bit. She knows though, knows out of the three of us you would be the first one to be pregnant with Aegon’s child. He may warm my bed a few nights but at the end of the night he goes back to you.”

“He loves you too, Rhaenys.”

“Oh I know he does sweetling.” She taps your nose dotingly. “But there is one thing that Aegon and I can agree on and that is that we adore you above anyone else. He loves you more than me and I love you more than I love him.”

You curl up against her, you had always found Rhaenys’ heartbeat to be so soothing. Ever since you were a small child you ran to her for comfort. She would always embrace you with ready arms.

And Rhaenys stayed to comfort you during your labor. She never left your side and held your hand as you screamed in pain. Her hair had been braided and pulled back into a bun as to not get in the way as she was assisting with the birth.

Aegon and Visenya had been forced to wait outside and listen to your wails of agony. They had never heard anything like it. At first when you started screaming,

Visenya had gone for her sword with fear that something had happened to you. That maybe an assassin had snuck into the labor room. Aegon had stopped her with a hand to her shoulder and had her wait with him.

You had never gone through anything as painful in your entire life. Many times you had been wounded in battle but no wounds compared to the pain you were in now.

Finally after hours of screaming and pushing, your son was born.

A beautiful baby that screamed much louder than you ever managed to. Hair as fine as white silk. Even if he was covered in afterbirth you wanted to hold him close to you.

But he was taken away before you could even touch him.

“M-My baby. . .” You reach out imploringly to him.

Rhaenys scowls at the midwife. “What’s the meaning of this. Give your queen her baby.”

“I-I’m sorry your grace, but she isn’t finished yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“There comes another baby.”

“WHAT??!!”

“Visemarys and Baelyx Targaryen.” Aegon smiles down at his newborn sons. Rhaenys held your firstborn Visemarys while Visenya awkwardly held onto Baelyx. You were exhausted from giving birth to not one, but two babies and had no energy to continue to hold them.

“How will you tell them apart?” Visenya asks skeptically as she looks from one scrunched up face to the other. “They look the same.”

Right then Baelyx started shrieking out of nowhere, startling Visenya. His older brother merely looked at him, puzzled as to why he was crying. Switching from his crying brother he looks back up at his Aunt Rhaenys and gurgles in delight.

Aegon chuckles. “Well that could be one way.”

[chic-beyond-the-wall]

More medieval dyes for y'all!

[k4marina]

— i. Bloodline || Heart of the Dragon

synopsis: a library that leaves you with more questions than answers

warnings: got canon shit, brief mention of cersie, natural disasters, death, spelling

series masterlist

~ 6.5k word count. i know, its a long one

game of thrones x modern!fem!reader

[gif found on pinterest]

After our breakfast Daenerys told me that there would be a Small Council meeting in the afternoon where I would be able to meet everyone. 

“I have to see my dragons right now, but I will see you at the meeting,” she’d said. “We’ll further discuss everything with the rest of my council, until then you’re free to roam around as you please. I’ll have someone give you a proper tour of the castle within the week.” 

The castle halls were mostly empty, minus the few guards on patrol. Unlike last time, no guard eyed me with suspicion. Rather, they were a bit more cordial, almost like how they’re with Daenerys. I stopped walking as I came to the end of the hall. In front of me were a set of huge double doors. Two small rectangle windows were on either side of the doors, giving a glimpse of what was inside. 

Looking through the glass I could see huge bookshelves filled to the brim with books. Sneakily, I looked back and around me, making sure that no one could see me enter. The library was dim, only like by candlelight and whatever sunlight that could seep through the dark curtains. No one seemed to be inside either, the many tables in the room were covered in a coating of dust rather than books. 

Off to the sides of the room were a small set of stairs that led to the second story of the library. The shelves were labeled well and in High Valyrian, just in a very fancy way, like how Old Westerosi was written out during this time. The subjects ranged on and on, most of which was about Valyrian culture and history. 

The bottom floor of the room was full of Valyrian history and culture. Just by looking at the books inside the shelves anyone could see that they were very old. When I reached the end of the room, I carefully went up the stairs, the floorboards creaking underneath my feet. 

Upstairs, there were far fewer bookshelves than downstairs. A circular table was set in the center of the room and large paintings hung up high on the wall behind it. Walking past the table, I came face to face to the former Lords of Dragonstone. All of the Lords and their families who resided on Dragonstone before the Conquest were there.

On the far left, where the line of paintings began was a family portrait. There was writing engraved on a golden plaque underneath the painting. 

“Aenar Targaryen, First Lord of Dragonstone.

Gaemon Targaryen and Daenys Targaryen.”

Underneath Aenar’s and his two children's names were the names of his many wives, five to be exact. I haphazardly read through the names, most of which were of Valyrian women, a few from different areas of Essos. 

“Vellela Irnoran, that’s most likely from the Free Cities, Naqari Ghe- shit, how do I say this? Ghezihl, oof, that has to be Ghiscari. Jelaehna Vellar..ys.” 

Jelaehna Vellarys. Jelaehna Vellarys. Vel-lar-ys. 

“No fucking way.” 

I squinted, leaning into the painting trying to find some resemblance. She sorta looked like me? But then again, every Valyrian would. The same silver hair, the same deep lilac eyes, the same necklace- 

There, on her neck was the same necklace that hung around my neck. Two dragon heads, red ruby, and a sword. Thinking back to my family's words, I know that the necklace had been passed down for generations, but nothing to suggest that there were more than two. From what I’d been told, there’s one necklace in Volantis and the other with me. 

Maybe, there would be more information here. I glanced over the bookshelves. Unlike the other ones downstairs, these ones were labeled by years. Judging by the lack of BC or AC, it looked like they were written before the conquest. I moved towards the shelf with the oldest year. The bookshelf was filled with what looked like journals and letters. Skimming through, I could see that they were in different sets of writing, but one caught my eye. 

A brown leatherback journal with a red ruby and the initials J.V. I grabbed it and any other books that resemble them and brought them to the roundtable. The first book was a personal journal of Jelaehna written during her time in Valyria. She described her daily life as one of Aenar's wives in the Freehold. It was interesting to learn about what life was like in a once powerful empire that’s nothing more than rubble now. Mid-way into the journal was what really caught my eye. 

This morning, after our morning meal with the family, Daenys came to her father, almost terrified, and told him about her dream. Aenar, confused, calmed her down and told her to explain herself, thinking it was some sort of nightmare. Despite the political stress and pressure of our family possibly losing its position to another house, he still took the time for his children.

Daenys told her father that she’d dreamed of the end of Valyria. At first, Aenar laughed and told her that nothing of that sort would happen. We as well as everyone in Valyria had dragons – even children have dragons. There are so many that we’re completely invincible. How else could we have grown our Empire so far?

However, the look in her eye was enough to convince him. When he confided in his other wives, including myself, he too was convinced of the impending end of our home. Bhaesa, the third wife, claimed that it was just Daenys’ wild imagination and nothing more, that the stress of politics was the cause of such absurdities. But Aenar shook his head and claimed that Valyria would fall and collapse into itself. Flames would erupt from the ground, fire would rain on all of us and our dragons would be able to do nothing.

Everyone went back and forth for what felt like hours however, none of it would deter Aenar. He was fully convinced that his daughter had dreamt of the end of Valyria. When would it happen? Who knows. All Aenar knows is that we must leave urgently. 

The next few pages weren’t as dramatic as the last. According to the journals, Aenar had begun preparations for the entire family's departure. He started selling away valuables and any land we owned in the Freehold. During this Jalaehna had written and received letters from her family. 

Jelaehna, 

I’m writing to you from Volantis! Brother and I had just arrived a few days ago to our new home. We’ve been settling in and adjusting to our new life here. Your goodsister’s have already started strolling through the markets. It seems that there are even more shops here than in Valyria, despite Volantis being smaller. 

Today, brother and I toured our new shop. It’s bigger than what we thought and its forge is doable. If needed we can renovate it whenever we see fit. The shop sits in the main district, besides a bakery that sells very well made bread, cakes, and cookies. Brother is thinking that with maybe a few months of more work, we’ll be ready to start our shop. We’ve already received a few orders!

Enough of that, I’ve heard from Mother that your husband has lost his mind. She tells me that his daughter had dreamt that Valyria had been submerged into flames. Is this true? If it is, I will come down to Valyria myself so I can talk some sense into him. 

I understand that the Empire politics are not for the faint of heart and that Lord Targaryen is in a tough position, seeing how your rival house is gaining more support than Aenar, but to take such drastic measures for a simple dream? Don’t worry, if need be, we’ll help him in the upcoming council meeting. 

I’ll write to you again when everything has finally settled. Perhaps you and your son can visit us in Volantis, I’m sure he’d be excited to meet his cousins again. Don’t trouble yourself with Aenar or Daenys’ drea., I’ll have father come and talk to him.

With Love, 

Your Dear Brother.

Son? 

From what I remember, Aenar only had one son, right? Though, if he had multiple wives then he’d have more than one child, but none other than Gaemon the Glorious and Daenys the Dreamer were written down in the Targaryen family tree. 

And the shop, by its description it's exactly where my family's first shop was located. Could it be the same shop? I groaned, rubbing my eyes. If only I were in Volantis more, then I would have been able to learn more about our family history. 

The next few pages were mainly her daily activities with the occasional “I think my husband has gone mad. He’s started to sell all our lands and belongings.” Though, that wasn’t all of it.

We’re finally leaving. 

Aenar has worked tirelessly for most of the year on selling away our belongings and lands. It seems that there’s no turning back any longer. His wives and I agree that he’s lost his mind, however he claims that what he’s doing is for the good of our family, for our children. 

A few of his wives protested, claiming that if he left then they’d stay in Valyria. However, Aenar was quick to rebut. No matter what, everyone is to leave. He’s even thinking of bringing a few servants that can tend to our dragons to our new home. 

I feel that the reason why so many are upset is because of how far we’re moving. It’s not that we’re moving to Volantis or all the way to Bravos. We’re moving to Dragonstone, the lone castle on an island in the Narrow Sea by the continent Westeros. We’re practically moving our entire life to an unknown land. We leave in a few hours, all the dragons have been prepared for our departure. Anyother belongings that would weigh down our dragons, or wouldn’t fit, were sent over by boat. 

Whatever this is, I can only pray to Tyraxes that this will only benefit our family and children.

~

We’ve arrived on Dragonstone. 

The journey lasted roughly four days. We stopped when we had to sleep, eat, and stretch our limbs. Our last stop was in Bravos. The small city seems to be developing fine. I’m sure within the years Bravos will become a place of influence not only in Essos, but perhaps Westeros as well. 

When we landed on Dragonstone, we were surprised to see a small Valyrian village in the hills. They too were surprised to see us. Apparently, when Dragonstone was first created, almost two hundred years ago, a small group of people were left behind to maintain the castle and the land around it. The castle itself is not what we had imagined. It’s spacious with multiple floors, and it’s littered in dragon motifs and writing in Valyrian. 

As of writing this, Aenar and Gaemon are arranging where to put our belongings and are checking everything has arrived well and on time. During all of the planning, Gaemon has helped his father a lot. It's nice to see as a mother when your child and husband spend time together. Daenys is tending to her dragon Balerion. Compared to the older four dragons, Balerion seems to be growing well and will most definitely be a strong dragon. The other wives are either touring the castle or they’re resting in their chambers. 

Hopefully our new life on Dragonstone will do us and our children well.

I reread the same words over and over again. Surely, what I was thinking wasn’t a stretch. I mean, if anyone else were to read this they would agree as well, right? If only I had the journals before these ones to know for sure. 

The next few hours I was immersed in the entries about the Targaryens familiarizing themselves with their new homes and what their new life was like. It seemed that along the years, Aenar had other children with his wives though, some of them died during infancy. Pages and pages were filled with Jelaehna’s thoughts and her daily activities. It really put into perspective how even all these years back people were just like us. Sure, time’s may have changed but simple things that people enjoy to do have not.

They were right. It finally happened. 

Ever since I heard the news my body had been completely numb for many reasons. 

Valyria is no more. Our once beautiful home is now nothing but ruins. Its beauty, its culture, its people will never be seen in this world ever again. Ever since we were told of this, I keep finding myself praying to all the Gods in the world that it’s not true, that it’s nothing but a sick sick joke. But it’s not. 

This morning I received a letter from my brothers in Volantis informing me that Valyria was destroyed by a chainreaction of all its volcanoes setting off, one after the other causing the earth and the sky to shake so violently that it was felt in Volantis. Volcanic fire rained down onto our Valyria, burning everything in sight. The smoke and fire from it is visible from Volantis and it most likely will be for the next few weeks, possibly months – a looming reminder of the death of the most powerful empire on the planet. 

My brothers also tell me that no one has survived, not even the dragons that would soar high in the sky. Who knew that we would be burned by the very same fire we were forged from. 

There’s a hole deep in my heart. 

Not only have I lost my home, but I have also lost my family. My mother and father, my two brothers and their wives and children. I have cried so much that I am unsure if I have any more tears left to cry. My sorrow is slowly being replaced by anger. Anger that this had to happen. Anger that none of the empire's best scholars were unable to predict this. Anger towards the Gods for destroying those who  worshiped them so greatly that we built temples that reached the skies. Anger that all those people laughed at us when we left instead of leaving with us. 

The entire castle is in mourning. Daenys is distraught that her dreams had came true and that only she was the one who had dreamt of the end of our home. 

In the end, we’re the last of Valyria. We’re the last Dragonriders. 

We are all alone.

The wore out paper was warped in some areas, the ink smudged as if small drops of water had been dropped on it. The paper was smooth under my fingers, if I pressed my fingers deeper into the paper I could feel where the tip of the quill was pressed in too deep. 

A wave of sorrow washed over me as I reread the words. I could feel myself, again, mourning a land that I had never seen, that my family had never stepped foot on for hundreds of years. Of course as I got older I always wondered what could have been if Valyria lived or if my family had never left. I could feel this woman's anger and pain, a woman I’d never met but felt so connected to, I could understand how she could feel totally alone in this world because I am too. I have no one. No family or friends. I don’t know how to go back to my time, or if I can even go back. What if I died in that cave when I was brought here? 

I drew in a deep breath, collecting myself and reading through the last of the journal entries. The last entry was about Gaemon and Daenys’ wedding. They had married in the ways of Old Valyria, surrounded by their family and members of House Velaryon, who the Targaryens had befriended a few years after the doom. 

I must admit, I have not felt such happiness since the birth of my son. Today was the union of Daenys and Gaemon. Their wedding was a small intimate affair with just family members and members of House Velaryon. Daella, Lord Velaryon’s wife, had congratulated me and gifted Daenys a beautiful dress. When she saw it, her eyes blew wide and she could stop smiling. 

As a mother, watching your child get married is an entirely different kind of joy, one that makes your heart ache from happiness and from the realization that our children are growing up. Now, Gaemon will start his own family with Daenys and their children will carry on the Targaryen names. 

I could feel my fingertips buzz. So I was right. Jelaehna was Gaemons mother. Which means she’s both Daenerys and I’s ancestor. She has to be the link between us. 

“My Lady,” I let out gasp, my head snapping back towards the voice. Behind me, a guard stood by the staircase. “Her Grace requests your presence.”

“Uh, yes. One moment, please.” I rearranged the books on the table, grabbing Jelaehna’s journal and the letter from her brothers. 

The guard made space for me to pass him and step down the stairs before leading me to where Daenerys was. The double doors opened wide and I was met with five pairs of eyes. Daenerys smiled at me, beckoning me over with her hand to stand beside her while the other four in the room eyed me with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. 

It was clear that some didn’t expect another Valyrian looking woman to be on Dragonstone. There were three men, one of which was of dwarf stature, and one woman, all wearing a three headed dragon pin. 

They have to be Daenerys’ small council. 

“This is Y/n Vellarys. She will be joining us in my quest for the throne,” Daenerys said as if there was no room for arguments. 

“Y/n, this is Missandei, my closest companion. Grey Worm, he is the commander of the Unsullied. This is Lord Varys, Master of Whispers, and Lord Tyrion Lannister, my Hand.” 

Out of everyone, Missandei was the one who looked the least confused at my sudden intrusion. Daenerys must have told her about me, but I don't know how much. 

“Vellarys,” my eyes shifted towards Tyrion. “I apologize, My Lady, but I don’t believe I have ever heard of your house.” 

I nodded. “It’s, uh, not from Westeros. My family is from Volantis.” 

Me mentioning Volantis caught Varys’ interest. “Volantis? You wouldn’t be referring to the Vellarys of the Old Bloods, My Lady?” 

“I am.” I replied, catching a few people off guard. 

Tyrion looked over at Varys for him to explain. “The Old Bloods are families in Volantis who can trace their lineage directly back to Valyria. They’re very powerful and influential people.” 

“You seem to know a lot about my house.” I say. I could feel his eyes bore into mine. Clearly, to a man like Varys, who himself is a mystery, even to Daenerys, meeting another mystery is almost threatening.

“Not as much as I presume you do,” despite his words being somewhat nice, I felt that there was an underlying message behind them. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, exactly why are you here? From what I’ve heard from my little birds, the Vellarys have shown no interest in Queen Daenerys.” 

“I’m here for the same reason as you,” I said. “To make Daenerys queen. Take back the throne from the usurpers and bring back the Targaryen dynasty.” 

I guess my touching words moved Grey Worm a bit since his frown softened. But despite that Varys still didn’t let up. 

“And how can we know you’re to be trusted? We know nothing of you. You’re a complete stranger.” 

“Varys,” Daenerys warned. 

I moved my hand a bit in front of Daenerys, cutting off her words. “You make a fair point. Yes, I am a stranger… to you. But to Daenerys,” I turned towards her. “We can say we’re long lost relatives.” 

 Daenerys frowned, “what are you saying?” 

“I found these,” I held up the book and letters that were in my hand. “In the library. They belong to Jelaehna Vellarys, one of Aenar Targaryens wives that he brought to Dragonstone after Daenys the Dreamer predicted the Doom of Valyria. She was also the mother of Gaemon the Glorious.” 

Daenerys’ face contorted from confusion to shock. I handed off the journal to her, showing her where the evidence was. After reading it, she handed it off towards the others. I also handed her the letters between her and her brothers in Volantis. Varys looked up from the evidence, in his hand, at me looking gobsmacked.   

“There’s only one Vellarys family that has ties to Valyria and lives in Volantis. Everything I’ve been told about my ancestors matches with what’s written in there.” 

Everyone read over the letters and journal pages, making sure what I was saying was true. I could see their faces shift from surprised to confused. 

“Then why didn’t you seek out Her Grace before now?” Missandei asks. “I’m sure you’d heard of her presence in Essos. Why did you wait this long?” 

Everyone except Daenerys looked at me waiting for my answer. “Does it matter? I’m here now, aren’t I? Besides, I doubt there was much I could do back there. The Gods have brought me here to help Daenerys now, surely there has to be a reason why, right? And I could say the same about Lord Varys. You’ve known about Daenerys the longest out of everyone here, yet you decided to join her side now and not back then.” 

Varys looked a little taken aback that he’d be called out. Did I feel bad about it, sorta. As much as good the man has done and will do in the upcoming events he still betrayed Daenerys and I’m sure my arrival has ruffled some of his feathers. 

“Ah, yes.” Varys said,  “I suppose you make a fair point.” 

Seeing that the conversation had ended for now, Daenerys spoke up. “Now that all is out of the way, I’m sure that you all know why we’re all here – to take back my throne. Grey Worm, what is the condition of the Unsullied and Dothraki?”

The commander straightened his back as he reported to his Queen. “The Unsullied have been training well, as well as the Dothraki force. They have been participating in drills and sparring with one another since we have arrived.” 

If I remember correctly, the Unsullied are elite warriors from Astapor who have been trained since they were children. However, their armor and weapons don’t seem to reflect their ferocity. 

“What about armor and weapons?” I ask. 

Grey Worm looks at me confused, “our armor and weapons are fine, My Lady. Their spears are in great condition and the Unsullied take great care of their armor.”

“I know that. I’m just wondering if you think that fighting against the Gold Cloaks and the Kingsguard in leather armor and a singular plate of steel and a spear is a good idea.” Something that always rubbed me the wrong way was the fact that these elite warriors weren’t given better armor or weapons afterall, every great warrior needs equally great weapons. 

Grey Worm frowned, offended by my words. “If you are trying to say that our men are not as good as those of Kings Landing, then you are highly mistaken.” 

I shook my head. “That’s not what I’m saying. All I’m saying is, isn’t it better to get just as great armor and weapons for your warriors? We have to take into account what kind of men are under Cersie Lanninster and plan accordingly. Obryn Martell was known as Dornes Viper. He was the best with whatever weapon his hand could reach, especially a spear. But he died a gruesome death at the hands of The Mountain.” Tyrion visibly swallowed at the thought of the man who had fought for him when he was on trial for Joffrey's death. “We have to be vigilant with the lives of our men. The Dothraki can’t properly fight in the streets of Kings Landing, but the Unsullied can. And on top of that, you’ll be fighting in unknown territory, you’ll need whatever protection you need.” 

Grey Worm seemed to mull over my words, slowly coming to terms with them. Daenerys as well seemed to agree with me. “That isn’t a bad idea. We’ll have to find a way to gather supplies to create new armor for the Unsullied.”

The next few hours were spent talking over things I had no idea about so I kept mostly to myself, chiming in whenever I felt that it was necessary. Throughout the meeting I could feel the others looking towards me, almost analyzing me, especially Varys. For such a passive looking man, he had a threatening glare. It was less of a “I will kill you” kind of stare and more like looking into the eyes of a psychopath where just his stare is enough to make you question yourself. 

If this meeting has made one thing clear is that my position in this world is still questionable. Not just logically, but also physically. Just because Daenerys trusts me (to what extent, I don't know) doesn't mean that everyone else will. From what I’ve noticed, Missandei won’t be as hard as expected, maybe a bit of smooth talking will be enough to show her that I’m not an enemy. Grey Worm is also in the same boat as Missandei, I just don’t know if my armor comment rubbed him the wrong way or not. 

Getting Tyrion on board will most likely be a game of witts or a game of who can down the most glasses of wine. I remember reading about Tyrion's life after Daenerys’ death. Apparently, he had started to deteriorate –drinking all day and night, spending days, almost weeks, in brothels, a real downward spiral. Of course, this destructive lifestyle caught up to him and within a few years, death was knocking on his door. Before passing, he wrote in his diary. If I remember rightly, he claimed that this downward spiral was his atonement for his sins against Daenerys. After the betrayal he suffered by his liver Shae, he said that he slowly started to lose himself, even after meeting and joining Daenerys. 

It was speculated that when they came back to Westeros he mentally fell back into the hole that he had tried to climb out of. In all honesty, I couldn't blame him too much.

Imagine coming back to King’s Landing after your sister, who’s abused you your entire life, tries to kill you for the murder of her son even though you didn’t do it, and then your father says he’ll “help” you meaning, “i’m sending you to the wall, loser, have fun freezing” as a sure way of getting rid of you, and then your lover, who was supposed to be your ride or die, betrays you and gives a false testimony that basically just signs your death warrant, and then after all that bullshit you live and decide confront your father, only to find your “lover” in his bed.. 

Yeah, if I was him, I wouldn’t want to come back to King’s Landing. 

I let out a sigh, craning my head back to relieve some tension, only to catch Varys looking directionally at me through my peripheral. 

Varys. 

He was an interesting man. Even after all these years, there’s practically the same amount of information as there was when he was alive. People have speculated that he’s a Blackfyre or a fucking merman, though, there isn’t much to that theory. However, one thing is true; he is not loyal to Daenerys. 

It’s highly suspected that because of him Missandei was captured which led to her execution. He also tried to poison Daenerys and sent letters to the nobel houses where he exposed Jon Snow's true identity. All in all, he’s someone I have to watch out for. Not only for my safety but also for everyone else. 

“Y/n?” 

My eyes shifted towards Daenerys, “hm?” 

“Is everything alright?” She asks. 

I nod. “Yeah, just thinking.” 

If I want to help Daenerys, I’ll have to use everything I know from my time to change upcoming events. Meaning…

“Cersie has scorpions.” 

Confusion washes over everyone's faces. 

“Scorpions,” Tyrion repeats, “like the poisonous insect.” He makes a crawling motion with his hands, imitating a scorpion. 

I shake my head. “No, not those. Scorpions. The things that took down Rhaenys and Meraxes.” I lock eyes with Daenerys, who seems to be understanding. “Cersie is mass producing them so that she can take down the dragons.” 

A look of horror came across everyone's faces as the realization sunk in. Daenerys’ dragons were her trump card, everyone knows that, she brought them back from the dead. So the fact that Cersie has a weapon that could bring them down left an awful taste in everyone's mouth.

“That's preposterous,” Varys says, catching everyone's attention. “I haven't heard of anything like this. How do we even know that what you're saying is the truth.” 

“Just because you haven’t heard of it yet doesn't mean it's a lie.” I say. “And who knows, by the time you’ve learned about it, one of Daeenrys’ dragons might have an arrow in its skull.” 

“Your Grace, are you sure that we can even trust this information?” Varys says in his sweet condescending voice. He stares down at her, waiting for her answer. 

Daenerys takes in a breath, looking between Varys and I. “How sure are you?” She asks, looking into my eyes. 

“Very. You know I have no reason to lie to you,” I reply. 

“Very well.” She subtly nods. “I trust you.” I let out a small smile and Varys tries his best to hide his annoyance. 

“If Cersei does have these scorpions, then how do we protect the dragons?” Missandei asks. 

“I’m thinking the same,” Tyrion agrees. “If these scorpions can kill a dragon like Meraxes, then you can just imagine what kind of damage it would do to the ones we have now.”

“There has to be something in here that will tell us how to train the dragons. This castle is littered with libraries. Surely, there is something that will give us a one up on the scorpions.” Daenerys said.

“I’ll make sure to keep my eyes open.” I replied. I was already going to go back to read some of the other journals. And seeing how the library was more of a family only kind of place, I’m sure there has to be something useful.

After wrapping up the meeting, an hour later, it’s just you and Daenerys in the council room after she’d dismissed everyone but you. She looked like she was in deep thought, going over the events of today, and most likely yesterday. 

“You’re tense.” I say. 

She sighs, slowly releasing the tension, and rubs her face. “This has been so…” 

“Confusing.” I finished. “Yeah, I get it too.” 

She shook her head, most likely in disbelief. “Not once did I think that any of this could be possible.”

I softly chuckled, nodding. “Me neither. But then again, if Dragons can exist then I guess anything can be possible.” 

Daenerys smiles, agreeing with me with a chuckle of her own. Her eyes travel down to the journals on the table. “Is it true?” 

I hummed. “There’s even a painting with all of the wives and she’s front and center with the same hair and eyes and necklace.” 

“Gods,” she says. “So this means we’re…” 

“Cousins. Well, distant cousins.”

She huffs, “very distant.” 

“Yeah,” I laugh. “A lot of distance.”

Silence washes over us again as we go over our thoughts. 

“Why are you doing this?” 

I frowned, looking at her now. “I told you. I want to help you win the Iron Throne.” 

“Yes, I know that. But why? Won’t this change everything in your time?”

She’s not wrong. There've been countless movies, shows, and books about time travel where all anyone could talk about was to “not change anything in the past, otherwise there would be consequences in the future,” or something like that. 

“My time… just because it’s the future doesn’t mean it’s the best. Especially for a woman.” My face hardened. “It seems that no matter what we do, we’re always questioned and looked down on. We’re selfish if we want to focus on ourselves and our career rather than being a wife and mother. But then we’re low and shallow if we want to settle down with a man and stay at home to take care of the kids. No matter what, we can’t win.” 

“Rhaenyra didn’t win the throne even after being named heir by the King. She was questioned and overruled by her stepmother and half brother, despite having every right to ascend the throne. All because she was a woman.” I remember when I learned about the Dance of Dragons and how it all left a bad taste in my mouth. I remembered how all the boys in my class laughed at her, claiming that she would’ve been a worse ruler than the drunkard rapist, Aegon. “Even after all these years, nothing has changed. When I first started to learn about the history of Westeros, I always told myself that if I could change anything, no matter the consequences, I would do what I could to put a true Queen on the throne.” 

Daenerys’ lilac eyes looked into mine. I could feel her emotions without having to exchange any words because they were just like mine. Despite being from separate times, nothing has changed. No matter what, a woman has truly never won. 

“Somehow, the Gods have given me the chance to do what I’ve always wanted to do. I don’t care what the consequences are in the future. Besides, I don’t even know if I can return back to my time.” 

Silence fell over us. I stared out the window behind her, watching as the clouds passed by. Despite being here for only one day, I couldn’t help but feel that all roads towards my time have been severed. As if the Gods were telling me that there is no way back, no matter how much I might try. 

I’m pulled out of stupor when I feel a warm hand on top of mine. Daenerys gives my hand a squeeze. She looks at me with a mixture of sympathy and understanding. We’ve both lost a lot, all in a short time. In another world, she’d be living in Kings Landing with her family. Aneys would have never been pushed to madness, her mother wouldn’t have died in labor, Rhaegar wouldn’t have been killed at the trident, and Viserys would have grown up looking up to his older brother while also looking out for his younger sister. She would have grown up as she should have. 

“Thank you,” she says, giving my hand another squeeze. “I know all of this is very confusing, but thank you for helping me. Hopefully, your contributions will have a positive effect in the future.” 

I gave her a smile, “you don’t have to thank me, Daenerys. I would’ve helped regardless of the outcome. It’s your family's throne, not the usurpers.” 

—-

The castle grounds were amazing. It really puts into perspective how powerful and massive it is when you’re trying to take a tour of the place. Currently, we were in the south end of the castle where the soldiers would train. The courtyard is spacious, and like the rest of the castle, is dark and gray and littered in dragon motifs. 

“It seems that they’re in the middle of a training session,” the servant who’d been giving me the tour siad. We stood off to the side so we wouldn’t distract them, but considering they are the Unsullied it really didn’t matter what we did, as they would never lose focus.

“Are you enjoying the tour, My Lady?” Gray Worm asks as he approaches us. The Servant politely nods towards him and fades back to give us some space. 

“It has its highs,” I reply. “I’m not interrupting here, am I?”

“No, My Lady. You’re fine.” I looked towards the Unsullied training. “They’re great warriors.”

“Thank you,” Gray Worm nods his head. “Would you like to look closer?”

“What?” I shake my head. “No, no. You guys are busy. I’m already taking your time, I shouldn’t take anymore.” 

“No, please, I insist.” Before I could say anything, I caught a look in Gray Worm’s eyes. Is this a test? To see how I’d act around weapons? Of course, just because Daenerys has welcomed me with open arms, doesn't mean everyone fully has either. 

“Alright. Lead the way.” 

He holds his arm out and helps me down the stairs and leads me to the training grounds. We went past the archer’s, all of whom hit the bullseye every time. Then past the soldiers sparing one another. Most of them were fighting with spears and shields. If I had remembered correctly, their armor and shields were far more extravagant then what they had now. I made a mental note to talk to Daenerys about it.

Lastly, I was shown to the armory. It was a grand room, stocked with swords, shields, spears, and bow and arrows, as well as pieces of armor. A lot of it looked like it was Valyrian, most likely belonging to the Targaryens. 

“This is what was left of the Targaryen armory after the Baratheons fled the island.” Gray Worm explains. He points out certain pieces and explains what they are. 

“Fucking hell,” I mumbled, getting a closer look. “Not once did I think I’d be here of all places.” My eyes raked over the endless amount of weapons, taking it all in. No way any museum could beat this.

“Would you like to spar?” Gray Word asks, catching me off-guard. 

“Me? I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I shake my head. 

“You were not taught?” He asks. 

I shake my head again. No actually, where I’m from we don’t fight with swords anymore. “Never had an opportunity to.” 

He goes quiet for a second and I think that he’s dropped it, but he surprises me when he speaks up again. “Would you like to learn?” 

“I don’t think I’d be a good idea. Besides, aren't you supposed to start learning at a young age? I’m pretty sure my ship has sailed,” I joked. Gray Worm slightly frowns at my “odd way” of speaking. 

“That may be true however, anyone can learn at any age.” He looks between the swords and then me. “So, would you like to learn?” 

It wasn’t a bad idea in hindsight. This is Westeros during the Game of Thrones Era. Practically everyone dies if they’re not prepared and I can’t take any chances here if I want to make it back to my time without a scratch. 

“Alright. I do.”

a/n : finalyyy it's here. i know it's a long one, but i had so much that i wanted to write. i'll try to keep the next few chapters a little light, but no promises lol. feel free to comment your thoughts and do all that other stuff <;3

comment it u want to be on the taglist !!

taglist :

@wotcherpeak @music-luver25 @your-favorite-god @radiantdanvers @cluelessteam @ministark @laanswife

[lunagb]

A Plague of Sleet and Rot (ASoIaF x The Walking Dead fanfic)

BOOK 2 - A Road of Snow and Grime

Chapter 11: Just a boy

Masterlist

Relationships: Daryl Dixon x Carol, Rick Grimes x Lori Grimes, Carl Grimes & Sophia, Jon x Andrea, Jon x Beth Greene

Summary: A month has passed since Jon Snow awakened on a highway outside of Atlanta and joined Rick Grimes and his fellow survivors. His memories of his death have returned and our alien world is beginning to make a bit of sense. Ever since the loss of the CDC, surviving in the apocalypse has been a daily struggle. The group is on thin ice. Supplies are dwindling. Hope is fading. The dead are walking. And their only chance for life may be a run-down farm, an old man and his daughters.

Chapter Summary: Jon heads out on an expedition to the McMillian farm to scavenge sheets of tin roofing, a material needed for the construction of their wall. All should go smoothly. That is, unless the dead have nothing to say about it.

Time Frame: Farm Arc - Original Variation

Featured Characters: Jon Snow, Bowen Marsh, Ghost, Mormont's Raven, Rick Grimes, Carl Grimes, Lori Grimes, Daryl Dixon, Carol, Sophia, Dale, Glenn Rhee, Andrea, T-Dog, Edwin Jenner, Shane Walsh, Beth Greene, Maggie Greene, Hershel Greene, Randall Culver,

Warnings: gore, vivid descriptions of dead bodies, child mutilation, graphic violence, death, murder, active combat, descriptions of armed warfare

[Art above is a piece by Art.of.Azrael. You can support them here: https://linktr.ee/Art.of.Azrael ]

Any notes are appreciated!

Off in the distance, faint voices kicked up unrelenting pandemonium.

“Beth, the plastic bag!”

“Got it!” A faint figure scrambled in the corner of Jon’s eye.

A broad chest pressed against Jon’s back. Two huge arms squeezed the air from Jon’s lungs. Jon didn’t need air. Just his feet to close the distance and his arms to swing the blade. Nothing else. The dead-eyed coward couldn’t manage so much as to look him in the eyes. His tangled, greying hair dangled over his round, wrinkled, red face. The hair hid him but it couldn’t protect him. Jon drove his elbow into the chest behind him and the heel of his boot into a shin.

“Mother fucker! Fuck off, you crazy asshole!” The huge arms crushed him.

Jon tightened his grip on Longclaw and drove the pommel into the other side of the chest. Somewhere far away, someone grunted. The arms didn’t let go.

“Fuck off, Jon!”

“Let him go. It’s okay,” the dead-eyed coward said.

“Fuck you both!”

Another distant voice shouted. “Wrap it around, all the way, nice and tight!”

Another sobbed. Another pleaded.

Andrea’s face filled Jon’s vision, sporting the scorn of a winter’s storm. “Cut this shit out, now!”

She needed to move. They all needed to move. They were in his way. They were in Longclaw’s way. None need die. Only the coward. Jon saved her from Longclaw’s wrath. A clean headbutt to the forehead sent her staggering out of his path. He couldn’t reach the boy with the glasses. He’d have to move on his own. Sam’s arms crushed Jon again.

A fire raged deep inside his chest. An inferno coursed through his arms. He’d have broken free if the world didn’t flip onto its side.

The ground raced to meet him and hit him like a battering ram. Everything warbled; the distant voices, the stench of rot, the chilled touch of grass and earth, the metallic sting on his tongue, even sight itself. The fire died. Blood filled his nose and gushed down the back of his throat. His stupid, fingers released Longclaw. He snatched for it but Andrea’s kick sent the valyrian blade skidding across the grass. A knee dug between his shoulder blades and the weight of the world pressed down on him. The warbling stopped.

“Don’t hurt him you fucking asshole!” Andrea’s voice shouted as loud as if she were inside his ear.

“Fuck off, he’s out of fucking control!”

“Get off him!”

The weight of the world shifted ever so slightly.

“Crazy bitch, don’t push me! He just headbutted you! And he’ll do fucking worse to them!”

Jon turned his head. The grass and mud shifted from his face and forehead to his cheek. The coward’s dead eyes had vanished. Tears streamed rivers down his wrinkled cheeks.

“No right,” Jon wheezed. “You have… no right.”

The coward buried his face in his hands. “I know…”

“Shut up!” The boy with glasses yelled. His grip on the blood-stained axe tightened. “Leave him alone, asshole!”

“Get him under control!” Hershel shouted. “We need to get her back right now!”

“You hear that, kid?!” The weight of the world drove between Jon’s shoulder blades. “Calm the fuck down!”

“He needs to die.” Jon fought to rise but only managed to jam Sam’s knee further deeper.

Glenn crouched before him, blocking the coward from sight. “Jon, look at her, man.” Glenn’s voice wavered. “She’s dying…”

Jon turned his head. Grass and dirt scraped his face.

Tape bound a plastic bag to her stump. Blood soaked a damp towel within the plastic bag. Hershel held her twig-thin arm up in the air. Her dark skin was turning the colour of ash and rot. Two glassy eyes gazed at nothing. She trembled all over. A mountain of a man knelt over her. For all his muscle and strength, while confronted with horror before him, he wielded as much power as Jon did beneath the weight of the world. Stroking her thick, black braids, he stared at Jon with pathetic, teary eyes.

“Please,” he whispered. “Whatever this is, can’t it wait? Please…”

“Wait?!” The boy with glasses shouted. “He wants to kill him, Tyreese!”

Tyreese’s face turned to murder. “Shut the hell up, Chris! This is my fucking daughter!”

“And she’s my girlfriend!”

As their arguing roared, Beth knelt before Jon. “Whatever this is, it can wait, right? We can discuss it with the others, back at the farm, where it’s safe. Please, Jon. She’ll die if we don’t get her back. She’s only our age. She’s only a kid.”

The weight of the world squeezed the strength from Jon’s body. Pain seized all that strength once occupied. It took hold of him, squeezing and twisting his chest, stomach and side, his cuts and scrapes, his bruises and scars. It caused tears to fill his eyes. “Aye… okay.”

Hershel’s voice dominated all. Yet, for all its force and presence, it faded off into the distance once again. The world blurred. Hard-packed ground returned to his feet and moved beneath them of its own accord. Sam’s huge hand dragged him by the arm. Through the haze, the coward remained clear. Him and the boy. Another stupid, naive boy.

***

They sat around the living room. All of them; yammering on about nothing at all. Jon sat in the corner, wiping his dagger with a cloth and trying to ignore his pain. It wouldn’t stop. Always stabbing. Always nagging. It played games. It would fade, provide a heartbeat of relief only to return with a vengeance. Pain was a petulant child and Jon wouldn’t pay any mind to its tantrums. Ghost lay at his side, watching them all. When Jon ran his fingers through his shaggy, white fur, the pain dulled. If only for a moment.

“Will she stabilise?” Rick sat on an ordinary seat like everyone else, not at either head of the group of chairs, but amits the group in an ordinary spot. As if it would somehow make him less of a leader.

Hershel wiped his face. “I’ll be straight with you, without antibiotics, this girl won’t see the end of the week.”

Every single pair of eyes snapped to Hershel and the living room plunged into silence.

Shane’s voice rose. “The hell you mean, without antibiotics?”

“Dad, we ain’t out. Are we?” Maggie leaned forward and gripped her father’s arm.

Hershel and Rick’s joined silence spoke volumes. Glenn shifted in his seat and Maggie glared at him.

“For how long?” she snapped.

“A couple days…”

Lori’s balled fists. “I thought we were done with secrets?”

“It wasn’t meant to be a secret,” Rick said.

“Bullshit, man,” Shane said.

“Shut the fuck up, Shane! It wasn’t a secret. We… we were waitin’ on the right time to tell y’all. That’s all.”

“That’s what you said last secret,” Dale muttered.

“You should have told us right away, man! What kind of leader lies like this?!” Shane said.

“What possible reason could you have had to not tell us right away?” Maggie asked.

“Because you’d react like this,” Jon said. “Like a group of petulant children throwing a bloody tantrum.”

They all gawked at him, stunned by the truth, affronted by reality. So be it. I’ll coddle them no longer. May Culver snickered and smiled at him.

“All Jon means is- well, we didn’t want to cause a panic,” Rick said.

“No, I meant what I meant. Here we sit, arguing about nothing while my fucking murderer still breathes.”

Rick’s jaw clenched. He turned a smile on the others. “Perhaps we should discuss the topic at hand? The medicine problem can wait, can’t it?”

Lori folded her arms. “Whatever…”

“Fine,” Maggie muttered.

Dale gave a nod and Shane rolled his eyes.

“Ain’t much to discuss is there?” Daryl said. “We can’t throw ‘em out to be eaten by the dead for no good reason. They stay here.”

“Even if it’s a unanimous decision, it should go to a vote,” Dale said. “For democracy’s sake.”

“No, Daryl’s right,” Rick said. “I ain’t about to make a habit of votin’ on people’s lives. Once is plenty.”

Randall shifted in his seat and stared at his shoes.

Rick cleared his throat. “Besides, Hershel helped my son in his time of need and here we still are. I don’t see why it should be any different for these folks. Surely, none of y’all disagree?”

Again, silence spoke for the group; the silence of children.

Jon opened his mouth to speak.

“I do,” May Culver said. “Fuck ‘em. They should fend for themselves.”

“Oh, would you shut the hell up?” Andrea said. “This is a serious discussion.”

“I am serious!”

“Well, then you’re a fucking psycho!” Maggie said.

May raised her hands. “Whoa now! Ain’t this a democracy? Where’s my freedom of speech?”

“You’re free to shut the hell up!” Andrea yelled.

“They’re fucking freeloaders!” May grinned. “Is that how we work here? We just give handouts to whatever sorry shits crawl out of the woods with their tail tucked between their legs and a change cup rattlin’ in their hands? And here I was thinkin’ that shit died when the world fell apart!”

“We ain’t a fucking charity!” James Culver chimed in.

“Damn right!” Pete Culver elbowed Randall in the ribs.

Randall’s eyes fluttered wide as if waking from a deep sleep. “R-Right! Half of ‘em ain’t even white!”

The Culver whooped and cheered. Pete and James showered Randall with pats on the back, and the stupid boy grinned for the first time in a week.

“You sound like cats fucking in an alleyway,” Sam said. “Be quiet.”

Pete and James shot him glares. May reclined in her seat with a grin spread across her face. Randall flushed and his grin wiped clean.

Rick kneaded the bridge of his nose. “Anyone else have a problem with letting the new arrivals stay on the farm.”

“Aye.”

“Jon… we’ll discuss that later.”

“Later. Now. It makes no matter. The coward dies.”

“This vote only concerns the other three. Do you have a problem-”

“Fuck your votes. He dies. Tonight. By my hand. With or without your fucking permission.”

The same group who, a moment earlier had gawked at him without shame now couldn’t bare to meet his eyes. Except Rick. He stood and bore down on him.

“I’ll give you one chance to take that back, Jon.”

“I can take it back. Would you like that? Sweet words to put your mind at ease?”

“Hand over your weapons, Jon.”

Jon shot to his feet. “Okay, fine. Have your-” He began unclasping Longclaw’s scabbard. “Have your fucking weapons! Here! Here!” He threw Longclaw to Rick’s feet, and Needle and his dagger.

Ghost rose alongside his hackles. His fangs showed and a silent snarl crept across his muzzle.

Rick took a step back. His paled to the colour of a sheet. “Jon, control him.”

“He doesn't get angry without a reason.”

All eyes locked on Ghost, wide and bulging.

“C- Come on, man. That ain’t funny!” T-Dog pushed himself as far back into his chair as he could.

“He’s not a bloody pet. He won’t stop being angry because I tell him.”

Carol glared at him with her arms folded across her chest. “How ‘bout you try? For his sake?” Her eyes went to Carl.

Rick had Carl behind him. The boy gawked at him as if his skin were rotten and his eyes were a shade of piss yellow and vomit green. His hand hovered over his empty holster.

An invisible hand gripped Jon’s chest. “Ghost… to me.” The words came out thin and wispy.

Ghost blew air from his snout and lay back down. The moment his belly touched the carpet, the tension in the room melted away.

Rick took a deep breath and stepped towards him, hand extended. “The other dagger too, Jon.”

Jon stared at him. For a moment, he thought him mad. Until he remembered. Bile burned the back of his throat.

“Gladly. Take the coward’s dagger and ensure I never lay eyes on the fucking thing again.” Jon whipped the dagger from beneath his belt and shoved it into Rick’s hand. “Bury it in his ashes.” Jon stormed from the room, away from all the folly and bleating of children and fucking stupidity.

“Jon! Get back here! Jon!” Rick shouted.

Jon slammed the front door behind him. The setting sun painted the farm in a fiery orange glow and gleamed orange off of the wall’s tin sheets. Tyreese and Chris stared at Jon from opposite ends of the porch. Chris stood on the side closest to the graves, cast in the glow of the summer sun while Tyreese stood closer to the gravel road, cast in shadow. They both gawked at Ghost. Jon made for the steps.

“Wait!” Tyreese called after him. “Have you made a decision?”

“No.” The steps creaked beneath Jon’s feet.

“Then where are you going?!” Chris yelled.

Jon put them to his back. Padding at his side, Ghost looked back and showed his fangs. They stopped yelling for him after that.

A chilly breeze whistled across the fields. In spite of his cloak and layers, the hairs on the back of Jon’s neck rose and goose flesh covered his arms. Death’s stench remained in the air around the barn no matter how much they cleaned it. 

Beside the unmarked grave full of strangers, two shovels stuck out of the earth. Jon pulled the left shovel free and got to work. His aches and pains complained to no end. It’s all his body seemed capable of now; complaining. He ignored it. Grave digging is work no one likes to do, and it’s hard on top of that. No time for dawdling. Let’s get it done quick and save the others the hassle. Children shouldn’t dig graves. Ghost lay atop the grave full of strangers, watching the house. The setting sun glimmered in his red eyes and warmed the pale tones of his fur. He looked golden. The wind whistled. Jon stabbed the ground with the shovel.

The whistling wind carried a conversation. Andrea waved Tyreese and Chris off as she made her way down the porch steps. The wind caught her tied hair and flapped it like a banner. It glowed golden in the setting sun. Compared to such warmth, the purple of her forehead’s bruise stood out like a crow in a snowstorm.

“Are you my guard now? Is that the way of it?”

Andrea crossed her arms. “Supposedly.” She held the coward’s knife.

Bile stung his tongue. “Take that away. I’ll not see that again.”

“No.” Andrea held it out to him. “Take it.”

“I’m not sure if you heard, but I’m not allowed any weapons.”

“Take it. This is your business, not ours and certainly not Rick’s. I don’t know this asshole. If he did what you said he did, this is your call and your call alone.”

Jon leaned on his shovel and raised an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have snuck out my dagger?”

“Take it or leave it. Or use the fucking shovel. I don’t care.”

The dagger tumbled out of her fingers and hit the earth. She scowled at him and left for the tents.

Jon opened and closed his sword hand. “I’m sorry for headbutting you.”

“Uh-huh.”

Jon picked up the dagger. He’d do it in the dead of night when only the nighttime watch would be awake. He’d take a hand axe – or hatchet as they called it in this land – from the barn’s storage for his weapon. The coward could have the dagger. He wasn’t a murderer. Justice. Not murder. Justice. He’d let him die on his feet like a man. It was more than he deserved. They wouldn’t care. They’d admonish him for it anyway. They’d hate him for it. They’d call him a murderer. Fuck them and fuck what they think. He wasn’t a murderer. The coward is the fucking murderer. It isn’t murder to avenge a killing, even if the victim is yourself. Will I be the first person to ever avenge themselves? Jon hid the dagger in his boot and got back to shovelling. The whistling wind pulled on his hair and kicked up his cloak. It brought him voices once again. A lot of them. The Culvers spilled out of the farmhouse. Tyreese tried to say something to May as she passed him by and James shoved him back.

“Fuck off nigger!” He shouted in Tyreese’s face.

Tyreese face dropped. He gawked at him, slack-jawed.

“God fucking dammit, boy! What have I fucking told you?!” Sam marched up the stairs and clouted James over the back of the head.

James tried to back up but Sam gripped his arm so tight that he wailed. He continued carrying on as Sam dragged him across the yard to their camp.

“Assholes!” Chris yelled once their backs were to them.

May whipped around. “Fuck off, beta boy!”

“May, to your tent! Now!” Sam bellowed.

May held up her middle finger and headed in Jon’s direction.

“May! Get back here, girl! May!”

“Can’t hear you, bitch!”

A howling gale swept over the farm. It whipped strands of her long, hair into a frenzy. The colour of raven’s feathers and rotten blood, her hair swallowed the warmth of the summer sun.

“What do you want?”

“We got kicked out. The asshole with shitty buzzcut wanted to discuss something that Culvers aren’t allowed to be privy to.”

“Is that so?”

“You gonna dig graves all night?” She asked.

“Aye,” Jon added more dirt to his pile.

“Really? Come on, I thought you had more guts than that.”

“I’m no murderer.” The lie, as practical as it was, left a sour sting on his tongue.

“Why not? Who’s gonna stop you? Not those pussies, that’s for sure.”

Jon paused. “You’re telling me to kill him?”

“Fuck yes, I’m telling you to kill him. Oh, have him do it.” She pointed at Ghost. Ghost bared her fangs at her and she beamed like it was her nameday.

“You don’t even know what he did.”

May shrugged and gestured to Ghost again. “What’s that matter? Do you think he only kills prey that has wronged him? No, he kills because he can, because he’s strong and they’re weak. And do you know what happens after he kills?”

“He eats them.”

“And then what? Nothing! Absolutely fucking nothing! That’s the way of things now. The strong kill, the weak die and the world keeps on turning. It’s been that way a lot longer than it hasn’t. It’s how it should be.”

Sam appeared behind May as if out of thin air. The setting sun cast him all in shadows. He loomed two heads over her. His huge hand rushed to clout her ear. She ducked and sidestepped him while keeping her eyes locked on Jon.

“Get to your tent! Now!” Sam shouted.

“This is a golden age, Jon Snow! Don’t fucking waste it!” May laughed and ran off towards the Culver’s camp.

Sam sighed. “The hell did she say to you?”

Jon got back to shovelling. “Nothing, just crazy nonsense.”

Sam shot a glare in May’s direction. “She don’t know what she’s talking about, you hear?”

“I hear.”

“You don’t gotta kill him.”

“Aye.”

“You don’t.”

“I hear you.”

“Look at me.” Sam loomed over Jon with a scowl sharp enough to crack stone. “You so much as try to kill that man, I’ll hurt you, kid. Don’t think I won’t.”

“My back tells me you already have.”

“And I’ll do it again.”

Sam turned and hurried after May. He balled his hands into fists; big fists like a pair of stones on his wrists. The wind’s whistle filled Jon’s ears. What’s the sharp sting of a beating compared to the sweet kiss of justice?

No sooner than Jon had gotten back to shovelling the whistling wind brought him yet another voice. A soft voice, gentle and patient. Beth stopped to talk to Tyreese. Whatever she said got him and Chris to leave. They hurried to Jenner’s tent, the place they were keeping the girl, Julie. After some arguing, Tyreese entered the tent while Chris waited outside, sulking.

Beth headed Jon’s way, and by the determined look on her face, she harboured yet another opinion on Jon’s justice. I swear if one more person tries to give their bloody take on how I should feel about my murder, I’ll go and kill him right now just to be done with it.

“Can I help?” Beth pointed to the other shovel.

Jon lifted a heaping mound of dirt from his hole. “No.”

“I don’t need your permission. They ain’t your shovels- if anything you should be askin’ me.”

“Then why’d you go and ask for?” Jon stabbed the hole.

“Well- I-… I’m gonna pray to my brothers then. Without your permission.”

“What a slight. I’ll never live that one down,” Jon muttered.

Beth knelt at her brother’s grave and whispered barely above the wind. “Asshole…” She clasped her hands together, shut her eyes and bowed her head.

Different worlds. Different Gods. Yet, the same prayer. Is the God of this world also as cruel as mine? Jon looked at the row of crosses along the bottom of the barn’s hill. He smelt the everlasting, lingering smell of death on the wind. He heard Beth’s choked sobs. Aye. Just as cruel.

By the time Beth finished her prayer, Jon stood knee-deep in the grave and a sizeable mound sat off to his right. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Beth lift her head and wipe her eyes.

“Why did you leave early?” Jon asked.

Beth scowled. “Shane… he… he proposed that we betray the Culvers. He wants to kill them once we deal with the horde.”

Jon leaned on his shovel. “Why?”

“Says we can’t trust them, that they’re- God, no.” Beth shook her head. “I couldn’t stand it. I- I had to leave. What he was sayin’ was- was- fuckin’ evil.”

“And they’re discussing it? Even Rick?”

Beth turned from him and nodded. She adjusted the crosses of her brothers’ graves, smoothed over the dirt and stared at their engraved names. Tears welled in her eyes.

“What were they like?” Jon asked, despite himself.

“Why do you care?” Beth sniffled and scrubbed her eyes. “You would have thought they were stupid like the rest of us.”

“Mayhaps. Or, they might have been the only pair of you with some sense about them. Who knows? They died before I could meet them. They could’ve been anything.”

“They…” Beth smiled. “They were a little dumb. I mean, not any more than boys tend to be. But still, a little dumb.”

“I knew a boy who was a little dumb once. He thought himself invincible. He’d spend his days climbing walls and turrets and roofs and whatever he could find. If you told him not to, that he would fall and hurt himself, then you’d discover the next day that he’d climbed higher than the last.”

“Sounds like he had a curious soul.”

“Aye, and a good heart.”

“My brothers were the same. Every chance they got, they were out in them woods, gettin’ themselves into some sort of trouble. They’d come back with scrapes and bruises, and when Daddy patched ‘em up he’d warn ‘em that one day they’d hurt themselves so bad he wouldn’t be able to fix ‘em. He always fixed ‘em though… Always…”

“What were their names, again?”

“Jimmy and Billy. Jimmy was a little older than me but younger than Maggie, and Billy was about Carl’s age. What about your brother? That was your brother you were talkin’ about, right?”

“Bran. He was eight.”

“And he’s…”

“Aye.”

Ghost rose, shimmering gold and orange beneath the setting sun. He lay his head in Beth’s lap and shut his eyes.

Beth stroked his fur. “Was he – the man you tried to kill – was he the one who-”

“Killed me?”

Beth nodded.

“He is.”

“He gave you all those scars?”

“No. Just this one.” Jon touched his belly.

“Who did the others?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why’d they do it?”

“I don’t know.”

“So, it was a murder? Like they just decided one day they’d like to kill you and did?”

“It’s a bit more complicated than that but, aye, it was murder.”

“How was it more complicated?”

“I- I don’t know. It just was.”

“Did they have a reason to kill you?”

“Aye, most likely they harboured some half-baked grievances. But who knows what goes on in the minds of fools?”

“So, it wasn’t like what you wanted to do to Randall?”

“What?” Jon snapped.

“You wanted to kill Randall ‘cause he was a threat. Were you a threat?”

“No! They killed me because they were afraid and stupid and- and fucking out of their minds!”

“You said you didn’t know why they killed you.”

“Don’t fucking turn my words on me. This isn’t your concern. They took my life. So it’s my concern!”

“Is that man, uh, Bowen Marsh was it? Is he a threat?”

“Aye, he’s a bloody threat! He fucking killed me!”

“Will he kill you again?”

“That doesn’t matter!”

“It does.”

Jon threw down his shovel and climbed out of the grave. “Why?” He marched up to Beth. “Why? Tell me right now why it fucking matters.

“Because he’s here isn’t he? How do you think he got here?”

“Because- because he- he must have… someone could have…”

“What if you’ve already been avenged? What will that make you if you kill him a second time?”

“You!” Bloodbeak descended from the roof of the barn and perched atop a grave’s cross. “You! You! You!”

Ghost bore his fangs at the raven.

“All I’m sayin’ is, that you don’t want to kill him for any practical reasons. You just wanna do it because you’re angry.”

Jon drew a long, trembling breath. “And… And when did you suddenly become such a fucking pragmatist?”

“Well, you weren’t gonna listen if I said you shouldn’t do it ‘cause it’s evil. Which it is by the way. It’s evil and wrong, and if you do it you’re just as bad as him.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Not yet, you’re not.”

“No, it’s justice. Not murder. Justice.”

“You don’t know that.”

“For all I know he fell off his bloody horse to end up here!”

“And you won’t know unless you ask him.”

Jon hopped back into the grave. “Go away. You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about. Leave me be.” He took up the shovel and thrust it deep into the dirt.

“Rick told Andrea to watch you all night. Don’t make her have to stop you, Jon. Do the right thing and let it go.”

“She won’t have to.” The clouds are out. It’ll be a cloudy night too. In my blacks, no one will be able to spot me in the dark. “You have my word. But I won’t let it go.”

“Okay…” Beth slowly got to her feet. “Uh, good…”

Bloodbeak cackled. “Good! Good! Good!”

***

Rick put him on the nighttime watch tonight. A smart move, if he hadn’t done the same with Andrea too.

“Go on then,” Andrea muttered once Twilight's gloom had well and truly vanished.

“Thank you.” Jon handed her the rifle and hurried for the RV’s ladder.

“He’s in Jenner’s tent, with the girl.”

“What? How am I supposed to-”

“Not my fucking problem. Now go, before I change my mind.”

“Seven fucking hells…” Jon slid down the ladder.

His mind raced as the hurried to the barn. I can try and make him understand. No, no Jenner won’t understand. But he isn’t strong. Tyreese is, at least from the looks of it. He could stop me. But not if he’s asleep. He’ll be asleep. He must be. It only takes a moment to slit a throat or stab a heart. I’ll be quick. Yes, I can make it happen in a moment. Burst in, stab the coward and it’s done. Whatever happens after is of no concern. They can rant, they can cry, they can attack, it makes no matter, he’ll be dead.

Jon decided on a hatchet over an axe. If only we kept knives in the barn too. A hatchet was smaller - more nimble - better for a quick job. An axe would only get in his way. I’ll bring it down on his head and split the fucking coward’s head in two. The huddle of tents beneath the wall were as calm as still water, and as silent as a graveyard. All were asleep. Even the wind. The only sign of life was the golden light pouring from Jenner’s tent. It beckoned to him like a signal fire admits a winter storm. Jon heeded its call. With hot blood pumping through his veins, Jon crept between the rows of tents and approached the tent’s flap without a sound. He paused a moment. No talking. No movement. Only gentle snoring. Good. Jon readied his hatchet.

He knocked the tent flap aside and burst inside. He found no coward. Only Jenner and Tyreese. And the dying girl. Tyreese remained fast asleep at his daughter’s side. Jenner, however, gawked at him and the hatchet he brandished. At once, Jon lowered it but, too late. Jenner shot to his feet and took a step towards him.

“Wait-” was all Jenner managed before Jon had put the flap behind him.

He stood outside the tent. I need to run. But he couldn’t. Away. Far away. But to where? I need to find the coward. Before Jenner tells Rick. I need to find him and kill him and get my justice before they rob it of me!

Jenner emerged from the tent. “Jon, wait,” he hissed.

Jon pointed the hatchet at him. “Stay there,” Jon whispered.

“You can’t be serious…”

“I am. Stay there.”

Jenner took a step. “You aren’t gonna kill me, Jon.”

“No, but I might hurt you. I might knock you out.”

“So, you are here for that, then? You would really go this far? And for what?”

“For justice!” Jon hissed.

“For murder.”

“It’s not-”

“What happened to hope for the future? To not rolling over and quitting just because all seems lost?”

“What? That’s not the bloody same. You wanted to kill everyone with you. I only want the justice I’m owed.”

“Oh, you’re owed it are you? Do you even hear yourself?”

“You’re all children. You can’t understand. None of you.”

Jenner scowled at him and stared for far too long.

“What? Out with it.”

“Well, go on then. Knock me out. Do it.”

“I will. If you don’t get back in that tent.”

“I won’t so, you’re gonna have to.”

“This is no time for games. I’ll do it and it’ll fucking hurt.”

“I’m a doctor. I know the risks. Go on.” Jenner opened his arms. “Knock me out.”

Jon ground his teeth. “Stop acting like a-”

“What, a child?” Jenner snapped. “That’s rich. You don’t have the balls. He’s behind the wall, crying. That’s all he’s been doing all night, crying. Whether it’s for you or her, I don’t know. Go to him and realise what a titanic fucking idiot you’re being. You won’t kill him. You’re a scared, snivelling little boy who’s lashing out because he’s afraid. You can’t kill him and you can’t hurt me.”

Jenner ducked back inside the tent, leaving Jon to gawk at the closed tent flap.

“I- I can.”

Silence answered him.

“I will.”

Silence.

“I’m not afraid! I’m not a boy… I killed him years ago. I had to. For the Watch. For the Realm. For my men and for my friends.”

When more silence answered him, Jon stormed towards the wall. Ghost had left to hunt. Impeccable timing as always. The pest landed atop the wall, as if out of nowhere. Feathers as dark as the cloudy night sky fell around him.

Jon rounded the wall. In all his blacks, doused in the darkness of a clouded night, the coward appeared almost as if he wasn’t there. But, there he sat. Muffled sobs filled the night’s silence. The coward appeared like a trembling black ball with his knees tucked to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. Grey, stringy, hair hung past his chin, obscuring his round, red face from the world.

Jon slipped the dagger from his boot and tossed it to his feet. “Go on then, pick it up. You can die a man’s death.” Jon readied his hatchet.

The coward. lifted his eyes. The dark turned his tears black – black like rotten blood – as they filled the wrinkled grooves of his cheeks. Words refused to leave the coward’s mouth as he choked on his sobs.

“Pick it up!” Jon hissed.

“It- It’s more than I deserve… Don’t bother.” The coward showed Jon his neck. “Go on.”

“I will.” Jon raised his hatchet.

The coward closed his eyes in a pathetic display of utter… utter cowardice. Bowen Marsh looked like her - when she… the night she… before the cold claimed her.

Jon squeezed the hatchet’s handle with all his strength. “I will!”

“Aye, and this sorry world will be better off for it. A second life is wasted on a man like me.”

“S- Stop that.”

“What?”

“That. Being so pathetic. You’re not a boy. You’re a killer, a murderer, a traitor – not a boy – a killer, not a boy.” Marsh’s tears swelled. “Stop fucking crying!” A trembling plagued Jon’s burned, hatchet hand.

Marsh buried his face in his hands.

The hatchet lowered. “What do you have to be sad for?”

Marsh sobbed. “Just do it.”

“Answer me. Why were you crying?”

“Pleeease… please do it… it’s too much, please.”

“Why?! Why were you crying?! Why did you do it?! You tell me and you tell me now!”

Marsh’s eyes snapped to him A scowl stormed his face. “You would have ruined us! You and your pride! Is that what you want to hear you- you bastard!”

That word hung in the air. Once, it would have blared with all the might of war horn. Now? Now it lingered like a sour squeak from a mummer’s flute.

Marsh got to his feet. His scowl wavered, turning his lips to two, wriggling worms. “We killed you because we wanted to. Because we liked it. Because you… because you deserved…” The tears returned. “Because you... I… come on… wasn’t that enough? I called you bastard. What else do you need? Lord Snow? Is that it? Lord Snow. Bastard of Winterfell. Wildling fucker. Traitor. Deserter. Wh- Whoreson.” Desperation infected Bowen Marsh’s teary eyes like a plague.

“You can’t want to die. That’s not fair… That’s not justice…”

“Who cares what it is? You’re here. You’ve got a blade. So – fucking seven hells – stop thinking and just do it already!”

“Seven hells?”

“Aye, seven! There aren’t fucking eight are there?!”

“Not one? Seven. Seven hells for seven gods?”

“Are you mad?” Marsh’s voice waned. “What the blazes are you on about boy?”

Marsh bore the markings of home. Uneven stitches bound his clothes. A lordly, firm accent free of slurred r’s and forgotten g’s painted his tongue. He possessed the harshness of The North and the softness of The South. Even his eyes – his woeful, teary eyes – spoke of home. They were a grey so dark they seemed almost black. Deep in those homely eyes, admits pools of black, lived an ounce of warmth.

Jon dropped the hatchet, slumped against the wall and held his head in his hands.

“What are you doing?” Bowen Marsh dropped to his knees beside Jon.

“Who killed you?”

“What’s it matter?”

“Answer my bloody questions. That’s an order, Marsh.”

Marsh sat. “It’s the how that did it.”

“How then?”

Marsh pulled down the collar of his cloak. “Can you see it in the dark?”

Jon squinted. The flesh around his neck looked like The Hound’s face. It took a moment for the pieces to click together.

“They hung you?”

“Aye… Me and the other survivors.”

“Survivors?”

“It’s a long story.”

“The night is young.”

Marsh wrung his hands. “Those friends of yours – they… they loved you – after you died and we took command of Castle Black, they fled for the Shadow Tower. Once Mallister caught wind of what we did, he rallied East Watch by the Sea and brought the full might of The Watch down on our heads. Thorne died in the fighting; Edd Tollet rode him down and skewered him on a spear to hear it be said. Most joined Throne. Not me. I… I hid – me and Wick and some others – we hid in the wormways. They found us soon after the fighting men had fallen and hung us in the same place we killed you.”

Off in the forest, cicadas began to buzz and chirp. Birds took flight. Some sort of animal raced across the fields. Ghost burst from the woods. In half a heartbeat he had the animal between his jaws. He put an end to its squalling and struggling with a single bite. Blood oozed between his teeth, staining his fur red.

Bowen Marsh gawked at Ghost. “He’s here?” he whispered.

“You fools…” Jon muttered. “You fought over me? The Wights and Others were on their way and you fought a bloody civil war over me?”

“They loved you… And what is love compared to honour, Snow?”

“Words and wind.”

“Words and wind.”

Ghost padded over with a possum between his jaws. He lay at their feet and dug into his meal. Tears lingered in the corners of Marsh’s eyes as he watched the direwolf eat.

“What of the freefolk?”

“Some fought for you. Some fought for us. Most ran off into The Gift.”

“And Melisandre?”

Bowen Marsh wrung his hands and stared at his feet.

“You killed her,” Jon said.

“Thorne did. Not me. He killed her and… I was against it – told him I’d geld him – but-”

“You killed her. You all killed her. Their crimes are yours and yours are theirs.”

“Aye… they are. Her followers put up a good fight and screamed half a hundred bloody curses on us but in the end, she wielded only words and… what are words compared to blades?”

“Did you say, Thorne?”

“Aye.”

“But I sent him-”

“Impostors, Snow; impostors. We thought you were trying to get him – a man of high birth – killed. So, we hid him and sent fakes in his and the other six’s places. From afar, all clad in black with hoods raised, any man can look like another.”

“That was your idea, I suppose?”

“Aye…”

“Look at me, Marsh. Scrub away those bloody tears and look at me.”

Marsh scrubbed his eyes. They met Jon’s, red and raw; as red his face.

“You answer me, and you answer me true. Why did you kill me?”

Marsh’s eyes searched Jon’s face, darting like mice caught in a trap. Eventually, however, he uttered a response barely audible. “The vows, Snow. The vows. You commanded The Watch to march on Winterfell. Thorne was calling you the Night King come again and well, he weren’t half wrong was he?”

“No. No, I never commanded The Watch march anywhere. I gave them a choice is all. A choice. Not a command. A choice.”

“They loved you and – damn fool – they’d have followed you anywhere if you’d asked it of them. North, South, The Lands of Always Winter, Essos; anywhere. What choice did you leave them? To let their Lord Commander march on Bolton’s army by himself? Their Lord Commander and a boy no less. There was no choosing in it. They’re men, Snow. Men. And men – especially men of The Watch – hold little dear but their pride. You were their Lord Commander. You were a boy, j- just a boy.” The tears returned. “You march. They march. It’s as simple as that.”

“Fine.” Jon clenched his fists and grit his teeth. “mayhaps that was a… a mistake. But why kill me? Why not talk to me? I’d have stepped down if you’d only asked it of me. I’d have deserted if that’s what it took. I’d have marched against that Bolton bastard’s army with little more than Ghost, a blade and the clothes on my back if I had to.”

“But why, lad? Why did you have to go?”

“Because it was my home! That Bolton bastard turned my home into his plaything; a torture dungeon. My family's home!”

“Winterfell was not your home! You were a brother of The Watch. Castle Black was your home. The Wall was your duty. We were your brothers. Not the Starks! Us!”

“You were. I know. Castle Black was my home but, so was Winterfell. The wall was my duty, but so was my family. You were my family, but so were the Starks. That’s the truth of it. We may say pretty words to fool ourselves into thinking otherwise but, at the end of the day I…” A strange urge to check over his shoulder nagged away. Jon fixed his eyes on Ghost. “I… despite my name, am a Stark. You are a Marsh. Samwell was a Tarly. Edd was a Tollet. Aemon was a Targaryen.”

Ghost lay his head in Jon’s lap. Blood matted his jaws. Jon stroked his fur.

“Stark!” Bloodbeak cried from atop the wall. “Stark! Stark! Stark!”

“I was no one. I am a brother of The Watch.” Marsh said.

“You were. But also, a man of House Marsh.”

“No. Only a brother of the night. A sword in the darkness. A watcher on the walls. A fire that burns against the cold. A light that brings the dawn. A horn that wakes the sleepers. A shield that guards the realms of men. I pledged my life for the Night’s Watch, for this night and all night’s to come. My whole life – not just from the age of ten and six – my whole life. And so did you. From birth to death we are brothers of the night.”

“And where did it get us?” Jon kicked the dirt. “Here, beyond the reach of light and dark, family and friends, the realm and her men, the wall and her watch; duty… In the sunset days of an age of rot and decay”

They stared at the dirt. Jon’s scars burned. His ribs stabbed. His arms moaned. His back groaned. His chest ached. His arse whined.

“This world has Julie,” Marsh whispered. “And Chris. And Tyreese.” Marsh looked at his hand. “Your maesters say she’ll live, most like; that because I cut off her hand, the rot couldn’t spread further to claim her mind and soul. I know it doesn’t make up for what I’ve done but, if the same hand that took a child’s life from them can save another’s then… well… maybe… that means something.

They lied to him. Jenner and Hershel. They told him sweet words… sweet lies…

“Marsh, Julie, she-”

The desperation in Marsh’s eyes gave Jon pause. “What about her?”

“She’ll… she’s in good hands.”

Marsh nodded. “Good… good.”

“Why didn’t you talk to me, Marsh? I would have stepped down. You could have been Lord Commander, or Thorne, or fucking Wick Whittlestick for all I care.”

“We were going to but then, the giant kicked up all that chaos and Wick cut you and gave it all away. What would you have said then, after the plot became clear? No man, no one could be reasonable after an attempt on his life. He left me no good choice. I only wanted to stop you... But I didn’t want… It wasn’t meant to be like… You weren’t meant to die…” Tears streamed down his cheeks. “You’re just a boy… just a boy… but there was no good choice… murder or dishonour… what choice is that?”

Jon stroked Ghost’s fur. “You could have tried to stop them.”

“If I didn’t do it, Thorne would have or somebody else. When Wick cut you-”

“You could have fought them.”

“And do what? Die?”

“Aye. I did, didn’t I? Had it been you in my shoes, I would have fought them off. Me and a hundred other men. We were brothers.”

Marsh sniffled. “Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re you and I’m me. You’re a bloody hero and I’m a fucking coward.”

Ghost retrieved Bowen Marsh’s dagger and dropped it into Jon’s palm.

“Here,” Jon said.

“No. It’s yours.”

“No, it’s yours. I found it in the head of a corpse. One of the walking ones.”

Marsh took the dagger with trembling fingers. “That corpse carried this all the way here?”

“Aye.”

Marsh cracked a smile. “What are the chances?”

“About next to none.”

“I suppose we’ve been dealt a lot of next to none lately, aye?”

“That we have.”

Marsh slipped the dagger back into his scabbard. “I have no right to ask this, but I will anyway.”

“What is it?”

“Can you forgive me? Can you find it in your heart?”

Jon picked up his hatchet and stood. “No. Mercy, that I’ll grant you but, I won’t forgive you.”

“I suppose, that’s more than I deserve.”

“No… it’s all you deserve.”

Jon offered his hand to Marsh. Marsh accepted and Jon helped him to his feet.

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

Stay with me || D. Targaryen x Hightower!reader

GIF by @beaconofthehightower DIVIDERS by @straywords

summary: In which you have been forced into marriage with the Rogue Prince by the King. However, it has been well over a year and the two of you yet to see eye to eye, mostly because of Daemon's dislike towards your father. When you find out that you're expecting, things seem to take a drastic turn.

a/n: no way this was sitting in my drafts since i first opened this acc end of last year🥹

“The bath is ready for you, my Lady.” The handmaiden bowed at your direction as you finish taking off your jewellery. “Thank you, you may go,” You bid her off, “But my Lady-“ She protested, “I am quite capable of bathing myself, thank you.” Meeting the maidens eyes through the mirror, you didn’t mean to sound rude and snap at the poor women—your pent up emotions needed releasing, hence why you called for a bath.

Without uttering another word, you watch as she closes the door with a loud thud. Throwing your necklace across the room to release the built up tension, you inhale deeply whilst leaning your hand against the bed post. Tears threatening to escape, you look up towards the ceiling so that they would not fall.

Finding out that you were with child was a rollercoaster of emotions. You were saddened at the thought of bringing a child into this cruel word. How could you try to make your child’s life happy when both of his/her parents were not with each other?

You thought that you could some how find times in your marriage that you would be happy, but you didn’t, the past 12 months were a nightmare. You barely got to see Daemon, and when you did, he’d be drunk and fall asleep without saying a word to you.

And the whispers and talks of people seeing him visit brothels in silk street were unbearable. You tried ignoring the best you could, but how could you when people didn’t even put any effort into quietening down when walking past you?

Brushing your lingering thoughts away, you walk to the bath that was bearably hot. Removing your thin night gown and letting it pile in a corner, you couldn’t help but stare at your still-flat stomach in the mirror. The thought of a babe growing inside was both amazing and terrifying.

Slipping your body in, a sigh leaves your mouth at the sensation of the hot water against your skin. After nearly 30 minutes, the door to your chambers opened.

There was only ever one person to open that door without bothering to knock, and that was your Husband. Eyes closed, you heard his footsteps until it came to a halt, slowly opening your eyes and sitting up, you turn your head to find Daemon watching you from outside the door that led to the bathroom.

“Husband.” You greeted turning your head back and closing them once again. “Wife.” He replied, taking off his clothes and changing. You were surprised he did not sound drunk like he usually did most nights. The two of you not uttering a single word until you got out of the bath.

You flinch once you realised Daemon was sat on a one of the sofas that faced your bath tub, not that the two of you were foreign to seeing each other naked. After drying up, you slip your night gown on once again before making your way to your dresser.

“Ao nektogon aōha ōghar, nyke ūndegon” His voice made you pause your actions, looking at his sat figure through the mirror. “2 two months ago Daemon.” You reply annoyed as you brush through your hair. “But you would know if you saw me more often.” Muttering under your breath, Daemon replied, “ȳdragon plainly.”(You cut your hair, I see) (Speak plainly)

Closing you eyes and taking a sharp inhale, you turn your body towards him, a cup with what you presume was alcohol in his hand. “What I mean, husband, is if you were here more often instead of spending your nights at the brothel, that you would notice the little things!” Your voice escalates in volume. Daemon throws his head back with a loud sigh. “Are we really doing this?”

“Where do your loyalties reside, husband? It is most certainly not with me! Whom you swore under the seven Gods that you would be there for me!” You were now standing up as you watch Daemon with an unreadable face.

“Ivestragon mirros!”You yell, “Skoro syt issi ao sir mentioning bisa?” He calmly asked. With furrowed eyebrows, you study his face, his gaze set to candles on the table. “Skoros?”(Say something) (Why are you now mentioning this) (What)

“Don’t act stupid y/n,” He scoffed, finally meeting your eyes, “Emi issare married syt mirri jēda, sir ao decide naejot elēni aōha concerns?” (We have been married for some time, now you decide to voice your concerns)

“Ivestragon nyke, skoro syt?” His deep voice questioned. Searching his eyes, and opening your mouth, no words seemed to come out. (Tell me, why)

“Cat got your tongue, my love?” Daemon smirked as you gulped, tears slowly but surely welling up. You found yourself pathetic, truth being the fact that you couldn’t even tell your own husband you were carrying his child.

Without saying another word, you turned around, blowed out all the candles except for the ones beside Daemon’s side of the bed, and slipped under the covers of your bed.

A loud sigh leaves the Prince’s mouth. Deep down, you wanted him to come to bed and engulf you in a hug. Instead, you hear the sound of the doors opening and closing, he left. You cried yourself to sleep that night.

~

Waking up to a cold and empty bed, you felt it slowly but surely making its way up your throat as you place the back of your hand to your mouth. Luckily, Eva, your closest handmaiden, had walked in just in time as you puked into the bucket.

“Perhaps having breakfast will be good for you, my Lady” She kindly smiles at you as you look up at her with a disgusted face at the thought of food at that moment. “I think not” You grumbled before getting up and getting ready.

“Has my husband returned yet?” Your eyes meet with the handmaidens’ through the mirror as you put earrings on. “No, my Lady” She looks down. “Should I even tell him?” You contemplate, fidgeting with your rings.

Before you could get a response, a loud knock comes from your door as you give a confused look to Eva as she quickly opens the door. “My lady, it’s your father.” She calls out before curtsying and leaving the room.

“Father,” You kiss his cheek to greet him. “I think it is best you go to the throne room now” He gives you a blank look. An awkward chuckle leaves your lips, “But why? What’s happening?” Concern spread through your body as Otto doesn’t say anything.

You quickly brush past him and make a beeline to the throne room. Upon entering, you were stopped by a kingsguard. “Who is in there” You question. “I cannot tell you that Lady-“ “I’m only going to ask you once, brother, who is in there?” You send daggers to your younger brother’s way.

“His Grace, Daemon, and-“ Before he could finish his sentence, you push past him and open the door. There sat Viserys on the iron throne with Daemon standing e of him, his back to you. What perplexed you even more was the women on her knees beside Daemon. A handmaiden to be precise. Viserys gives you a pitiful look, It was only when both Daemon and the handmaiden look back to you when you realise.

“I-“ You couldn’t even properly speak as you choked back tears. You felt like screaming at that moment. “Y/n-“ You didn’t even let Daemon utter another word before you closed the door—Gwayne giving you a concerned look—and sped off back to your room.

“Pack my things. I am leaving” You order your handmaidens as tears continuously roll down your cheeks. You were shaking, you felt like you were suffocating. “Are you all right my lady?” Eva places ger hand on your shoulder as you breathe heavily. “I-I need to get out of this dress- a-and breathe for gods sake!” You shout angrily as hands were already untying your dress.

You had about enough of Daemon’s behaviour. You needed to leave. After being dressed in something more comfortable, the doors open as your father walks in. “I assume you’re going back to Old town?” Your father places his hands behind his back as he watches you gather your jewelry.

“I am. If you expect me to stay here any longer with that-that horrid man then-“ “I don’t expect you to, daughter. He was caught in bed with her this morning. I assure you, that handmaiden will get what she deserves. Sleeping with her Lady’s husband, what was she thinking” Otto scoffs as tears blur your eyes.

“Have you even told him yet?” His question catches you off-guard. “No. After what I just found out I don’t think I will. He can find out later on after I’ve left” You say through greeted teeth as the last of your things were packed up.

“The carriage is already out there waiting for you, my Lady” Eva mentions as you nod at her. “Goodbye father, I hope you do come visit” You sadly smile before embracing him in a hug, his hands caressing your hair before you pull back and walk off.

It was pouring outside. You held your skirt up so it wouldn’t get dirty. “Y/n!” His voice booms over the rain as you pause. You quicken your pace but before you could even fully step into the carriage, a rough hand pulls you back.

Before you know it, your hand makes contact with his cheek with a loud slap. The few handmaidens gasp before they look down. He rolls his tongue against his cheek before chuckling, “I deserve that, don’t I?” “Oh you deserve so much worse Daemon.” You darkly chuckle at the man.

“I can’t believed you stooped that low- and with one of my handmaidens? How pathetic can you get, Husband. I have done nothing but been patient with you every day but this? That was the final straw. I’m leaving and you cannot stop me” You say the last bit through greeted teeth. “Were you going to tell me?”

You stop dead in your tracks. You breathe out from your nose, “Tell you what exactly?” Your head turns to him. “That you’re carrying my child. Was I ever going to find out? Or was I going to when I’m on my deathbed.” He shouts angrily as you keep your composure.

“And bring him up with a father who can’t even keep his loyalties to his wife? You’re delusional, truly.” A loud scoff emits your mouth. Not a second later, Daemon drops to his knees infront of you. People around whispering to each other at the sight of the Rogue Prince on his knees to his wife. You gulp as he looked so vulnerable. He looks up to you as he takes ahold of your hands. “Stay with me. Please. That is all I ask of you y/n” He pleads.

“Stay with you? I have stayed with you every day Daemon while you fucked your way through the brothels. I’ve had enough of hoping that you would finally see me as your wife!” Tears were once again pouring down your cheeks as you sniffle. “I can’t stay with you.” Your voice cracks before you pull away from Daemon’s touch and enter the carriage without looking back.

The carriage starts to move as you start sobbing harder. Daemon was still there kneeling as he watched his wife leave. He watched his entire future leave.